#will cause one of my best friends to swear at me with genuine venom

[violetren]

Blood of the Basilisk Chapter 5

This started out so sweet and gay and then took a sharp right turn into what I can only term unsexy over protectiveness.

I could probably term it different but I stayed up a touch too late reading this one and like, it fucking fits, alright? Go read it you'll get it.

Like I am fully on board with the idea that Pyter saying someone tastes bad is the same as saying the vibes are rancid and agree they should be kicked.

But given Nadani's situation? Yeah nah, I'd be having some doubts and discomfort too.

The whole scene was very VERY well framed that even though lil' dragon loving ass is primed to be like "Pyter knows best" Guthrie did just sound so reasonable. That right amount of sympathetic but agitating, going on how it's ok Pyter's protective he's just following orders, and planting that seed of "he's doing it because you're property" just *chefs kiss*

10/10 looks like a concerned citizen, especially if you think on just how fucking weird it would look to an outsider to see a magic lady tell her magic beast to protect someone, and its version of protect APPARENTLY is "isolate from casual conversation."

Introducing Guthrie really is such a fun way to play with this tenuous trust Nadani, Kota and Pyter have built up.

Also Kota's "I like helping other people. It makes me happy." line?

Just gives me very strong Tiffany Aching energy, but like through a different filter. From Nadani's perspective, Kota is asking for trust and goodwill, because she like helping and it makes her feel good, and there is something just a little entitled and selfish in that even if Kota doesn't mean for it to come across that way or think of it that way, and it just brings me to mind of the quote from The Wee Free Men:

“All witches are selfish, the Queen had said. But Tiffany’s Third Thoughts said: Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours! Protect them! Save them! Bring them into the sheepfold! Walk the gale for them! Keep away the wolf! My dreams! My brother! My family! My land! My world! How dare you try to take these things, because they are mine! I have a duty!”

Kota is selfish, she wants to save everyone and knows whats best to that end, even if they don't. Kota wants to help. Kota feels she has a duty. And in a way she does, because we kind of all do. See The Good Place for a whole treatise on the idea of "what we owe each other." But because of her powers and the perspective they give her I wonder if she doesn't sometimes end up a little too zoomed out to think about the consequences of her attitude and actions.

Kota has a duty. Nadani I wager would prefer not having her autonomy brought into question by being subjected to Kota's sense of duty.

It's gonna be so fun watching this unfold.

But for now I must sleep because I have work in... 7ish hours and need to sleep.

One last thing before that though.

I love So Fucking Much that even in what is ostensibly a fantasy novel we're still getting a story with space travel making literally everyone aliens of some description. Molly please don't change so much as to lose that. It's great.

Oh and I am absolutely adding a Drawfholm to every dnd campaign i play from now until the end of time, even if I'm the player and the DM doesn't find out until later :P

[strangelysamantha]

 crumbled cookies ☆

jj maybank x plus!reader (fem!reader)

warnings: abuse/hitting, hate speech, fat shaming, bullying, insecurities, swearing, fighting, jj’s dad, luke (yikes!) mad jj, mention of pills. 

words: 3,365.

summary: you decide it would be a good surprise to stop by jjs house quickly to drop off some of your homemade cookies, since you believe he isn’t feeling the best. then, unexpectedly jj's dad comes home with an unwelcoming embrace, which ruins the surprise.

request? nope, but requests are open :)

a/n: i randomly thought about this, i obviously don’t believe that us plus size baddies should ever be insecure, but i thought it would be a nice little angst imagine with fluff at the end! if you could, please comment and like if you enjoyed it, thank you! after i write a few requests i will proofread my stories :)

my masterlist

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jj hadn’t answered any of your texts, usually this would worry you, but you understood that sometimes he just needed some space to be alone. you surprisingly were used to this because he always disappeared, and if he genuinely needed you, he knew where to find you. it also wasn’t bothering you because he had only been MIA for a few hours.

you, assuming that jj was just overwhelmed, decided to stay home and bake homemade cookies. jj always complimented your cookies, he loved taste testing them, and more importantly, he loved how you put so much effort into making them perfect, even if you were only making the cookies for him. jj wouldn’t admit it, but he definitely didn’t see you as just a friend. he didn’t know how he viewed you. he was too confused for his own good with his emotions. all he did know was that he depended on you, and that he never wanted to lose you. it would ruin him,  especially if he had done something to intentionally lose and hurt you.

you preheated the oven, excited to use a new cookie flavor for jj. you danced lightly to the music playing in the background of your kitchen, softly humming along as you gathered the dry ingredients, mixing them together. it was a fun little game you guys played, where he’d try and guess what extra ingredients you added that affected the cookie's flavor. he almost always got it wrong, but he was so cute sitting there always trying to guess it right, when he didn’t even know that much about cooking anyway.

unbeknownst to you, you were completely unaware of his feelings, despite the same feelings bubbling in your heart too. jj was your best buddy, and obviously you guys had flirtatious banter but it was nothing too serious. it didn’t help that every girl jj had a one night stand with, was the complete opposite of you. how could he like you, when every girl he fucks was not only skinny, but also rich, and mysterious?

pope wasn’t on your side either. he would always express how nauseated he felt when jj would jokingly flirt with you, and openly play with your feelings. he was quite vocal in scolding you when you would tell him that jj blew you off, or jj had pissed you off. deep down you did agree with pope, he wasn’t wrong.

a beep was heard from the oven as it was fully preheated. you had fully completed the cookie dough, now adding the most important ingredients. you decided to be nicer, and chose an easier flavor for jj to guess. you did this just in case something was seriously wrong he could at least be lifted up for guessing it right. m&ms and hershey’s kisses would be mixed together, creating a chocolate m&m hershey cookie, with added caramel on top. you quickly evenly separate the dough, before placing it in the oven waiting for it to rise.

the timer in the kitchen went off as you pulled the cookies out of the oven, careful to not burn yourself. you stick a knife into the cookie to ensure it was fully cooked before smiling contently to yourself. you let them cool off as you got dressed and prepared to go to jjs house.

you added caramel before sliding four cookies into a ziplock baggie. the cute baggy had a drawn on heart and a nice message for him. you didn’t expect to stay long, and you honestly didn’t even know if he would be home.

when you arrived to jjs house it looked vacant and abandoned. the nerves finally catching up to you as you realize he hasn’t talked to you all day. you knock on the front door, waiting for a response but you are left standing there waiting. you frown before hesitatingly walking down the steps. you look up when you hear a car approach, and a glimmer of hope flashes your mind as you thought it was jj, but instead it was his dad.

your heart was beating fast, and you didn’t know what to do. you waited to see if luke would talk but he just looked at you confused, and obviously annoyed. you shook your head quickly, “i’m so sorry, i was just going to drop these off for jj, but he’s not here so i’ll be on my way.” you smile softly, and start to walk away but his strong arms grab yours. you’re startled since his reaching for your elbow was quite unexpected.

“well you are already here. might as well get it over with.” his voice was unrecognizable as his emotions weren’t clear. you nod shyly. “no really i don’t want to inconvenience you, i can come at another time.” he shakes his head before walking to his door, opening it as the door loosely opens entirely, hitting against the wall to its side. you walk behind him being extra cautious in case he tries to grab you again.

you walk straight to the kitchen to set the bag of cookies on the counter, which was no use since right when you placed the bag, luke had scooped it into his hand reading the note. “oh, so you are the one dating my son?” your face twists in confusion. “no, no. jj and i are just friends.” you laugh awkwardly, swaying from feet to feet. the floors creak beneath you causing you to stop shaking back and forth. “okay good.” his eyes look up and down your figure as his mouth forms into a line. “i wouldn’t want him dating someone like… you.” his words hurt, but you didn’t want to break down in front of him.

you feel uncomfortable under his intense stare so you hurried to put an end to the conversation. “uhm. okay, welll thank you for letting me drop them off, i appreciate it mr. maybank.” you nod softly before he states, “no.” you turn over to him, “no?” you repeat as more of a question. your patience wears thin as you notice the cookies are still in his hand, and he is carefully undoing the ziplock that concealed the cookies.

he pulled a cookie out, before admiring it closely. “chocolate chip m&m caramel cookie. very yummy, very good choice.” you avoid eye contact, trying to focus on anything else displayed in the room. “and it’s still warm.” he stares at you as he takes a bite of the cookie, its crumbs slowly falling from where he sunk his teeth in. “it’s quite good.” you smile softly, “thank you… but-.” he cuts you off completely. “of course you, of all people, would be bringing him cookies. i’m not surprised, i can see you are trying to fatten my son.” his words stung you because this wasn’t what you were expecting. his father seemed intoxicated, and before you could leave it seemed like he still had stuff to say to you.

