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tteokdoroki · 4 years ago

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saccahrine sundays | k.bakugou

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 5.3K

♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, married!au, fluff + smut.

♡ summary: katsuki can never find enough time to get some sleep. between being a full time pro hero, a father and a husband— hours of rest are hard to come by. unless it’s one of those sweet, sweet saccharine sundays.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut, pwp ( characters aged up to late twenties ), somnophilia, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), fingering ( female recieving ), tummy bulges, mating press, pregnancy!kink, daddy!kink, breeding!kink, light!exhibitionism, cumplay + needy bakugou has a praise!kink... <3

♡ author’s note(s): brrr hey guys! it feels like forever since i last posted a full fic, january was bleh so im happy to get this out !! special thanks to @greenchild for feeding me this idea and thank to all of you for your love, support and 2.8K. i love you all, enjoy <3

♡ masterlist | requests

katsuki bakugou couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full nights sleep. between being a pro hero and family life, the full eight to nine hours of pure rest wasn’t easy to come by— now he wasn’t complaining, he was far too grateful for the life he lead to whinge and whine about the finer details. bakugou was right on track to becoming the number two, he had a beautiful wife who loved him and supported him no matter how reckless he might have been and two little brats that he adored more than anything. he was miles ahead of his high school classmates, never letting up or resting so like he said, there was no room to complain.

but even as the faintest wisps of light slip through drawn curtains and a vermillion gaze settled on the old all might digital alarm clock ( reading 9:01 AM ), katsuki bakugou can’t help but feel grateful for the sleep he just had. no interruptions from wailing toddlers or infants who need changing, no late night call ins for patrols— none of that, just an arm around his wife’s waist and the soft sound of her breathing to coax him out of his sleepy state.

bakugou remembers now, a distant yet far from faint memory of where he and his wife spent two days of their honeymoon under slumber’s spell, having ravished each other the very night they arrived in paris for their honeymoon ( all mina’s idea, she had told katsuki it was the perfect destination for newly weds in love— and whilst the several districts his alien friend recommended did appease you, the blonde had promised to take you on a more luxurious getaway when he was hire up in the hero rankings ). of course that very honeymoon lead you to fall pregnant with your first little miracle— taiga bakugou, the very spitting image of her father except or the slight tilt to her nose and the sparkle in her eye that only her mother possessed.

raising her had proven to be both an enjoyable and exhausting experience for katsuki, with a matching explosive personality to rival even her daddy’s— there were many restless nights the pro hero spent butting heads with his daughter while his sweet spouse was away on missions and getting used to the field again. even during the pregnancy, full nights of rest were little to none— the cravings taiga gave you were almost unbearable for the blonde, not to mention the 2AM labour his little girl put you through...and yet he would repeat the last four years of lack of sleep all over again if it meant reliving every single moment with you. raising tatsumo was much better; however.

so as the weight of well deserved slumber lifts from katsuki’s shoulder’s he’s forced to deal with the memories of your sweet cries from the night (or rather, nights) he made you his wife. he stirs under cotton sheets, a familiar hardness pressing against his inner thigh as he recalls the way you tightened around him— “honey baby,” the desperate whisper tastes foreign, bitter across his tastebuds as he licks his lips. katsuki was usually much more composed when it came to sex, he could hold out for hours while you pleaded and begged of him to give you more. but this morning was different, very much so.

skilfully, the ash blonde slips a hand between your sheets, finger tips calloused with years of training and battle, dancing up your bare thighs from where you wear only his shirt and a pair of panties. the fingers trail up to your underwear, pressing them against your cunt as bakugou watches your face for any reaction— you twitch once before falling back into a deep slumber, letting your husband know that he can continue. he peels like orange silk away from your core and down your legs, half resisting the urge to sniff your undergarment like the dirty man he is but he decides that he can longer wait, already turned on by the feeling of your bare pussy against his hand.

the pro knows exactly how to turn you on, dragging is nails down your thighs just an inch from your wetness and his mind fogs with lust at the thought of the sounds you’d make for him if you were awake...not yet, he says to himself. his next move is to fuck your mouth, two of his digits sliding past parted lips from where you snore— gathering the drool that pools on the surface of your tongue. back and forth; move bakugou’s fingers until he’s satisfied with how wet you’ve made them with your spit. returning those very same fingers to your cunt, he parts your folds— already slightly sticky and hot with the nectar he’s used to savouring. if this were any other time, bakugou would be eating you out like a man starved of his last three meals but the rising sun tells him that his moments to fuck you are very few.

so now, he slides those lubed up fingers right into your tight little hole, shuddering under the sheets at how you automatically clamp around him— even while you sleep. katsuki’s vermillion eyes seek out your face in the warm light of the dusk, watching as your expression contorts into that familiar look of pleasure— lips blossoming into a cherry pout, brows furrowed as if you’re focusing on the way your husband makes you feel.

“fuck, honey baby, so good ‘n pliant for me even when yur fuckin’ sleepin’,” katsuki slurs against saliva that slips along his tongue, he’s hungry to fuck you, make you moan and scissors his fingers deep inside your obedient cunt in away that makes your slumbering body jump. pressing a thumb to your neglected clit, bakugou twists his fingers in search for your g-spot, pumping them into you with vigour. “gonna make you cum angel, baby, please cum while you’re like this s’you can take my cock.”

if there’s one thing pro hero dynamite knows, it’s that your body is a slave to him, no matter what state it’s in. your thighs part instinctively; giving your husband room to curl his fingers and press down hard on your pleasure spot— gummy walls sucking him in deeper. he makes you cum while you sleep, juices staining your supple skin, honeyed from the warm light outside.

“atta girl, cummin’ for your husband like that even when you’re sleeping— so fuckin’ naughty...” katsuki grunts, locks of sun kissed hair beginning to plaster itself against his forehead. his body shakes with the desire to be inside of you, his internal temperature rising with every second that he’s not sheathed within your walls. pulling his fingers away from your twitching mound, bakugou slides them, cum soaked and all, into his mouth to taste your very sweetness. “would eatcha out like a starved man, honeybee, but we don’t gotta lot of time left baby...”

with that, bakugou shuffles his sweats down enough for his cock to spring free, tip bright red and leaking against his toned, scarred abdomen. with practised ease, he hooks your right leg over his waist and positions your dripping cunny right over the head of his length. it takes everything katsuki has not to plunge deep inside of you, to abuse your tempting cunt until it’s formed into the shape of his cock but for once he wants to take you slowly, enjoy his time with your limp body at his disposal.

pressing his girth against your slick entrance, your husband sighs, coating himself with the remainders of your delightful release. the mess you made just for him, makes it easier for him to guide his cock between your velveteen folds that take him so well. his free hand comes up to brush over your cheek and even in the depths of your rest you manage to nuzzle into katsuki’s palm and make his coo— what a precious little doll you are, so good for him and always so obedient no matter what state you’re in. fuck, it drives him so insane that he can’t even think straight.

“...suki....”

fucking hell. the way you sigh out for him so mawkishly whilst you dream makes him twitch, not even half the way inside you. “c’mon honey baby, don’t go moanin’ my name like that when i haven’t even had a c-chance to make you mine yet—“ the blonde shudders, eyes screwing shut as he finally bottoms out inside of you. katsuki let’s out a choked moan, from deep within his chest while you welcome him into your lethally syrupy cunt. “ohh, fuck, that’s the stuff, good girl...”

bakugou’s thrusts start slow yet, forcing your limp body to jolt up the bed and your tits to bounce in tune with the rhythm of his hips— your little hole sucks him in so greedily, so selfishly, clamping down on him as if to prevent him from leaving your body as a whole. pro hero dynamite is shaken to his core, how can his precious baby take him so darlingly while she’s asleep, refusing to let go of him and keep his cock tucked away inside of you.

shit, shit, shit.

he wants to defile you, asleep or not, ruin how pure and angelic your body appears even after years of being together. it’s your fault he’s like this anyway, you deserve to have your pussy destroyed no matter the circumstances— ruby framed eyes threaten to roll back into his skull while bakugou picks up the swirl of his hips between your sticky thighs, you flutter and squeeze around the girth that’s stretched you out so many times before and yet you still remain a tight hole designed for your husband and your husband alone.

lips map their way up the column of your neck, committing every dip and scar and blemish to memory even though katsuki knows where each of them are. the amber colour of the morning sun highlights each of your marks, your husband giving you as many lovebites to match each one. “nn, suki...more..” you whimper, so quiet he almost misses it underneath the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin. could you feel how he deflowered you in your sleep? ruining such a good girl while you resting? he wants so bad to corrupt you from the inside.

static stretches across katsuki’s brain, crackling as his neurones fire and dopamine fizzes in his veins. cum. cum. breed her. it’s too soon but the blonde can’t help it, pent up and high on the morning sunrise— addicted to the taste of your skin licked with light perspiration. it’s been ages since he’s had you like this, can you blame him for not hanging on so long? bakugou lifts your thigh higher on his waist, using it as leverage to plough into the deepest parts of you, his precious wife, desperate to cream inside you before wake up.

“mm, know you’re close lovebug, won’t you cum for me suki?”

katsuki’s gaze hones in on you, vision blurred and hazy with lust from his impending orgasm. your own eyes are heavy with sleep but the soft smile on your face is filled with a familiar adoration and saccharine love that the blonde can never get tired of. he knows that you know your voice alone is another to send him speeding off of the cliff of release— your hole squeezing around him, beautiful hips that once brought his children into the world gracefully moving up and down to coax his girthy cock to its final release.

“honey baby,” katsuki whines like a broken man when you cup his face, hot puffs of air warming up the space between you. his hips don’t let up though, driven by the way you move against him beneath the sheets, he’s so close he can almost taste it. “c-couldn’t wait for you to wake up, needed you so fuckin’ bad...”

your mouth hangs open in a quiet groan, getting lost in the claps of sweaty bodies against one another and katsuki latches onto your lower lips to swallow your noise— breathing it in and letting it spread through his body like oxygen. “oh, lovebug, y-you don’t...” you pause, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the angry tip of your husband’s cock grazes against your gummy spot, sending your walls into a flurry of flutters that make katsuki twitch. “ ...you don’t ever have to wait with me, d-don’t hold back, kay?”

you’re a breathless mess, a sight to behold and he can’t take not having you filled with his seed any longer. the lazy push and pull of your bodies smacking wetly against each other become erratic thrusts, heat pooling in the abdomen of the pro hero boiling him alive in feelings of desire for you and you alone.

bakugou quivers from his lips to his toes when he cums, filling your slippery walls with a creamy white and lining your insides with the claim of your man. your man. your husband. “fuck, fucking hell, h-honey, gimme that pussy...gimmie that fuckin’ pussy,” his groans linger in the crisp early morning air, dancing with the static while he orgasms within you, endless bouts of white stuffing you to the brim. you kiss in an attempt to calm him, squeezing around his thick cock to ride out his high. you taste of orange liquor and manuka honey, addicting while he sucks lavishly on your tongue and spares you the air you need to breathe. ‘cause at the end of the day call you need is him.

“did you cum, precious one?” ever the gentleman, katsuki has to ask but even you can see in his blood red ruby eyes ( no matter how tired they may seem ) that he’s gearing up for a second round, shallow thrusts pushing his own release deeper into your fertile womb. there’s about thirty minutes until the kids wake up, but your lover can make you see stars in fifteen.

you shake your head once as bakugou rolls you onto your back— strong arms caging you into the prison if his love. large hands dance tenderly up the back of your thighs and you meet his eyes with such a saccharine smile his heart bursts at the sight of you. “you’re insatiable, lovebug,” the tingling notes of your moan caresses bakugou’s cheek as he manoeuvres your legs to fold you into a mating press, shifting his weight above you. “did you really need me that much, daddy bear?”

“think y’already know the answer to that, honeybee,” katsuki drawls, tripping over his words filled, oh so generously with blazing desire. he still remains sheathed inside you, a darling whine dripping from his cherry lined lips— the ones sore from kissing you— as he gives an experimental thrust into the tight heat of your core. you accept him willingly, opening up for him like a blossoming flower which makes katsuki’s hot breath stutter from the overstimulation. neither of you can look away, sharing the intimate moment of his length sinking into you— katsuki groans as you suck him in inch by inch before leaning over and attaching his lips to yours, licking at the seam of them in order to coax them open. his wife is a tease however; denying him the pleasure of sucking on her tongue...for now at least.

but it’s all worth it, for katsuki wants to burn the erotic sight of you beneath him into his mind forever. your skin shines like it was kissed by the setting moon, eyes hooded and holding a lust that only burns brightly for him while your chest heaves in anticipation of your husband claiming you for the second time that morning. “m-move suki, please—c-can’t...” the tail end of your pleas fall away with the fading night sky.

the man doesn’t need to be told twice.

save for a few shallow thrusts to get going, katsuki soon finds himself pistoning into you at an unruly, god speed pace. the blonde revels in the way one hand of yours twirls strands of his hair between your fingers whilst the other digs crescent moons into his blemished honey skin. helpless huffs and candied cries tickle bakugou’s ears while he presses your body flush against his and pins you down with his hips.

their movements don’t ever waver, cock catching on every ridge your damp pussy has to offer him, each thrust calculated amplify your pleasure that rolls in heatwaves throughout your body. katsuki’s mind grows blank, thick with the mirage you’ve cast over him from the way you push back against him, taking more of his inches into you.

“ngh, lovebug,” you say, high off of euphoria while katsuki’s leaking cock bears down harshly on your g-spot and you smile up at him deliriously— looking like the eighth wonder of the world. you grab the hand your husband uses to keep your thighs up and bring it down to your tummy for him to feel what you feel. “can feel your cock inside me, love, so big...makin’ my tummy bulge like a good daddy bear...”

something snaps within katsuki at the sound of your breathless praise; a feral blaze setting alight deep inside his chest— spreading throughout his body as his cock drives deeper and deeper inside your spongy, wet cunt— just about breaching the gates of your cervix. breed her. fuck her. make her swollen with your cum. bakugou can’t even think straight; intoxicated by the way you move against him, the way you look so full of him and his thick length.

he wants you to look full all of the time. so katsuki does with the only way he knows how. dropping his head to your neck, sharp attack your neck with blossoms of bruises forming under your skin in the name of love— you whine, a gorgeous symphony of his name against his ear while you tangle your fingers in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck. “y’can’t jus...jus say stuff like that to me, honey...” bakugou croons against your skin, screwing his eyes shut while his hips pick up the pace and plunging his length right into your womb. the sounds of your arousal wetly spill into the sex scented air— fuelling katsuki to thrust into you faster. “not if you...n-not if you don’t want me to fuck another one of those shitty brats into you.”

as stuttered as his words are, bakugou means every single one of them. a primal desire activates in the back of his mind, overriding every single of senses. just the thought of lining your womb with his pungent seed, making you pregnant once again and seeing you round and full with katsuki’s child is enough to drive him off of the rails. And the pro hero knows that you feel the same, he can tell by the way your heat clamps down on his cock and strangles him, as if to milk him of every ounce of his cum.

“yes, want you to make me pregnant suki, make me a mommy again, please—!” you simper out loud, desperate tears springing to your eyes while the bed groans beneath you. visions of you round and swollen with a baby drives him to thrust into you harder, faster so that more and more of his precum spills into you. “know you want it, want it too...your cum, deep inside me—ohmygod suki—yes!”

bakugou slaps a hand over your mouth, watching as your sweet doe eyes brim with tears at the languid roll of his hips against yours. “careful honeybee, don’t want the kids to...fuckin’ hell... h-hear—“ he stutters, eyes rolling, limbs shaking violently. his other hand drops between your conjoined bodies, drawing vicious circles into your swollen clit to draw you closer and closer to the edge. star dust is littered behind your eyes, the bright white signifying the race to your high that only katsuki can give to you. “or do you want to be heard, you want everyone to hear how full you’re gonna become when i get you pregnant again. how you’ll whine and beg me to suck on your tits when you start makin’ that sweet milk for our baby. is that what you fuckin’ want, yn?”

you can’t help the way your pussy flutters around his cock that brutally grazes your g-spot— the dirty words your husband speaks like music to your ears. a symphony with his moans and the sounds of his balls slapping against your bare ass. “oooh, shit baby, you must do with the way your lil cunny clamps down on me—just like that...”

“oh god, lovebug please...cum...cum! need it daddy bear—can’t take it anymore,” you babble against katsuki’s hand, brain turning to mush at the unbearable pleasure. the knot in your tummy becomes tighter, close to snapping as the white light of pleasure clouds your view.

patterns drawn diligently against your clit speed up; turning to quick figure of eights to tease your orgasm. “‘course you fuckin’ do honey baby, my little breeding bitch. my sweet little wife who can’t wait to be a mommy again. take this cock, you dirty whore. take it and I’ll give you my fuckin’ baby.” bakugou slurs, losing all control as the pace of his hips begins to falter. you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, tip pulsing with the need to paint your insides.

your gazes lock within the frenzy, while your back arches and hips lift to take your husband deeper inside you. dynamite is feral like you’ve never seen before; an animal reduced purely back to instinct. unfocused red eyes become teary like your own with hot pleasure while they lock onto you but you know that behind lust; loved the adoration and love your husband holds for you. thats all you need to reach the edge and tumble into your orgasm,

it takes but a few more thrusts and a pinch to your clit before you’re cumming— release squirting out and splattering against bakugou’s toned abdomen.

the blonde never lets up while you cum undone on his iron hot rod, letting him pump into you with unrelenting feverishness. katsuki is desperate, needing an extra push even with you strangling his cock with your insides. “s-say you’ll make your daddy a daddy baby, say you’ll give me another fucking kid. fuck, fuck yeah...please honey baby—“ bakugou damn near sobs, trembling violently above you as his breath hitches with ever hiccup.

smiling gently, you pull his head to your neck, cradling your husband while his pace slows to circular grinds. “i’ll make you a daddy again, you can cum for me now lovebug...”

“shit, shit, oh god— cummin’...” thats all bakugou needs to hear before bottoming out inside of your abused hole— screaming against your bitten flesh and forcing his cock into your fertile womb as he sprays with his thick, sticky seed. white coats every ridge and crevice of your pussy while impatient thrusts slow to sensual grinds. you feel the tears of neediness soak the supple skin of your neck, rocking your hips against katsuki to milk his cock for all it’s worth— even if slow waves of his cum seep down your folds and to the sheets below.

“g’morning, katsuki,” you sigh blissfully, fingers combing through your lover’s sweaty mop of sun kissed locks. the pair of you lie still, limbs still intertwined as you catch your breath under the orange hues of the light outside.

your husband shifts his head to look at you, eyelids heavy over blood red eyes with a satisfied look on his face. he’ll never get over having you all to himself first thing in the morning— katsuki bakugou will always consider that a luxury and as he looks to you, a great smile soon takes his features. “yeah...good fucking morning to you too, angel face,” bakugou doesn’t dare pull out of you, intent on keeping his word. “love you yn, you’re always so good to me...”

katsuk’s lips mould into a pout as you continue your earlier ministrations of brushing back sweat slicked hair away from his face before pressing a chase kiss to his lip and making his cock twitch from over sensitivity, inside of you. he was always a sucker for the romantic moments after a passionate round of sex, he was a domestic, love struck son of a bitch what could he say? “suki...lovebug, you know you can pull out if it’s too much,” you remind him, the sound of your voice pulling his attention back to you. as he stares; katsuki maps out every detail of your face, the way your eyes glitter in the mellow light that peeks from between closed curtains or the slight dip across your cheek in the form of a scar from where you’d been injured on the field— he spends time committing it all to memory as if it’s the last time he’ll get to witness such beauty. “you’re staring, bug.”

“nuh uh, not pulling out.” huffing, bakugou leans up for another kiss, which you happily provide him with as he curls up onto your chest like a kitten seeking warmth. “keepin’ you plugged full s’you can get preggers like i fuckin’ promised.”

“you were serious?” you question him first, earning yourself another grouchy huff before your eyes roll and a comfortable silence sweeps across your bedroom, periodically interrupted by the morning birds waking up and chirping. “always a man of your word, huh bug? don’t worry, we’ll make you a daddy bear soon, but i’ve got to clean up before the kids wake up.”

“don’ you fuckin’ move— leave the dumbass kids, they’ll be fine on their own.”

“not with taiga’s quirk coming through, now move, you’re heavy.”

with that, you manage to shove bakugou off of you and he only hisses lightly as his softened cock hits the cold air, already missing your heat. the banter between you both as husband and wife is always light and you always win; he wants to bite back but anything he says will be soft on his sharp tongue. damn you and you being the love of his life. bakugou watches as you fix his shirt over your frame and head to your en-suite bathroom to make yourself more presentable to your kids— mumbling something about how many times katsuki came inside of you.

sure there was a lot of it, but he’d only cum inside you twice and he was trying to give you a baby. again.

the shower turns on and he can hear the sound of water running but it doesn’t cover your sweet voice as you call for him. he could never miss that. “katsuki bakugou, you horny bastard, i love you, my daddy bear!” you sing for him; making the blonde smile.

“i love you more, honey baby,” he chuckles back, tucking himself back into sweats before settling back into the ruined sheets.

bakugou was so luckily to have you and you’re beautiful children— he wouldn’t trade any moment of his life for the world except for maybe more time with you. he swore, he’d spend forever loving you if he could.

“daddy?” sweet thoughts are cut off by the groggy voice of bakugou’s eldest daughter, taiga, who stands in the doorway of his bedroom rubbing her cherry red eyes.

the blonde grins, rising from his place in bed and crossing the room in three short strides. he quickly crouches down in front of his little girl and ruffle her unruly mop of matching blonde hair. “g’morning brat, what’s up?”

taiga clutches her shoto plushy tightly, the one uncle todoroki had gotten her for her first birthday ( the one that bakugou hated because it was his daughter’s favourite— kirishima hated it too because he had always thought he was the favourite uncle ), and pouts down at her father, scowling sleepily. bakugou knows if you could see the two of them now, you’d be saying she was the spitting image of him. “tatsumo woke up n wouldn’t stop whinin’, fink he’s hungry, daddy!” the little girl grumbles, clearly still reeling in the after effects of her sleep that got cut short.

“how about we go get him and make some pancakes then?” katsuki suggests softly, hauling his daughter onto his bare shoulders and being mindful not to drop her stupid fuckin’— i mean her plushy to the ground. “y’gonna help me mix up enough batter for ya ma n’ brother, you got that brat?”

taiga squeals as at the new found height, wrapping a singular chubby arm around bakugou’s head for support, making his heart burst at the tiny hand that grips his chin. fuck, he loved his life. “only if we can add choco chwips, daddy!”

“oi, don’t you push your fuckin’ luck with me brat, ya mommy might let you get away with eatin’ shit like that but not me—“ bakugou makes an attempt to scold his daughter while they make way towards his son’s room, but he already knows he’s going to give into her. he can’t say no to taiga.

“i’ll tell mommy you cursed at me!”

“why you little sh—“

“careful, katsuki, if you keep cursing her out i might have to put you on punishment later,” taiga bursts in to wriggly giggles on bakugou’s shoulders, making it harder to keep her in place as you brush past him to grab tatsumo from the nursery.

“daddy’s gonna get in trouble!”

the teasing tone to your voice lingers in the air while you fetch your son, who seems groggy and pouty when he comes into katsuki’s view— wrapped up in your arms while you wear a cleaner shirt of his. there’s that glint in your eye, similar to the one your children posses when they’re doing something mischievous. and that alone tells the ash blonde he’ll be getting punished in ways that could lead to another little one rushing through your house.

bakugou can roll with that.

but for now; he reaches up and pinches taiga’s nose— telling her to stop running her mouth and sending you into giggles while you carry your children downstairs for breakfast. katsuki bakugou couldnt remember the last time he’d gotten a full nights sleep, but what he did know is that he’d always remember the very saccharine mornings he’d get to spend with you and your beautiful children after.

bonus:

“taiga, did you put chocolate chips in the batter even though i told you no?”

bakugou had turned his back for but a mere second to grab some milk for tatsumo; who played happily with smooshed bits of banana in his high chair— and suddenly, the batter was littered with the offending, tiny pieces of candy.

“no, it was mommy!”

“yn...”

you quickly throw your hands up in the air as defence, dropping the packet of sinful treats to the counter. “what? i’m having cravings, bakugou!”

“you’re not even pregnant, yn!” the man himself raises his spatula at you accusingly with a scowl, biting down on his tongue to prevent himself from cursing again.

you smile up at your husband, knowing he can’t stay mad at you for long. “but i will be, katsuki, it’s the thought that counts.” your eyes flicker up as you wipe the melted chocolate on your finger tips off with your tongue before moving to settle your daughter down for breakfast. bakugou splutters, cheeks flaming with a reddish rose at the thought of your soon to be baby and all the activity that comes with making one which makes you laugh. “oh and lovebug? your pancakes are burning.”

with a jump, katsuki turns to flick off the flame and save his batch of pancakes while you tend to your kids— leaving him to contemplate over your chocolate chip breakfast, how lucky he was to have you.

“i crave chocolate, can i get a pregnant?” taiga squeals shortly after.

“not a chance in hell, brat.”

♡ taglist:

@ozzy-bozzy @bakugous-mamas @meg-mystic @runningon-5percentsleep @cyans-bliss @husband-to-tomura-shigaraki @paintedr0ses1 @69meggg69 @sapphoscolonoscopy @toshidou @saucey-kneecapzz42020 @candybabey @alrunemara @greenchild

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i-need-air · 4 years ago

Text

Hybrid!AU Wolf!Bakugou Katsuki HCs Part 2.

Summary: Part 2 is here! While in part 1 it was mostly adoption and how he'd behave with you as a roommate, part two is him ✨ realizing things ✨ followed by how he'd be in a romantic relationship.

Word Count: 2k words [ oops, I did it again ]

Notes: So I said it'll be out in a few days but three [3] people asked me for part 2 and I'm a sucker soooooooo!! I could've just written a long ass fic but whatever, I thought I'd make it shorter in headcanons... hah lol right. Enjoy!

Part 1 here!

× he's a wild wolf so he's very active; like you need to understand he needs to go outside if not he'd get impatient, more aggressive, snappy, so once you took him on an easy hiking trail near your house and he loved it so once or twice a month you both go together to different places [ he demands it ]

× it's hard to keep up with him bc he's literally genetically engineered to be better than any very fit human being but he slows down for you

× morning runs at 5 a.m. bc he's insane

× is also a grandpa

× watched all documentaries on any streaming platform you could provide to him, also loves reading

× as months pass and you start to have your routine in order, word comes to you that an acquaintance is looking for a security guard at his mechanical shop two streets away from your house

× you casually mentioned it to Bakugou because he was starting to act anxious whenever you'd leave the house, so you assumed he was extra bored

× seriously, the house was spotlessly cleaned, he cooked amazingly and was occupied with your old laptop and going around the city to explore, but you guessed he wanted more independence?