“yes the cookies are good, but they don’t excuse you for lying to my face. you are just like my ex wife… lying, scheming, going behind my back, but still creating delicious snacks.” you stumble back a little, as shock sets over you. “how did i lie?” you ask, quite confused as you hadn’t even talked to him that much. “i know you’re dating jj! i see his hickies i see that when he leaves this house it’s always to meet with your fat ass.” his words hold no meaning, he was just a lousy drunk taking his anger out on the closest thing to him. you stayed silent, when he suddenly shook his head before grabbing the rest of the cookies and throwing them on the floor, jumping on the bag, completely squishing them.

the once yummy cookies, now downgraded into a small pitiful pile that was brutally smeared against the kitchen's tile. your heart speeds up as his eyes are focused on yours, as if trying to read your emotions. “i’m sorry, but i’m not sure what i did to deserve you ruining my cookies?” your tone comes out sassier than intended which definitely didn’t help your case.

“pick it up.” he threw paper towels towards you, as he waited patiently for you to clean up his mess. you silently obeyed scooping your mutated bakery treat up. you got most of it cleaned, but you ran out of napkins. you bite your lip trying to think of a quick solution to finish picking it up so you could possibly leave, but it’s too late because he’s already grabbing your arm forcing you up. tears stream down your face, while you contemplate your choices.

before you could even register what had just happened, his hand had collided with your cheek, as he screams hurtful comments. “you are good for nothing. i honestly hope that jj didn’t choose you, because if he did, that would make him an embarrassment to this family.” he pushes you to the floor, and you quickly try to stand up so you can leave. you hurry to the door, but he catches you before you could get in your car and drive away. 

“you can't tell anyone about this. i swear if you tell anyone...” his tone is laced with venom and your face scrunches up in confusion. “dont act stupid! god this is why people treat you the way they do.” you look at him one last time before he sends a fast fist to your face, that hits the side of your nose, and your eye. your face begins to pulse as the blood rushes to the quick forming bruise. you couldn't think straight as everything had happened so fast. all you wanted to do was drop off cookies, but somehow you were now being punished just because you resembled this man's wife. your breath is shaky as your tears are starting to slow down, but they are still evident on your cheeks. 

jj’s dad stumbled backwards as if he had finally realized what he had done, before he eventually collapsed on the couch and fell asleep. as he landed on the couch, multiple loose pills fell from his pockets ensuring you that he wasn't mentally in the right place, and he was very obviously intoxicated.

you avoided jj at all costs, which was actually easy since he hadn't even contacted you. you were dreading his routine appearance that was bound to happen soon. you knew it was inevitable, he hasn't missed a nightly check in once, and you had been doing it for months. when you first met the pogues you were slightly scared since you were new in town and you didn't have any friends. so, jj took you under his wing. he quickly became protective over you, which is why he created this elaborate plan to sneak into your bedroom before bed every night. whether it was to just chat, talk about your day, or even just cuddle. you could always expect him at your window at around the same time every night.

usually you would confide in jj, ask for his advice. granted his advice isn't the greatest but it does help that he listens to your problems. not tonight. that wasn't the case. if anything, you wholeheartedly hoped that he would forget, or he would be too busy. he hadn't seen you since before your whole encounter with his father. you wondered if his father had told jj about what he did, and if he did, how did jj react?

you glance at the clock noticing that in the next ten minutes jj would be climbing his way into your window. your body was shaking with nerves as you glanced in the mirror. your black eye was a dead give away that something had happened. could you even tell him the truth? what if you lied, and then he called you out on it saying he already knew about it because his father told him. you contemplated every outcome of the future event that you weren't even ready when he slightly tapped your window. you quickly pulled on sunglasses that easily blocked your eye.

you smile widely, sliding your window up as he gracefully lands on your floor without making a noise, a talent he had perfected. “hey princess!” he has a huge grin on his face, his goofy smile is reason enough as to why you can't break the news to him about what his father did. “hi!” jj pulls you into a hug and you gladly take it. you wrap your arms tightly around his abdomen, as his arms are rubbing your hips. the hug ends and he slowly pulls away, his hands lingering on your hips before he grabs your hand to move to the bed. “do you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?” jj asked. you waited, contemplating your choices. “either way is fine, you can choose.” you smile as he immediately gets into the little spoon position.

“hey i forgot to ask you why you are wearing those stupid glasses inside.” he laughs lightly as he reaches for them and you completely jump off the bed, scared he actually grabbed them in time. luckily, you were fast enough and the glasses were still settled on your face. “i have a horrible headache, that's all.” you nodded as his face slowly fell, he stood up, moving to sit on the edge of your bed. he glanced up at you. “we can turn the lights off so it isn't as bright in your room.” you shook your head at his compromise. “princess, i need to see your pretty face before i can declare that you are okay.” you hesitated, trying to piece together a quick story that you could tell him to explain how you wounded up with a gruesome bruise. he wasn't going to leave unless he knew you were okay.

he watched you intently, trying to see what you were hiding. “before i show you please promise me you won't freak out.” you reach for his hands and he grabs them in return, slowly nodding. “no, that's not going to count. please tell me that you won't be angry at me.” his heart swiveled up inside his chest as he heard that you thought he would be mad at you. “i promise that whatever you are about to tell me won't make me upset, and that i could never stay mad at you.” you nodded to his words. “okay so you know what you just said?” he tilted his head confused, “yeah?” you breathe in, trying to calm your nerves. “remember that.”

you hesitantly reach your arm up to expose your once hidden eyes. at first it doesn't register so he stares at you blankly. but the moment he saw it, he was already standing up, and freaking out. “hey you said you wouldn't be mad!” he ran fingers through his blonde hair, his eyes wide. “what the fuck…? i said i wouldn't be mad if YOU did something, i never said anything about not getting mad when it involves someone else!” he looks back at you and immediately investigates your eye. his jaw clenched as he looked above you, his hand gripping your chin. “who the fuck did this to you?” you stayed quiet, until he looked down at you waiting for an answer. 

silence fills the room leaving it eerily silent. “i can't tell you jj,” he laughs, shaking his head, “that's a funny joke, now tell me what happened and who the fuck hit you?” you looked away. “jj there's nothing you can do.” he followed along with your shenanigans. “and why is that?” you couldn't look at him so you looked at the floor. your silence was only making him more worried. “who was it actually? who are you protecting!?” he was getting frustrated. “fine. i'll tell you, only because i know you'll find out sooner or later.” he pulled you onto his lap, one hand holding your thigh, while the other grabbed your curvy hip. you took a deep breath before continuing. “okay. earlier today i baked you cookies and i stopped by your house so i could drop them off. but your dad was there, and i was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. it was my fault. okay?” 

he shook his head, his grip on your thigh tightening. “you're telling me that my father gave you a black eye?” his tone was shockingly low as he absorbed every word you said. “yes. and he stomped on the cookies i made you.” his chest started heaving. “i fucking hate him! everything in my life he has to ruin. you, you mean so fucking much to me, and he’s over here throwing punches at you!” you stayed quiet. “jj?” he looked down at you, trying not to get too worked up because the last thing he wanted to do was scare you, “yes princess?” you hesitated with what you were going to say. you leaned your head to rest onto his shoulder.