× little did you know you were right but so wrong lol

× so Bakugou stared at you intensely and asked "Where?"

× it was as easy as telling him the location, him nodding and you thought he'd consider it; you didn't put any pressure on him because he already did so much to help around anyway

× well guess what bitch, next day he comes up to you saying you gotta co-sign his contract [cuz fuck society] meaning he got the job

× he was perfect for it because tall, intimidating, muscular wolf guy? who'd even mess with him? do they have a death wish?

× well, even before this he started to be... soft

× but once you really did show him you support whatever he wants to do, you give him his freedom and liberty of choice, he just reaaally changes, man

× he gets touchy, like his hands stay one second longer on your skin, he uses any excuse to have them on you, even his eyes follow you everywhere

× like c'mon, it's obvious but you didn't wanna put too much thought into it because we're respectful here

× not like you had a big fat crush on him and slowly started to realize it too

× sike bitch he knows

× you think his super-hearing didn't catch the way your heartbeat spikes up every single time he touches you? *please*

× i think he knows before you know

× meanwhile he is working to discover his feelings too

× so your relationship slowly turns into a couple's like relationship but without anything official and of course no kissing or such [ sadly ]

× would get jealous easily

× basically because nothing is talked between you two and deep down is insecure

× why the hell do you smell like other people? was it just a hug or something else? hell, why would you even hug people when he's right there??? just ask and don't touch some extras????

× another thing he does is getting very close to you while you talk to somebody else; scoffs and glares at them too

× ok so!! gifts! he really appreciates any gift you give him but scolds you if you do because you genuinely don't need to do that

× of course he just scolds you and calls you an idiot so I do hope you already learned his language

× it basically means that you shouldn't have done it, he's really grateful but seriously you shouldn't have

× like that one time you saved up money to get him a good computer and he forgot how to speak for like an hour

× the softest thank you ever afterwards

× still sounded rough but he was shocked as fuck

× one thing that remained in your brain were his friends, as sometimes he'd mention them

× so you took it upon yourself to find them, of course with his permission

× gets genuinely overwhelmed and plays it off saying he wouldn't mind knowing where those idiots ended but you didn't miss the way his voice trembled

× for you to find them you needed names and any information he could provide so that's when he, after a long silence and a mesmerized look on his face, started really talking about his life

× which was fucked; won't get much into detail but he was indeed in a fighting ring, people came and bet on whoever was stronger, he even had to fight his friends, everything was filled with abuse and their conditions were subhuman...

× just overall awful

× you couldn't help but hug him tight, feeling him shake in your arms

× with a hesitant voice he asked if you really did think there was a chance to find them

× just couldn't believe how amazing he felt in your arms

× or how your determination that night made his heart clench and took a big weight off his shoulders

× anywho;;;; after his first paycheck he takes you out on cute dates

× never calls them that, just demands you dress up [helps you out cuz boy got style] and takes you to a nice coffee shop or something

× AND on your fifth not date cuz you're not official but there's this weird tension between you date he finally kinda s n a p s

× you honestly didn't expect the waiter to flirt with you, he came out as very pushy and even if you were a lil uncomfortable you smiled and brushed it off

× when the waiter suggested giving you his number the sandy blond hybrid growled

× which i shit you not made the whole coffee shop freeze

× and you froze too

× but neither of you could say anything because the oblivious fuck kept talking

× basically joking about how you should keep your pet in a leash, to which you got up, threw some money on the table, grabbed Bakugou by the hand and leave before he'd rip someone's head off

× it only took you to touch Bakugou's arm to calm him down as he followed behind you wordlessly

× so you stood outside, angry, deep red eyes on your figure

× and silence

× his hand still in yours

× it was warm and amazing and you felt angry but your heart was beating loudly; angry at the waiter that you wanted to go full Karen on and get fired but excited because that growl shook you to the core, as if you could tell it was territorial and it was because of that pig flirting with you and did Bakugou Katsuki just lace his fingers with you?!

× "Oi." he interrupted your thoughts

× he turned your frame towards him and pulled you [kinda harshly] into him

× you'd make a comment about it but brain empty, just Bakugou Katsuki blushing

× "You're mine, you get it?"

× skdjflglykshs

× it sounded like he asked but it was a demand so oops you're his now ok bye

× like I said, boy isn't dumb so he lowkey knew you felt something too

× legit from there on he's just soft as fuck

× has a hard time opening up but visibly tries for you

× still continues to be a pain in the ass, Bakugou Style, but with a loving teasing attitude behind it

× his eyes give him away all the time

× they shine whenever you're in his field of view so congrats because, and this is the best part:

× WOLVES MATE FOREVER 💕💓💞💗💝💟

× oh yeah, he's yours, no takebacks

× he isn't one to half-ass the relationship; you're his now and he'll do anything for you

× big time touch starved it hurts

× because he is shy

× so whenever you introduce him to hand holding and cuddles, he can't get enough

× not big on PDA [ and not recommended since human-hybrid relationships are kiiiinda frowned upon but it's getting better ]

× although at home it's another deal

× seriously cuddle him; he's big into the protector vibe so he's a big spoon almost exclusively unless it's to sleep on top of you

× speaking of! accept that even if your relationship isn't that intimate, he'd still hint about sleeping together in the same bed

× so you better catch on when he does because he'll just click his tongue and call you needy

× while dragging you to bed

× sleeps holding you, his nose in your hair or in the crook of your neck

× unless it's summer then stay on your side 💅

× you know those kisses that just scream "I can't get enough of you"? that's his whole kissing vibe in a sentence

× hell, even the gentlest kiss gives that vibe away and it'll 100% leave you breathless

× doesn't have experience but is a very fast learner

× pays very close attention to your body language

× really into biting your skin enough to leave marks

× wear his hoodies

× no, I'm fucking serious, wear them now

× his chest puffs and he turns into a blushing mess when you do it the first times because his scent is on you

× scenting is a big thing for him so of course he's gonna love it

× 10x more territorial because now he has a mate to protect

× jealous but trusts you

× still very jealous though

× let's all pretend he is definitely not scenting you before you go out because it's in his nature and it is embarrassing

× the first time he tells you he loves you it's when he's feeling vulnerable

× the search for his friends is still on-going, he feels less than adequate as a providing mate, is pissed at the world for treating him like an inferior animal when they created him, everything is piled on his shoulders and whenever than happens he closes off

× you notice immediately

× will not tell you at first

× it's only when you go to bed and he turns his back to you when you really know it's bad

× even if you fought before, he'd angrily snuggle you at night-time

× now it's so different

× hug him, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, pull a blanket all over you both and big spoon him, he'd start shaking and talking in no time

× will hide his tears from you but you'd know

× "You're the best fucking thing that happened to me, [Y/N]... I—... Shit... I love you so much."

× neither of you slept that night

× excuse you? drink some water and pray to jesus;;; you talked about feelings, ok? communication is key in a relationship, puh-lease

× [ i have this whole nsfw hcs post already cookin in my brain so maybe I'll make it happen cuz y'all know he has a mating season and all that comes with it 👀 ]

× back to being children of jesus here

× thanks the moon, the heavens and all the gods for putting you in his life; boy didn't believe in destiny but deep down he thinks you were meant to be

× you still better wash the dishes or you'll get your ass kicked.

Extra:

× you did find some of his friends, little by little, and even if he acted nonchalant, like k das cool, it was obvious he was extremely happy

× so they did get adopted too

× you got in contact with them on social media and they were all very excited about meeting

× so it was a chaotic meeting with a dog hybrid called Kirishima and a mouse like vibrat yellow guy called Kaminari

× they all were looking for Bakugou too since they were very worried about where he ended

× Kirishima shed manly tears when seeing Bakugou

× as they instantly welcomed you in their small group, they informed you both that the majority of the squad was adopted and they're in contact, while they're still actively looking for the others

× cue to the softest expression you've seen on Bakugou in public followed by "That's good"

× silence

× shock and silence

× Kaminari turning to you and whispering "You did this" with a hand on his heart, lips trembling as he wiped an imaginary tear

× insert instantly snappy Bakugou

× when everyone laughed and continued to make plans to meet up with the others, he just looked at you conversing with them, soft expression again on his features and his chest warming

× "Oh! Look, he's doing it again! Quick, take a pictur—"

× "SHINE!"

#bakugou katsuki x reader #noirewrites #hybrid!bakugou #hybrid!au #bakugou x reader #bakugou headcanons #bnha x reader

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wittyrosebush · 4 years ago

Text

Dream SMP Reacting to a Witch!Hybrid

Pronouns: they/them

Includes: Dream, Quackity, Wilbur, qnd Tommy (PLATONIC)

Warnings: Meantion of drugs, swearing

A/N: This is based off of the canon characters and is set in the time of the Pogtopia/Manburg war!!! I might write a second part if this goes well. Also, this is the first thing I have written for this fandom, so I hope I get the character personalities correct. This is not beta read, so please don't attack me on my poor grammar skills. 😅

I hope you all enjoy!!! 💙

Dream

He was mining when he first met you

Dream heard a malicious cackle on the dark side of the cave and slowly drew his sword

He decided to charge towards the strange noise and was quickly met with an invisible body under him

He furrowed his brows and felt the body shuffle out from under him

"BEGONE STRANGE MAN"

"... excuse me?"

After a moment, Y/N's potion has worn off

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-"

Dream chuckled and put away his sword, deciding the person in front of him wasn't a threat

After Y/n calmed down, the two had a talk, explaining the situation

Turns out, you had thought of a joke while mining for redstone (hence the laughter)

"So where is your hat and huge nose? You are really attractive for a witch."

"Luckily, I got my attributes from my father. What was that last part?."

"Wait, what about your hat?"

"I haven't done laundry in a few days.... hold up did you just say I was attractive?"

Ever since then Dream has had you by his side partly because he is a little clingy creating potions for him and the rest of the dream team

"How do you feel about cursing children?"

"I'm not that kind of witch, Dream."

"But what if he was being a little blonde bitch?"

"DREAMWASTAKEN I SWEAR TO GOD-"

Loves bringing you stuff to use for your projects

Need blaze rods for a new brewing stand? Done.

Need lapis lazuli so you have a chance for better communication? Done.

Anything you want? Done.

He will literally go to the nether for a few hours and come back with his arms full of whatever you need

And if you don't need anything or just need to take a break, he'll spend the day taking you anywhere that he think you would be happiest

He has you make him a lot of potions, bragging to everyone on the server how much better at creating potions you are

"Y/n's potions last longer, are more effective, prettier-"

"Are you sure? I think-"

"Tell me what you think, I fuckin dare you >:( ."

Overall, he is your #1 supporter

Quackity

The day had been long, dealing with Schlatt definitely tires a guy out after 5 minutes

On his walk on the outskirts of the Manburg wall, he spotted a suspicious row of blaze powder leading to the woods

Dawning his armor and a sword, he followed the trail to a small hut

He could see the outline of someone in the hut nervously pacing around

Deciding what he thought was the best possible option, he knocked on the door of the hut

There was immediately the sound of glass bottles falling on the floor and muffled words

Soon, the door swung open to reveal a disheveled being with a nervous grin

And Quackity went from tough to awkward

"C-Can I help you with something?"

"Uh, do you waNT SOME DRUGS?"

"ExCuSe Me?!"

Everything was going to shit

After a moment of awkward staring, a glass bottle tumbled off the brewing stand

Upon focusing on what was going on behind the two people trying and failing to act normal, they both saw that every brewing stand was on fire

"ARE YOU ACTUALLY MAKING DRUGS?!"

"NO I'M JUST REALLY BAD AT THIS POTION."

Finally putting the fire out together, the two looked at their now soot stained clothes

The witch hybrid ran a hand through their hair and sighed

"Well this is completely ruined."

Quackity frowned a little hesitant to offer his help

"If you need to you could borrow some brewing stands-"

"Really? *-* "

On the walk back to Manburg, you explained who you were

Quackity was still a little confused

"Wait but what potion were you even brewing?"

"Fire resistance."

He immediately burst out laughing, which ended up with you slapping his arm repeatedly

Eventually, you two became the definition of the "friends to lovers" trope

You often helped him de-stress after stressful days in office with Schlatt

He'd try whatever you recommended

"I'd suggest putting quartz on your nightstand."

"Cool!"

Later that night, you forgot something at his house

Once you walked into his house, you could see stacks of quartz next to his bed.

He really trusted any advice you could give him

And on days where people would criticize you for being part witch?

Big Q will attack anyone

Even if he knows he will lose

And at random parts of the day he'll just tell you oddly inspirational thoughts

"You are a bad bitch, dare I say a bad witch. Own that shit."

"That is oddly motivational, thank you. :) "

Wilbur

The former president was strolling along the side of a river, trying to form a coherent plan of action

Upon noticing a person trudging out of the water fumbling with glass bottles, Wilbur jogged over to them and put a careful hand on their shoulder

"Are you okay?"

The person moved the soggy hat out of their face and smiled

"Yeah, I just fell in the water while trying to fill up some of the bottles, but thanks for checking on me!"

He hummed in response, wondering why he was already so interested in the being before him

"Well I should probably get going, but thank you!"

"Wait! What's you name?"

"It's Y/n, and you are..?"

"Wilbur Soot, it was an honor meeting you, Y/n."

This man spent the rest of the night thinking about you and who the hell you were

He didn't know much about the mysterious person, but he did know that they were one of the most alluring people he had met in a long time

It was weeks since he saw you, Wilbur nearly gave up searching

That was until you walked into him on a rainy day

The brunette immediately went in defensive position and pulled the stranger to his chest, despite the dampened clothes

"Um, Mr. Soot?"

He looked down to see you and his face lit up

"Y/n! It's a pleasure to see you again."

He took a small step back and kissed your hand

No one can convince me that Wilbur "Gentleman" Soot does not flirt by giving hand kisses

The two went into Pogtopia and Wilbur almost immediately wrapped his coat around you

"What were you doing out there? The rain is coming down so hard you must not have been able to see well."

"I was going to ask if I could borrow a few golden carrots for a potion I'm making."

Wilbur nodded and walked towards the stared and whisper shouted down

"TOMMY BRING ME SOME GOLDEN CARROTS!"

"BUT WILBUR, I-"

"PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME LOOK BAD IN FRONT OF THE STUNNING WITCH!"

The boy at the bottom of the stairs grumbled and the tall man sat next to you once more

After a few minutes of Wilbur fawning over everything you did, a blonde male walked up the steps and glared at Wilbur as he handed you the carrots

"Simp..."

Wilbur dramatically gasped as you chuckled next to him

You eventually started coming over to Pogtopia practically every day

Most of the time it was to see Wilbur, but the rest of your time was spent creating potions for the war

As the nation grew, you were brought out of your shell more with Wilbur introducing you to everyone

He didn't want you to feel uncomfortable in a new place

You often walked along the same riverbank where you met

You have definitely pushed each other off a few times

He keeps small things that you enjoy on him at all times

He keeps a tiny bottle of sand from the river you met at, a piece of your old robe, and so much more in his pockets

Whenever he feels like he's in a dark place or justneeds to ground himself he takes out one of the items and just holds it close.

Mans is so in love

Tommy

He met you in the nether while you were farming netherwart

The blonde was thrilled to find a new fortress and decided to raid it before reinforcements came

Seeing a sleeping figure next to a bed of sould sand, he took a few congident steps forward

Once close enough, he poked you with the stick

"You good?"

"I was good when I was asleep."

"AYE I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD SO-"

After arguing for what felt like hours, you both stormed off to find both exits being blocked by wither skeletons

Tommy had gotten beaten up pretty bad after the fight so you took him back to your hut to get all patched up

"I didn't even need your help. I'm tougher than I look."

"You legitimately passed out twice on the way here."

"HOW DARE YOU, I WAS RESTING MY EYES!"

After a few hours of healing and a ton of laighter, you two became the most chaotic duo in the smp

This british raccoon child would often steal small potions to pull pranks

But unless they were really important and you needed them back, you'd always join in on the pranks

He tried to get you to make a potion using the 'Tubbo Bath Water' one time

It did not end well

At the point in your friendship where you revealed you were a hybrid, Tommy was so confused

"That makes no sense, witches are still humans, right?"

"Yeah..?"

"So how does that make you a hybrid?"

👁👄👁

"Listen here you little shit-"

He likes to show you off to anyone that can listen

"You think you're special? HA! I have a best friend that is part witch and they will kick your ass. >:)"

He is really interested in everything you do but will never ask

But if you tell him about what you're doing unprovoked?

Tommy would get so happy

He is so excited to learn what you have to teach and would be one of the best friends ever

#dream smp x reader #tommyinnit & reader #wilbur x y/n #wilbur x reader #wilbur x you #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #quackity x you #quackity x y/n #quackity x reader #dream x you #dream x reader #dream x y/n

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one-rosy-sock · 3 years ago

Text

Coming Undone | Abner Krill x fem!Reader (1/2)

Go to the {Ao3 Link} for more info...

Fandom: The Suicide Squad (2021) Rating: T (M for future chapter) Summery: You’re a psychiatrist. You should know the warning signs when a relationship with a patient is becoming problematic. But you refuse to consider this, because Abner Krill is a lot of things, and violent is not one of them. Warnings: PTSD, childhood abuse, trauma, brief mention of past suicide attempt.

Notes: no use of y/n Disclaimer: Author is NOT a real therapist. I do not own DC comics. __ The first time you met Abner Krill, he was recommended to you by a colleague at Belle Reve.

It had been several weeks since the convicted metahumans defeated Starro, that giant one-eyed starfish. Sometimes it amazes you to no end what strange things exist in this world. The Corto Maltese coup and monster defeat held onto headlines for several weeks until the next big thing came to top it. Seeing such exciting news affect your patients wasn’t unusual, but to have a high profile patient be a part of such news was a first, you’ll admit.

As for you, well, things were pretty much the same. You see your patients during the week at your office. You’re a licensed psychiatrist, and oftentimes you see men and women who have been convicted of a felony or are ex-prisoners themselves. It wasn’t a dream job for many women, much less anyone, to counsel people so troubled. You aren’t like everyone else, though. No, you might not have x-ray vision or super strength, or any super fancy gear to punch bad guys, but you do have a gift not many have: A good ear and an open heart.

And a prescription notepad, but you are determined to make your sessions more than just a pill dispensary.

You are aware of who Abner Krill is. The Polka-Dot Man. One of the metahumans who went to Corto Maltese and defeated Starro. This has partially immortalized him in the media as a superhero, despite his past as a prisoner. Some of your patients were metahumans too, but none as powerful or as widely known as the Polka-Dot Man. His identity and those of his teammates had been concealed from the general public. As of last week, you know his real name.

His appointment’s in the morning on a Tuesday. Your secretary came by as you were straightening up your office to let you know he had arrived. You fluff the couch pillows, throw blanket over the back, tissue box on the side table, a mild scent infuser on your desk. The century-old computer at your desk whirls to cool itself off. Earlier you'd taken the time to shoot an email to Ms. Waller confirming Mr. Krill's appointment.

You follow your secretary up front. She goes to her desk and you step into the waiting room.

Though foolish, you half expected to see Abner in his super suit. The polka dot suit and headgear. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of khaki trousers that hugged high over his hips, and a somewhat flashy, silk button-up tucked neatly into the waist. And, dare you say, a fanny pack. His outfit looked straight out of the 70s or 80s. You don’t know the definitive difference between the decades. But his shirt looks clean and pressed, the collar tucked down nicely. He has one leg over a knee, bouncing it rhythmically as he watches the fish swim around the tank in the wall. It looks like he tried to read a magazine, but stopped halfway, finger wedged between the pages.

“Mr. Krill?”

He jerked in response to his name, swinging his head up with a guilty look gleaming in his eyes. You think of a puppy who’s been caught peeing on the carpet. His expression, or perhaps the way his face was structured, reminded you of a puppy too. His face was somewhat sallow, somewhat droopy. Lines indicate a lot of frowning. Like a sad, droopy cartoon dog. His face narrowed down from his eyes, making his red cupid’s bow mouth seem small. A strong, straight nose dominates his face. His big eyes seem dark and questioning. Like a scared, lost child.

Krill quickly shoots up like a bean sprout, shaking his hands out. The magazine drops to the floor. He swears, bends down to pick it up, and anxiously fusses over righting it on the coffee table. You watch the way the glossy purple cuffs wave as he moves about in jerky, quick moves.

“Good morning, doctor,” he greets warily, avoiding your gaze and staring at your shoes.

“You must be Abner,” you smile. You reach out your hand. In a painful, pregnant pause he visibly wavers as he stares at your hand as if you’d stuck out a gun at him. Finally, he reaches out to take your hand.

He has a strong grip. Sweaty hands.

Hastily, he pulls away.

“Nice to meet you. Why don’t we head on back?”

He nods. His legs are long yet his steps uncertain, reminding you of a gangly adolescent. He follows you down the hall from the waiting room and awkwardly stands by as you open the door to your private office. You hear him pat his thighs as he waits. Like a shadow, he follows and sticks close but careful not to touch. Barely making a sound.

After your office door clicks shut, the two of you sit in your respective places. Your desk chair has a high back, cloaked in a fraying, multicolor knitted throw blanket. A bit garish against the dull beige walls and simple yet whimsical desk decorations beside you. There’s a poster that reads It’s OK to feel this way: over a circle divided by colors and sections, listing different emotions.

You pull your knees up and begin to take off your shoes.

Your patient stares in visible confusion.

“Would you like to take your shoes off?” You ask, setting your shoes aside as you straighten up in your chair. “I find it easier to relax without them.”

“Um…” he trails off, his downturned mouth pursing as he considers this. The tension rolling off him makes him stiff and hard to read. All you’re getting from him so far is how much he doesn't want to be here.

You watch him while occupying your hands with things on your desk so he doesn’t feel pressured to make a decision. From the corner of your eye, you watch him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing, and he slowly reaches down to untie and slip off his oxford shoes. He sets them neatly beside his feet. Hands tucked in his lap, sock feet on the ground. Looking up at you somewhat imploringly.

“This is a safe space, Abner,” you smile at him. You have your clipboard and pen in your lap, but you make yourself relaxed and as welcoming as you can. Note-taking can be done later. Visibly, at least. Don’t want to make him think you’re already assessing him before y'all begin to talk. Can’t force him to talk.

Ex-prisoners often struggle with reforming to civilization after release. He couldn’t be forced to attend therapy here despite the outside forces that pressured him to. If he wanted to walk out, he could. Abner was so tense he seemed to be walking on eggshells. He struggled to relax his shoulders, like his limbs were too long for his body. During all this, he hadn’t met your gaze one.

“Whatever we talk about won’t leave this room, unless, for instance, you said you plan to hurt yourself or someone else.”

This gets a reaction out of him. A grimace, a shake of his head. “No, I wouldn’t…”

“Of course not. You’re a superhero now, right?”

He grins. It’s brief, boyish, sheepish. He’s studying the design of your clothes. You consider that progress from your feet.

“You were recommended to me by Dr. Rooney at Belle Reve,” you begin conversationally, baldly, wanting to get a feel of where he was coming from. Your colleague had said Krill was not a violent inmate, but was often verbally bullied by other prisoners. He tended to avoid crowds, thus mostly avoided. More than once he had been on suicide watch. Casually, you glance down at your clipboard. Born in Philadelphia to Augustine Krill--father unknown--and tried and convicted for first-degree murder as an adult in the city of Metropolis. He was incarcerated at Belle Reve shortly after turning eighteen. He was in his early forties now.

You look back up at Abner. He had that sad puppy dog look again, staring at nothing in particular with his neck hunched.

“Did you and Dr. Rooney get along?”

“D-Doesn’t your notes say?”

You make a face. “I want to know what you think of Rooney, not what he thinks.”

Abner didn’t answer right away. “He was okay.”

“Okay,” you echo, licking your bottom lip as you cock your head up. “Okay is better than nothing.”

“We mostly spoke about my mother.”

“Oh?”

“She experimented on me and my siblings. She wanted us to become superheroes,” he said. His voice held much more confidence than anything he’d said so far, but his expression remained unchanged. It was because he kept words void of emotion.

“I see.” Yes, you did see. You had anticipated the topic of his mother coming up if you didn’t ask him about it first in future sessions. Dr Krill was listed in his files as a scientist at S.T.A.R. Labs, and having six children whom lived on site with her. CPC had been called a few times, rebuffed every time by various means other than being convinced nothing was wrong. The whole thing was fishy, especially after the untimely deaths of three of Dr. Krill’s children. The whereabouts of the other Krill children were unknown. All investigations into S.T.A.R. Labs had been terminated by higher powers, even after Abner’s arrest and psychological evaluation.

Abner continues, to your surprise. “I pictured Starro as my mother.”

“You did?”

“It makes it easier, when I convince myself that my enemy is her. I don't like killing.”

You pick up your pen and tap your lip, looking down at the way he was fidgeting his feet. “Did you regret killing your mother”

Abner’s knee stopped bouncing. “No.”

“Do you regret killing the other scientists at S.T.A.R. Labs? The--”

Abner grimaced and brought his hands to his head, tugging on fistfulls of black hair. “I-I didn’t mean--I-I--”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to answer that today,” you placate with a soft tone, putting down your pen, fingers rubbing along the edge of your clipboard. After a moment of heated silence, you set your things down on the desk and stand up. This makes your patient crumble in on himself, trying to hunch low enough to shield some blow. You smile sadly where he can’t see. “Abner, do you see my poster here? With all the emotions?”

He looks back up, glancing from you to said poster. His attention is answer enough.

“Whatever you feel in this room is valid to you and to me. Not now, but in the future I’d like for you to give me short but detailed descriptions to how you feel on certain things. It's okay to say something you think is taboo or unorthodox. This room doesn't have ears or a head to judge. Do you think you can do that?”

The couch makes no sound as he moves to better see the circle chart of words. Timidly, he nods.

“Great,” you smile sadly and sit back down. “Let’s get back to that later. Today, I’d like to talk about something other than your mother.”

Abner tilts his head. You must be doing something to exceed his expectations, because now he’s looking at you and not at you. “The Corto Maltese mission?”

“No. I want to know about you. I want to talk about Abner Krill. Who are you?”

His blank stare makes your heartache a little for him.