“i- okay, i really appreciate you, but i can't have you getting hurt because of me. you're not my boyfriend, and you don't have to protect me anymore. i know you feel obligated with that pact we made when i first moved here, but you don't have to inconvenience yourself by coming over here every night, or by fighting people who harass me, or anything. jj, i feel so bad that you are roped into this position because i never intended for this to happen.” he stays silent, “no way am i leaving you. princess, please throw that thought away right now. i’m here for you always. and i am going to continue to protect you because even if i'm not your boyfriend, that doesn't mean i don't want you safe.”

you are so stunned by his response that your breath gets caught in your throat. “what do you mean?” he smiles looking down, his hands finding themselves comfortable around your hips. “what i'm saying is, that i do want to be your boyfriend. i want people to know how much you mean to me, and i want the whole world to be jealous that i have you, and they can't have you. i want to be the one who protects you. so, if you'd want me too, i'd love to be your boyfriend, if not that is completely okay.” you stared at him, “jj, you'll never know how long i've wanted to do this.” he looks at you confused before your lips connect to his. you run your hand through his hair, while the other hand is sitting on his jaw. his hands hungrily grasp your hips as he pulls you closer to enhance the kiss. you both pull away, smiling.

you asked jj to spend the night with you. he agreed, which resulted in him laying on his back as your head lay still on his chest. one of his hands was always touching you, so he could ensure you weren't going to go anywhere. as you slowly fell asleep beside him, he started to think about what his father had done. with anger clouding his better judgement, he stealthily slipped out your grasp, and climbed out your window, set to fulfil the goal in his head.

eek i hope this was good <333. perhaps a part two...???

[youreyeslookliketheocean]

youreyeslookliketheocean’s DSMP Fic Recs!!

Figured it was about time for one of these... :)

Mostly SBI-centric because they’re my favorite dynamic. I’ll probably add to this list as time goes on, and I also want to go back through my ao3 history and find some lesser-known fics I really enjoyed to rec them all. But for now...

* oneshot  ** unfinished work

** the lights go out (my heart goes still) by curseworm

With his old home unwelcoming and his new one gone, Tommy is alone. After hours of staggering through the freezing snow, he finds a cabin.

Technoblade’s cabin.

He hides himself away in the deepest corner he can find, taking only what he needs to survive, wasting away in the cold and the dark. He’s petrified at the thought of being found out, terrified of what he thinks Techno would do to him.

When Techno finds his injured teenage brother huddled in a filthy little cave beneath his basement, the rage he feels is immeasurable. The voices demand blood, and blood he will give them. Dream won’t be getting away with this one.

(On the other side of the world, in a country that floats on a man-made lake, Philza gets himself in a bit of a pickle.) 

** The hearth down under by Crystalquill

A tiny change gives Tommy the courage to flee to the Nether instead of the cold tundra, finding an unlikely ally in the midst of a fiery hellscape.

But tiny changes can alter the course of history. The SMP will never be the same.

(Lots of cool Nether worldbuilding in this one!!)

to be a wanderer, wandering by hydrangeasheart

Tommy's feet drag in the snow.

It's so, so cold. He's so cold. His toes are freezing. His exposed shins feel like they’ve been cut open-- even the one that’s bandaged. His wings have gone numb, which is almost, almost good, because now he can’t feel the shifting, broken bones inside of the left one, just under feathers and muscle.

He doesn’t know why he’s still walking.

-

Or, Tommy leaves the exploded ruins of Logstedshire behind, and walks until he finds somewhere safe.

And things keep going from there.

(A canon-divergent AU, splitting off somewhere around when Tommy started hiding out below Techno's house.)

that’s, like, a hundred miles by No_one_you_know (and then “as long as i’m here”, and “he’s my brother, i just raise him”)

Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.

The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?

in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade.

passerine by thcscus(blujamas)

Do I really need to put the summary here? Pretty much everyone knows this fic. Also, though, if you enjoy this one you should totally read thcscus’ connected fic, “shrike”!! It’s only at 2 chapters right now but it’s already really good and has this dark, foresty aesthetic I love...

not with a bang but with a whimper by dip_dyed_ghost

He knows Tubbo doesn’t care about him anymore. He knows that. He’s been shown that. But it doesn’t stop Tommy from caring about him. He brushes the pads of his fingers over the compass’s glass and wonders how he’s doing, if he’s tired of it all yet, if he needs help. He watches the way it points strongly in the direction over the ocean. He hopes he’s alright.

Even after everything, he hopes he’s alright.

During his exile, Tommy finds a drugged and hurt Tubbo on his doorstep. He can’t not help him.  

(This one has a neat take on potions, in my opinion. Also it’s only 4 chapters so it’s a quick read!)

take this compass, follow it home by lightning_anon

Tommy's a fuck up, he can't pay attention, and never sits still. He taps his hands, pushes people away, and has never had a best friend. He's a screwed up, forgotten kid lost in the foster system. He's also just been placed with a new family. Tommy knows how this goes, he never ends up staying long. After all, no one wants a fuck up like him.

Why would this house be any different?

Or: the obligatory sleepy bois foster fic, but with a focus on the neurodivergent kids that inevitably get lost in the system.

(Genuinely want to see more books like this in original fiction. It’s part of what inspired my newest og wip, “To Build a Home.” So sweet and I feel like I had my eyes opened to some neurodivergent tendencies I never knew existed. I read this in a day and can’t rec it enough.)

bloodlines by youreyeslookliketheocean

Tommy’s an orphan on the run from his previous guardian. Philza’s a king who prides himself on keeping his kingdom in an era of peace. Wilbur’s the crown prince, and Techno’s right beside him as his adopted brother. When Phil’s kingdom of Pogtopia is threatened by the bloodvines—a strange, brainwashing plant infecting many of the surrounding kingdoms—the four must work together to keep the kingdom, and their family, safe. --- A royal au sbi fic... + the bloodvines, for spice.

(Yes I’m self-promoting. But, in my defense, I’m very proud of it. If you checked it out it would mean the world to me :’))

Heat Waves by tbhyourelame

Dream has always held a gentle admiration for George, but when their nuanced friendship trickles into his sleeping mind, he awakens to a new world of conflicting emotions and longing. Lost in the midst of a heat wave, he continuously listens to a song that works itself in to the very core of his heartache. Floridian nights, unsent messages, spiraling infatuation, and terrible, terrible weather.

Another fic I think pretty much everyone knows about. Listen, listen... I was once an idiot who said “Oh no, I’ll never read Heat Waves. It’s irl, not characters, and it’s probably cringe”... No. I was so wrong. This fic is wonderfully written, with a pretty quick moving plot and great characterizations. You do need an ao3 account to access it, though. Just to let you know. (Also read “Helium”, unfinished and hasn’t updated in awhile, but it’s the continuation). 

Guitar Strings and Keyrings are What it Takes to Build a Home by Anonymous

Techno was adopted by Phil when he was 12 years old.

He'd been enjoying his morning before Phil came to him asking if he would mind them taking in another kid. Against his better judgement, Techno agrees and ends up with two new foster brothers who he was determined to not get attached to, no matter what.

Tommyinnit’s unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death by eneliii

“I uh,” Tommy starts, not knowing how to break this to the hero lightly. He hates to be the bearer of bad news. “I think your powers are broken? It’s not a bad thing of course, but like, I swear you tried to mind control me and it like, totally failed. Which is fine, honestly, don’t feel insecure. Everyone’s power stop working sometimes… I think.”

Sheesh, this is very awkward. Why is no one else talking? Why is Philza looking at him like he grew three heads? Why is the Blade staring at him so intensely? Why is Willow still frozen?

“Did I, did I hit a nerve? Yikes,” Tommy hisses, “Well um,” He steps back, bracing his legs and bending his knees, “This was like super fun, but I’m - I’mma head out.”

or,

in which Tommy manages to annoy the hell out of Phil, Techno and Wilbur by being both impossible to catch and irritatingly endearing.

or or,

a crack fic where Tommy is a vigilante and Phil, Techno and Wilbur are the heroes hunting him down.

(Feel like I am obligated to say how incredibly funny this fic is. Seriously. I have a distinct memory of sitting on my neighborhood park’s swing, giggling hysterically, while reading this. Well...until the end... but we won’t get into that...)

** bones in the ocean by bunflower

“Your reputation precedes you, y’know.”

“Does it, now?” Philza watches him coyly from where he’s now leaning against the wall, arms folded around his chains and gaze half-lidded, his lips curled in an arrogant, cat-like smirk.