The following silence, where all you can hear is his ragged breath, the whirl of the monitor, and the soft mist of the incense humidifier, is thick. You can cut it with the tip of your pen. The sound of his voice as he speaks is almost staggering. "I am... I am my mother's son."

“No."

He flinches.

"Your mother does not define you. What you think about your mother and how you feel about her should not determine your sense of self or your future. You liked defeating that monster, right?”

Abner nods.

“You’re a superhero because you took action, not because she moved your hand. What you say here today, and any day, should be the same. Do you think you can do this for me?”

“I don’t understand…”

“I want to know the real Abner,” you smile. “Not Dr. Krill’s son.”

He still can’t make eye contact. The fidgeting starts back up. “But, what I am is because of her.”

“Not unless you choose otherwise. Starting today, you and I are going to help define Abner Krill. First, you are not your mother’s son.”

“But I am?”

“No. You are not your mother’s son. You’re Abner Krill, superhero. What does Abner Krill the superhero like to do?”

Understanding slowly started to dawn on him, visible in his eyes as he lifted his slanted brows. Recovering from trauma was no walk in the park, but the two of you had to start somewhere. Rooney over-fixated on Abner’s fixation on his mother and the abuse, and after years of obsessing over it to “fix” him, it seemed to become all Abner could think about. No one had really given him proper trauma recovery therapy, or helped to treat his PTSD. You wanted him to take the first step into self-evolution. No one could do it for him. You want him to define himself other than his mother’s son. Seeing himself as a superhero was perhaps the start of it.

“I-I don’t know,” he frowned. “I like to read…”

“That’s great!” Your enthusiasm startles him. “What sort of things do you like to read?”

“Well… Ah, I-I uh... I like the classics….”

The rest of your session with Abner was mostly casual. The safe topics you steered him to visibly made the man relax. He spoke about the fictional worlds he enjoyed immersing himself in. He liked the classics because they were “soft”. Sweet romances where the only real worries were who’s going to the ball. He didn't like tragedies or novels about war or great violence. With some coaxing, he opens up to talk about his favorite foods, animals, celebrities, songs-- You ask about his (non-virus related) talents or any hobbies he might’ve picked up at the prison or since he’s been out. Steering him away from the topic of his mother confused him in the beginning, leading you to assume he had anticipated mostly speaking about her. He’d been prepared like he might prepare to go into battle.

You know he won’t be able to just brush his mother aside; his virus was because of Dr. Krill. He blamed his 20+ years of incarceration at Belle Reve on his mother’s experimentations. He blamed himself. He hated her. He hated himself. Feared her. Feared himself. It was an inner wound that would never heal, you know this without a doubt, but you hope with time it becomes easier to manage as he takes control and independence of his new life.

“Did you ever go to school, Abner?”

The phantom smile on his face falls, but you haven’t lost him as he turns to you. Looks at your shoulder. “No. We--my siblings and I--were… homeschooled.”

“Right. Well, you at least know what homework is?”

“Yes. Of course. Am--Do you want me to--?”

With a hand gesture you hope is placating, you smile and gently cut him off. “Don’t worry, I’m not assigning you an essay to write or a month-long project to present. I’m not that cruel,” you chuckle. “But I am going to push you a little. Can you try that for me?”

He looks as if you’ve asked him to consider sacrificing his firstborn. Thankfully, he nods as he plucks a loose string off his knee.

“I want to see you biweekly, so schedule with Patrica upfront. Maybe this Friday or Saturday?”

“I-I can do that, yes ma’am.”

"Now, it's your choice to come back or not but it would make me really happy if you did."

His back straightens. "Yes. I'll be here."

“Beautiful, Abner. Beautiful. Sometime this week I’d like you to do something you normally wouldn't do. Go on a hike, join a gym, take a class on cooking or arts and crafts. It can be simply looking up a food recipe you’ve never tried before and making it. Tell me about your experience. If you’re around strangers, how is your relationship with them? If you see something new, how does it make you feel? This isn’t an order, Abner, just a… strong suggestion, mm? All I’m asking is for you to do something new and spontaneous. It can be at home or outside. Your choice.”

Abner licked his lips. It had taken a great deal of effort to convince him to come here at all today. Today is the first time speaking to him, but you’ve had his file for a few days now. You’re a little grateful for that. There was a lot to read. However, it took outside forces such as one Amanda Waller and fellow ex-prisoner teammates to get him to come here. You suspect someone dropped him off if he didn’t take a cab himself. He had no driver's license.

“Ah… Okay. Um, yes miss. Ma'am. Doctor! Ah--”

“You can call me by my name,” you reassure, tilting your head to him. “This is a safe space for you and I. We may be doctor and patient outside that door, but here, we can be as familiar with each other as we'd like. Like old friends.”

He turned to you with a look that sent a thunderbolt of sensation down your spine. Surprise, awe. A silent question gleamed in his puppy-dog eyes. He doesn't respond, brows raised high as he just stares at you.

You cover for his lapse. “I’ll see you in a few days. It was wonderful to finally meet you, Abner,” you say, looking at him without pretenses to hopefully show your honesty. He had an incredible gift that could help save a lot of people, and from what you've learned from recent character evaluations on him he had the makings of a fine superhero. First thing first, he needed to adjust to civilian life after years of being locked up, and years of having nothing but unresolved trauma. All the while, you hold back a rueful smile at his demeanor. You won't say it aloud of course, but he was so cute. Idly, you wonder about his sexuality- but you can ask that another day. For now you wanted him to be a little more daring to try new things and focus on something other than his mother.

You stand up and shake his hand. His grip is a little looser this time, lingering longer, but he moves away quickly, gathers his shoes, and you see him out. His scurrying reminds you of a startled elk. Large yet quick, stumbling over his long legs. Running from you as if you held a rifle instead of a purple glitter clipboard.

It was hard to believe this man had committed mass homicide.

#abner krill #polka dot man #the Suicide squad #abner krill x reader #polkadot man x reader #reader #therapy #chapter one

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irisesforyoureyes · 3 years ago

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okay guys I know I killed Naaz but I still want to write about them so after the first time they met, here is another encounter between them- in continuation of PERHAPS Naaz’s pov I pushed open the gleaming glassed window on the wall of my room with a jolt to get basked in an onslaught of light. And as I looked in the mirror with the sunlight adorning my skin in golden specks of glitter, I couldn’t help but succumb to the desire and yearning to dress myself in a flailing kurta, strap jhumkas to my ears and complement them with a nose ring, bring out the brown of my irises with the prominent strokes of kajal and braid my long hair turned bronze in the sun’s rays, leaving a few bold strands to waft with the melodious air. As I was admiring the tender authenticity of its beauty, from the corner of my eye, I recognized an all so ever familiar pair of suspenders amongst the buzzing marketplace beneath. I leaned over the window sill with my hand raised in a waving position, my lips parting to call out his name until hesitation played the spanner in the wheel. I barely know him. What am I doing? He is probably minding some vital business. But that hopeless portion within me craved for more convincing. I gloomily lowered my hand and turned back to my room, halting my steps when I heard my name called out. I spun to see Ram, a beaming smile on his face and his right hand waving ecstatically to me while the other one rolled up a crinkled piece of paper. I let my face break out into a wide grin. “Mind coming downstairs?” the voice was casual but the tone emitted a strong sense of pleading. I furrowed my eyebrows and wore a smirk, my face radiating cockiness. “Please,” he shouted over the animated chatter of the people swarming through the market. ‘Be there,’ I mouthed. We strolled together alongside the vendors decorating the fringe of the place, rambling about pivotal matters pertaining to the society with a heavy dose of absolute irrelevance in the conversations. “So what have you been up to these past four days since I last had the privilege to meet you?” he asked. I put down the daisies I was soaking the sweet scent of before answering his question, “I um slept and ate. That's what I really did basically. And oh went on an invigorating horse riding spree the day before. What about you?” ”Well I co-” I cut him off, “What's that coiled paper you have been tagging along with yourself from the morning?” “That, my friend is a sketch of someone I am looking for,” he unfurled the creased paper, “Do you happen to know him?” ”First of all, I am not your friend. Secondly,” I shook my head in refusal, “My daydreaming absorbed self barely knowns anyone except the people I need to finish my chores.” I picked up some sunflowers from the display. ”Never met such a selfless, altruistic personality in my life,” he mused. I put the yellow delicacies in my hair, raising my eyebrows for his opinion. He contorted his thumb into a circle and the rest of the fingers stretched upwards. I rid my hair of the flowers and put them down. ”Funny” he said mockingly. ”Your opinions are necessary for me to determine to what extreme I need to change it. Anyways you were saying something..” I traced my hand over the serene violet of a few buds as he spoke, “I completed the book you recommended to me,” I almost dropped the unbloomed flowers from my grip as I stared at him with my eyes almost out of their sockets and my lower jaw almost unhinged. I rushed forward embracing him in a hug and realizing a bit too late what the fuck I had just done. But before I could fall into the depths of my awkwardness and mortification, he tightened his arms around me and retuned the hug willingly. “I loved it. And if that's how I am going to be rewarded, you better spit out every book you have ever read,” “Not so sly now, young man. Besides, unless you are pretty confident about the theory of 7 births, you can only dream to accomplish what I have,” “Young woman-” noticing the scowl on my face, he began again, “Naaz, I am up for the challenge.” “Sure you are,” I murmured absent mindedly as I gathered a handful of violets and orchids together. “How much for these?” I enquire from the florist, motioning to those yet to be bloomed beauties in my hand. He took the flowers from me, examining them and said, “50 paise maim saahib” Ram stretched out his hand, his fingers clutching the coins only to receive a smack on his arm from me. “Ouch,” he gaped, rubbing his palm on his arm. “Why thankyou so much, o saint but I believe I'm perfectly capable of paying for my own wants. Wouldn't you agree?” “Absolutely but consider this as a token of chivalry on my behalf. Can you?” “What, because you are a man?” I rebuked. “No, because I am a friend.” “Fair enough,” A giddy smile lit up on his face as he paid the required amount. “What?” I demanded. “You just agreed that I am your friend.” I mimicked him childishly before yielding to a genuine laughter. “Anna!” we revolved around to see a man scurrying over to us. “Akhtar!” Ram exclaimed. The man caught up to us and heaved out “I have been looking around all over for you. Where have you been? Lunch is ready and everybody has been waiting for us.” “Akhtar, meet Naaz,” he turned to me, “Naaz, Akhtar.” “Lovely to meet you Akhtar,” I said shaking his hand. “Lovely to meet you too, Naaz. Its a beautiful name.” “Thankyou,” dimples carved my cheeks. “Join us for lunch Naaz?” Ram asked me as Akhtar nodded his head kindly. “I would love to but I have some errands to run at the present. Some other day maybe,” Ram’s gaze was burning into me. “Ah no worries. Shall we head on then Ram?” he nudged the man out of his stupor. “What,” he blinked his eyes. “Bye ram,” I grinned shaking my head dismissingly. “Wait!” I turned around. “See you around, perhaps?” “Definitely” “Definitely” he repeated. “I’ll hold you on to that and remember the challenge!” he shouted to my walking figure, the smile gracing my face hidden from his view. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- tags: @dilli-vali-girlfriend @seherie @redirection04 @maraudersfansassemble @thewinchestergirl1208 @itsfookingloosah @darlingletshurttonight @manwalaage @contemporarykafka @rambheem-is-real @aurora2238 @adrakchutneyofficial @bromance-minus-the-b @miriseven @ms-potato @alien-chicken-baby @how-unreasonably-in-love-i-am

#rrr #ram #rrrfanfictions #rrrfanfics #ramfanfics

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theficplug · 4 years ago

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Taking Erik To The Beauty Supply Store 2 / Barber Shop With Erik

Erik Killmonger x Black Reader

Warnings : mature/sexual conversations?

it's a regular day in the stevens household. going to the beauty supply store again & the barber shop but hey it's fun cause it's you and your man.

First taking Erik to the beauty supply store fic:

“I could beat the brake off her lying ass. First of all, I should’ve known something was up cause she asked me if I’m natural. I said yes. She said well I normally do relaxed hair.. Then said you got to have your hair washed and blow dried already… Talking about she was going to have me serving 90s Nia Long. This bitch got me looking like big momma when she came home for that motherfucking party.” You continue your rant as Erik moves around the room looking for your body butter and your fluffy shoes to put on for the day.

You wanted a cute 90s pixie cut to go along with the theme of the maternity shoot which was like the cheesy 90s mall style set with the faded backdrop.

180 dollars and a lopsided , almost a golden bob later and you are still thinking about snatching her out of that salon.

“I’m gonna try and trim it up myself and dye it before the maternity photos tomorrow. But I’mma get two wigs just in case I mess up.” You explain to Erik as he begins to spread the body butter up your legs leaving a golden glow on your skin.

“Not you down there cackling after getting some hang time on the locs you been growing since high school... It’s quiet, ain't no back talk.” You banter with him and he stops massaging your legs to give you a look and laughs softly before giving you a retort of his own.

“You got a lot to say for somebody that can’t even lotion they ashy lil knees.”

“Your daughter been pushing against my organs for 8 and a half months. I don’t wanna hear nothing unless its about my push present. You know that I like rings… My engagement ring looking reeeealll lonely.” you say to him as you dangle your hand in front of his face.

“You look so fucking good today baby… Say, Big Fine, lemme get your number… I’mma eat the f-” he trails off kissing your legs and letting his tongue trail up it and you grab his chin softly.

“Boy if you don’t come on before you be late for your appointment… Can I stop and get a blue raspberry slushie first though?” you ask him and he sighs softly before giving you a small smile and nodding.

“Yeah, hold on let me grab your shoes and purse and then we can go.”

“And obviously yes when we come back before I install that lace front you can beat, duh.” you reply to him before giving him a peck to his lips.

After he grabs everything and helps you down the stairs. And with his help of putting you into his big ass truck you two are on your way.

“We’re going to get my hair cut first cause I already know you’re going to want to go to 2 different stores and it’s only gon’ take him about 15 minutes at the most to line me up.”

He wasn’t lying with the way that you liked to scan every section of the store before you left because to be honest where else were you going to get a pair of skittle shorts, bomb ass lip glosses, and a cute little panda hand sanitizer holder all in one place?

“Okay, sounds like a plan.. The way that I was supposed to have a hot girl summer this year and ended up with a damn its too hot for me to even put my clothes on mom summer. You really were not playing about trying to start a family on your birthday.” you joke as you crunch on your goldfish and look over at Erik.

“I think you just got finer through this whole thing. Watching my baby grow my baby is something surreal. In the beginning watching you go through all of the morning sickness and the body aches and stuff. I felt so bad you know not being able to physically take on all that was going on with you. I aint gon’ never not be appreciative and awe of you.” Erik replies with a serious comment that you were not expecting and you’d be damned if the hormones aren’t doing their thing.

“I really did not expect you to say that. Baabbbee, come on. You know I cry about everything right now. Love you.” you lean over to wrap your arms around him gently and kiss the side of his face while he’s focusing on the road.

“I love you too…. I think I’mma get my locs cut off soon. I don’t know why I’m ready to get a fade and just call it a day.” he questions before looking over at you briefly

“Either way you still gonna look good. I knew you before you even got your locs so you’re gonna look even better now because you grew into your head. Dee be cutting the fuck outta your hair even though he been bald for a good 40 years.” you say and it causes Erik to let out a loud laugh and shake his head.

You eventually ended up ordering a blue raspberry lemonade slushie, a hotdog and fries because Sonic basically took all of Erik's money at this point in your pregnancy.

The rest of your ride was chill as you both swayed to the music or turned it down for a little chat every now and then.

In public was always very protective of you but especially since becoming pregnant he has been hovering over you like a lion waiting for someone to even look at you for too long.

He hops out of the sleek matte black truck first to help you out and sling his arm around your waist with a hand resting on your belly.

You feel some eyes on you as you walk through the door. Your multi-coloured sundress that showcased your back, flowing with you.

Some of the men, new to the shop you assumed, were eyeing you down before Erik looked over their way and nods at them and they pretended to check their phones.

“What's up E? Damn lil sis look like she’s about to pop! How you feeling baby girl?” Dee greets you and Erik as you both walk in and some of the regulars in there say hey to the both of you.

“I’m alright Dee. Baby is just really ready to see the world. She has been kicking up a storm at times. I think we might have a little athlete here.” you reply and you watch as the greyed man with freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose eyes crinkle as he finishes cutting the man's hair sitting in the chair.

“I remember when I became a father for the first time. Shits wild because you think that you know everything there is to know and then when you actually see your baby take that first breath. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.” He continues as he shows you a photo of his 4 children and you give him a small smile.

“Ooh, they’re beautiful.” you compliment him as you settle into your seat and scroll on your phone on your phone waiting for Erik to be next.

Some time went by and the men seemed like they were trying to keep their conversation in a hush and you can see some eyes on you as they talked back and forth.

“I’m just saying if you want a threesome with your girl and you expect her to be okay with letting another woman into her bed. You need to match her energy. Could you imagine your girl asking you to bring a whole nother man into your room if that’s not what you’re into? Instead of asking for it. Maybe try bringing toys into the situation. Could spice it up a notch and be in both of your comfort zones. Personally, couples vibrators seem to do the trick just fine.” You advise as you look up from scrolling on your Pinterest feed.

The little huddle of them in front of you stopped talking and immediately looked up at you in silence before Dee’s laugh broke it.

“I don’t know about bringing another man in. That ain't my thing but I get what you're saying. Which ones would you recommend?” The one named Leron asked and you notice Erik is now paying attention , looking from you to them to make sure they stay respectful.

“You better let them know , baby girl! That’s how that baby popped into fruition. She got you with the tantric breathing, huh E?” he jokes and Erik cracks into a smile, his golds gleaming as he looks at you.

“She not wrong. Engage in what your woman like too. Yoga, talking during sex, giving as much as you receive from her, all that. ” He says casually and shrugging and you give him a small smile cause this man done come so far from when you met him.

After he finishes lining up his beard, Erik pays and you’re on your way to one of your favourite places.

“You look so sexy. Your beard is all lined up crisp and stuff. I told you that beard oil was gonna even it out.” you say to him and kiss him below his ear . His hand gripped your thigh gently and you repeated it again.

It didn’t take long before you were at one of your favourite places.

You turned to Erik and asked him to buy a stocking cap for you to try on the wigs that you liked and wanted to see before you purchased it.

You slid on the stocking cap over your hair before grabbing a cute little 27 piece pixie cut wig just to try it on and see what it was giving . You finger combed it and turned to Erik to ask him how it looks.

“Like you finna start singing “Truth is i’m tired. Take me to the king. Here’s my offering-” .” You hold in your laugh as you push Erik’s chest and he grabs your hands.

“I can’t stand your ass !” You say cracking up and Erik grabs the stocking cap from his pocket that he brought himself and slides it over his locs.

You watch as he grabs one of the bobs from the mannequin and sits it half cocked on his head before shaking it side to side.

“What’s cooler than being cool? Ice cold. You know what to do doooo. You know what to doooo.... This is your grand daddy. This is your grand daddy.” Erik starts acting like Andre 3000 and Mr. Brown. You swear this man was gonna make you push out this baby with how hard you were laughing at him.

“Why are you moving your lips like thaaat? What’s your name? B.O.B, so they calling you Bob? Stop playing nigga you know that I’m known for the bob.” you sing the nicki minaj lyrics to him and both of y’all get a good laugh before he takes off the wig and places it carefully back on the mannequin.

He looks over at the one that looked the most like your hair before you got it cut and slides it on.

His expressions changed and he narrowed his eyes at you before putting his hand on his stomach.

“Whew, my god E. You did this to me and for what? My ankles looking like cornbread huh? Look at this shit bae! If my nose swells for real in these next months, we fighting. Damn, I’m getting thick. I look like I'm pregnant in the front and the back. Can you get me two shrimp po’boys and some fries on the way home? ERIK, wake up- You our baby look like Stitch in this ultrasound? Stop playing , im for real.” he sounds exactly like you and mimicked your expressions to a t.

You giggled softly and snatched his wig off leaving him standing there looking crazy in the cap.

“You wanna fight?” You ask him before walking up on him like you’re on bad girls club and swinging the wig at him.

He helped you put the wig back on the mannequin and kissed both of your hands before continuing through the aisle with you.

You both ignored how many times the employee passed by or watched you as you grabbed some of the products from the shelf and put it into your little cart that you wanted to try.

“You wish this was you, huh? You wanted to be Future from 8 Mile so bad, huh? ” you ask Erik , laughing as you point to the full lace faux locs wig that’s in front of you and he shakes his head.

“She got you down bad. This you?” he asks you as he points to the lil gold church wig that’s sitting on the top shelf and you suck your teeth at him .

“You wanna dip dye your hair for tomorrow? A pretty auburn colour would look so good on you or even a baby blue?” You ask him as you move away from the wigs after deciding to put a off black lace front straight wig in your cart and another in sandy blonde with deep waves.

You scan the shelf of dye as Erik wraps his arm around your waist and takes a look.

“This one looks good right here.” He adds as he hands you a colour called Electric Blue.

“This is gonna look so good on you bae.” You compliment him and he leans down to kiss you softly.

“You only tryna compliment me cause you want me to help you install that wig. You think you slick bae.” he calls as he walks off towards the hair care products for his locs.

“Well, if I’m finna use the little energy I have to retwist your hair you could at least extend the helping hand!” You call after him.

“I haven’t tried peppermint oil yet but it should be good to add to my mix? Look, I found this small ass bonnet. She’s gonna be able to match us.” He says walking back to you and showing you the lilac bonnet in his hand and you swear you were about to tear up again cause all 3 of you were gonna have matching bonnets and durag.

“If she takes after both of us she’s gonna have a head full of hair. To cover that melon from your side.” You tease him

“Come on and grab your butterfly wings for your eyes so we can go home and finish our show. I’mma cook them snow crabs for you too.” he says to you and you can see him watching you like you hung the moon in the sky yourself as you venture off.

You grabbed the edge control, lashes, a new lipstick, earrings, glosses, Got2b spray, and some accessories for Erik’s hair before meeting him at the counter.

It took him all of two seconds to pay for your beauty supply store addiction and you were off on your way back to the crib to love on him.

Erik was currently standing behind you while you sat in the chair in his old large tshirt and held down the wig to the Ghost Bond glue.

You were talking him through helping you finish the install because you just didn't have the energy to do it.

“Okay you gon’ take a lil piece and wrap it around the wand. But please be careful baby. This one goes from like 0 to a 400 degrees so fast.” you warn and watch in the mirror as he takes the first piece and follows your instructions.

You watch him for a while focusing on your head and asking if you liked the way that it’s turning out. You smile softly at him and nod.

“I'm so grateful , you know. “ you say to him with a pout

“Damn, I was just about to send you a do you like me back yes or no text after this too.” he jokes and you shake your head.

“I’m tryna be serious and appreciate you-” you are cut off by him leaning down and pushing his plump lips out for a kiss from you

“I love you too. 2 more weeks and I get to have my two babies in my arms. What more could I want? ”

Tag list: @doublesidedscoobysnacks

@chaneajoyyy

@mirandkimy

@doitforthevine67

@dasia21

@depressionandfandomsinc

@wholelotta-melanin

@theesotericqueen

@mbakuwife

@spookys-girl

@teardropzih

@bigchoose

@ceo-of-baby

@sweetpeachjones

@lost-ssoull

@shyblackgurl

@nijajoha

@imayhavemisunderstood

(Long post. Sorry I'm still learning how to do the read more thing! Sorry for being gone from here for so long. This one really helped me ease back into writing especially after how much love the first one received!)

#erik killmonger #fanfic for black girls #erik killmonger smut #black panther #black panther fic

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nakachuchu · 4 years ago

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Plum Jam Cookies | Tattoo Artist!Ryomen Sukuna

SYNOPSIS: Modern AU where Sukuna is a tattoo artist.

READER: gender neutral

WORDS: 1000

WRITTEN: 02/23/2021

NOTES: Thank you very much for requesting! I'm not sure if this was good enough, but I hope it satisfies you :)

You were getting a tattoo for the first time. You were a bit nervous but super excited. Most of your friends already had tattoos, and one of them recommended you to one of them.

You didn't know what to get. Most people got tattoos of something memorable, but you didn't have many good moments from your children up until you moved out of your parents' house.

You decided to let the tattoo artist pick any small design to ink on your skin.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Yep, definitely."

He chuckled and you heard the sound of the tattoo gun. Your eyes were glued to the ceiling of his shop.

"So what's the reason for getting a tattoo? Less alone, letting your tattoo artist pick the first one," he commented.

You did your best to not nervously laugh as you tried your best to formulate a response instead of focusing on the needle pricking your flesh.

"It's to piss my parents off," you answered. "I've already moved out of their place, you know, but all the memories there are just horrible. They're so condescending and horrible, so when I go over for the holidays and wear those "slutty" crop-tops, they can see my tattoo."

Sukuna paused for a moment to glance at you and push up his glasses that were slipping down his nose before resuming the inking.

"That's some serious dedication."

"I'm known to be loyal to my bad decisions. What about you? Bad decisions, bad memories?" you questioned.

"Hmm, well, I was adopted, but the memories weren't good either so I see where you're coming from."

The two of you held the conversation as he finished up your tattoo. When he was finished and cleaned you up, he led you to the front of the store.

"On me," he said. "To the horrible childhood and bad decisions. Plus, you let me use that design."

"Really? Thanks. This has been really fun," you commented.

You left his tattoo shop that day, feeling better about yourself than you had in months. To thank him for his service, you came back to his shop the next day with a container of freshly baked cookies.

"They're for you," you said, sliding the container to him on the front desk.

"What flavor?"

"I didn't know what you liked, so I baked chocolate chip."

"I accept," he said as he opened the container and bit into one of the cookies. "It's good. I like plum jam cookies by the way."

"You're a monster," you retorted.

"Plum jam is good. If you're going to insult me, get out of my shop."

You pouted. "Boo. I'll come back for the container tomorrow," you said as you walked out of his shop.

Since then, you visited his shop every day with horrible excuses until he finally asked why you were lying to him and you said you liked his company.

The two of you would joke around and talk, and you would always bring snacks for him.

But one day, you stopped coming, and Sukuna got concerned. He didn't have your contact information since your tattoo was a one-time appointment and he never bothered to ask you for it.

He forced himself to let it go, telling himself that there was nothing he could do about it. He was used to one-night stands and women flirting with him, but you never flirted. You were just an open person.

He continued with his days that turned into months and turned into years, only focusing on his shop and his customers.

"Hey, hot stuff."

Sukuna grunted as he turned around. "I don't have room... Y/N?"

You grinned and held up a peace sign. "Cheese. Did you miss me?"