“The Angel of Death, the ferryman of the Styx, the terror of the western seas. One of the most feared captains ever to sail, and yet, I have to wonder… how did a man like you end up all on his own? We searched the area where you were found—not another soul in sight. So,” He fixes him with a long look, allowing the silence to hover like a dark cloud, the words rolling off of his tongue with all the venom and smugness he can muster, “—tell me, Philza. Where is your crew?”

OR: Technoblade is a naval captain, and Phil his unwilling prisoner. Somehow, they manage to come out of it as friends in the end.

(Is this fic considered popular like passerine/Heat Waves now? Cause I feel like it’s reputation precedes itself, at this point... Pirate au.)

****

Okay! That’s it for now. Like I said, though, I want to add to this over time and also dig back for some older things I’ve read. Also, if you have any recs feel free to send them in! I’m about to go back to school and therefore might not have time for reading fun stuff, but whenever I get the chance I’d love to check them out!!!

Happy Reading!!

[drewstarky]

SOUR | T. Holland

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing(s): Tom Holland x Actress!Reader

Warnings: angsty af, swearing

Summary: y/n and tom broke up, and when tom comes around with his new girl 2 weeks later, y/n is sour. 

A/n: I was hesitant to post this due to everything going on with tom lmao but yk, fuck it lol. anyways lmk if you want a part two cause I this was pretty short and I have ideas! also I didn’t edit this much lol so sorry for the mistakes!

His brown guilty eyes were enough to know that he moved on, in two weeks to be exact, after you broke it off. He was spotted recently with a girl he said he was just friends with, what a damn lie. 

You try to not let the tears out as you see them making their way on the red carpet of the movie premiere. He looked you straight in the fucking eyes, yet couldn’t even give you a heads up he was bringing a date tonight. You worked together for six months yet he didn’t have the decency.  

He betrayed you. He didn’t cheat but he betrayed you. 

You had even mentioned her by name before, yet he said you were paranoid and had nothing to worry about. What bullshit. 

She was just a new trophy for him, one that he’d put on the shelf later, or smash like it like you were broken. 

 It started out so sweet and innocent. You had met working together and had started dating under the radar, and you fell in love with him so quickly, even at his worst, but it didn’t matter. He moved on with you still in the picture and that’s what hurt the most. But he would never see or care about how much you hurt. He wasn’t sorry. 

Isn’t it funny how someone you thought could love you the way you loved them, was a damn traitor? 

He played all these twisted games with your mind, thinking that he felt the same way about you, or at least cared. 

God, you wanted to scream, she was sleeping in the bed you lied in and made with him. But she couldn’t care less, she got the prize, a shitty one at that. 

You didn’t get it, he couldn’t have fallen in love with someone that quickly, not after what you had. 

All you had done for Tom, it didn’t apparently matter to him, cause he’s dating her. He gave you his fucking word, that you were the one who meant something to him, you guessed he just used you.

She was gorgeous too, and she made you feel so small, unimportant and the paparazzi all turned to them, and barely any was paying any mind to you, the star of the movie. It sounded selfish but you put the blood sweat and tears into this movie, and all she had to do was walk with the man you put blood sweat and tears into, and she had all the attention.

He just had to bring her and was showing her off like a new trophy. God, you hated him. You hated him for hurting you like this. And yet, if he asked for you back, you would probably jump at the chance. 

He seemed so genuine and true when you had first met him. Brown doe-eyed, attentive and listening to every word you said like it was the most important thing in the world, then things got ugly. He would play all these twisted games with you, making you feel like nothing one moment, and then his everything the next. 

He even gave you his fucking word and a promise ring that he would always love you, But Isn’t it funny? He’ll never feel sorry for breaking you. 

Suddenly one of your friends, well tom’s brother, wraps his arm around your waist, whispering to you, asking if your okay, before the paps get a few snaps in of the moment. Harry starts leading you away from the commotion before you cried. No one had asked you that until today. Which kind of shell shocked you, because you weren’t and he was the first person who seemed to care.

Harry at the moment couldn’t care less about the out-of-character way his brother was acting, especially towards you. Yes, he loved his brother but hated how he was acting. He couldn’t see how he could treat someone as lovely as you like that. 

Tom didn’t even notice the way you were destroyed. He let you go, Harry couldn’t understand why because tom seemed so happy with you, until nearing the end of the relationship. 

“Thank you, Harry.” you sniffle, once reaching the inside of the building. 

“You shouldn’t be thanking me. I should be apologizing for my brother.”

You smile weakly at him. He wipes the tears from your eyes, before suggesting,

“After they have you up on stage for the thank you’s and stuff, we should just ditch this and go back to my hotel and get room service and raid my candy stash, if you’re up for it.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say with a more genuine yet sad smile.

“Let’s get in there, shall we?” he puts his arm out for you and you link yours in his. 

What you didn’t realize is that tom saw harry wiping your tears while doing an interview, and saw you link your arms together when he got inside. To say he was fuming doesn’t even cover how enraged he was. 

Once getting in, you realized you and tom would be sitting next to one another, something you truly wished you could get out of. 

“You’d better wish me luck.” You point to the seats. 

Harry got the bright idea to just take his brother’s spot. He wouldn’t care anyway, he had his new girl Zabrina. 

You and Harry had a small conversation about what both of you had been up to after he was Tom’s assistant for filming. You saw him almost every day when you and tom would hang out, harry being the third wheel. You had spent a decent chunk of time with him and definitely preferred the company over being alone, or with your ex.

“I can’t believe you dropped your SD card down the drain! Photos are your life, so you should have paid attention!” you laugh with him.

“Harry, You’re in my seat.” Tom interrupts, with a scowl on his face. 

“Can’t you just move down one? Y/n and I are talking here.”

“Tommy I can’t see from that seat!” Zabrina pouts like a child. 

“If she can’t see why do I have to sit there? I actually worked behind the scenes on this movie!” 

“Harry, don’t make me-”

“You know what! Harry and I were leaving after we thank everyone. So you two lovebirds can have the whole row!” you say venom seething from your mouth. 

“There you go, Tommy. Have a nice night you two!” Harry follows up, really sick of the attitude his brother was having.

Tom’s face turned red under the makeup he had on. He was enraged. His brother was betraying him. 

“Have a nice time, fucking around” he said, seeing red. he saw your face soften, from anger to confusion, to sadness. You didn’t think he thought so low of you.

“What the fuck tom! We aren’t-”

“It’s not worth it Harry, he’s not worth it,” you say sadly. Standing up, Turning to go towards the stage. 

That hit tom with a pang in his chest. He was just trying to get over you, to move forward. But maybe that was the problem. He just left you in the dust (peter parker is that you?) to navigate the way you felt over losing one of the best things you ever had. God, you wished you didn’t fall in love with him before he betrayed you. You wished he just would have thought it through before he ruined you. 

Your director motioned over to you and Tom to go up on the stage. 

“I’ll meet you outside, Y/n/n.” 

That was tom’s nickname for you. He came up with it and he was the only one who could call you that. You were his and he was yours. But yet he knew that long-distance was so fucking hard. He couldn’t put you or himself, so he found someone who was fine with the distance. Zabrina barely paid attention to him unless he wanted attention for herself, but he didn’t realize how he broke much more of you than the surface showed. 

“She’s really pretty, I hope she makes you happy,” you mention bitterly, hoping in a terrible way,  he’d never be as happy as he was with you. 

Before Tom, you scream out no one would make him happy as you did. Your director cut tom off.

After your director said thanks to everyone and the film started you grab your bag from your assistant, before heading to the exit, tom hurriedly tried to follow you, being caught by Zabrina, asking Tom to take a selfie with her, so she could commemorate her ‘prize’ when truly, Tom was using her as a rebound. 

“Zabrina, I need to talk to harry!” he whispers yells.

“Why? He literally is taking to your wretched ex?” she says with venom in her voice. 

Tom jogs around her, trying to get to you and Harry, While Zabrina dramatically calls after him.

He was too late, though, he saw you from the doors, you were already getting in your getaway car, with Harry. He ruined everything.

Harry and you were sitting in the limousine that was rented for you, before harry states, “He’ll be the one who crying, I promise you.”