You wore jeans and a tight crop top, perfectly revealing the stomach tattoo he inked on you years ago. He noticed you had more tattoos on your body. Some seemed unprofessional and others were much more professional-looking.

You noticed he was looking so you stepped closer to the counter he was behind and stuck your arms out.

"I did them myself," you said. "After seeing you, I decided to become a tattoo artist myself. I don't have my own shop or anything, but I did an internship under someone while I was in college."

He grabbed a stack of papers and rolled them up before smacking you on the head.

"Ow! What was that for?" you cried, holding your head with your hands.

"You could have told me."

"I didn't want to bother you. Besides, it's not like we were dating." Noticing he was sulking, you added, "Unless you wanted to date me."

He glared at you and smacked your hands that were covering your head. You laughed, took out a piece of paper, and unfolded it.

"What's this?" he asked.

"My resume. I want to work here."

"I'm not hiring."

"Why, you don't want to spend all day with me?" you asked.

"You're a brat."

"You're not telling me to get lost though," you retorted.

He pursed his lips and snatched the paper from you, quickly scanning the contents before looking at your smug face.

"You start tomorrow. Today, you watch," he commanded.

"Yes, sir," you said as you saluted him. "Want me to make cookies for tomorrow?"

He glanced at you before turning around and walking out from behind the counter, then looked over his shoulder.

"Plum jam cookies," he said.

"Got it, boss,” you said with a grin on your face as you followed him into his room where a customer was waiting.

“Lose the attitude,” he demanded.

“What attitude?”

He sighed heavily, worried about what he got himself into by taking you under his wing. He wouldn't lie about the fact that you looked good though. You looked happier as well, and he was glad, even if he had a scowl on his face.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #headcanon #imagine #sfw #fluff #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen headcanons

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thisisarcanereverie · 4 years ago

Text

What it Means to be Worthy (Thor x Reader)

ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

THERE IS SMUT IN HERE 18+ YOU THIRSTY SONS OF BITCHES.

WARNINGS: unprotected sex (wrap it up pals) Do NOT read unless you are 18+.

Also I have never written smut before so I hope it’s ok. I honestly couldn’t have written it if I hadn’t been listening to Deity by Valeree (highly recommend listening while reading the smut. It will probably make it better.)

“Thor,” you called the God of Thunder, “Thor it’s (Y/n).”

You heard a small grunt coming from the living room as you entered through the front door. You immediately went to cover your nose from the stench that invaded your senses upon entering.

It seemed as though the whole house smelled of rotten food, sweat, and something akin to a pigs feces. It was a smell that you never quite got used to, even after 2 years of smelling it every day.

You quietly made your way through the house until you saw a sight you were quite used to seeing now.

Thor on the ground, shirtless, covered in sweat and grime. His beard was filthy from vomit and dandruff and his hair greasy and matted to his head.

There had been a time where he cared so much about his hair that he got triggered if you had tried to trim it.

After 2 years of seeing this scene before you, it failed to surprise you.

Now it just angered you.

You knew you couldn’t understand the pain he was in, he lost his entire family, half his people, and Asgard.

Sure, the people of Midgard were generous and gave your people sanctuary, a place for your people to call home once again.

But that didn’t stop you from missing Asgard’s golden palace and it’s mountains of lush green forests. How you missed running with Thor and Loki through those forests after dark to get to the highest peak you could to watch the glittering of the gold during sunrise.

You had been playmates with the Princes since infancy. You had trained and fought alongside them in battle, joined them in celebrations after each conquest, mourned the loss of Frigga with them.

You went with Thor all those years ago to retrieve Loki and joined the Avengers with him.

But now the Avengers were gone, long since disbanded before the battle of Wakanda.

You weren’t angry at him, your anger was towards the cruel fate that had befallen your precious friends. You had cared for Loki, almost as much as Thor if not equal to.

If you were honest, you weren’t in better shape. Your grief had taken hold of you as well. Your kind smile had turned cynical. Anyone who tried to get close to you often was met with your icy glare and scoff.

Thor was the only one who brought out the caring person you once were.

With a deep sigh you expertly walked around the empty booze bottles and to the grieving man before you. Thor may have gotten soft around the middle but he weighed about the same as you slumped his arms around your shoulders. Thor groaned and went pale, his eyes barely opening.

“C’mon blondie,” you softly spoke, “let’s get you washed up.”

You half dragged the god to the bathroom, he threw up halfway there but you paid no mind. You would clean that after getting him in the shower.

You didn’t bother stripping him before setting him in the tub. Without warning or mercy you pointed the shower hose directly at his face and turned the water to icy cold.

Thor yelled at the icy feeling, borderline pleading, for you to turn off the water. However, over the course of 2 years the patience you had for him had worn thin and so you continued to spray until the stench subsided a little.

Thor was fully awake and sober now, seeing your figure as clear as day tower over him in the tub with a look on your face akin to a mother scolding a misbehaving child.

Thor felt so small and powerless under your gaze and he loathed it.

“You could have stopped a while ago.”

“This needs to stop Thor.”

Your hands motioned to him, Thor once admired those hands and the strength that they had. Now he just found them annoying.

He found you annoying.

You came by everyday and pulled him out of his stupor, clean up after him a little, and try to clean him up. You treated him like a child who couldn’t take care of himself and he loathed it so.

“I am King of Asgard you do not get to tell me what to do.”

“What King would wallow himself in such a way.”

He bolted upright and stood in the tub, successfully towering over your frame, you had gone too far. You didn’t get to say such things to him.

What Thor didn’t count on was the world getting fuzzy and a little dark when he stood up, so although he towered over you he was as stable as a wind chime.

You held onto his frame to prevent him from falling flat onto his face. You felt Thor stiffen under your touch.

You knew Thor was now sensitive and insecure in areas he never was before.

It seemed like yesterday that he was admiring himself in one of Asgard’s golden mirrors, his long hair had looked like spun gold in Asgard’s sunlight and his figure was that befitting of a god.

But none of that had ever mattered to you, even when Thor became full of himself to the point of him being ill tempered and arrogant, you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever give up on him.

Not that you tried to give up on him anyways.

Loki had asked you one day why you didn’t. Why didn’t you give up on the golden prince when he clearly would never feel the same way.

“I love him too much to be without him. Even if that means watching him parade himself around as a peacock and watch women fly to him like bees to honey.”

Then Thor was banished and the only reason why you didn’t follow was due to Loki’s intervening.

Then Thor met Jane Foster.

The memory of the beautiful scientist brought back bittersweet memories. You had never seen Thor so deep in love, and that made you both sad and happy.

Happy that he finally found someone who could keep him humble and who he loved just as much as you loved him.

Sad that when you often caught Thor daydreaming, that it wasn’t you he was daydreaming about.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and sat the giant on the edge of the tub while you went to gather fresh clothes for him.

You gathered a simple sweatshirt and pants for him to pull on once he was finished with his shower.

As you set the clothes beside the sink you couldn’t help but feel the gnawing feeling in the deepest parts of your heart and the nagging thoughts in your head.

You knew that Thor was hellbent on this self destructive path and you knew that there was nothing you could possibly do to prevent it.

It was either you let Thor drown himself in his despair or you let him drown you with it as well.

You had accepted long ago that Thor would never see you as anything more than what you had always been.

His playmate since infancy.

The girl who got a starry look every time he entered a room.

You had saved up money from the jobs you had worked over the past 2 years, you finally saved up enough to get away from New Asgard. Leave its people to the hands of their self pitying King and Val.

It wasn’t like they needed you or the other way around.

No one would notice your absence.

You began to pick up around Thor’s home, recycling empty liquor bottles and trashing pizza boxes and rotted food. Vacuuming the carpets and dusting here and there.

This will be the last time you do as such.

You needed to leave, staying here and wallowing in Thor’s despair and depression as much as your own wasn’t good for you. And you knew deep down you had been enabling him, every time you cleaned his house and washed and fed him you knew that he only got worse and that you were supporting him when you did this.

You needed to leave for Thor’s sake as much as your own.

You wondered how long it would take him to notice.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Thor, you doubt he would even care at this point.

The walk back to your house was only a few minutes, having moved into the house closest to his in case of emergency.

Most of your things were packed and already in your apartment in New York waiting for you. Well things of value, the rest you had sold online, it was amazing what the internet could do. By far one of the greatest inventions on Midgard in your opinion.

All that was left to do was, pack a few pieces of clothing and toiletries.

And write a goodbye letter to Thor explaining where you went and why.

You had avoided writing it, not wanting to say goodbye. Not wanting Thor to not care.

It wasn’t like you were completely leaving Thor, Valkyrie (Val as you called her) assured you that she would make sure he didn’t starve or drink himself to an early grave.

You trusted her to make good on her promise.

You leaving wasn’t even your idea in the first place, Val had tried to get you to leave a year earlier, but you were too stubborn to leave then.

You grabbed the piece of stationary and began to write.

‘Thor,

By the time you're sober enough to read this I’ll already be gone. I don’t predict that I’ll be back.

Val will be making sure you don’t starve or drink yourself into an early grave in my place.

I just can’t do this anymore Thor.

I had loved you since we were but children running around the palace gardens, I still do. However I accepted the fact that you could never see me as anything more than your old playmate and dear friend so long ago.

I had tried to be by your side in a supporting role no matter how much it had hurt me.

When you became an arrogant ass I tried my hardest to explain away your tantrums.

When you came back from banishment I listened to you swoon over Lady Jane Foster with a smile on my face even though it tore me apart.

I had stayed with you, took care of you. It took me so long to realize that I had just been enabling you this entire time.

I had been supporting your self destructive behavior and I refuse to play that part any longer. I need to leave, not just for me but for you.

You need to sort through your emotions, you need to learn how to handle yourself by yourself. You need me not holding your hand when you do that.

I need to discover for myself what it means to be worthy-’

A loud pounding at your door disrupted your train of thought as you wrote. Normally no one would bother you, not unless it had to deal with Thor.

The floorboards creaked as you made your way to your door. The pounding had not ceased until you flew the door open to reveal Thor.

His hair was still damp from his shower and the sweats you had picked out were already stained from the beer he held in one hand. His sky blue eye was hidden behind dark shades.

“(Y/n),” Thor said, “I need a thing.”

“Thor right now isn’t a good time.”

“Don’t worry Lady (Y/n) it won’t take even a second I’ll be in and out.” Thor assured, flashing you a smile that could make your legs go weak. Despite how much hurt you were in you were still no match for Thor’s charms.

“What thing do you need?”

“Just a thing I’ll know the name of it when I see it.”

You stepped aside as you let Thor in, hoping that he won’t notice the lack of furniture or the note left on the table. You decided to let him be while you went and finished packing whatever was in the bathroom. After that you went back to the living area where you had left the note only to see Thor sitting on the couch, his fingers clenching the paper tightly. He had taken his shades off, the deep dark circles stood out against his skin a tribute to how tired he truly was.

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sorrow that filled his eyes. red rimmed the blue eye as fresh tears began to fall.

“You weren’t supposed to read that yet.”

“And when was I supposed to read it then?! When you were god knows where you will be!” His voice bellowed as tears continued to fall down his cheek.

“Thor please don’t yell.”

“No (Y/n)!” he cut you off, “you,” his finger pointed at you, his gaze as intense as lightning, “you don’t get to leave like this. You don’t get to leave me too.”

“Thor I don’t have a choice,” you argue, “I need to let you go. I need to find who I am without you and you need-”

“DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I NEED!”

You could hear thunder roaring in the distance outside, lightning danced around his fingers faintly. Thor had never scared you, but right now you were close to it.

“Thor,” you say calmly hoping somehow your calm tone will calm the God of Thunder, “I’m sorry for choosing the cowards way, I wanted to avoid this.”

“Did you truly think you would be able to avoid me for long.” The lightning had yet to cease but his eyes seemed to stop glowing ever so slightly.

“I didn’t think you would have noticed for at least a few days.”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t notice immediately?” He asked like it was the most incredulous question. He took a step closer to you while you took a step back. Thunder still roared outside and lightning still curled around his fingers. Thor furrowed his eyes in confusion until he finally seemed to hear the thunder storm outside and realize he had scared you.

Thor had scared you.

Immediately the pain in his chest worsened with the guilt that he had scared you. That he had so little control over his powers when he was so emotional. Slowly he closed his eyes and he took a deep breath in and out. He then felt his powers subside and the thunder had stopped.

You could see his shoulders hunch forward with shame and you instictivly placed a hand over his shoulder to comfort him. Thor was quick to envelop your hand with his. Holding onto your hand for dear life.

Your eyes then met, closer than you had ever been before.

“What thing were you looking for?” you asked softly, “you said you came over for a thing.”

“I lied,” Thor admitted softly, “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

The next thing you knew was the faint taste of beer and blueberries on your lips and strong, calloused hands making their way to your shoulders.

Thor was just as good a kisser as you imagined. Lips moving expertly over your own, moving against yours so desperately. Like a man dying of thirst.

You knew you should push him off of you, but for one second you wanted to enjoy his lips on yours. Kissing you like you had always wanted to kiss him.

You moved your lips against his, relishing every moment. Because you knew you wouldn’t be able to kiss him again.

Only when Thor's hands traveled to your waist did you break away. Albeit, you couldn’t push him further than just enough to give you some breathing space.

“Thor,’ you said, “you’re drunk you don’t want this.”

‘When will you stop telling me what I want and don’t want.” His lips moved from your lips to the corner of your mouth and slowly made their way to your neck.

“Thor I do not want this if your reasoning is impaired.”

“I appreciate the thought dear one, but I only had half a beer tonight.”

Asgardians could handle their booze well, especially Thor. For Thor to be the least bit intoxicated he would have had to drink 3 large bottles of Asgardian booze. However, when it came to Midgard it took 4 large barrows of Midgardian beer for it to have the same effect on him. Thor mostly drank it for the taste.

“Unless you would rather I stop.” Thor said, before his hands had removed themselves from your waist you stopped them.

With every ounce of passion in you, you grabbed a handful of his long hair and pressed your lips to his.

It was a mess of passionate and needy kisses and moans. Thor’s battle-worn hands had roamed over your body in a desperate need to feel you.

He was quick to rid you of your shirt, hands feeling every inch of naked skin as he could. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded to the earth.

You moaned as his hands found your breasts, his large hands covering them over your bra. Your hands made quick work with your bra, removing the suffocating fabric before lifting Thor’s shirt.

you felt him stiffen as you rid him of his shirt.

He wasn’t as muscular as he had been 2 years ago, however it took more than 2 years to completely diminish what his body had been. Although his stomach had softened as well as his arms. You didn’t care in the slightest, loving Thor in every shape he came in.

Your hands lovingly brushed over his torso as you began to leave open mouthed kisses down his neck, over his chest, it wasn’t until you were at the waistband on his sweatpants did he bring you back up and kissed you with fiery passion.

Thor laid you in front of the fireplace that you forgot you lit a while ago. Honestly a little surprised that the fire was still going.

You didn’t have much time to think about that as you felt Thor’s lips travel from your neck and over your breasts. Your nails scratched the floor beneath you as you felt him at the waistband of your jeans.

You felt Thor pause and you looked at him.

“Are you sure dear one?”

Your heart melted at the new nickname, as you nodded to him. However that wasn’t enough for the blonde adonis as he traveled up your body and littered your neck in open mouth kisses.

“I need to hear you say you want this dear one.”

“Please Thor,” you pleaded as he ground his hips into yours slowly, your hips meeting his as his pace slows even more successfully driving you insane.

“I need you Thor.”

“What do you need dear one?”

“I need you to finish what we started.”

With that Thor slammed his lips on yours as he rid you of your pants, underwear included. He leaned back and his eyes drank in your figure illuminated by the fire light. You were breathtaking, any one would buckle at the sight of you.

Pride swelled in Thor’s heart as this view was reserved for him only.

Just as you were about to say something you felt Thor’s beard tickle the inside of your thigh and without warning Thor dived in.

Your hands immediately flew to his hair and grabbed fists full of it, anything to tether you to reality.

As Thor worked his magic on your bundle of nerves your moans filled the empty house. Thor moaned as your grip on his hair tightened which sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. Thor lifted your legs over his shoulders and gripped your thighs firmly as his tongue worked faster.

Just as you were about to reach your blissful release you felt him pull away. Your arousal practically dripped from his lips onto his beard.

He rid himself of the last piece of clothing before capturing your lips once again. Unlike the kisses from before, this was gentle and sweet. You could taste yourself on his lips as he tenderly kissed you.

You slowly ran your hands over his chest, committing him to memory.

Thor pulled away from your lips as he entered you.

Your mouth let out a silent scream of pleasure as Thor let out a shaky breath of pleasure. Thor waited for a few seconds, relishing in the feeling of you around him before finally moving his hips against yours.

Thor was soft and slow in his thrusts, making sure to worship every part of you. His lips were everywhere, from your face to your breasts.

You met in time with his thrusts. The only sound in the room being your shaky breaths, moans of pleasure, and skin on skin. And it sounded like a chorus to you.

Thor’s thrusts became erratic and unyielding, the knot in your stomach was on the verge of bursting when Thor whispered in your ear.

“Let go dear one, I’ll catch you.”

With that the knot had become undone, leaving your body shaking from the overwhelming pleasure.

Thor had not been too far behind you before he too reached his climax.

Thor laid down beside you, still coming down from his high. You laid your head on his chest and he instinctively wrapped his arms around you.

This was everything you had ever wanted, to lay beside Thor with his arm beside you. Well almost everything.

As Thor began to play with the ends of your head as you replayed the past two years in your head.

“I think you may have been right.” Thor broke the silence, you lifted your head off his chest to see his gaze distant as he stared at the ceiling.

“When have I ever been anything otherwise.”

Thor’s chest rumbled in laughter as unshed tears began to fill his eyes. He refused to cry, not now.

“I agree that you need to leave dear one.” Thor’s voice cracked, “I have become a pitiful king to my people, but I have been an even worse friend to you.” his eyes left their place on the ceiling and rested on your face. “You have been faithfully by my side ever since either of us could remember. You had defended me when I didn’t deserve it and loved me when no one did. Not even myself.” His calloused hand caressed your cheek, thumb brushing the tears that had escaped your eyes away. “you don’t deserve to drown in my despair with me. You deserve a life of adventure and you deserve the time to figure out who you are.” You pressed your forehead to his as tears leaked out. “I need to let you go.”

---

Thor had spent the night committing every touch and every scent to memory. He had no idea when his feelings for you grew to such lengths but he knew now that he had figured it out much too late.

He wasn’t the man you deserved by your side.

Thor waved you off at the airport and watched as the metal contraption took you away from his side for the first time since his banishment all those years ago.

He hoped that if you returned he would be a man worthy of you again.

Thor only wished he knew where to start.

#thor #thor ragnarok #thor love and thunder #thor mcu #MCU #mcu x reader #mcu thor #thor x reader #x reader #thor smut #god of thunder #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel x reader smut #loki

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lightsovermonaco · 4 years ago

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface.

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion.

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan.

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way.

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness.

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound.

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up."

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though."

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong.

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up."

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives.

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over."

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly.

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners.

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort.

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day.

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot.

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated.

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself.

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could.

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind.

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn.

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre.

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor.

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened.

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you.

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress.

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands.

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment.

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night.

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed.

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band.

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor.

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused.

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval

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internalsealpanic · 4 years ago

Text

Love Through the Ages (Damian Wayne)

Summary: Love like baggage needs to be declared.

a/n: This is part one of a series that is a fic rec list disguised as a fic. For these fics, most of the characters will be speaking different languages, so unless specified otherwise assume that the characters are speaking in the first language I mention. They’re all vampires with centuries under their belt. Why wouldn’t I make them all polyglots. Also, thank you to the proof reading gang for putting up with my shenanigans. I will have links to the fics I recommend in the fic itself.

Warnings: Everyone is dramatic.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist.

You wait by the platform, tapping your feet to the rhythm of the Little Colonel Bojangles Dance. It's been so long since you've seen the movie but your feet can still remember the steps- much to Damian's annoyance. Your feet patter against the pavement, wet from the spring rain, in a soft rhythm that kept your excitement at bay.

You wave to the approaching cab. The passenger of the cab looks away from you, pressing his mouth into the heel of his hand as his eyes stare out into oblivion. Your mouth quirks at the petulant gesture. You haven't seen each other in two decades and he's still mad about... what was it again? You'll find out soon enough.

The cab stops in front of you.

You bow your head, resting your weight on your umbrella. You grin at his seated form postured perfectly with an ease of a man born with the world in his pocket. He's dressed in a black suit and a dark coat that looked far too thick for spring.

"Long time, no see, little prince." You say in a dialect of Spanish too old for the young cab driver to recognize.

Damian raises his brow, articulating his annoyance. It takes you a moment to realize that it was with the accent you'd chosen. It was inelegant and curt and it mangled the curve of the syllables far too easily. In short, it was your favorite dialect. Rolling your eyes, you try again. This time with a softer, smoother dialect much more modern but still old enough that you could talk freely without worrying about eavesdroppers.

Damian cracks a smile at you. It was wry but soft in the way Damian always was. Your own exasperated smile softens as you look at his eyes, their ever-changing lushness. It's been too long.

You open the door. Damian eases out of the cab handing the cabby what you quietly hope was the correct amount.

But considering the wide-eyed glee on the cabbies face, you can guess that twenty years has done nothing for Damian's spending habits. That was if the tailored suit wasn't a dead giveaway.

You look him over whistling," whose funeral are you going to after the museum?"

"Yours if we're on schedule." Damian deadpans looking at his watch.

You snort, sounding like a piglet in mud. Adoration flickers in Damian's eyes but you miss it as you throw your head back.

"Who has a schedule on vacation."

"People who don't like wasting time."

"That's what a vacation is for."

Damian makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat and you shake your head. Damian wraps his arm around your shoulders. You happily press into his side, reveling in the intimacy of the action.

Damian had been telling you a story in rapid Arabic, the only words you understood were 'Jon' and 'moron', when you pause in front of a pair of paintings. The painting on the left was of Damian, his form drawn in harsh, messy angles. He's hunched over his sketchbook, candlelight glowing softly by his side makes his copper skin and forest green eyes breathtaking. The subject is out of view. The other was a portrait of you dozing off on a workshop table, your flaws lovingly rendered in gentle brush strokes. By contrast, your portrait was lit by the summer sun. Only Damian could make your features look this beautiful.

Vaguely, you remember this.

You remember it only for the countless times it had happened.

"They say that the one on the left is the painter sketching the portrait on the right and that the portrait on the right is of his lover." You say airily. Damian, not one to disappoint, gives you an unreadable look.

Your stomach turns. You drop the subject. Wordlessly, you two make your way to the exhibit.

"Love through the Ages?" Damian asks, crossing his arms.

"Shockingly love wasn't invented by Stephenie Meyer." You say. Damian wrinkles his nose at you and you cover your mouth to hide the scraggly smile spreading across your lips.

"I'm shocked your paintings didn't make it in."

He looks down at you huffing, "it's only speculation."

You're heart twinges at that. You press a frown to your hand.

"It'll be fun, Dami. I promise. Pleeeeeease."

Damian's stern look gives way to a weary half-smile as he capitulates to you.

"I promise it will only be half as nauseating as Dick's attempts to do family bonding."

"Tt, it would take a miracle to surpass that."

You grin. "Perish the thought."

"They say this stardust came from star-crossed lovers as they traveled through space. Oh and this one is a statue gifted by Persephone to Hades."

You drag Damian all over the exhibit. Pointing to specific exhibits with enthusiasm. He has to admit. It's infectious. Then again, Damian's never been able to resist anything about you. This amount of enthusiasm for something so frivolous would have been obnoxious on anyone else but because it's you, Damian's found himself utterly enamored by it.

"This one," You say, pointing to a series of paintings. They were all beautiful, painted in bold colors. The torrent of emotions radiating off of the canvas. "This one was made by an artist torn between three loves."

"Three? She must have been an exceptional artist."

"Probably was but her name was lost." You sigh.

"She’s got exceptional brushwork." Damian hums.

You squint at it. You would think after hundreds of years you would be able to discern that.

"And over there! Look at those postcards!" You say, pointing the three postcards pinned to a cloth in a glass case. One card showed the northern lights, another with a picture of a thick rainforest, another with a large cave, and another with the pantheon.

"They're not well preserved are they." Damian comments, scrutinizing the postcards and noting all the imperfections, the little cracks and tears, the water stains, and odd splotches of dirt.

You roll your eyes, curling your fingers around his arm. "That's cus Hermes supposedly brought them everywhere while he searched for his lost love."

"Quite the romantic. Do you know all the artifacts?"

"Yup."

"I see..." Damian drawls. "Then why are we here then?" Damian winces at how harsh and impatient he sounds.

"Cus Jon said I needed an excuse to get you here and viola. It worked. I knew you'd cross the sea for a rare exhibit."

I would cross the sea for you, no matter how many times, Damian thinks.

"What about this?" Damian points to a golden coin, shaking his thoughts away.

You lean back, side-eyeing him. "Care to guess?" His handsome features furrow as he thinks.

"I think it’s a coin used to pay Charon." He says finally.

You frown. "Good guess." A smug grin curls on his lips. You stick your tongue out at him.

"It’s an old Greek coin to pay the travel into the underworld."

"Why would they want to travel to the underworld?" It's Damian's turn to frown.

"Yanno for someone who's so smart. You're asking the dumbest questions."

"It's a reasonable question." He asserts, his tone oddly defensive.

"Most people can't bear to be apart from their beloved."

Damian hums noncommittally. He understands that. he understands that all too well.

"Like you and Jon." You say grinning.

Damian glares at you. No real anger behind it.

"You two bicker like an old married couple." You laugh.

"So do we." Damian says flatly, stepping closer to you and closing the gap between the two of you. He's looking at you so intensely that your skin sets itself on fire.

"I often think about burying you under the kitchen patio too." Damian sneers, with a sharp grin.

You snap out of your daze. Leaning in close and smiling, your hot breath fan against Damian's face. "Will you do it affectionately?"

The moment hangs still in the air. If you could capture it in amber, you would.

"Huh? This is new." You say, looking down at the glass case.

"How many times have you seen this exhibit?"

You preemptively shoot him an accusatory look. "What are you?"

"Concerned."

"Pfff!"

You lean down reading the plate. "Says here it's a letter from the late 1700s and early 1800s. An unsent letter to lost love."

"Sounds cliched." Damian says, leaning down next to you.

"You've said that about everything."