“I always knew this is how He’d leave me. He found someone more exciting, and better than me. I was used a discarded like nothing.” you laugh through the tears.

“You’ll find someone who finds you exciting Y/n, and you’ll be their whole world.” he comforts you.

“Good for him I guess, but it’s like we never happened. Like what the fuck is that?” you ask.

“He’s acting like a damn sociopath.” harry shrugs.

You laugh at that one. 

“So what do you want to watch Y/n?”

“Would you hate me if I said legally blonde?”

“Not if we can watch fight club after.” 

“You have a deal, Sir!”

Tom however was stuck, watching you and him on screen. Reminiscing of how he fucked up. 

It was getting close to an intimate scene, probably his favorite one he’s ever done. All he could think about was someone else getting to touch you, and be with you, he wanted that but at the same time, he couldn’t deal with all the shit of being with you. The relationship was too good, so much that Tom thought sometimes he didn’t deserve someone like you. It was probably crazy of him for thinking like that, but he couldn’t bring you down with him, not when he was so fucked up. He wished he could be the one but he couldn’t so he just hoped you were okay.  

Tags:

@spideyspeaches

@greenorangevioletgrass

@queenofthepouges

@minejungwoo

@keithseabrook27

@lolooo22

@webmeupspiderdaddy

@harryhollandsgirlfriend

[baroquebucky]

fundraisers

bucky finds love where he least expects it

word count: 1.9k

masterlist

a/n: hi bffs i am back w my usual fluff ,, i hope u all enjoy !! let me know what u all think ! a fundraiser? more like raising buckys heart rate ! (I’m funny please laugh)

“it’ll be fun! It’s for a fundraiser and my friend is counting on us” Sam spoke, “and plus when was the last time you went to an arcade?” He questioned and bucky rolled his eyes.

“I’m 106 i don’t go to arcades” bucky grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and looking to the side. Sam rolled his eyes, walking over and sitting down next to his friend.

“Cmon buck y/n will kill me if you don’t show up, she already promised who know how many people that we’d show up” sam frowned and bucky looked at him angrily.

“fine whatever” bucky agreed reluctantly, “but I’m leaving after the first hour” he added quickly and sam smiled at him, knowing he would end up staying the whole time.

“you’ll get along just fine” Sam smiled, “the easiest thing you can do in life is fall in love with y/n y/l/n” bucky rolled his eyes. Fat chance.

“When is it anyway” bucky asked, sam gave him a toothy grin before replying, “tonight at 6! See you there at 5!” He spoke quickly, rushing out of the super soldier’s apartment before he could suffer the consequences.

Bucky groaned, his hands flying to his face before he checked the time, he had three hours before he had to head out.

You were giddy, it was your first fundraiser for your new nonprofit, posters spread around the arcade in hopes of reaching your goal. You expected a larger crowd tonight, the buzz of Captain America and The Winter Soldier making a guest appearance made your heart race.

You smiled as you saw bucky walk in at 5:30, you checked yourself out in the mirror next to you before walking towards him with a smile.

“Mr. Barnes! hi I’m y/n” you grinned, holding out your hand. He shook it lightly before giving you a tight smile, looking around for Sam.

“uh, wheres sam? He said he would be here by now” he asked you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head.

“he’ll probably get here at like 5:30, he’s always late” you smiled and bucky laughed a little, the sound making your smile widen.

“I’ll let you go change into your suit, the restrooms are right over there” you smiled and bucky nodded, heading towards the restrooms, bag in hand with his suit.

Before you knew it people were filing in, Sam running out just in the nick of time to stand next to bucky.

As everyone met and took pictures with the two avengers you made small talk with some business people, giving out information about your fundraiser and graciously accepting donations left and right. You skipped over to the giant whiteboard near the prizes, smiling widely throughout the night as you colored in the box closer to the goal. Bucky smiled at how excited you were, he admired how passionate you seemed about your project.

The night progressed and you finished making rounds with most of the visitors, many people taking interest in how to help and spreading the word online. You finally let yourself relax, heading over to Sam and bucky who had already changed back to regular clothes and were sitting by the restaurant area.

“how’d it go?” You smiled at sam, ordering a water quickly.

“it was good, lots of people” he spoke, “my cheeks hurt from smiling, can’t imagine how hard it was for this guy” he teased bucky, nudging him with his elbow. Bucky frowned at sam, sitting up a bit straighter.

“i smile all the time” bucky spoke gruffly, “I’m a happy guys I’ll have you know” he turned his attention to you, smiling for a second.

“i never said you weren’t happy” sam shot back and you smiled as the two friends bickered.

“You implied it!” Bucky frowned and you laughed.

“okay notes break it up” you sighed, smiling as you finished your bottle of water. “any one wanna get their ass handed to them in air hockey?”

Sams eyes widened and he shook his head quickly, you groaned. Bucky looked at him confused, squinting his eyes a little.

“no way” sam replied and you pouted.

“why not?” You frowned, bucky was quiet as he observed the two of you.

“you’re a whole different person when you play!” Sam continued to shake his head, eating some of the fries bucky ordered, earning him a small angry ‘hey’ from the metal armed man.

“oh they can’t be that bad surely” bucky smiled at you, the frown on your face quickly replaced with a grin as you grabbed his metal hand and dragged him towards the air hockey table.

“oh god” sam mumbled, getting up from his seat and following the two of you through the crowd.

“you know how to play?” you asked bucky and he nodded. You handed him a paddle, and grabbed the puck, slipping in some coins and smiling brightly.

“for the record i am on Buckys team, simply out of spite” Sam spoke loudly, still eating Buckys fries.

“you’re eating all my fries!” Bucky grumbled and Sam rolled his eyes, shoving another handful of fries into his mouth.

“ready?” You asked and bucky nodded, you hit the puck gently, easing into the game. Bucky stuck it quickly, a smirk on his face as it smoothly went in. Your mouth dropped open as he scored.

“from what Sam said i thought you were better than that doll” bucky smirked, you felt butterflies in your stomach but you shoved them down, determined to beat him.

“was gonna go easy on you considering you might break your back trying to get the puck” you shot back, sams mouth wide open at your comment. Bucky smirked, you were witty and cute?

You took the puck and placed it down, hitting it quickly and bouncing it off the walls of the table, bucky strikes it quickly, you managed to hit it back before he scored and landed it cleanly in the goal. You smiled in satisfaction.

1-1

“glad to know you can score” bucky teased, hitting the puck, both of you focused on the game as you spoke.

“glad to know you won’t get a heart attack trying to keep up, old man” Sam watched from the side, eating the fries and enjoying the entertainment.

“i keep up quite well sweetheart” bucky replied, hitting the puck sharply and scoring, your eyes met and he smirked. You narrowed your eyes at him, grabbing the puck and hitting it quickly, he bounced it off the wall and you struck back without hesitation, the two of you going back and forth before you stuck the puck softly, catching him off guard before hitting it again and scoring.

“we’ll see about that james” your tone was sharp, bucky was taken back at the venom in your voice, looking at Sam with wide eyes.

“i warned you” the man chuckled, eating the last couple fries.

Bucky turned back to the game, both of you fiercely trying to score on the other.

“cmon thought you were a super soldier? cant use that extra strength to beat me?” You teased as you scored, bucky rolling his eyes at your tone.

“want me to put it to good use?” Buckys voice got deeper and you gulped a little, your Kees growing weak. He smirked and placed the puck on the table, your eyes unfocused as you thought of the tone of his voice. He scored easily, winning at you. “cats got your tongue?”

Your competitive nature got the best of you, anger rising in your chest as you saw the score, 9-8. You need two points to win, no way he was gonna beat you.

You set the puck down on the table, hitting it as soon as bucky tried to score again, not giving him time to move, a smile on your face as you heard it slide into the goal.

9-9

Bucky was silent as he set the puck down again, hitting it quickly, you were quick to react, bouncing it off the wall and into his own paddle. As bucky tried to move back to block the puck, he accidentally hit the puck with his paddle, causing it to slide into the goal and score on himself.

“i thought you could keep up?” You whined, pouting a bit before smirking at him proudly. Bucky bit his lip as the machine announced your win. You smiled at him as he set the paddle on the table, winking at him before turning around and telling Sam you were gonna go to the restroom.