You feel Damian stiffen beside you. You glance at him. He looks mortified. Your eyes follow his and land on the letter. The calligraphy looks familiar but you can't think of where you've seen the scrawl.

Damian tugs at your shoulder.

"(Y/n), let's go."

You shrug him off.

"(Y/n), let’s go." He repeats with increased urgency.

You shove your palm to his face.

Damian wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. You flail and kick out childishly.

“Damian Al Ghul Wayne, I will gnaw your arm off.” You hiss but he doesn’t let go. In a last ditch effort to break free of his hold, you wriggle out of your coat. Landing on your ass, you scramble for the glass case.

My beloved (Y/n),

Finding the words to tell you how I feel about you is not an easy feat. I feel as though Ibn Hazm himself would struggle to compose poems to express my feelings for you even then they would be inadequate.

Whilst we are surrounded by such death and misery, here in London, I want you to know that during these dark times, it is you that keeps me a light. It is you that leads me through the void and guides me.

I think I’ve always loved you from the very first moment I laid eyes on your beautiful lopsided smile. Yes. Your real smile. The one only a handful of people will ever see. I have been lucky enough to see it every day.

As time passed, I fell more and more in love with you. You have seen all of me. You have seen the monster within me and yet you still stand by my side. Never faulting in your stance.

I wish I had the strength to tell you this, face to face. I wish I could look into your eyes and whisper words of love my immortal beloved.

With Love,

Damian

You stare at the letter uncomprehending. Realization slides off of you like rain off a tin roof. You read it over and over again until each syllable is embedded in your mind. “Damian, what the actual fuck?!”

“I-”

“You dork!”

Damian clams up unable to think of a response. Ok, no. He had a number of responses but none of them were appropriate or witty. He searches your features but the only thing he can make out is shock.

“(Y/n), I was-”

You press your hand to the glass. “How come you never sent me this?”

“The French Revolution.”

“Which one?”

He crosses his arms raising a brow.

“Ok, nevermind. But still, it’s been 200 years.”

“A lot has happened in 200 years.”

“A lot has happened in 200 years.” You repeat mockingly.

Damian pinches your cheeks in retaliation.

“I was pinning for more than 200 hundred years!” You protest.

“So was I!” Damian says, releasing your cheek.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” Damian asks, accusing and curt. You flinch, something vile and caustic rising in your stomach. Damian sees it and grips your hand as you fall away from him. He just got you back. “(Y/n)....”

The fear and hurt melt off of your face. “I thought… I just thought you’d...” You ball your fists in frustration, not quite grasping the right words. But Damian already knows what you’re thinking. He’s seen that look in your face. He’s seen it every time you look at the mirror. It was infuriating to watch you like this. Why couldn’t you see just how perfect you are?

Damian pulls you into a hug, burying your face into his chest and resting his chin on top of your head.

“You are infuriating.” He mumbles into your hair.

“And you’re rude.” You mumble back.

“Yet here you are 400 years later.” He laughs softly.

You two stand in silence for a long moment. With Damian, silence itself was a language. It was one you’d grown fluent in. An unspoken conversation of confirmations and reassurances.

He releases you but holds your hand in his. It feels warm. You shiver and Damian smiles at you, smooshing your coat into your face. Both of you can’t help but laugh.

You step closer to the glass case, pulling him along. Damian follows without resistance, only lacing his fingers into yours. You both stare at the page. His proclamation of love carefully preserved for all to see. You take your phone out to take a picture. Damian shoots you a glare.

“You’re not sending that to Jon.”

“Tim then.”

“No.”

“Fine, for myself then.” You pause seeing the confusion on his face. “In case, you know...” You say waving your hand.

Damian tilts your chin up. “Beloved, I’m not going anywhere.”

Your chest flutters. After centuries of inaction, you can feel your heartbeat.

#Damian Wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #vampire au

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xxdragonwriterxx · 4 years ago

Text

🔥The Perfect Shot🔥

A/N: This one was a little experimental but I’m actually kinda proud of it 😅. I had a dream about this and just had to write it down so here you go! This one has been in my drafts for a while and I finally had time to edit it, not me doing this instead of my homework, so I figured I’d post it so I have some new content out while I work on the two requests I have. Speaking of which, those will be out soon so keep an eye out for those! I love working on them and they are both really awesome requests so I’m really excited to get them out to you. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this quick piece! Love you guys! 🥰🥺

🐉Song Recommendation: “Stick Up” By: grandson 🐉

Word Count: ~4.2k

~~~

Levi scowled immediately upon entering the bar. It didn’t have anything to do with the bar itself, the establishment was actually surprisingly clean. A little too messy to meet his usual standards, but clean enough for him to get comfortable. No, his scowl was aimed right for his old friend Erwin, the owner of the place.

“Levi, what’s with the sour look?” Erwin asked, his gaze sympathetic. Bastard, he knew what the look was for.

“Haven’t I told you not to pity me whenever I come in here?” Levi snapped, not in the mood for the giant blonde’s antics tonight. “My job is hard enough as it is without you constantly looking at me like I’m some kind of injured animal.”

“It’s not pity, Levi, it’s a thing called concern. I know you’ve probably never heard of it, but it’s something that friends show each other when they are worried about the well being of the other person.”

“I’m fine,” Levi grumbled. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Erwin knew that wasn’t entirely true, could see it in the shorter man’s eyes, but he let it be, knowing Levi would just get more irritated the longer the conversation continued. “The usual?”

“Yeah.”

“Oi, Miche! Levi’s here, get him his usual, please!”

Levi heard Miche’s responding yell from the back room where the dirty blonde was probably hanging out with Hanji, the brunette scientist, a close friend of Erwin’s who got special permission to stay in the back room with them whenever the foot traffic was slow. Shaking his head, Levi fought the small smile that tried to appear on his face as he thought about the people he had surprisingly come to know as his friends. He still had no idea why they ever wanted to talk to him, but he had come to appreciate it nonetheless, even when Hanji blabbed his ear off about scientific studies, although he’d never admit it aloud.

Soon enough, a glass filled with dark copper liquid was slid in front of him, and he lifted his gaze to see Miche smirking at him, “Hard day?”

“You could say that,” Levi murmured, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a healthy gulp.

“Work hours are only getting longer, huh?”

“Yeah, and the people I work with are idiots. It was almost like my latest clients were on a mission to make my job as difficult as possible. It would’ve been a complete disaster if I hadn’t been able to focus everything at the last minute; would’ve cost both of us a lot of money if I hadn’t gotten the shots they wanted.”

“Sorry to hear that, Levi,” Miche said, a slight frown on his handsome features. “I hope this helps you loosen up a bit.”

Levi nodded as Miche ambled away with a light pat on the mahogany, a sigh quietly slipping from his lips as he picked up the glass and swirled it before taking another sip. The golden lights above him were dimmed, making the space feel surprisingly homey, the glow from the lamps contrasting nicely with the dark wallpaper and bathing the wood of the bar with a warm honeyed finish. Levi closed his eyes and sighed through his nose, allowing the cozy atmosphere to soothe him.

He was grateful for the emptiness of the bar, the quiet hum of the television playing the latest news one of the only sounds filling the air. He wasn’t surprised, it was nearly two in the morning, but it made him grateful nonetheless. He did feel bad about coming in so late, knowing that even though the bar was still open, his friends would want to be heading home soon, but he had been working late, cleaning his equipment and resetting his work space for the next day and hadn’t been able to come in any earlier. He had thought about waiting, but the stress of the day pushed him to put himself before others for once and have a damn drink.

Levi was still lost in his thought when the sound of a bell tinkling snapped him out of it, his silver hues darting over to the door and narrowing. He quirked an eyebrow in surprise when he saw a woman standing in the entryway, a black hooded cloak wrapped around her shoulders to protect her against the biting autumn chill.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Miche’s booming voice called out, only adding to Levi’s confusion, “How’re you doing today? Work go well?”

The woman Miche had called (Y/N) lowered the hood of her cloak, letting out a relaxed sigh as the warmth of the bar chased the cold from her skin. She smiled when she saw the tall, dirty blonde man, her (e/c) eyes sparkling.

“I’m doing well, Miche, thank you! Work ran really late today, some difficult clients seemed to be on a mission to make me want to kill them, so I just had to get a drink when I finally finished up. I hope I’m not bothering anyone this late?”

Miche waved off her concerns with a broad smile, “Of course not! Seat yourself and I’ll be right with you, the usual, right?”

(Y/N) nodded and shrugged off her cloak, draping it over the back of her seat as she slid into a spot two places away from Levi, naturally giving the raven-haired stranger space. Levi watched her as she took her seat, his head tilted slightly to the side curiously. He had never seen her before, despite the fact that she was obviously a regular. He wasn’t a constant drinker, but he had come to this bar enough to be curious about her, trying to figure out which days she usually liked to come in. Maybe she usually came in during the day. It would make sense, Levi almost always came in around midnight due to the effort and professionalism he put into his craft taking up most of his time, but he was still surprised he had never heard of her, not when she was clearly a good friend of Miche’s.

“Ah, I thought I recognized that voice, welcome back (Y/N),” Erwin said as he rounded the corner, a bright smile on his handsome face as he presented her with her drink of choice. (Y/N) smiled back at him and gently grasped the glass in her palms, a quiet murmur of gratitude slipping from her lips before she sipped.

Erwin knew her too? That did make sense, if Miche knew her than Erwin, the owner of the bar, would definitely know her too, but this seemed like more than your average bartender and customer relationship. They were acting like close friends, as if they’d known each other for years. He could see it in the way the blonde behemoth beamed at the sight of the mystery woman, the way he talked so easily to her. He knew Erwin was usually charming, easygoing, but this felt different.

“I heard you had a tough day at work,” Erwin said, leaning against the bar with both elbows perched on the wood.

“Yeah,” (Y/N) said with a sigh, taking another sip of her drink. “It was these new customers. Most of my clients know of my skill and trust me to do the job right but these people just wouldn’t stop being so controlling. Every five seconds they would be telling me to move and take another shot, move and take another shot, practicing over and over again with decoy subjects as if this were my first time doing this. It took me way longer to get everything done, and cleaning up took forever at the end because of all of the extra stuff they wanted to include. It was infuriating, like, I know how to do my job, so please, shut the fuck up.”

Erwin chuckled, “I would’ve paid good money to see the look on their faces.”

“You know I didn’t actually say that to them. I wanted to, really wanted to, but they are business and business is money, so I just had to deal with it. It just comes with the job, I guess.”

Erwin nodded and leaned back, pulling a washcloth from his pocket to wipe down the the wood, cleaning the smudges from where he had been leaning. “Yeah, I get it. People come in here all the time just to be difficult. Some pick fights, some try not to pay, some are just petty because they want to be, some come in at ungodly hours of the morning, it’s just part of the job, like you said.”

(Y/N) winced, “Sorry, I know it’s late. I can leave if you guys are packing up.”

Erwin shook his head with a warm smile. “Don’t be, I was just teasing you. I had Nanaba working the morning shift, so I haven’t been here for that long. Take your time to unwind, you deserve it.”

She smiled at him again, thanking him as she lifted the glass to her lips. Erwin slapped a large hand on her shoulder and squeezed once before leaving to go into the back room, no doubt to check on Miche and make sure he wasn’t being harassed by Hanji and her over energetic explanations of her experiments.

(Y/N) leaned back and hummed happily at the feeling of the warm alcohol burning pleasantly in her stomach. She could feel the eyes of the raven haired man on her as she took another sip, but she ignored him. If he wanted to talk to her, then he could say something, but she wasn’t going to engage him unless he did, content to just finish her drink and go home.

She supposed if she didn’t want to talk to people she could’ve just had a drink at home, curled up on the couch with a movie, blankets, and maybe some ice cream, but there was just something about Erwin’s bar that was so comforting.

It was a quiet little place, even during the day, a hidden treasure that was hard to find if you didn’t know where to look. It was only known through word of mouth, which made it wonderfully calm most of the time, as most people went to the more popular bars in the area. (Y/N) had learned about it through Hanji, her friend from college, who told her about it after (Y/N) had had a particularly horrible day at work and needed a pick me up. Now, she came all the time, even if she didn’t order anything, just to talk to her now good friends and enjoy the relaxing atmosphere.

She had actually been surprised to find someone else sitting at the bar when she had walked in. Erwin’s bar wasn’t a complete secret, she knew that despite the lack of advertising, quite a few people knew about the joint, but she almost never saw anybody at this time of night. Not when the bar was technically closed and her friends were finishing up.

It made her wonder if her friends knew this man, if he was a friend of their’s. If he was, she had never heard of him. Maybe he was just one of those private types. But then again, would a private type be so obviously staring at a random woman in a bar at two in the morning? She didn’t know, but for some reason, although the stare unnerved her a bit, she wasn’t really bothered by it. She occasionally liked to people watch, albeit more subtly, so despite the intensity of the stare making her want to squirm, she let him be, downing more of her liquor until it burned her throat and warmed her chest from the inside out.

The man’s phone suddenly buzzed, the normally quiet noise sounding a lot louder in the wake of the near complete silence in the bar. He glanced down at it, turning the screen at an angle of which she couldn’t see, and scowled. She watched as he silently seethed, unlocking his phone and quickly replying to whoever had texted him, his fingers flying across the little keyboard.

(Y/N) had to admit, he was quite handsome, her eyes roving over him while he wasn’t paying attention, subjecting him to the same treatment he had been giving her. He was shorter than the average man but (Y/N) hardly noticed, his pale skin and black hair, both darkened by the dim lighting of the bar, paired with his gunmetal eyes proving to be an appealing combination.

Levi growled to himself lowly, pretending not to notice the woman staring at him as he typed on his phone, writing a response to a cheeky text from Hanji.

“You’re going to creep her out if you just keep staring at her like some kind of predator. Go talk to her!”

“Fuck off, Shitty Glasses.”

“I’m serious, Levi! She’s a good friend of mine, it’ll be good for you two to get to know each other. Besides, I think you’re drooling. Go talk to her before I make you, she won’t bite!”

“I said, fuck off.”

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Levi placed his phone face down on the table and ran a hand through his hair, trying to think of a reason to approach her. It wasn’t because he was drooling over her like Hanji claimed, he was just bored and had time to kill. She just happened to be different enough to capture his temporary interest. At least, that’s what he told himself. He didn’t let himself admit how surprisingly pretty she was, nor did he acknowledge the fact that his eyes kept straying to her face, fixated on her attractive features.

But, as much as he hated to admit it, Hanji was right. Staring at her like this without saying a word, in the middle of the night, at a bar, alone, was creepy as fuck. He was genuinely surprised she hadn’t confronted him already, telling him to fuck off.

Talking to people just wasn’t his forte, he felt uncharacteristically nervous, but he had to say something, otherwise she’d see him as nothing more than some creepy asshole. He had no idea why he cared so much about her opinion, but he ignored that thought as he scrambled for a topic to bring up.

“Hard day?”

Her soft voice snapped Levi out of his thoughts, his eyes flicking up to meet hers, which he hadn’t realized were trained on him, “What?”

“Oh, you just seem like you’ve had a hard day, so I thought I’d ask you about it.”

“What made me look like I had a bad day?” Levi asked.

“Well, for one, you’re here at two in the morning. You could just be an insomniac who prefers a drink late at night like me, but you also looked constipated a minute ago, so I made an educated guess.”

Levi fought the smirk that tried to appear on his face. He often made shit jokes when around his friends, it made a small part of him happy knowing she did too. “It was shitty.”

(Y/N) giggled, “Mine was too.”

“Yeah, I heard you talking about it with Erwin and Miche. Annoying clients, right?”

(Y/N) nodded, “Mm, just some folks who think they know everything. But it wasn’t anything a little drink from Erwin’s place can’t fix. How about you?”

“Same kind of thing,” Levi said, sipping from his glass. “Just some shitty people trying to control every aspect of my job.”

(Y/N) hummed her acknowledgement and took a healthy swig from her drink. “Exactly. All day, they’ve been making me change things that didn’t need changing, swap out equipment that didn’t need to be swapped, etc. It’s so infuriating sometimes when things would get done so much faster if I was left alone. I had a vision right from the start that would’ve given me the perfect shot if they hadn’t interfered, but because of them, my work wasn’t nearly as professional as it usually is.”

Levi raised an eyebrow at that, surprised. It wasn’t often he found someone who worked in the same career field as him, at least not in this area. It made him wonder just how spontaneous this was, if Hanji had somehow convinced (Y/N) to come out on a night when the brunette knew he would be there.

“Really? Why don’t you tell me about this perfect shot?”

(Y/N) glanced at him, one eyebrow raised, “What’s it to you?”

“I’m curious, we might have different perspectives on how to get this so called ‘perfect shot’. If you share with me your methods, I might share some of mine too.”

(Y/N)’s mouth parted in shock a little. Her profession wasn’t that uncommon, but in this area? She was the most notable by a landslide, so it made her curious. Maybe he was from out of town? She didn’t recognize him, but maybe she had heard of him before and just didn’t know it was him?

“Alright, fine,” (Y/N) said, getting up and moving closer to him, seating herself beside him. “Usually, to get what I want, I have to start by surveying the space. I really like to note all of the possible places I could position myself for maximum clarity and optimal focus.”

Levi nodded, his mind going back to his own methods, identifying that as one of the things he did when preparing for work as well. “I like to do that too. If you don’t pay attention to your surroundings, it can limit your opportunities and present unexpected obstacles.”

“Exactly. Then, once I’ve found a spot where I want to be, I try to either imagine the thing I’m shooting and where I want them to be, or try to plan for exactly where they are going to move to as I work. That way, I can estimate where the focal point will be, and when they are finally in position, it’s a lot easier to locate.”

“Where do you shoot from? Far or close?” Levi asked, his attention completely focused on the woman in front of him.

“Well, that depends on what my client wants and where the person is. The location, time, client, and weather can change at any time, and all of it directly impacts the quality of the shot. So I flip back and forth between them depending on what’s happening. How about you?”

“I usually tend to favor distance rather than close proximity, gives me more to work with. It makes it harder to focus and even the slightest movement can ruin the job, but close proximity can make it harder to see the whole picture, at least, in my opinion,” Levi said.

(Y/N) nodded, “That makes sense.”

“What next?”

“Well then, once I have a focal point picked out and a position set, I get my equipment ready. Sometimes I have a bunch of extensions and extra supplies to help me out if it’s a particularly important client, but most of the time I try to keep it simple. Less distractions that way.”

Levi nodded, his eyes glinting as he listened to her speak, neither of them aware of the eyes that were watching them from the back room window, trying to stifle their squeals and chuckles.

“After everything is prepped and ready to go, I then have to prepare myself. You’d think that after doing this job for so long that I wouldn’t be affected by nerves and emotions while working anymore, but unfortunately, I am. So before I even touch my equipment, I usually have take deep breaths and completely wipe my mind of all anxiety. It has to be perfect for each client, no matter who they are, so I have to get a grip on myself before I start. Even the tiniest hitched breath can affect the shot.”

Levi was pleasantly surprised with that one. It wasn’t like anyone he worked with denied the fact that emotion and nervousness could impact the shot, but they often didn’t consider it too much as a factor, preferring to power through the anxiety and get it over with. Levi had always been annoyed with this strategy and the mediocre results it produced, so hearing (Y/N) talk about something most others chose to ignore, made him want to get to know her more.

“I agree,” Levi said. “Ever since I started, that has always stuck with me.”

(Y/N) smiled, “Finally, once everything is in position and I’ve gotten a handle on my adrenaline, I position myself with my equipment and take the shot. Thankfully, after that, I have a crew that comes in for cleaning up the area when I’m finished so I can go back and take care of my equipment. Unless, that is, I miss. If I miss the target, then I’m responsible for tracking them down while avoiding shots aimed at me. I wouldn’t want anyone on my team to get hurt, and if I miss the shot, that’s my own fault, so I have to clean up my own mess.”

Levi was nodding along until her words really sank in, making him freeze. Target? Tracking them down? Avoiding shots? Getting hurt? Levi’s face paled and (Y/N)’s smile immediately faded, replaced by a look of concern.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Levi swallowed thickly and nodded, the gears turning rapidly in his head as he tried to think of what to say. “Yes, sorry, I just remembered that I have an important client coming in tomorrow that I forgot about since today has been such a mess. You just reminded me of it, that’s all.”

“Are you sure? You look… sick... all of a sudden.”

“I’m fine. I’m just stressed about this photo shoot tomorrow. It’s really important for my business. If I lose them, then I’ll have a bit of a problem on my hands.”

Levi watched the color drain from (Y/N)’s face as if her skin was being bleached right before his eyes. Her mouth opened, a small squeak coming out but no words, her eyes wide with shock and panic.

“O-Oh my gods…” (Y/N) whispered. “You-You…!”

“Yeah, I thought you were a...” Levi whispered back.

“Oh gods, I am so sorry, um, I-I didn’t mean to- um, okay,” (Y/N) stuttered and tripped over her words, her head turning frantically as she fought for something to say. She felt like she should leave, but she was worried about how that would look, especially after dropping such a bombshell on him. Sighing, she admitted defeat and pushed the rest of her drink away, moving to grab her cloak. “Gods, I am so sorry, I’ll just go, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or-”

“Wait,” Levi said.

(Y/N) wanted to escape the situation, wanted to leave this nightmare and bury her face in some pillows at home as she wallowed in her embarrassment, but the conviction in his voice made her stop and slowly sink back down into her seat.

“It doesn't bother me,” Levi said slowly. “You didn’t know, and it’s your job. I can’t fault you for that.”

“Really?” (Y/N) said, not convinced.

“Trust me,” Levi said. “I’m friends with Shitty Glasses, who literally experiments on anything and everything, I’ve heard worse stories than that one.”

When (Y/N) still didn’t look convinced, Levi sighed and reached into his coat pocket. “Here, I’d like to talk to you again sometime. Come around one day and I might just show you how I take the perfect shot.”

(Y/N) hesitated but eventually reached forward and took ahold of the little white card he held out to her, her eyes sparkling when she saw his name, number, and studio address on the piece of paper. Looking up, she could see the honesty reflected in his gaze and finally allowed a small smile to come back onto her face.

“That sounds good, Levi. I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” Levi said as he watched (Y/N) stand, stretch, and walk out, cloak in hand.

As soon as the door shut and the (h/c) haired woman made her way around the corner, his friends burst into the room, all of them wearing smug smiles that only made Levi scowl.

“So, looks like you’ve got some plans, huh? I’ve never seen you hand out your card to anyone that wasn’t a major client,” Hanji said, wiggling her eyebrows and beaming when he turned his glare on her.

“Shut up, Shitty Glasses. Why didn’t you tell me she was a sniper?”

“Well, because usually that’s a pretty big turn off for people. (Y/N) is my best friend and she needs some love too so I figured, why not? I knew you’d figure it out eventually, but I didn’t want to set a precedent for her that would make you unwilling to approach her. And look what happened! Now, you have a date!”

“It’s not a date, Four Eyes.”

“Uh huh, whatever you say, Shorty.”

Levi ignored his friends as the two men started laughing along with Hanji, cracking jokes about him and the situation he had somehow found himself in. Looking out the windows, towards the corner of the street where he had seen (Y/N) disappear, he couldn’t help the small smile that curled the corners of his lips.

A photographer and a sniper, huh? Maybe they weren’t so different after all. Maybe, whatever this was that was blooming between them, will be worth a shot.

~~~

A/N: I totally forgot to say earlier that this story is based off of the prompt posted by @writing-prompt-s! Sorry for not sourcing it beforehand, completely slipped my mind. Thank you to those who reminded me!

169 notes · View notes

hockeyboysiguess · 4 years ago

Text

sunflowers | m. tkachuk

a/n: today, i offer a humble too long matthew tkachuk fic, full of angst and thoughts about love.

i would like to thank @nolypats, for having a dream that i wrote a fic about? that dream looks nothing like this fic, but that was the og inspiration, and for being so supportive during the writing of this monster. also, @jasondickinsons and @slapshot-to-the-heart for freaking out every time i sent you a preview. never would’ve finished it without these three.

word count: 20K

warnings: swearing, and a ton of angst.

wine pairing recommendation: a full bodied cabernet sauvignon, because this fic is full bodied.

You ran a hand through your hair as you looked at Matthew across your apartment. The mug in your hands felt heavy and the tea inside had gone cold. The look on Matthew’s face when he walked in the front door had made you set it aside and forget about it entirely. He had been nervous, hesitant, his movements almost delayed, like there was too many thoughts swimming in his head for the signals to get down to his muscles at the correct timing. You drummed your nails on the cool ceramic, your fingertips tracing the outline of the sunflower on the mug, as you let out a long breath.

“We literally just-”

“I know,” Matthew cut you off. He stumbled through the next six words, but they stung all the same. “I think this was a mistake.”

It was as if he picked the words right out of your deepest vault of insecurities, sharpened them, then tossed them in your general direction careless, but still wasn’t surprised when they hit their mark. Your shoulders caved in, your body reacting to the weight of the insecurities you had tied to those words in your mind hitting you in the chest. You set your mug on the counter with shaky hands.

“Matthew,” you tried to start, but he just set his blue eyes to the ceiling instead of trying to look at you.

You pressed harder, this time, irritation in his inability to communicate with you boiling over, “You can’t just say something like that then not look at me.”

“Fine.”

His eyes were dead when they rolled back to yours, lifeless, emotionless, almost completely devoid of the person you knew so well that was usually behind them. He looked nothing like the friend you had for the past two years, nothing like the boy who you kissing on his birthday a few months before this terrible moment you were being forced to inhabit, and nothing like the boyfriend you had since that night. He was unrecognizable from the boy you loved, the set in his jaw unsettling you. Matthew had not come over to have a discussion. You could see that now. He was resolved to end this relationship when he walked through your front door. When Matthew Tkachuk’s mind was made up, you had yet to find anything that could redirect his course. You knew you wouldn’t be the first tonight.

“I think we can work on this, if you’ll just talk to me about it.”

The laugh that comes out of his mouth in response to your words made you instantly wish you had never tried. The part of you that had told you to just swallow the breakup he clearly wanted was screaming, “I told you so,” at the top of its lungs. There was no resolution to be had. This relationship was over before he walked in the door, before he walked in the building, before he had gotten in his car. It was over the minute he texted you, curtly informing you he was coming over. Now that your mind was ruminating, the tone of his text felt rough and succinct, like he just wanted to get through it to get to this.

“I think that there’s nothing to work on,” Matthew told you, his tone flat. “I think we were friends, are friends, good friends, and we just starting having feelings because we thought we couldn’t have each other. That whole forbidden fruit thing, right? And we got all mixed up. Sex was great, is great, don’t get me wrong, that kind of chemistry isn’t the problem, but I just don’t think we’re supposed to be together. I think we just got our wires crossed and mixed the chemistry and the friendship up to mean that we’re in love when I just don’t think we are. At best, I think we just had middle school crushes gone off the rails. I don’t think I really have feelings for you and I don’t think you have them for me either. I think that’s why we fight a lot. There’s nothing really here, in all reality, and I think we can both sense it. You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Get. Out.”

You spat the words out with all the venom and anger you felt. It wasn’t until the door shut behind him, not another word spoken in the tense moments it took to cross your kitchen to it, that you felt the pain in your chest. The anger, and the adrenaline that came with it, had disguised it while he was still here. Now, it was just you, in your empty apartment, realizing you not only had to deal with the pieces of yourself left over after Matthew just shattered you, underneath that was the agony of losing a friend. A friend you had come to know so well over coffees and sheet pizzas and margarita pitchers, in parties and houses and parks and arenas. He left with your now ex-boyfriend, because they were one and the same.

All you had was the now tainted memories of him and an even colder cup of tea.

------

You shuffled around your kitchen island, skipping the tea kettle in favor of your trusty slightly rusty coffee pot. This wasn’t a morning tea could handle. None of the mornings since Matthew told you that, in essence, your entire relationship was built on false pretenses and was doomed to fail from the start, had been tea mornings. They’d all be coffee caliber mornings.

Just as the coffee started to drip into the pot, your phone lit up on the counter. It was either your mom or another friend checking on you for what had to be the hundredth time. Your friends had be rotating who would check on you and who would bring you food. They were genuinely worried this break up was making you a bit of a recluse. The problem was, the person that had gotten you out of ever breakup funk you had over the past two years, every bad date, every ghosted text, was the person that caused this one. Your mind unwillingly brought you back to a memory you had been trying to avoid for the last four weeks.

There was a knock on your door. You pulled your sweatshirt sleeves over your hands to wipe your nose and eyes. You would have thought that after two weeks, a whole fourteen days, you would have cried everything out by now. Your body apparently had other ideas and was content to continue to produce tears until you felt better. When that would be? Who could say.

Matthew Tkachuk was trying to have a say about it when he was on the other side of the door you opened. You sighed. You weren’t in the mood for him and his persistence in getting his way.

“I brought donuts, Legally Blonde because my sister said to, and my sparkling personality and I’m not leaving until you smile, eat at least two donuts, and take a shower.”

He pushed his way into your apartment effortlessly. You didn’t consider yourself particularly weak, but there really wasn’t much you could do against Matthew Tkachuk with his mind made up on his side. He kicked his shoes off on the way to your coffee table, dropping the donuts on it before grabbing the TV remote.

“I said I brought Legally Blonde. I meant that I brought my intent to watch it with you. We both know I’m just gonna rent it on your TV for you. I don’t own a DVD player and neither do you,” Matthew said to you as he started pulling up the movie. “Also, I have no idea how to log in to my stuff on this thing because you have a Fire TV instead of an Apple TV like a loser, so I’m just going to Venmo you $3.99 for the rental.”

“Matthew,” you sighed, running a hand through your unwashed hair.

“Yeah, you can’t physically remove me from your couch, so I will not be leaving this apartment,” he informed you. “Watching Legally Blonde on your couch without you and stuffing my face with donuts I’m not supposed to have feels like it would be a pretty low point in my life. Unless you come watch with me and save me from half of these donuts.”

You saved him from half the donuts. He saved your hair from a record eighth day without washing it. You saved him from actually watching the sequel. He saved you from your torturous thought spirals and your tendency to look entirely for mistakes you made and flaws within yourself in lieu of acknowledging that relationships always take two people. He saved you from becoming a recluse that time, pulling you out of your apartment for dinner with him the next day. It was just Chipotle. He said he chose the environment for low social stress, high food volume ratio. You had hit him in the chest and he’d squeezed your hand softly, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the back of it softly.

“You know he didn’t deserve you, right?” he told you as you waiting in line. “You can and will do a hell of a lot better than him someday, probably sooner than you think.”

“Thanks, Matty.”

Looking back on that memory, you couldn’t find any fondness for it. It just made the dull ache in your chest that had become a permanent resident over the last month transform temporarily in a sharp, stabbing one, before returning to its original form. You poured your coffee, each movement it required felt exhausting. You felt absolutely spent constantly because you were spending all of your energy trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Relationships were a two way street, but you could never drive down the other side, only your own. Matthew’s side, his view of it all, would always be foreign to you, but you could analyze every word, every movement, and every piece of Matthew’s reaction to all of your actions to find what you had done, what you had done to contribute to the car wreck that had caused the pain in your chest. Did you veer too close to him? Did you veer too far? What did you do?

When you get together with a friend, after years of mutual pinning, it’s supposed to work out. Every book, movie, and hell, every other couple you had ever seen that had been great friends first, then started dating, worked out. It always had a happy, romantic comedy kind of ending to it all. Everything was supposed to fall into place the second Matthew kissed you for the first time because friends falling in love felt inevitable in the kind of way that made you believe in predestination, in fated futures. You had come to the conclusion that fate either didn’t exist, or she was a fucking bitch.

“Come here!” Matthew shouted to you across the party when you were less than two steps into his front door. “I want a birthday hug!”

“I literally just got here!” you shouted back, your voice dropping in volume as you got closer to him, bumping your way through the party to get to him in the kitchen. “You couldn’t wait two minutes for me to like, put your gift down and take off my coat? Needy.”

“Ah!” Matthew raised a finger to you and shook it slightly. “It’s not needy when I’m the birthday boy. Hug. Now.”

You rolled your eyes, but tucking yourself willingly into Matthew’s broad chest. He was so warm all the time, but particularly now that he was definitely a few drinks deep and very much enjoying himself here at his party. Matthew always smelled the same, like the slightly too strong laundry detergent scent boosters his mom made him use and spearmint toothpaste. You couldn’t stand the combination at first, but now, pressed into his chest, you felt calm, the stress of the day washing away when you enveloped in him. He pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of your head and gave you an extra squeeze before letting you go.

“Also, you’re late,” he pointed out as he grabbed you a beer from the sink he’d filled with ice in lieu of people going in his fridge.

You took the beer from him after he slammed the top off on the edge of the counter. You chugged about a quarter of it before scrunching your face up and stopping. The first few sips were always the worst, before any of the wondrous affects of alcohol actually kicked in.

“Work,” you told him with a shrug.

Matthew rolled his eyes at you, a common occurrence, and you rolled yours back, and even more common occurrence. He laughed a little at your routine, before he tapped his beer suddenly on the top of yours, making foam rise rapidly, overflowing the bottle. You cursed and shifted your hand over the sink so the foam covered his makeshift cooler instead of the counter, but your hand was a lost cause.

“Matthew,” you groaned, your displeasure heavy in your voice as you shook your hand free of the foam.

Matthew threw his head back and laughed as you rinsed off your hand. When his head lifted, eyes finding yours again, he was met with a glare and the displeased shaking of your head. He smiled lazily, his blue eyes crossing your face to take in your expression.

“You’re cute when you’re pretending to be mad.” His words were a little more connected than they should be, his faint lisp expressing itself more, endearing in a way that cut through your annoyance at him. “I would like to request a birthday, ‘One of my best friend isn’t mad at me anymore,’ pass.”

You rolled your eyes again at him for the second time in minutes, “You’re going to get real annoying with this birthday thing, aren’t you?”

Matthew smiled wryly at you, “Comes once a year. Feel like I should get my money’s worth for the twenty-four hours I can, no?”

You shook your head at him, then took a sip of your beer. You were pretty sure you knew how this night was going to go and after a long day at work, it wasn’t exactly what you had been looking for. But the smile on his face, the curls falling down his forehead, and the fact that you were head over heels for him, meant that even though you hadn’t been looking to get on a rollercoaster today, damn it all to hell if you weren’t going to throw your hands in the air, scream your head off, and enjoy the ride.

“How about,” Matthew slurred slowly at you, “a birthday dance?”

“You could just ask me to dance. I’m used to you stepping on my toes and elbowing me in the face,” you threw back at him.

He faked pain, like you shot him in the chest, a large hand clapped over his heart as he winced. You giggled at his expression, before your laugh made him laugh. Matthew extended the hand on his chest out to you. You sighed before clapping your hand into his open one and letting him pull you toward where a few people were dancing. He spun you into his chest with a tug on your hand, purposefully putting your hands on the back of his neck.

“Odds you step on my toes tonight?”

Your beer bottle tapped between Matthew’s broad shoulders as he slowly started to sway with you, using his hands on your hips, one hand still with two fingers wrapped around his beer, to guide you. He smiled down at you knowingly. You knew the answer to your question before you’d even asked, but Matthew knew you were just teasing him.

“Oh, one-hundred percent,” Matthew told you with a smirk pulling up the corner of his lips. “I should get you steel toes for your birthday.”

“If you can remember when it is,” you laughed as Matthew spun you by your hips, your hands breaking from his neck to allow the spin.

“Don’t doubt me,” Matthew grabbed your wrists with one hand and pulled them against his chest. “I might have had to make it my phone passcode to be sure I don’t forget, but I definitely am not going to forget it.”

“That might just be the cutest thing you’ve ever done in your life, Tkachuk.”

He rolled his eyes and freed your hands, only to wrap his arm around your neck and yank you into his chest where your hands had been moments before. You squealed at the action, which only made him laugh. Matthew was a touchy drunk, but it was the closest you could be to him. These were the moments you could touch him, dance with him, and let yourself feel like the world you lived in was also the world in which he had feelings for you too. But you knew those worlds weren’t the same. The would you lived in was a world full of stolen drunken moments like these and unrequited love.

“Birthday beer?” he asked you, presenting you with the empty bottle you hadn’t realized he’d finished.

“You are really pushing your luck,” you told him.

The smile that came across his face when you grabbed the empty bottle made your heart beat heavier in your chest. You smiled back up at him and you could have sworn you saw his eyes glance down at your lips, but you shook off the idea like the intrusive thought it was. It was a self-indulgent misreading of him, your mind projecting a motion you wished Matthew had done, instead of accurately reading the moment for what it was. It might have been a false creation of your mind, but it made your chest hurt all the same.

You grabbed Matthew his beer. Then you birthday grabbed him a slice of his birthday cake. Then you had to birthday dance with him again. Another birthday hug. It started to wear heavy on your shoulders because tonight all Matthew seemed to want was you glued to his side. Your mind was twisting and turning, running down dark, unlit roads you had blocked off in your mind for your own good, but the combination of alcohol and Matthew’s hand on your hip was allowing your mind to blast through barricades you’d built to protect yourself and you were imagining this being real. Worse, you were wondering if maybe he felt like you did, which was as dangerous as driving down a twisty, forest road in the middle of the night, with your highlights out, and faulty breaks.

As the last guests trickled out of the party, Matthew said you didn’t count as a guest, he collapsed onto his couch, throwing his arm over the back. He motioned over to you as he polished off his remaining beer. He sighed when you had yet to move, letting his head roll back, curling bouncing at the movement.

“Come on, birthday cuddle,” he whined softly, gesturing you over to him again.

You groaned and hoped off the counter where you had posted up as everyone else left. Matthew smiled and lifted his head up when he saw you coming, adjusting on the couch to give you a clear spot, right under his arm, right against his side. You climbed onto the couch and slid in, dropping your head onto his chest as his arm dropped around your upper back instead of remaining on the couch. You sighed as you snuggled into his broad chest and Matthew’s chest suddenly rattled beneath you as he laughed.

“Well, make yourself comfortable then,” he laughed softly.

“You’re comfy and I’m tired,” you mumbled, tucking your face down to try and hide the flush rising in your cheeks.

Yes, you were tired. Yes, Matthew was pretty comfortable. Neither one of those things had anything to do with why you were thrilled to be snuggled into his chest. The smell of spearmint and laundry detergent was mixed with cheap beer, but you found yourself falling more into him, your shoulders relaxing, your mind slowly, but your heart racing. You might be pushing your luck, tipping your hand with how you were openly enjoying this, but Matthew’s hand playing with the ends of your hair and the steadiness of his breathing plus the sheer volume of alcohol he had consumed tonight was giving you hope that even if you were tipping your hand, he wouldn’t be able to recognize the cards.

“Come here. Birthday hug.”

“I’m literally snuggling you. Why do you want a hug? Snuggling is an extended hug,” you muttered to him.

“Hug,” Matthew repeated, a hand patting his thigh.

You groaned as you lifted your head from your comfortable spot, twisting awkwardly to get your arms around Matthew’s neck. He huffed, clearly not thrilled with your position. His hands found your waist, fingers sliding into your belt loops to pull you onto his lap, situating your legs on either side of his. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you tight against him, hugging you to his chest. His face was tucked into your neck, his hot breath fanning out over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He mumbled something you couldn’t entirely hear, but you caught the word birthday again and rolled your eyes. You sighed as you pulled back, his arms giving way to let you sit up on his thighs.

“What did you say?” you asked him softly.

Matthew swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from your attempted eye contact. His jaw clenched, nerves getting the better of him. You just didn’t know what he had to be particularly nervous about.

“I want a birthday kiss.”

His words were soft, vulnerability keeping his voice tense, but his volume low. His eyes lifted up, scanning over your face, looking for some sign as to how you received his words. Matthew moved a hand to the back of your neck and gently pulled, ever so slightly, to bring your mouth closer to his. His eyes continued to take in your face, trying to read your expression, but he was clueless, his own feelings clouding his judgment. His tongue darted out, swiping across his bottom lip.

“You don’t have to, obviously, but fuck, I really hope you want to, ” he breathed out, eyes still trying to find some sign, something to hang onto in your face.

It was clumsy with excitement, but you dipped your head forward and pressed your lips against his. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as he started to kiss you back, the sound blocking out everything except how you were finally doing this, you were finally kissing Matthew. All you could feel was him, his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his tongue working yours softly. Just him. You pulled back and resting your forehead against his as his fingers tangled themselves in your hair at the back of your neck.

“Thank god,” Matthew mumbled. “I thought I ruined us for a second there.”

You shook your head softly and smiled down at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips again. He was smiling before you even pulled away this time.

“Fastest my birthday wish has ever come true in my life,” Matthew told you softly, a smile wide on his face as he spoke. “Also, my best birthday wish ever, if I do say so myself.”

“Wait, what did you wish for?” you laughed, letting a hand run down his chest lightly.

“You,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wished for you.”

Everything after that was easy, for a little while. You both had dreamed, fantasized about having each other, so you were both in absolute bliss when everything came together. It felt like two pieces in a puzzle, finally finding each other after being separated by the expanse of the unfinished masterpiece in between if the masterpiece was the world as far as both of you knew. But you never found your place in it together, never locked into the bigger picture. Two pieces floating out in space can’t stay connected forever when hands start trying to smash them into place, hands that wonder if those pieces even belong together at all.

The hands that ripped you and Matthew apart weren’t from the outside looking in though. They were the same hands that held your hips so tightly on nights between the sheets. The same hands that held yours where you walked through the city after a few too many drinks at the bar together. The same hands that ran through your hair softly when you came over crying about something you couldn’t even remember anymore.

They were the same hands currently wrapped around a glass at a bar across town. The boy, not man, whose hands they were was running one through his hair hurriedly now. He couldn’t get you out of his mind and he just couldn’t figure out why.

“Okay, why did you break up with her again?” Johnny pressed Matthew for what had to have been the twentieth time over the last month. “Because you’re fucking miserable all the time. She’s fucking miserable. None of us can get her out of her apartment. So I’m just not getting this one, man. Why aren’t you at her place right now? Why weren’t you there a month ago really, begging for her to take you back?”

Matthew groaned and screwed his eyes shut hard. He had explained this so many times, the words and memories were starting to blur together for him. If you say the same word too many times in a row, your brain begins to question if what you’re saying if even real anymore. Matthew felt the same type of confusion and disassociation with recounting his reasons for breaking up with you. The version of him that had original thought those thoughts, felt those feelings, wasn’t here anymore. It was replaced with a shell of a boy who realized he’d made a terrible mistake.

“Wait, have you seen her?”

Johnny rolled his eyes at Matthew, but he answered anyway.

“No, I didn’t,” he sighed, motioning to the bartender for another beer. “A couple of the girlfriends stopped by, brought her some casseroles or something.”

“Don’t you bring casseroles when someone dies?”

Matthew forced the terrible joke and his own laugh in response out, in a poor attempt to disguise the ache in his chest at the thought of you. He could see you so clearly in his mind, pacing holes in the floorboards of your apartment, wearing out your favorite mug, but there was no way on God’s green earth you were wearing your Flames sweatshirt you usually did when you were upset. Hell, Matthew would be amazed if you hadn’t burned it after what he done. He knew you had to hate the casseroles, both based on the fact that you barely considered them an edible type of food, and the fact that they seemed to be an homage to the funeral of your love life. You would’ve made a better joke than him too and he wished he could’ve heard it, but you probably hadn’t made one. Matthew was the person who helped you out of the negative thought spirals that sent you spinning around your apartment. He caused this one instead and he was here, sitting in a bar, doing nothing about it because there was no way you’d even talk to him again, not with what he said.

“I just,” Matthew sighed again and fussed with his beer, lining and unlining it up with the condensation ring on the coaster as he talked, “I got too into my head. We were fighting. It just, it wasn’t good, Johnny.”

“It wasn’t good or you weren’t good?” Johnny pressed, watching carefully as Matthew’s body froze in response to the question, glass frozen mid-movement, eyes fixed on a broken neon sign in front of him. “Chucky, you don’t do anything unless you already know you can do it. You’ve never been in a relationship as an, I don’t want to say adult because that’s not entirely true, but as an adult, so you probably sucked at it.”

Matthew rolled his eyes before throwing back verbally at him, “Thanks, Johnny. Loving this pep talk. I’ll make sure when Gio retires, you get my recommendation for the C.”

“We both know exactly,” Johnny tapped Matthew on the forearm, “where that C is going next and don’t even lie. But that’s neither here or there right now. The point is that she was your girlfriend. You were supposed to talk to her about being a shitty boyfriend.”

“I am not in the mood for this,” Matthew groaned, dropping his head to the bar, recoiling when his skin stuck to it, his face scrunching up in disgust.

“I mean, Johnny’s right,” said Monahan as he slipped up next to Matthew’s other side, making a second groan slide from Matthew’s throat. “You were supposed to talk to her, not break up with her like a dumbass. She was your friend first. She knew you weren’t perfect and that she’s have to put up with some shit because you definitely don’t know the first thing about being someone’s partner. She went all in with you anyway,”

“Decided the person you could be and the person she could be with you was worth it,” Johnny jumped back in.

“Good one, Johnny,” Sean nodded appreciatively, tapping his beer bottle against Johnny’s across the bar in front of Matthew. “She gave you a chance, a hell of a good chance. And you decided to throw it all away? Because you fought?”

“Who the fuck are you right now?” Matthew cursed at Sean. “Where did you find all this girl advice, huh? If I wanted this, I would’ve asked your girlfriend.”

“Fianceé excuse you,” Sean reminded him, a smile pulling at his lips. “She relayed all of this back to me. She saw her a few days ago. This is all straight from the source, man.”

“Wait, she said that stuff?” Matthew choked a little on his beer.

“Yeah, she did. Wanna know what else she said?” Sean didn’t give Matthew time, much like Matthew gave you no time during that conversation a month ago, no regard to if Matthew could handle what he was about to say. “She said you weren’t good at communicating or being a boyfriend, but she was okay with it because she loved you. All she wanted was effort. Just a little effort from you, man. And you just left instead of trying.”

Your words, albeit coming through the probably clumsy filter of Sean, stung in Matthew’s chest. He felt like a coward, a fraud. He tried so hard to be tough, to be the guy that kept pushing, kept grinding, kept giving a shit even when his team was down three goals with five to play. He was the guy everyone counted on to try, even when everything else was screaming to just give up and accept defeat. That’s what he’d done with you. He gave up when the waves of trials started coming, when a storm kicked up. Matthew had taken one look at a swell coming that looked to be the type that could swallow ships whole, took the lifeboat, and ran without a second thought. He left you on a battered boat, full of holes, without even a bucket to bail yourself out.

To make matters worse, the wave he had been so scared of was either entirely a fabrication of his own mind and he had run from his own twisted imagination. Or worse, he had created the wave himself and ran before it could catch up to him.

It was catching up to him now though, sitting at a dive bar in Calgary, a warm beer in his hand, and the weight of what he had done sitting heavy on his shoulders.

“Fuck,” was all he could say.

“Your dream girl, really.” Johnny was twisting the knife now, but Matthew knew he deserved it when Johnny added, “And you fucked it.”

“Yeah,” Matthew laughed softly, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes that were still staring at a broken and sputtering neon sign, but really seeing something that wasn’t there.

He was seeing you, in that pretty sundress, the one with the sunflowers on it that Matthew loved on you because you always looked so happy whenever you wore it. Countless memories of you in that dress. You wore it out with friends, the second time Matthew had ever met you. That’s the first time he remembered thinking just how pretty you were, the way your hair fell down on your shoulders, the way your smile formed, the way your nose crinkled when you laughed. Matthew was used to thinking girls where hot, but you? You were beautiful, standing there, laughing at something Johnny had said, in that sunflower sundress.

He remembered that dress from the first time he almost kissed you, a month later, walking down the street together after dinner, his hoodie around your shoulders because you had gotten cold and Matthew was always warm. It was the first time you wore his clothes and it made Matthew’s heart beat loudly in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear anything else, couldn’t think about anything else, but kissing you. He almost went for it, but then you pulled him back to reality, actually pulled him out of the street he hadn’t noticed he stepped into because he couldn’t hear the cars over his heartbeat.

That dress starred in his memories of your first date that occurred a week after his birthday, the one where he finally kissed you for the first time, over two years after the first time he almost kissed you. It might have been January in Calgary, but there was that dress again, with tights and a thick coat and knee high boots and socks and a little hole at the bottom hem and it made Matthew want to die. If he died staring at you in that dress, kissing you in that dress, he was pretty sure he would be fine with whatever his obituary looked like.

Except that dress and all the memories of it were tainted because you had been wearing it when he broke your heart, when he watched you break apart and shatter, all of his own doing. Hell, he probably tainted sunflowers as a whole for you. He’d gotten you so many over the few months you’d been together, even though they had cost far too much money since sunflowers in Calgary in the winter weren’t exactly commonplace. The necklace for your birthday, a sunflower and his number in delicate gold, his sister’s idea.

Matthew wondered if people could hate certain types of flowers for the same type of reasons people loved them. People loved them because of how they looked and smelled, but also the memories associated with them. His mom loved pink tulips, but was it more because she always had or because his father always bought them for her and now she couldn’t look at them without thinking of his dad and all the times he has surprised her with them? Was the existing love or the associated love the more powerful factor in her love of them?

Either way, Matthew was just hoping you didn’t hate sunflowers anymore because of him.

“How do I fix it?”

Matthew’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper now, his hand tense around his glass. Matthew had too many thoughts running through his head, but he needed to make sure you didn’t hate sunflowers now. He just didn’t know how to even get you to talk to him to find out if you did.

Johnny and Sean looked at each other and Johnny sighed when the silent communication resulted in him being the one to answer. “I don’t think you can, Chucky.”

“No, I have to, I have to fix it, Johnny,” Matthew’s voice cracked. “I just, I have to make sure...”

He didn’t finish the thought because it wouldn’t make sense and they would both probably send him home, thinking he was either too drunk or having a breakdown, more likely both, if he started ranting about sunflowers.

“I think all you can do is reach out,” Johnny told him softly. “Just let her know that you now realize you made a massive mistake, that you want to be a team this time and work on it, I guess. From there, it’s up to her.”

“Should I bring flowers?” Matthew was asking the universe more than either of the two not so romantics next to him. “Chocolates? Something? Is there anything I can bring or do to fix it?”

“I don’t think you can fix it, dude,” Sean cut in with a sigh. “You can’t force it. if she even talks to you, she’s going to have to decide you’re worth a second shot and knowing her, she’s not going to just give it to you tonight or tomorrow or whatever. She’s going to want to see real change first. You just tell her that you’re going to try and then fucking try, even if she doesn’t ask you to try. Start working on yourself anyway. Start acting like she’ll give you a second shot.”

“Do you think she will?”

Matthew’s voice echoed how it sounded earlier, timid, small, a whispered prayer from a boy who knew his only hope was if fate heard him and decided to twist the world in his favor, if fate wasn’t a fucking bitch after all.

“I mean,” Sean sighed, thinking about himself now, trying to shove his feet into Matthew’s water-logged shoes for a moment to find an answer, “if I was her, I wouldn’t. But she’s a better person than all of us put together, so maybe she will, but I know I wouldn’t.”

Matthew let out a long, shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening them to pick his phone off the bar. He knew you wouldn’t answer a phone call. He also knew your voicemail was definitely full at this point. He was always the person who had to tell you to delete the old ones whenever he tried to leave you one and couldn’t, but he wasn’t there to do it, so it would be full by now. He had to settle for a text, which felt like a much shittier version of a handwritten letter, but he had terrible handwriting and spelling, but at least it ranked well above an email in the power ranking of methods of communication.

Please tell me you don’t hate sunflowers because of me. I really hope I didn’t ruin them for you.

Matthew placed his phone face down on the bar, then nervously flipped it face up even though he knew you wouldn’t have even been able to read his text in the millisecond his phone was face down. He didn’t know if you would answer, or if you would even read it. You would read it, Matthew assured himself. He knew you. You never got a text or a message you didn’t read. Would you say anything to him about it though? Would it be on your phone, nested among texts from people who didn’t break your heart until one day, probably a year from now, you would meet someone else and have no need to remember him anymore, so only then would you finally delete it?

Matthew tried not to think about it, but his eyes glanced down at the screen every thirty seconds even though he was willing them to just give you time. He didn’t even realize it was past one in the morning. You were definitely up, he knew you better than to think you would be asleep, but awake and awake and answering texts were different. He just hoped if you were awake, that you didn’t hate sunflowers, maybe that you didn’t hate him, and that you weren’t crying.

You were awake though, holding that godforsaken necklace that you had ripped from your neck the morning after he ended it and thrown into the back of your jewelry box. The necklace was in one hand and your phone with Matthew’s text pulled up in the other. You were crying, something Matthew desperately wished you weren’t doing as he drank the last dregs of his beer and headed home with his head hung low, his phone alight in his hand as he ritually checked for a reply from you. You sighed, looking between his text and the necklace, wondering if you hated your favorite flower now. That question hung on another one though, one domino relying on the other to fall. Did you hate Matthew Tkachuk?