Bucky was left in awe as you walked away, his mouth slightly agape. Sam smirked at the man, patting his shoulder as they walked to their table again.

“you like them dont you” Sam smiled and bucky looked at him like he was crazy.

“wha- me? No! i just met them!” Bucky protested and Sam rolled his eyes.

“as if you guys weren’t flirting that whole game?” Sam laughed and bucky shook his head.

“isn’t that how they talk to you when you guys play?” Sam widened his eyes and shook his head.

“oh god no i wish, last time they called me a bird brain!” Sam frowned and bucky laughed, “and then they said, ‘had known you were gonna play like this, i would’ve stayed home, it’s the same as playing with a fish’”

Bucky couldn’t stop the fit of laughter as Sam frowned at all the things you told him during the game, smiling slightly as he remembered the way you apologized after, hugging him and kissing his cheek and offering to buy him all the food he wanted.

“what’s so funny?” You asked, a smile on your face as you slid into the seat next to sam.

“just telling bucky all the things you say when we play” sam spoke and your face turned red.

“I’m really sorry, i hope i didn’t hurt your feelings or anything” you smiled softly and bucky shook his head.

“oh no I’m fine i get it” he smiled at you and you nodded, stomach in knots as you thought back to his words. Your throat went dry and you looked at him, quickly glancing to your hands. It didn’t go unnoticed by bucky though.

“actually, that super strength comment kinda hurt” he frowned slightly, trying his best to look genuinely hurt. You looked at him with wide eyes, frowning at his words.

“really? I’m sorry i didn’t mean it i swear, I’ll do anything to make it up to you” you spoke quickly, guilt washing over you.

“going on a date would make me feel so much better” bucky smiled and your mouth dropped, a smile on your face as you realized he was just messing with you.

You crossed your arms over chest as Sam smirked at bucky, proudly looking at him.

“if you wanted to ask me out you could’ve just said so sergeant” you smiled and bucky shrugged his shoulders.

“where’s the fun in that doll face” the two of you kept eye contact or a while, you wanted to just lean over the table and kiss him, bucky wanted nothing more than to crash his lips onto yours. Sam wanted more fries.

“is that a yes then?” Bucky asked and you were quiet for a moment before speaking up.

“maybe it is” you quipped, “depends” you smiled, making Sam shake his head as he realized where this was gonna go.

“depends on what?” Bucky questioned, cocking his head to the side as the smile on your face grew.

“how good are you at basketball?” You questioned, already getting up to head to the game, hand slipping into Bucky’s and pulling him behind you.

You were gonna be the death of him, but he didn’t mind it one bit.

[haikyuuuuuhypeeeee]

21 - Everyone is panicking

“God dammit, god dammit!” Kuroo shoves Atsumu away before taking off, fighting his way through the college kids. Atsumu rears back, shaken by the sudden departures and the aggression on Kuroo’s part. But if he’s being honest, he’s more shaken by the look of absolute terror that was on your face when he returned with drinks. Atsumu swears before shoving his two drinks into some rando’s hand before running through the crowd as best he can. It’s difficult (have even more people shown up? Suna is supposed to be watching the door) but he fights through it, your face pushing Atsumu forwards.

Atsumu eventually catches up to Kuroo and finds him at the front door with Bokuto, Akaashi and Kenma. Atsumu can see Kuroo speaking quickly and gesturing with his hands, while Akaashi looks on furious, Bokuto close to tears and Kenma listening intently. When Akaashi’s furious gaze latches onto Atsumu as he approaches (making Atsumu nearly falter in his step, damn is that a terrifying look) Kuroo whirls around. If Atsumu thought Akaashi looked mad, he holds nothing to the fury on Kuroo’s face.

“This is all your fault!” He shouts. Atsumu doesn’t need the music to dull out the yell to know that Kuroo is really yelling. But Atsumu is still horribly confused.

“What did I do?!”

“You forced a drink onto Y/N when she told you that she was fine.” Akaashi spits at him, his normally demure tone replaced with a voice laced with venom.

Atsumu gaped. He wouldn’t have forced you to drink if you didn’t want to! He just thought that you didn’t know what you wanted to drink and was overwhelmed. He thought he was helping! He said all this out loud and was met with glares.

“All you had to do was take one look at and see that she did not want a drink.” Kuroo wasn’t shouting anymore but he wasn’t doing anything to keep the resentment from his tone. “And now Y/N is gone.”

“Wait, gone?!” Atsumu squeaks out. “What do you mean gone?!”

“We mean that she’s not at the party anymore.” Akaashi snarls. “And we don’t know where she’s gone.” Bokuto bursts into tears, from either the situation or seeing Akaashi get genuinely mad or some combination of the two, and Akaashi turns his attention to him. He pulls his crying boyfriend into his arms and whispers to him. Kuroo is repeatedly calling what Atsumu guesses is your phone, and swearing everytime he has to call again since it’s gone to voicemail. The short blond is tapping at his phone, focusing on the screen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Atsumu mutters as he whips out his own phone and shoots off a text to the radio club chat.

Atsumu navigates to the chat between him and you, and starts typing.

“Y/N?!” Kuroo’s exclamation has Atsumu snapping his head in his direction, as the rest of their friends turn to Kuroo expectantly.

Oh, thank god.

“Where are you???” Kuroo demands. He’s quiet as he listens to you talk to him through the phone. Atsumu and the rest of the group don’t have a chance of picking up any of the conversation. “That’s ok, just tell me what you can see.” Atsumu sees Kuroo’s hand tighten on his phone. “I know it’s dark, you gotta work with me babe. Just describe your surroundings.” He hesitates then speaks up quickly. “Or send me your location, we’ll come to you.” Somehow the grip on Kuroo’s phone gets even tighter as he hears what you say to him. “Your phone is about to die? Ok, just - hello? Hello?!” Kuroo pulls the phone down enough that they can all see the END CALL flashing on his screen. “God dammit!”

The turn of events causes Bokuto to dissolve into fresh tears, with Akaashi holding him and rubbing his back. Kenma is looking at Kuroo intently, who is scrolling through his phone frantically. “What did she say?”

“She has no idea where she fucking is, Kenma.” Kuroo snaps. “She’s scared and alone and it’s my fault.”

“Blaming yourself or anyone right now isn’t going to help us find her.” Kenma continues on in a subdued but calm tone. Atsumu sees the subtle glance in his direction.

“Yeah, well it’s pretty fucking hard to see how we’re gonna find her if her phone is dead.” Atsumu jumps when Kuroo smacks his phone against his thigh in irritation. “Fuck!”

“Kuro.” Atsumu can’t help but give this guy serious props for going against Kuroo when he’s this mad, and not be terrified in the slightest. Atsumu doesn’t spend much time with Kuroo or his friends but he’s seen his irritated behavior every now and then in the radio club. He usually ignores him, but he can’t do that now that Y/N is involved.

“What else did she say? Did she describe where she was?” Kenma presses, unrelenting.

Kuroo exhales harshly. “She said it was dark and she couldn’t see much. But she said she thought she was in a park with a swing set .” Kuroo straightens up, pulling his phone out again. “I’m not familiar with this part of town, but I can look up all the parks around here and go search them myself.”

Atsumu is quiet, thinking over what Kuroo said. His morning runs take him past a few parks, but not many. He has to imagine that Y/N couldn’t have gotten far, so she must be at one of the parks close by. He knows exactly where it is and he makes for the door.

“Where are you going?” Kuroo’s aggression hasn’t lessened and he has a death grip on Atsumu’s arm, stopping him from leaving. “I’m going to find Y/N - I’m pretty sure I know which park she’s at right now. There’s not many streetlights there because it’s closed at sunset but it’s close enough and on the way to campus.” Atsumu’s reasoning doesn’t make the grip on his arm lessen, so he brings his own hand up to push Kuroo away. “It’s not far, I can be there in 5 minutes if you let go of my fucking arm.”

Kuroo’s eyes narrow and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to listen (which is just stupid, you’re out there in the dark, alone - they don’t have time right now) when Akaashi steps up and pulls Kuroo’s arm off. “Go, find her. And send us your location when you do.”

Atsumu only takes slight pleasure from the fact that Akaashi doesn’t sound like he hates Atsumu, but he doesn't linger before turning away and running out the door. A few party goers are on his front porch, and some exclaim when Atsumu jumps clear of the three steps going down and takes off sprinting down the road.

A/N: Hurry Atsumu! Hurry and find your girlfriend friend that is a girl! For reals though, being lost in the dark in an area you don't know....doesn't sound like a good time. Let's hope Atsumu finds Y/N soon! Thanks to everyone for the love, if you LOVE-LOVE this story feel free to send an ask to be added to the taglist! :)))

Taglist (urls in bold cannot be tagged! :( I don't know why): @thechaosoflonging @shookykookie30 @ivana-an-iguana @itoshibaby @kamalymaly @fantasycantasy @tanakasimpcorner @strawberry-icecream @automaticthingnacho @internethome @putmeinyourdeathnote

[hockeyboysiguess]

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.”

[hyacinthsblooming]

Veritaserum

Draco x Reader

A/N: Hey! This one may be a little short. This is what happened when I switched realities.  Description: How you feel about Draco accidentally slips during a game of Truth or Dare at a Slytherin party. 

Warnings: Some swear words & some sexual acts are described

Word Count: 1,529

-----

“Who even brewed this?” You laugh, smelling the Veritaserum that was handed to you by Blaise. 

You never really were a party kind of person, but once every blue moon, your best friend successfully would drag you to a Slytherin party.  You would often argue with her and tell her that you didn’t want to go, but she would tell you how she didn’t want to go alone. Even though you barely ever left together (wink). 

You were sat on the floor in a circle with a group of Slytherins. Your best friend was on your right, and Blaise was on your left. Next to Blaise was Draco Malfoy. Unlike most of the people in the circle, he sat in an armchair, declaring that he would never be seen sitting on the floor like a child. Everyone thought he was being ridiculous, but no one argued. 

On the floor, next to Draco, was Pansy, leaning against his leg. She seemed excited, as if she knew the night would end in a mess. Next to her was some Ravenclaw girl you didn’t know, and then next to her sat Crabbe and Goyle. Both seemed just happy to be involved in a group. Next to Goyle was your best friend, she made sure she sat as far away from his as possible.

Pansy rolled her eyes, “Don’t be a puss.” She giggled, “To restate the rules,” She cleared her throat, “If you pick truth, you must take a shot of the truth serum to make sure you’re telling the truth, and the whole truth.” 

Her dark eyes zeroed in on you, “Are you volunteering to go first?” Her teeth gleamed against her skin. 

You handed the serum back to Blaise, “Sure. But I’m picking dare.” You shrugged. There was no way you were drinking that serum first. 

Pansy clapped her hands together excitedly, “Yay!” She put her hand on her chin as if she were in deep thought. 

She suddenly straightened up, “I know!” she paused, “I, Pansy Parkinson, dare you, y/f/n y/l/n, to give y/b/f/n a hickey!” She giggled loudly after she finished. 

You rolled your eyes and looked at you best friend. Her eyes were wide, but she was smiling. She looked back at you and laughed, “Not too dark. Snape will be up my ass about it.” 

You smiled and leaned closer to her, “You can think of Paris, if you want.” You said before lightly sucking her skin. 

After a few seconds, you backed away and admired her neck, “That’s one of my best work.” You laughed and leaned back into your seat. 

Your best friend’s hand went to her neck, her eyes still wide, “How are you so good at that, blimey.” Her cheeks were red as she coughed awkwardly, “Anyways, who’s next?” 

The game continued like this. Sexual acts were made for almost everyone but Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy eventually dared them to go away and leave the circle. They huffed and left, leaving the 6 of you to the game. But, not too long after they left, the Ravenclaw girl decided she was tired and left. Leaving the 5 of you. 

By the time it came to your turn again, the Ravenclaw girl had given Blaise a lap dance and Pansy sat in Draco’s lap. No one had dared to take the Veritaserum. 

Pansy eyes laid on you, “Your turn y/n.” She slurred, “Dare, or some cold hard truth?” She had been taking shots of firewhiskey between turns, and at this point, she was drunk. 

You smirked as she played with Draco’s fingers, “Truth.” You picked up the vial that had been set in the middle of the circle. Pansy whooped with delight as your best friend hit your arm, “Y/n, no.” She started, but it was too late.

You took a swig and it tasted exactly how you thought it would taste--like dirt. 

It took everything inside of you not to spit it back out. You screwed your eyes together as you gulped it down. 

After a few seconds, you opened your eyes and immediately felt the serum course through your body, “Okay. Go. I’m ready.” 

You eyes fluttered as Pansy thought some more. This gave you time to look at Draco. His eyes were wide, as he stared at you. His mouth was slightly agape in true shock. 

Pansy noticed your staring and cackled, “I’ve got it.” She stood up and sat in front of me, “Tell me exactly how you feel about Draco.” She smirked wickedly with a teasing tone. 

Before you could stop yourself, words poured out of you, “I think he’s too hot for his own good.” You immediately slapped your hand over your mouth as you realized what you had said. You kept your eyes focused on Pansy, afraid to look anywhere else.

Pansy shrieked, “Go on!” She lightly hit your arm. 

You shook your head, your hand still clamped over your mouth. You bit your cheek in hopes to stop the word-vomit, but the serum overtook you and your hand fell down into your lap. 

“I’ve had the biggest crush on him since third year, but he’s a Grade A asshole.” You wanted to kick yourself as the words fell from your lips. You shuddered as Pansy’s laughter was louder than the music playing throughout the room. 

Your best friend grabbed your arm, “That’s enough, Pansy.” She started to stand up to pull you along with her, but Pansy grabbed your other arm and yanked you back down. 

“Come on Pans, that’s enough. Leave her alone.” Blaise spoke up, shaking his head. 

But Pansy just laughed louder, “No! I wanna know!” She turned back to you, her smile venomous, “Do you dream about our little Draco?” She snarled. 

You bit your tongue, but it was no use, “Sometimes.” You could taste the blood from your cheek, embarrassment burning on your face. 

Pansy was starting to turn red from laughter. She let go of your arm to hold her stomach as she laid on her back, howling. 

You instantly stood up, tears brimming your eyes. 

“Wait.” Draco’s voice boomed over Pansy. 

He leaned forward and grabbed the vial that was in front of your sitting spot and instantly took a swig from it. 

“Zabini. Ask me the same questions Pansy did for y/n.” His eyes bore into you as he spoke. You couldn’t read his expression, but at this point, you could barely see through the tears in your eyes. 

Blaise sat confused, “Uhm. Okay mate.” He scratched the back of his neck, “How do you feel about y/n?” 

Draco’s eyes never left yours, “She’s the one person I always thought was too good for me. So good, and so quiet.” He gulped, “If I was in a room full of people, I would always hear her over everyone else. Not because she’s loud, but because she’s the only person who I care about what they say.” He choked up, as if he was trying hard not to say what he was saying. 

Pansy’s laughter was 100% gone now. She sat on her back, staring at Draco, her expression read both shock and absolute horror. 

“Go on.” Draco said, his eyes still in lock with your own. 

Blaise shook his head, trying to process what the hell is going on, “Oh shit.” He stuttered, “Uhm. Do you dream about Y/n?” His eyes went back to his best friend’s profile. 

“Every night.” Draco started, “More than I should. I dream about how soft and warm her hands would feel against mine.” Draco sat down, as if the truth were exhausting him. 

“Fuck this.” Pansy looked as if she were about to puke. She stood up abruptly and stormed away from the circle. 

Blaise coughed and stood up, “i’m going to.. just.. yeah.” He turned and grabbed your best friend’s arm and drug her away, leaving you and Draco alone. 

“I-” 

“You-” 

You and Draco started at the same time, causing both of you to stop and look away. 

“A Grade-A asshole, huh?” Draco was slowly raising out of the trance of the serum. 

You blushed, “I, uh, didn’t mean that.” You said.

“Veritaserum never lies, darling.” He smirked at you. 

You rolled your eyes, “So...” 