Yes, you did. That was decided the moment the door closed behind him and he left you to deal with the crashing waves of grief all by yourself, without even a bucket to bail you out.

Did you hate him more than you loved him though?

You stared at the necklace, the one you hadn’t been able to throw away, and you knew the answer. The delicate golden necklace would be buried deep in a landfill if you really hated him more than you loved him, not in the palm of your hand now. But here you were, staring at it until your eyes went cloudy with tears, before you had to put it back in the box. You couldn’t put it back on, not now, maybe not ever, but you also couldn’t bear getting rid of it, the idea making your heart twist in your chest in a way that made you physically wince.

You put your phone on your nightstand at the same moment Matthew did across town, both with your minds racing over the unanswered text. Matthew went to bed thinking you would never answer it, forever leaving the question hanging in the wind. You went to bed knowing your answer, but unsure if you were ever going to share it with him.

------

Matthew groaned when he heard his doorbell ring, followed by cautious knocking. He hated that doorbell. The noise was absolutely piercing, especially to his hungover brain. He hadn’t even drank that much last night, but he was so incredibly hungover. Matthew could only guess that the alcohol had worked in tandem with the ache in his chest after deciding he needed to feel worse to create a hangover this bad from five beers over three hours. He shuffled to the front door, not even caring he hadn’t bothered to find any clothes other than sweats on his way to it. Whoever it was was too goddamn early and they would need to come back another time.

When Matthew ripped open his front door, a groan falling from his mouth at the effort it took, he was looking at the ceiling, head thrown back in hatred of the exhaustion he was now feeling due to having to actually do something other than lay in bed and be hungover.

“Look, this building better be on fire or-”

Everything stopped when he saw it was you. You looked so small to him, standing there, a tray with two coffees in hand and a brown bag in your other hand. Your sweatshirt was swallowing you up and you looked like you were strongly debating making a break for the stairwell with the way your eyes were shifting to the right. There were dark circles under your reddened, swollen eyes, eyes that only looked like that when you had been doing a lot of crying recently.

Matthew thought you would have a lot of possible reactions to his text. He never once let himself think you would show up at his front door.

“I brought bagels,” you finally said, after far too long of both of you assessing the other.

Matthew looked almost as bad as you did. His hair was unkempt beyond normal, the curls broken and haphazard across his head, hanging into his forehead. His eyes were sunken and absent, vacant like a forgotten home on the outskirts of town. Days old stubble patchily covered his jawline, razor clearly lost among his things again. If you weren’t at his apartment, if you had just passed him on the street instead, you might not have recognized him. There was always a lightness to Matthew, an inability to keep his feet on the ground as he searched for the next adventure he could have, but he seemed rooted in place, held down by some outside force. He was complying with it, the force, but it was clearly under duress and it was exhausting him. The force was absolute agony and it was written all over his face, in his posture, in his every labored movement.

“And coffee,” you added after no words left Matthew’s mouth long enough for an uncomfortable silence to stretch between you both.

“You’re here,” Matthew breathed out, words spoke so softly as if he feared if he said them too loudly, you would disappear.

Matthew’s head was pounding. His mouth tasted awful since he went straight to bed when he got home, not even stopping to brush his teeth. He knew he looked like an absolute mess because there wasn’t a way a person could feel like he did and not look like a mess. He didn’t care about any of it. You were here. You were actually here, with coffee, and bagels, at his front door.

He didn’t think. He knew it was a mistake after the fact, really as soon as he did it, but he also knew there was a chance you were here just for personal closure, that this might be the last time he ever got to see you again. He reached out and grabbed you by your waist, crushing you into his bare chest. His face pressed into your hair, which always smelled like strawberries to him even though you swore your shampoo wasn’t supposed to smell like strawberries. If you never talked to him again after today, he just wanted to hold you one more time.

You hugged him back, hesitation evident in your loose arms and your tense shoulders. It was barely a hug, but it almost made Matthew cry. Even just the small response, no matter how cautious it was, made him feel better than he had felt in a month.

“Go brush your teeth and like, actually wake up,” you told him as you pulled away from him. “I’ll, um, toast the bagels, I guess.”

Matthew was on autopilot as he walked into his en suite and grabbed his toothbrush. His movements were slow, robotic as he brushed his teeth. There was only one thing on his mind, replaying over and over incessantly, persistently. Why did you show up at his place? Matthew was desperately trying to turn the broken record playing his mind over to the other side, hoping to find the answer, but it was only more of the same. There was no reason, no reason he could understand, why you had shown up at his front door. Why you had shown up with coffee and breakfast for him was so far outside of the realm of things Matthew could understand, he had to eliminate it from his mind.

Until it all suddenly clicked in place, Sean’s words from last night flowing back into his mind.

You were here because you were a better person than he was, a far better person. Sean had said you were better than all of them, very much including Matthew, put together and it was true. You were bright and beautiful and good, so incredibly good. You loved people with an honesty and a bravery that made Matthew’s heart ache due to the effort it had to put in to keep up with you when he’d been smart enough to accept your love. You were so much better than he was four months ago when you kissed at his birthday party, so much better than the bedraggled boy looking back at him in the mirror today, and somehow infinitely better than the person he was going to be in fifty years, already. Who you would be in fifty years? You were going to be the kind of person that needed a designated overflow zone at your funeral because too many people were going to want to acknowledge they’d felt your love in front of hundreds of others.

Matthew never deserved the piece of you he’d gotten. He knew that now as he heard you humming softly to yourself as you dropped the bagels in his toaster. Matthew had never deserved you and it’s why he had ended it because he’d known all along. He knew you were fighting because he wasn’t good enough for you and that he never would be. He would have spent his life running at top speed behind you, trying not to slow you down, trying not to be a drag on your life, trying not to lessen the impact for good you could have on the world. You would have never let him go, slowing yourself, stunting yourself in order to accommodate him.

But here you were, looping the train of your life to run back through the temporary station of your relationship with him that was in complete shambles, and Matthew let himself dream it was because you were ready to hold his hand and fix it up brick by brick, piece by piece because you were so good it hurt. Matthew knew the right thing to do would be to make sure your train left the station today, unencumbered by any damage from him, and more importantly, without him. But Matthew Tkachuk was three things that made that impossible. He was competitive, problematically so, always wanting to get better, always wanting to win. Damn it all to hell if he couldn’t spend the rest of his life running to keep up with you because one day, he just might actually catch up if he could figure out how to run fast enough. Matthew Tkachuk was also incredibly selfish and incredibly in love with you, one a personality flaw and the other the purest part of him that had ever existed. He had to figure out how to catch up because he couldn’t let you go.

Matthew stepped out of the bathroom with resolve settling into his clenched jaw. He knew asking you to take him back without any proof he could improve was a hopeless avenue. He couldn’t ask you for that; him asking for anything was already unfair, he needed to try to at least ask for the least he could. Any plan he had formed was tossed out the window of his high rise the second he saw you, sweatshirt hanging off your shoulder, hair piled on top of your head, humming softly to yourself as you spread cream cheese on his and your bagels, barefoot in his kitchen. For a moment, that moment Matthew held his breath so you wouldn’t hear him standing in the kitchen doorway, it was like the last month hadn’t happened and you were still his. Matthew hung in the moment as long as his lungs would allow, soaking it in case he never got to see it again.

“You going to keep staring or are you going to come get your bagel?”

Your words pulled him out of his thoughts violently, head shaking off the ideas that had been swirling, pulling him down that whirlpool of you and him that might just kill him. He yanked the nearest bar stool out, dropping down into it unceremoniously, before graciously taking the bagel and the coffee you’d brought for him.

“Why did you ask me that?” you finally said, words slicing like knives through the palpable tension in the air. “The sunflowers. Why that? After a whole month? That?”

You said a few extra words then you’d meant to say. You were trying to keep everything short and brief, just here in a quest for the peace you needed and nothing more. More words meant more feelings and more feelings meant the idea of peace slipped further away with each expressed word.

“I just,” Matthew ran a hand aggressively through his curls before starting over, “I just wanted to make sure that after everything I did, I didn’t ruin one of your favorite things for you.”

You sighed, debating if you wanted get into this or not with him. What could it hurt? It was just a story.

“I like them because my mom does,” you told him softly. “She always had them growing by our house when I was little. She always had them in a vase by the front door, and she had these sunflower earrings, these little golden ones. They’d kind of like the necklace-”

Your fingers touched the bare skin where the necklace he gave you had sat until a month ago, fingers finding nothing to touch to. Matthew’s eyes had followed your movement, saddening when he saw you weren’t wearing it even though he hadn’t expected you to be.

You cleared your throat before continuing, “Anyway, she lost them a while ago. But I guess they just remind me of home. That’s why I got that dress. I got it when I first moved here. I saw it walking around downtown in a window and just took it as a sign that everything was going to be alright, you know?”

Matthew nodded softly as he continued to listen and mindless pick at his bagel.

“And then when we started dating and you figured out they were my favorite flowers and started getting me dozens of them all the time, I guess you and us started creeping in as part of those reasons I love them. It kind of sucks because they make me sad now and I can’t wear that dress anymore.”

The words were tumbling out of your mouth now, practically on top of each other. You weren’t sure where you’re going, but more words meant more expressed and acknowledged feelings and you were saying a lot of words. Matthew was trying to keep up, trying to take time to process and read between the lines. You always said so much whenever you spoke, half of it jammed in between sentences in pregnant pauses and shifting eyes. He was trying to take it all in, trying to figure out how you were actually feeling, but you weren’t resting in any one emotion long enough for Matthew to identify it.

“But no,” you sighed. “I don’t hate sunflowers. They’re sadder now. It used to just be missing home, but now they make me miss us. But I don’t hate them. I don’t think you can fully hate something that reminds you of so many people and places and times that you loved. I don’t hate them because I don’t hate you, Matty.”

He didn’t ruin one of your favorite things for you and you didn’t hate him. In full honesty, Matthew didn’t think you hated him. He knew one of your flaws, but also your best quality, the one that made Matthew feel so lucky to have been with you, was your capacity for love. It got you in trouble sometimes, kept you with people you shouldn’t have been, made you believe in fake friends’ false pretenses, but it also the only reason you didn’t hate him now and the only possible reason you would ever accept any sort of olive branch Matthew could clumsily extend.

“I fucked up,” Matthew said suddenly. He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t filtering. He should have taken his time, picked his words carefully, but it was you and you didn’t hate him and Matthew was painfully awful at this sort of thing and he was overwhelmed with the idea he might just have an opening back into the warmth that was you. “I’m so fucking sorry. I totally get if you can’t trust me again. I know I’m a shit boyfriend. But fuck, I love you. I know I do. I’m just so bad at showing it. I want to fix that. I want to fix it with you. I want you and I want to show you I’m not a fuck up and that I do love you. I won’t need a second chance ever again, just some patience. Please.”

Matthew let out a long, shaky breath when the final begging word left his lips. He knew he’d been pleading with you with each and every word, hoping something he could say might hit you in just the right away, might have just the right effect to get the result he so desperately craved. You. Back in his arms. Back in his bed. Back in his jersey at his games. Back with him, where he wanted you more than he had wanted anything in an embarrassingly long time.

“Is any of that even true?”

Your question stopped Matthew in his tracks. It felt like a punch to his chest, right over his already aching heart. How could you doubt that? No, Matthew knew how you could doubt it. You could doubt it because you could doubt every single thing about him if you damn well pleased. He deserved every bit of doubt and caution you presented. He had broken you because he refused to take his seat at the adults’ table and talk about how he felt, how he was feeling insecure, how he felt like a bad partner, and how he felt worse about all of that because he felt like he couldn’t fix any of it. He attributed the two of you not working out to you two not being a match, instead of acknowledging his own flaws and what they were doing to both of you. In retrospect, all of that probably would have been far better to say to you than what he had actually said, but words couldn’t be stuffed back in his mouth. They were now in your mind, in your memory, and Matthew would just have to live with another mistake on the laundry list of things he had done wrong regarding you.

“Every single word is true,” Matthew told you softly. “I have so many other ones too, if you want to hear them.”

You breathed out hard, shoving the air forcefully out of your lungs as you ran a hand through your hair, “You don’t get to say those kinds of things to me, Matthew. You don’t have the right to that.”

“I know,” Matthew grimaced in reaction to your words.

He should’ve held his tongue, but he had so much he needed to say to you. But there he was again. Thinking about himself, only himself. He wasn’t considering you, wasn’t communicating with you. He just vomited all of his thoughts and feelings up without even bothering to see if you were actually open to receiving them. Saying you didn’t hate him didn’t even correlate to being open to the conversation Matthew had forced into your hands, unaware he had even pried your fists open to put it there.

“I shouldn’t have forced that all on you,” Matthew admitted softly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just, I have so much I want to say to you.”

“Matthew,” you sighed. You had been doing a lot of sighing lately. “I don’t think-”

“I don’t want you to take me back,” Matthew cut you off. “At least, not right away. I don’t deserve that. I know that. I’m not asking for that.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes scanning over his face to try and figured out where he was going. You thought he would ask you to take him back, something you weren’t going to do without a sign from him that it would actually be different this time instead of exactly the same, with a shorter honeymoon period. Another two months with him, only to suffer the same heartbreak wasn’t enough time to make you take a blind chance it would be different. You needed something to hang your hat on, something to make you feel like he wanted to be your partner this time around. You needed to see him try, try in the long nights apart, try in the close nights together, try in the afternoon dates, and try in the stolen morning moments. You needed to see Matthew try and be your partner, and not just some emotional, freeloading friend with benefits version of a boyfriend who would spin you around a dance floor, then into his bed, then leave whenever you asked for more.

“Then what are you asking for?”

Your words were quieter than you expected, confusion ringing heavy in each syllable. Matthew ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in how his fingers tugged on his curls at the end. He didn’t really know what he wanted. He just wanted a shot to prove to you he was worth your time, that he could be the partner you deserved. He wasn’t even sure he could be, which was part of the reason he was struggling to speak to you now, feeling like he was trying to row up a rushing creek made of his current feelings and his past failures without any sort of paddle or even a life vest, about to drown at any possible second.

“I just, I want to show you that I’m worth a real shot again.” Matthew was begging now, figuring that if you said no, at least you would know how badly he wanted you. He couldn’t get more pathetic than asking you if he’d ruined your favorite flowers because it had somehow said everything without saying anything at all. “Just, let me be around, let me earn a second chance. Let me show you I’m trying, trying to get better, trying to communicate better, trying to be someone who is good enough to deserve half of you. Let me show you I can try and that I’ll keep on trying forever, if that’s what you want from me. If you want to watch me try for five fucking years before giving me another shot, that’s fine. If you want to watch me try to five fucking years and then not give me another shot, that’s fine, at least I spent five years trying for someone who is so goddamn worth it, it hurts.”

“So, you want what exactly?” you pressed, a defensive laugh edging at your voice. “You want to just, what? To be around all the time? To be together all of the time? That’s just being friends, Matthew, and you were always a great friend, but you were a shitty fucking boyfriend. You want to spend all day with me, showing me that you’re trying to be better, then do whatever you want when you’re not around me?”

“No, I, fuck,” Matthew groaned, hands digging into his hair, head dropping to the cold granite counter in dismay at the mess he had made.

“Here’s your first communication test then,” you told him, letting the passive aggressive biting words you held at the back of your tongue roll off the front of it instead. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” Matthew banged his forehead on the counter with each word, frustration getting the better of him now. “I don’t even think this is going to make sense, but let me be your boyfriend even though you won’t be my girlfriend. That sounds so fucking stupid now that I said it out loud, but I guess I’m just trying to say I’m going to be one hundred-percent, all gas no brakes, full throttle about you and trying to actually change for you and show you I’m changing, but you can do whatever you damn well please because even letting me try is a fuck load more than I deserve.”

Matthew let out a breath to try and steady himself before continuing, “I know I’m still asking for a lot, both of your time and of your ability to at least sort of try to look at me not like the guy who said all of that shit a month ago. But I promise, I’ll be worth it. You do whatever you want, no strings, no jealousy, nothing. Let me be around and prove I’m worth a real second shot, please. You can send me packing whenever you want and I won’t bother you. You’re just too fucking incredible for me not to ask to try, even though I don’t have any right to ask.”

You breathed out hard, forcing all of the air out of your lungs. Matthew was asking, begging, for an opportunity to prove himself, to prove he could do what you wanted all along, just for him to try. Standing in his kitchen, bare feet cold on his hard wood floor, the idea of giving him that opportunity made your heart pick up in your chest, but made pain radiate through it at the same time. The romantic in you, the part of you that wondered if maybe Matthew Tkachuk was actually worth it, the part of you that loved sunflowers even though the memories attached to them were so incredibly mixed now, wanted to give him a chance. The other part of you, an equal part of you, was screaming, demanding that you be protective of yourself, of your happiness, from the people you let into your life, especially ones who had already proven then had no problem burning the life you were building for yourself and leaving before the ashes started to fall.

But did you even have a happiness you needed to protect? If you didn’t, then the answer was simple. If there was nothing to protect, there was extremely limited risk. You were already in a variation of hell of his own creation, sponsored by the feeling of someone you love deciding you weren’t worth an ounce of effort. What could it do to you if he failed? It would just affirm what you already experienced as a perennial fact instead of a potentially annual moment.

But the romantic inside pushed back, hard. Would you always wonder what would have happened if you gave him a chance? Would you always carry a torch for him? Would there always be an empty room, with a light left on, for him, in the house of the life you ended up making for yourself?

Romanticism versus realism. That was the question at hand. You knew both sides of the argument, the angel and devil on your shoulder both just facets of you, screaming at each other, both trying to decide what was best for you. They were just extensions of you though, so if you didn’t know, they didn’t know. But you did know two things though.

You knew you still loved sunflowers and you still loved Matthew Tkachuk.

And that was enough to convince you punch him a round-trip, one month ticket on the train of your every moving, ever developing life. You would be directing the path, choosing which tracks you would take, making all the moves, and he would have to figure out how to be your co-director. You weren’t going to stop or simplify anything for him. You were just going to continue on. In a month, the train would loop back to the station and you would decide to punch him another ticket, offer him the seat next to you, or leave him stranded there, alone at a run down train station probably in the pouring rain like in all the movies, before he would leave and watch as the station crumbled to dust upon his exit along with the idea of you and him.

“Okay.”

You settled into your answer as you gave it, trying to get it to settle over your body in a way that made you feel warmer rather than colder. Matthew’s eyes were staring into yours and he looked like he was teetering on the edge of crying, like he wanted to tell you everything that single thing that word made him feel, but he bit his lip and held his tongue. He was listening instead of talking, a welcome change, a welcome first attempt.

“You get one month,” you told him, your voice shaking as you tried to force it to be level. “One month of being around, I guess we can call it that. You figure out how you want to prove it to me. I’m not here to help you out. You hurt me. This is me, unlocking the front door for you. You have to figure out how to open it all on your own, okay? After a month, I guess we can talk and see where we’re at.”

“Thank you,” is all Matthew can figure out how to say for a moment. One month to try and show you he was worth another maybe, or if he let himself dream for a second, one month until you might want to be with him again. “I’d take anything, so thank you.”

“Take your fucking breakfast,” you smiled softly, trying to break the tension as much as one joke can. “And your coffee is cold now but that’s going to be a you problem.”

“Is your coffee cold?” Matthew asked you. He just wanted to fix something, even something as small as a too cold cup of coffee. “I can fix it.”

“Well, it’s iced coffee,” you informed him, a genuine laugh in your voice this time as you reached behind you to grab your drink on the opposite counter, giving the cup a little shake, ice rattling, as you showed it to him. “So, I sure hope you’re not going to try and warm it up.”

“No, no,” Matthew laughed softly, hands fiddling with the collar on his now room temperature at best coffee. “Probably should’ve asked what you were drinking first.”

You nodded softly, “Your heart was in the right place.”

Matthew smiled softly as you and your heart picked up in your chest again. God, that smile. It cut through everything, through the dull ache in your chest, through the deafening noise in your head of your own thoughts, and hit you right in the room in your heart that was reserved for him. It was vacant now, but the lights shone brighter for a moment and the furniture in the basement that used to be in there for him rattled, drawers and cabinet doors smashing, a reminder that everything you felt for him was still there. It might be covered in drop clothes and an inch of dust, but it was there. Part of you was already ready for him, but it wasn’t most of you. Maybe one day it would be. Or maybe this was one of the worst things you’d allowed in a long time under the impression that he simply couldn’t make things worse for you, which was almost a challenge to that fucking bitch fate at this point. Your insecurity and shaky foundation got the best of you for a moment and a sentence like a child’s prayer slipped out of your mouth.

“Matthew, please don’t waste my time.”

“I won’t,” Matthew’s words followed yours without a second of hesitation. “I promise. I won’t.”

The romantic in you hoped he was right, that this would be worth how difficult it would be, how difficult it would be to look at him over and over again with his past words playing like a broken record stuck on a broken record player in your mind. If he truly did try, then enduring the torturous reminder of the past would be more than worth it because you were pretty certain that if Matthew Tkachuk could figure out how to be everything you knew he could be, he would be the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. But could he get there? You didn’t know, but sometimes people take risks, people bend until they almost break in search of love, like sunflowers bend towards the sunlight, in search of a new and brighter day.

------

You woke up the next day after breakfast at Matthew’s, after ducking out for a planned series of activities, lunch with a friend, and errands to run. You had tried to fill your day after Matthew’s to give yourself an out if it went poorly and a break from Matthew to process everything if it turned out positive. Part of you was wondering if what had happened was really positive or not, but you felt better today than you had over the last month, able to get out of bed and get the coffee pot started with too much extra effort. The bags under your eyes looked better than they had in weeks.

A knock on your front door, eerily reminiscent of the one you’d delivered on Matthew’s door the day before, brought you and your freshly poured cup of coffee in hand to the door. You opened the door and were greeted with an unfamiliar face with a very familiar expression, one far too cheery for the hour in the day. The smile plastered on her face didn’t falter as she read your name and address off her list to confirm who you were and that she was in the right place. You nodded as confirmation, which just made her smile impossibly wider.

“Great! These are for you then!”

Her voice was somehow worse than the fact that she was downright euphoric before nine in the morning. No one who could be this excited about life before nine could be trusted. She practically shoved a bouquet into your hands, turned on her heels, then seemed to skip down the hallway and out of your building. You shook your head as if to shake off the memory of the world’s cheeriest delivery person from your mind, before turning back into your apartment, kicking the door closed on your way to the kitchen table.

Of course, they were sunflowers. Matthew’s consistency with flowers was never in doubt. You grabbed the card, smiling at the words printed on the small card.

If you don’t hate sunflowers yet, give me a month. You’re going to get so many, you’ll be sick of them. Lunch today? - Matty

You tapped the card in your hand, taking deep steady breathes as you walked over to the counter where your phone was. You were really doing this. You were really giving him a chance to show you he could be better than your downright awful four months full of casual disagreements, fights, and near constant miscommunication had shown you. There were people in your life you didn’t think would approve. No, you knew they wouldn’t approve. That’s why you hadn’t told a single soul about yesterday, but this wasn’t about anyone else. It wasn’t about the opinions they would be bound to have. It wasn’t about what they thought was best. This was you and Matthew and everything that was still there. It wasn’t for other people; relationships never were.

You texted him, accepting his invitation for lunch. He texted back immediately even though it was way too early for him usually. If Matthew had practice at ten, he wasn’t out of bed until a quarter past nine and he lived fifteen minutes from the arena. Your mind wondered if he had been awake, just waiting for your text, but you pushed the thought of side as you headed to take a shower. He wouldn’t get up before nine unless his building was on fire.

Across town, a curly-haired boy who had woken up two hours earlier than he usually did, just to see if the girl he loved had gotten her sunflowers, smiled when he saw her text.

She had gotten them, thankfully. Matthew got to go to practice with a smile on his face, wondering how she’d smiled when she had seen the flowers arrive, and with the knowledge he’d get to see her smile in person after practice. Well, if he played his cards right, he’d probably be able to con a smile or two out of her. He felt damn near giddy, like a kid at a county fair who had too much cotton candy and who has just accidentally won the biggest prize the fair had to offer, even though he hadn’t even come close to winning you back yet. Getting to be around you again was his win, and it was so much more than he thought he would ever get, he could feel like a little kid for the morning if he wanted to.

He could and did feel like a little kid the entire time he waived for you at the restaurant. Matthew arrived fifteen minutes early. Being late had been his specialty the first time around, not necessarily a problem often within itself, but compounded upon everything else Matthew didn’t do then, a list that seemed to grow longer the more he picked apart the past from your point of view, showing up early carried more weight. The shock on your face when you saw him already waiting at the table when the hostess brought you around was proof enough that every effort Matthew made, every single thing he took notice of from the past and changed, would make a difference.

“Hey, how was practice?” you said as you dropped down into the seat opposite him.

Matthew had the smallest sliver of hope that the sunflower dress would have reappeared, but he knew he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to see you look like you had when he had gotten the opportunity to take you out the first time, to do this right the first time. If he hadn’t screwed everything up with his stubbornness and his general inability to be a boyfriend, he wouldn’t be wishing for that dress right now. He could be in your apartment, holding you, face in your neck, arms around your waist, decompressing from practice and life in general. But he was here, sitting four feet apart, in the middle of a restaurant, knowing he wouldn’t even get to hold your hand on the walk to his car later because you hadn’t even driven together.

“Um, practice was good,” Matthew told you, his mind still running through a seemingly endless list of things he could be doing with you right now if he hadn’t given up before ever really getting in the game. “How was your morning?”

“Good. Didn’t do much since I didn’t have work.”

Matthew nodded, taking a sip of his water before doing what he would need to do over and over again, if he really did want to get the chance to love you to you again. He tried again.

“So, um, how’s your mom doing?” Matthew asked, hands trying to find a resting spot on the table, his lap, somewhere.

“Fine.”

The distance across the table felt wider with each passing second to Matthew, like you were somehow slipping further away from him with each clipped answer you gave. It was painfully obvious that the sunflowers had only gotten you to show up. The magic of them had worn off the second you sat face to face with him and had to claw through all of the emotional shrapnel that was heavy in your chest and in your mind that Matthew had caused to sit across a table from him. Just sitting across the table from him, all you had was your past with him on your mind. You had too much time to think, to remember. Matthew needed to find some way to overcome it, to make you see the him from the present and not the past when you looked at him. It wasn’t going to happen in this restaurant with nothing but time for you to get hopelessly lost in the past.

“Okay, nope,” Matthew sighed, tossing his napkin and menu onto the table. “We’re not doing lunch here.”

“You picked it,” your brows furrowed down in confusion as Matthew stood from the table. “Do you not like see anything you like?”

“I see you,” Matthew slid in with a playful smile on his face and just for a moment, you remembered why it had been so easy to fall for him what felt like a lifetime ago. “But no, this just isn’t working. Let’s get out of here.”

Matthew threw far too much money on the table considering the only thing you had ordered was water, but he felt bad for wasting the wait staff’s time, and started putting on his coat. You slowly rose from your seat to do the same, confusion pulling your brows together. A patented Matthew Tkachuk date was a meal and that was pretty much it. A change of venue mid-date? Multi part dates? Definitely not in his wheelhouse. Especially when you considered you hadn’t even ordered an appetizer yet.

“Where are we going?” you asked him as he gestured for you to lead the two of you out of the restaurant.

“Honestly,” Matthew sighed as he pulled the door open for you, waiting for both of you to exit before continuing, “I don’t really have a plan. That just felt stuffy? Weird? I don’t know. It didn’t feel like us.”

“What does us feel like, Matthew?” you sighed, tucking your hair behind your ear, a nervous habit that would never die and never stop making Matthew want to die since he thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen, every single time.

“I know what it used to feel like when it was good,” he told you. “We could talk for hours about anything. We used to be able to anyway. I know it might be awhile before we can do that again, but that wasn’t like the good parts of us and you know it.”

You sighed again, something you knew you would probably be doing a lot as you tried to give Matthew the space to just try, but the part of you, a large part of you, the part couldn’t stand not being the line leader in kindergarten, was screaming at you to do something, anything. Kiss him, which would have been the worst idea you might have ever had, slap him, also not advisable, get in your car and leave, not a great suggestion either. Just something, anything other than just standing in the street, looking at him and remembering how much it all hurt, how much it hurt to love someone who always seemed to have one foot firmly planted somewhere that wasn’t with you.

“Come on. I know a better place,” Matthew told you, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts before you could fall too deep into them.

It took everything in him not to offer you his hand. He was pretty sure holding your hand might make him cry, which wouldn’t be the best look for him, but he was pretty sure it would feel like heaven. But no pearly gates were going to open for him today. He’d have to settle for standing next to you with the knowledge that maybe heaven did exist after all.

You walked side by side with him as he weaved through the streets of downtown, staying close, but far enough apart so you couldn’t accidentally brush his hand with yours. You stayed in step with him into a nearby coffee shop, the warmer more comfortable atmosphere already sinking into you and Matthew, loosening your shoulders, the tension softening. The restaurant had been cold somehow, harsh, and considering your love for him was pretty frozen in permafrost, this was much better.

“They supposedly, according to Benny, have the best blueberry scones in the city,” Matthew said softly.

“You know me,” you smiled softly.

“Love a good baked good.”

You and Matthew spoke in unison, bringing a laugh over both of you, tension continuing to loosen with each passing moment. Matthew asked you what you wanted and ordered for you, mostly so he could pay without hearing a fight from you about how you didn’t need him to pay for you. You sat down with your scone and your coffee at a table Matthew dwarfed, but he didn’t seem to mind too much as he looked at you.

“So, take two,” he joked. “Is this better by the way? You just didn’t seem happy at all there. It seems like this is more your speed.”

To say you were stunned that he was actually checking on you, trying to tune into your emotions, would be an understatement. He had showed up early and was asking about how you felt, genuinely. His blue eyes, long standing one of your favorite features of his, bounced across your face, trying to take in every micro expression before you could even answer the question.

“Yeah, Matty,” the older nickname sliding out, “this is better.”

“Okay, good,” he smiled softly and this one made its way to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners.

He asked you about work, desperate to catch up on the office drama he had missed. You asked for updates on the team, the things the media would never and could never find out about. He asked about your mom again and you actually told him. Sliding back into old ways, it didn’t feel like your relationship in the coffee shop. It felt like your old friendship. The world felt like it felt when you fell in love with him in secret originally. Matthew was actively listening to you the entire time, something he deeply struggled with because did he ever have the tendency to talk too much, but he was trying. He apologized for cutting you off once to tell his own story and you almost got whiplash when he sank back into his chair and verbally gave you the floor. He was making space for you, fully and honestly, and trying to appreciate you inhabiting the space he was making for you in the conversation and in his life. He talked too much, but there was a peace he found in listening to the best person he had ever had the privilege of knowing tell him stories, tell him about her life like she wanted to give him part of it and god, did he ever want part of your life.

Matthew went home that day and was damn near clinical about the whole thing, breaking apart everything he could remember about how you reacted to what he said, what you seemed to appreciate and what you didn’t. He treated his memories of it all like game tape, reviewing what he considered to be a win after a rough first period showing, looking to areas of success and areas of possible improvement and man, he was finding a lot of areas to improve. He kept getting stuck on your smile, the few true ones in the coffee shop, where you looked like the girl he fell in love with instead of the hollow one he created with his own words. Matthew let himself sit with those moments for a couple of steady breaths. You were worth the effort, he reminded himself again. You were.

The next morning you were thankfully already milling about, halfway through your coffee and halfway through getting dressed when the knock came to your front door. You had a suspicion based on the knock which somehow itself was cheery that you were going to open the door to the same delivery person as yesterday. There she was when your door swung open, ponytail swinging, smile tattooed on her face, unable to fall. This time though, she shoved a bouquet of a dozen red roses into your hands, much to your confusion. You almost asked her if she’d given you the wrong flowers, but she had already vanished who you looked up from the flowers, off to curse the next person with her cheeriness.

When you placed them on your side table next to your sofa, the spot on the kitchen table still inhabited by the sunflowers from the day before, you at least knew she’d given you the right bouquet.

Can’t always get you sunflowers, sweetheart. Got to keep you on your toes. :) - Matty

You immediately pulled your phone out of your pajamas pants pocket and shot off the first thing that crossed your mind to him.

Variety is NOT the spice of life, Tkachuk. Stick to the status quo.

You got a text back shortly after exchanging your comfortable pajama bottoms for the confines of work appropriate pants. You checked your phone seven times on your walk to your car, feeling like a version of yourself you thought you left behind in middle school. You had dealt with unrequited feelings for Matthew so long, fell in love with him in secret, that when you had the chance to love him out loud, you jumped at it and so did he. It might have been the only time you had ever been completely on the same page together. Before that, you had been fast friends, falling into friendship without any effort really by either of you. This was something else. Matthew Tkachuk was putting in more effort than you saw him put into anything besides his career. The effort was making you feel like you should be back in a plaid skirt, shoving a binder into your locker, and whispering about the cute curly-haired boy from your science class, a kid with a crush who had no idea what was yet to come.

But you could only wish you had no idea of what was to come. It had already come, running you over faster than you could ask, your heart shattering under Matthew’s feet due to his carelessness. One sentence from the speech he so carelessly used to break your heart felt like this moment. At best, I think we just had middle school crushes gone off the rails. The amount of times you had fallen in and out of crushes in middle school was too high to even attempt to count. Was what you were feeling just a recurrence, a temporary realignment of the train on the tracks? Was Matthew putting in all this effort for fleeting feelings? Was he right this whole time?

------

Matthew Tkachuk was working against himself with you, fighting the mess he’d made of you and him a month ago. He created the situation that made you build the walls he was trying to surmount with an army of sunflowers and his poor excuse for love. Matthew was good at a few things, hockey, being a pest, and creating chaos. Righting the chaos he made had never been a task that was asked of him before and now, three days after that first day in the coffee shop, he was struggling to figure out where to go from here. He wanted to make the right decision, systematically work through the heartbreak he’d caused, taking leaps each time he saw you until maybe he’d be close enough to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go again. He might have to settle for a baby step today though since you were at work, slammed with a new project from your boss, with no time to see him

He sent you lunch at work instead, from your favorite burger place you always went together. You swore you could have cried when you realized he included both sweet potato fries and regular fries, your mind pulled back to the first time you went together, back when you were just friends.

“Should I get the sweet potato fries or regular?” you asked him.

“Get the sweet potato ones,” Matthew told you, running a hand to push his curls out of his face. “You always get regular fries and complain about how you should’ve gotten sweet potato whenever we all go out to eat together.”

You agreed with his suggestion, letting the conversation fall comfortably back over the two of you as you waited for your food. You hadn’t even realized time had passed when the waitress dropped off your food. Spending time with Matthew melted away stress and your perception of the passage of time, letting you live in the moment, unencumbered by the stressful comings and goings of your day to day life.

The sweet potato fries had been a good choice. They had a honey drizzle on them and you were more than pleased with your selection. But Matthew’s regular potato fries appeared to have some sort of special seasoning on them and you were itching to try one, but Matthew wasn’t big on sharing in general, let alone when it came to food. He saw you staring at them and groaned.

“You’re the worst,” but he flipped his plate around so the fries faced you anyway. “Don’t say I never do things for you.”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Tkachuk.”

You frequented that same burger joint with him throughout the years of your friendship that came after, and during your short relationship. The burgers you ordered changed, but never the fries. You got sweet potato. Matthew got regular. He let you steal as many of his as you wanted without a single complaint sliding between his lips despite dozens of repeat visits to the restaurant.

In your office, holding a container of sweet potato fries and a container of regular in opposite hands, you thought it was a little ridiculous that french fries were making tears well up in your eyes. He hadn’t forgotten. You shook your head to shake off the desperate thoughts that were swirling, the ones that were tying emotional weight to french fries of all things, and shot him off a quick text to thank him for lunch before getting wrapped back up in your day. You didn’t see his reply text until you had already kicked your heels off at home too many hours later.

Would never forget to get my girl her whole meal :)

Sometimes, love wasn’t big gestures. Oftentimes, it wasn’t even gestures that would make much sense to relay to other people. Two kinds of french fries wasn’t something you could explain to anyone else because it would just seem childish, but you felt cared for. Above all, you felt remembered when you’d opened that bag. You felt like Matthew Tkachuk had seen you almost two years ago in a restaurant and remembered exactly who you were in that moment and still knew who you were today. The french fries would go untold to anyone else, but they made you smile more than the roses on your coffee table when you fell asleep that night.

The next month felt like it happened all at once. There were enough sunflowers to create your own you-pick patch of them, rose and tulips and whatever other kinds of flowers Matthew knew the names of interspersed, just to keep you on your toes. Movies nights at his place, complete with half-burnt, half-unpopped popcorn courtesy of Matthew’s non-existent culinary skills. Nights out, full of laughter and storytelling that made you feel like nothing had ever changed, like you had flipped over an extra month in the calendar, skipping one entirely, the month you’d been apart, and moved on without it. He felt like your friend again, something that had lapsed when you’d started dating. You both tried so hard, arguably too hard, to change your relationship into a romantic one that you didn’t leave space for friendship, booting it out without anything solid to fulfill its previously occupied space. The relationship collapsed without a solid core, the frail coverings of romance too heavy for the hollow center to bear.

Matthew wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. He still talked over you, parts of his brain running faster than others. He still forgot to talk to you on road trips sometimes. He still forgot your sister’s birthday. He still resisted emotional responses from you, physically pulling back and trying to dodge conversations that would bring discomfort. The gestures were there, hundreds of them in the form of your favorite flowers, but was it enough? Did you truly believe you two were hand in hand, putting the train station of your relationship back together, or was this just an attractive paint job hiding the cracks for a few months until they became exposed again because of time? Was the effort a permanent fixture? Or was it just a passing small town station that Matthew had created to attract you, pulling you into town with the promise of nice accommodations and restaurants always being available, only to abandon them as soon as the train left the station and your life got on without you, leaving you stranded, trapped in a small forgotten town forever?

As you walked into your favorite coffee shop, you cut the line, heading right to the front like you had become accustomed to doing. Matthew had called your order in and paid for it over the phone every work day before you got there since that first day after he sent you lunch. He knew what time you usually got to your favorite shop, and worked it out with the staff that they had your order ready for you now like clockwork every day. You had been able to gain twenty minutes of sleep from it, but you were wondering now if this would all stop if you took him back or not. Really, the coffee order ceasing would be more than fine. Love wasn’t in monetary gestures like this one technically was, but what else would disappear with it? Would Matthew trying to verbally and physically make space for you in his life disappear too? Would him genuinely trying to, even if it’s hard and he’s pretty shitty at it, understand your emotions fade away? Would all the effort fragment into sporadic moments, slowly growing further and further apart until they stopped happening all together and you wasted years of your life giving Matthew Tkachuk your love and not getting enough back?

You didn’t know the answer, which is why you were thrilled you were having dinner with some of your closest, non-Matthew related friends after work. You had been keeping Matthew a bit of a secret. Actually, a complete secret. You knew your friends wouldn’t approve at the start, so you hadn’t told them a thing. They would have told you he didn’t deserve any semblance of a second shot, that the things he had said in the past could never be overwritten by future good actions, that you weren’t supposed to give people who break your heart second chances. But now, you were at a crossroads.

You could give Matthew more time, maintain the status quo until inevitably your heart gave out. You could open your arms to love him again, knowing full well that you would never be one hundred percent sure or not. You could brush him aside, thanking him for his temporary effort that would never be enough for you. Three clear options left you further from a solution than you thought possible. You needed advice. You needed opinions from people who only had stake in you in this relationship. You needed to be more selfish than you knew how to be, so you were passing the task off to your friends.

While they were usually quick to pass judgment, they were silent as you went through every painstaking detail of your past month, starting with that fated text about sunflowers, through every dinner, every movie, every moment until the text you got before you sat down in this chair at dinner with them. You were exhausted by the time you got through everything, emotionally and verbally spent, feeling no closer to your answer. You had hoped retelling everything would pull you in one direction or the other, with no such luck. Your friends, however, weren’t undecided in the slightest.

“So, you’re ending this experiment, right?”

You were shocked, almost spitting out your drink at the harshness of the words that spilled out of your best friend’s mouth. She shrugged off your shocked expression.

“I mean, it was a nice experiment, I guess, but a total waste of your time,” another friend added. “There isn’t any way to prove this is a permanent change and I, for one, will never tell you to take that kind of a risk. You’re too good to put up with a guy who very well could end up not being worth it.”

Your friends were talking a mile a minute, all at you, but really at each other in their bubble of agreement, agreement that Matthew Tkachuk was not worth your time. He could buy you flowers, coffee, as many lunches as he wanted to. He could make promises about listening and trying and making an effort, but he was on trial during it all. He was under a performance review. It was a manufactured situation as far as they were all concerned, entirely unrepresentative of who he would be outside of it. When there wasn’t a close date, a date he could begin to slack off again according to your friends, and you demanded engagement and effort from him every single day without any relief from that pressure, he would fail. He would fail every single time.

How had you not seen that? You created a situation with a time limit, a window in time he would have to be a different person than he was, with a definitive end date. Was anything he had done representative of actual change, or was it just a temporary side step towards being closer to what you needed, only to return back to his original spot when you took him back? There was no way to know if anything he had done over the last month was real or some elaborate farce.

The farce, this charade of a month, it swept the both of you up with returning feelings of seemingly endless longing from when you loved each other in secret. You were pretty sure Matthew had gotten swept up right along with you by the fantasy of fate and love being something unbreakable that would always pull people back together. This effort wasn’t real, even if Matthew believed it was. It was all part of some twisted game fate was playing by telling the both of you that you were meant to be. Two puzzle pieces that aren’t supposed to go together don’t go together, even if one tries to bend their corners until they can. Matthew thought he was cutting corners off, not just bending them, making permanent changes to fit with you, but it would never matter. The picture the two pieces that were you and Matthew created together would never be correct. You were shades of blue, like the sky on a Sunday morning as you remembered it as a child full of wonder, like the ocean, powerful and unstoppable. Matthew was red, like the deepest tones of a fading sunset, like the feeling of sitting by a fireplace on Christmas morning. Both pieces individually were beautiful and important to the larger picture, but they didn’t belong anywhere near each other. There were no transition colors. It was blue and red, black and white. They couldn’t mix. They just had to fit. And you two just didn’t fit. You didn't create a picture together. It was just two pieces trying desperately to create something you couldn't because red was your favorite color and blue was Matthew's and fate was a fucking bitch.

You were crying as you walked into your apartment building and pulled out your phone. You typed out a text that echoed one you’d received two months ago without even meaning to do it.

We need to talk. Come over?

It was identical to the one Matthew had sent before he set all of this in motion and you were about to mirror him even more closely. Before he came over, you had to have your words collected. You knew he would push back, try and argue that your friends didn’t know the two of you, that they didn’t know what you both felt. But feelings were fickle and often told lies and it was telling you and Matthew the same one right now, that this would work if you tried hard enough even though it would just hurt a thousand times worse when the lie became undeniable six months down the road.

You almost didn’t notice the small package on your doorstep, eyes too clouded with tears to successfully unlock your door on the first three tries. You snatched it off the doorstep, a sob breaking through your chest when you realized it was from Matthew, no address on the package, just your name scribbled on the top in his horrendous handwriting. He had dropped this off himself and somehow that made it all feel more heartbreaking in your chest. You shuffled inside, the fourth attempt being the charm today, and tore into the package as you kicked the door shut behind you. The wrapping was even his handiwork, too much tape, not enough but somehow too much paper, and you were ruining it with tears dripping on and staining the paper.

You sat down on the floor, back against your front door. The lid of the box slid off easily and you tossed it aside. You were greeted with a picture of your mother, one you had framed on your front table, mere feet from where you had collapsed on the floor. It was your favorite picture of her, something you had definitely told and retold to Matthew one too many times. You flipped it over in search of some reason for it’s inclusion, finding more of Matthew’s handwriting on the back.

Hey sunflower,

Hope work was good today :) If it wasn’t, I’m sorry and call me and we’ll talk about it. They switched our flights around for this roadie so I’m on a plane right now, but I wanted you to have these before I left.

You told me your mom was a big part of the reason you loved sunflowers and that she had these sunflower earrings you loved growing up, but that they were lost. I saw your mom was wearing them in this picture, so I took it to a jeweler and well, they aren’t the ones your mom wore, but I hope you like them anyway.

I know you probably aren’t ready to hear it from me, feel free to skip to the end if you aren’t, but I love you and the past month has made me realize just how much I do and how stupid I was in the past. I’m going to keep trying to get a little better every single day and maybe, if I try hard enough, I might become someone who deserves you.

- Matty

Your hands shook as you slowly set the picture on the ground next to you and pulled back the tissue paper. Nestled safely in the box were two golden sunflower earrings, delicate golden wire bending to make up their shape. They were identical to the pair your mother had worn almost every single day of every summer of your childhood. Except these were yours. And they were made for you by a boy who loved you who was trying really hard to become a man who loved you and deserved to be loved back by you.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter. Your judgmental friends didn’t matter. Your negative thought spirals that tried to ruin everything good you ever had that was risky because the best things in life were always inherently risky didn’t matter. Fate and whether or not she was on your side or not didn’t matter. Matthew Tkachuk mattered. His effort was real and raw and pure and the most beautiful thing anyone had ever done for you and it mattered. And all Matthew needed for all of his effort to matter was exactly one single act of effort from you. It would have to be a continuous act, a constantly, daily task, but all he needed was your patience with him. And as you sat on the floor, tears staining your cheeks, holding a pair of sunflower earrings you knew Matthew Tkachuk was worth your patience, that he was worth your love, and that you didn’t hate sunflowers at all, not even a little bit.

People weren’t puzzle pieces. You and Matthew Tkachuk didn’t fit together seamlessly to create one image because that’s not how people work. Puzzle pieces are stagnant, fixed, unchangeable. People are supposed to flex and grow and change, be mutable over time, with contact from others. You were blue now, but there was no reason to say throughout your life, from touching other people and their beautiful lives, that you would always be the same shade of blue you were now. Tomorrow, maybe you’d meet the most yellow person you had ever met in your life, and you’d be a little more green for it. Matthew Tkachuk was red and just maybe, purple was supposed to be your favorite color.

You pulled out your phone and deleted six words and two punctuation marks you had typed walking into your apartment building, but never sent. You replaced that text with a picture of the earrings in your lap, and simple red heart emoji because you knew words would fail you and any words that came to you, you wanted to say to his face when he got back from his trip. He texted you back almost instantly, just a simple red heart emoji. Matthew had started the red hearts. When you were friends, he’d send every other color except red. But when when you started dating, he would send a red heart whenever he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t, when he was on the road and wouldn’t see you for a while, when he was across the table from you at dinner with his parents. It was one of your little quirks, little things that neither of you had forgotten, an old habit that never worked its way out of your behavior. You didn’t send red hearts to anyone else anymore, and neither did he. But you sent one to him now.

Matthew Tkachuk sat on a plane that night, wishing he could driven across town fast enough to deserve to get pulled over and kissed you instead of sending you a stupid fucking emoji. He fell asleep that night, letting himself remember what it felt like to kiss you, something he had kept in the back of his mind for the last month because the thought of never being able to do it again made his knees pull up into his chest to try and block off pain that was unfortunately coming from inside himself. But tonight, tonight he let himself remember it, let himself pretend that you were thinking of the same thing, let himself remember what it was all like with you because you wanted to kiss him too. He fell asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in months and woke up the next morning with it too, still thinking about you and getting back home to you to finally get to kiss you again.

------

Matthew didn’t even think twice when his feet touched the tarmac a few days and two road wins later. He knew where he needed to go. He got to his car and tossed his tie into the passenger seat before starting to drive way too fast to your apartment. He didn’t hit a single red light, which made him think about fate again for a brief moment, but then he remembered this wasn’t about her or anyone else. Everything was just about you, you and your love affair with big yellow flowers and hopefully, him again. He took the stairs two at a time after parking incredibly poorly in front of your apartment, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to kiss his best friend, the girl whose heart he broke, the girl that somehow didn’t hate him or sunflowers, the girl that just might love his undeserving self in spite of it all.

He barely got two knocks on your front door before you yanked it open and Matthew could swear he wanted to die. There you were, a lightness in your eyes he hadn’t seen for months returned to you. Your hair was pulled back, the earrings he had made for you on display. His eyes drifted down, taking in the familiar golden chain around your neck, the one that had been missing for two months now, the one that held a small sunflower and the number nineteen at its base. But Matthew Tkachuk swore his heart almost gave out when he saw the familiar white neckline of that damn sunflower dress. You hadn’t worn it in the past two months, unable to take it out of your closet without crying, but you put it on today and it made you smile.

“Hi,” he breathed out.

Driving over with the intent to kiss you was as far as he’d gotten and you in that sunflower dress was making it impossible to think of anything other than that one word he had managed to say.

“Hi,” you breathed back, a genuine smile pulling up the corners of your mouth.

Matthew cleared his throat, letting his eyes close for a second so maybe he could try and think about something other than how you looked right now. He let his head fall back, taking in a deep breath, giving his head a shake in a vain attempt to shake off some nervousness from his mind to clear his thoughts. It worked well enough so one thought could slip through as he let his head fall forward and opened his eyes into your gaze again.

“Do I, um, get another month?” Matthew asked you, his voice timid and frail, on the edge of breaking. “Today is a month.”

You looked up at him, eyes taking him in. The parting of his lips, the happiness that finally reached his beautiful blue eyes, the curls falling on his forehead, the wrinkled game day suit sans tie that you knew was probably crumpled in the passenger seat of his car. He was on a tightrope, ready to fall to either side with your answer. One side was absolute heartbreak, the kind he was pretty sure would taint the concept of love for him for most of this life, and the other was joy and love and happiness and everything he ever wanted. He was ready to fall with your words, giving you all the control to push him to one side or the other.

“No, Matthew,” you told him softly.

Matthew’s face started to fall instantly and he felt like his heart dropped into his stomach where his own body started to eat away at it immediately. The dress, the earrings, the red heart, everything, he thought he had finally broken through to you. More than that, he had thought he finally was loving you in a way you wanted, in a way that you deserved. He thought he finally had enough of the pieces of what you needed, wanted, and liked together in himself to be someone you wanted to give your love to. He knew a month wasn’t a lot of time, but he’d loved for over two years now. He loved you as a friend. He loved you when he thought there were only unrequited feelings. He loved you when he was your lover. He loved you when he broke your heart out of sheer stupidity, when he thought fighting meant you would never work together, that somehow he was wrong to love you. He loved you the entire month he didn’t see you. He loved you this past month he spent desperately trying to show you he could love you through actions, not just in his own head and chest, that he could love you like a partner, like you deserved to be loved.

“You don’t get another month,” you continued, each syllable twisting the knife deeper into Matthew’s chest. “You don’t get another month because you don’t have anything else to prove to me, Matthew.”

Matthew willed his eyes to find yours again, hoping the hope that had just alit itself in his chest wasn’t misguided. You were calm, your eyes steady, keeping contact with his. Matthew almost dared to feel reassured for a moment, like maybe the hope he felt when you said he had nothing left to prove was correct. But if he was wrong, which he so often was in general, but especially with emotions, yours in particular, it would just serve as an additional twist of the knife. When it was already in so deep, did it really matter anymore?

“You’re not on trial. No more tests,” you said to him, letting your love for him you had tried to store away pour out. “I want you, Matthew. I want you and me. I want to see if purple is my favorite color.”

The purple part was beyond Matthew and he made a mental note to ask you about it in a minute, but he needed to kiss you right now. He reached out and you leaned into his touch for the first time in a long time. His hands cupped your face and you rocked up on your toes as he pressed his lips to yours. Your hands came up to rest on his chest as he kissed you so softly, tenderly. He wanted to crush you into him, but that wasn’t what this moment was. This was hopefully the end of the longest period of his life he’d ever have to go without kissing you again. He wasn’t going to rush this, his second chance with the girl who loved him for some reason and sunflowers for much more obvious reasons.

Matthew was slow as he pulled away and tilted his head down to rest his forehead against yours. One of his thumbs shifted to ghost over your lips, his blue eyes staring into yours, but really past your eyes, and into you, seeing you better than anyone else did. He loved you without the rose colored glasses. He saw you and loved you, it had just taken him almost too long to figure out how to show it. It had almost taken him too long to figure out that love wasn’t just something you could feel and ride the feelings to bliss. Love was daily effort, trying and retrying and sometimes he would fail, but it was constantly showing up anyway. Love was hard, but holding your face in his hands, he knew you were worth the effort he planned on putting in every single day for the rest of his life.

“I love you, sunflower,” Matthew whispered, the words left raw and unpolished by how real the feelings he injected into them were.

“I love you too.”

#Matthew Tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl imagine #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey imagine

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

Note

Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing.

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin. It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

“Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but… he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone—softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

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