Draco scoffed, “I just told you how I felt about you and your response is, ‘so’?” He looked genuinely hurt. 

“I like you. A lot.” You blurted, “But you’re very confusing and probably not good for me at all.” You said as you moved closer to him, sitting on the arm of the armchair. 

At that, Draco’s head fell, his hands in his lap becoming the most interesting thing in the world,“I don’t kn-” Draco started, but you cut him off. 

“But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to try... with you I mean.” You said, feeling the heat rush to your face. 

Draco’s head perked up, “Yeah? You mean it?” His face lit up and his hand reached out for yours. 

Your heart burst at his new attitude, “Yeah. I mean it.”  You smiled as you laced your fingers together and burst into a new conversation of what this meant to each other. 

[ddarker-dreams]

Do Well. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]

warnings: dabi is just a huge asshole, emotional manipulation, implied panic attack word count: 2.6k.

“Would you be a dear and wait here for a few? I need to take a call.” 

Dabi tilts his head alongside his words, glints of amusement present in his sapphire eyes. You’re certain the bastard picks up on every subconscious movement your body makes at the question, feeling like an open book before him. Despite your valiant efforts, human biology doesn’t operate in your personal interest. The challenging premonition causes your lips to curl down, fingers twitching on the wide straw of your milk tea. Pausing mid sip, you pull back, eyelashes fluttering. It’s the subservient behavior he wants to see, and considering the alternatives, you’re tripping over yourself to give it to him.

“... Of course. I should just stay here, right?” It’s more of a question posed for your sake than his, information vital to keep your head above water. Any movements on your behalf that even hint at disobedience could lead to dire consequences, ranging in severity. The worst of which is being confined back to his dingy apartment, with nothing but your thoughts to entertain yourself. All the faux smiles, carefully timed giggles, and strategic brushes of skin against skin would be for naught. You worked too hard for these trips outside for it to fall through your fingers like sand. 

Your captor makes a point of giving you a once over, lackadaisical visage a front for a predator in waiting. Condensation builds up against the plastic container in hand, making it tricky to tell if it’s your hands growing clammy or the drink. Time passes by at a snail’s pace, neither of you making the slightest of movements. People go about their lives in happy-go-lucky bliss, none the wiser to the potential harm that Dabi poses. Feeling finally returns to your body as he stands, seemingly content with the exchange.

He shoots you a coy look over his shoulder, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “Don’t miss me too much.” 

Dabi snickers at how your nose scrunches up, waving and slinking off with his phone in hand. You watch his retreating figure, still in disbelief over the unfolding events. This would be the first time since being kidnapped that you’ve been on your own in public. These special little outings were a privilege, one that you had worked diligently for. Consistently being on your best behavior, day after day, in the presence of someone you abhor from the depths of your soul is no easy task. A rush of adrenaline shoots through your body when he’s out of sight, eyes darting around in excitement.

This is a prime location to make an escape, the outdoors of a crowded mall in the afternoon. Everyone ranging from families, to couples, and employees on their lunch break are walking around. Lively chatter fills your ears, and you observe every possibility as if it’s your last. While it’s likely a futile dream, the rush your quickening pulse brings demands attention. Lithe fingers shake by your side, every ounce of your strength devoted to keeping yourself from unraveling at the mere concept of being free. He has to be watching. You know him well enough that he wouldn’t have offered the opportunity to escape on a silver platter, there’s got to be measures in place. 

There’s no way he isn’t keeping an eye on you now, making sure that you hold true to your word of behaving. 

Your shoulders slump at this cruel reality. The act of looking around excitedly would be too much of a give away, an observation he’d surely bring up later. An eruption of goosebumps dot your skin, even in the sweltering summer heat. Taking another sip of your drink, you abandon hope of escape, certain it’d be a mistake should you try it. Though he’s purposefully kept you in the dark on most of his relationships with the League of Villains, you can safely assume he’s interconnected with enough unsavory figures to locate you should it be necessary. In contrast to the sugary goodness that coats your tongue, a sour taste in your mouth develops at this blatant flaunting of power. What an asshole. 

To be so self-assured that even in the event of your escape, hunting you down and bringing you back into his loving arms is still within the realm of possibility. Your eye twitches at this realization, mentally flinging numerous curses towards him. He didn’t have to make it so obvious, rubbing salt on the theoretical wound of your pride. Too preoccupied with festering thoughts of resentment, you fail to notice a figure taking a seat next to you on the bench. 

“Is the drink not good or something?” A light, masculine voice asks from your left. Darting around immediately at the interruption of your venomous thoughts, you spot a man around your age. Sporting messy brunette hair and a casual get up of a tee with a pair of jeans, it tugs painfully on your heart to see someone living an uninhibited life as you used to. This envy mutates into horror, as you realize being caught speaking to a stranger is going to land you in boiling water. Dabi’s consciousness is a minefield in waiting, daring to blow at the slightest wrong movement. 

What do you do? It might leave a wrong impression should you not say anything. The current times are plagued by high tension.  Numerous League of Villain attacks have rendered the surrounding regions on constant alert, news anchors telling folks to be wary of anyone or anything suspicious. Weighing your options, you decide to dismiss the stranger in kind as fast as humanly possible. 

Just act natural, act natural… “W-why do you say that?” 

Shit. Your first conversation with someone other than Dabi in over half a year has left you thoroughly horrified, pupils no doubt dilated and voice meeker than a mouse squeak. The stutter has you wincing, your naive companion undoubtedly picking up on it. You want nothing more than to shoo him off, but in fear of drawing unwanted attention, attempt to suppress your frayed nerves. You’ve been through worse than a strained conversation and made it out relatively unscatched, but this feels like a different type of battle. 

“You just seemed to be making quite the upset face,” he chuckles, reminiscing on the thought. He must’ve been referring to the glowering thinking about Dabi brought out from you. “I swear I’m not a creep or anything. I was just waiting to pick up my little sister, and happened to catch you scowling.” 

“The name’s Ryota. And you?” 

Suppressing panic that threatens to drown you, you swallow thickly. “I’m uh, Hina. The drink is fine… I just have a lot on my mind.” 

The lie is seasoned with enough truths that you hope it isn’t too transparent. Giving away your actual name could hint back to missing person’s cases, the thought of which would greatly displease Dabi. Besides, if it had been as simple as going to the police, you would’ve done it by now. You’ve grown uncomfortably familiar with Dabi’s workings, killing off a few people or bribing them would be one of the least heinous things in his portfolio. You figure the best case scenario here is that this well meaning Ryota character leaves you be, or else dire consequences will come to fruition. 

“Good to know, Hina-san. My lil sis talks about boba often, but I’ve never gotten that into it. I figure since the store’s right here, I should surprise her with a drink. What would you recommend?” 

You can’t help but greedily soak in the normalcy an interaction like this brings with it. The irritation from being drawn into a conversation is replaced with pity, a stronger resolve to keep this bystander out of harm’s way blooming. There’s no time to be wasted on the warmth erupting in your chest, or on the first genuine smiles in months that’s settled on your lips. To see the best humanity has to offer, after being subjected to the worst, is a much needed breath of fresh air. While it may be greedy to fixate on these aspects, you find yourself wanting to savor the moment of being a regular person. 

Surely, Dabi would understand your logic. 

“It depends on her tastes. If she likes sweeter drinks, I’d recommend Thai milk tea. If you’re not sure, classic milk tea is always a safe bet.” You’re proud of how you’ve been able to pull yourself together, speaking like you used to. With this, he should be set to leave, or at least you want to believe this. Unfortunately for you, life is never so easy. He doesn’t seem interested in going anywhere anytime soon, crossing his legs and leaning slightly closer to you. Realizing your mistake of radiating friendliness, your muscles go taut. 

You need to do something about this before it’s too late. 

Ryota scratches his head, mulling over your advice. “I’ll keep all that in mind. I appreciate your insight.” 

“It feels nice to be able to chill and talk like this every now and then. If I’m being honest, I was somewhat against my sister coming out to hang with friends,” Ryota’s tone takes a turn for the somber, face looking crestfallen. “With all the chaos that’s been around, y’know. It feels like everyday I wake up to more of those League of Villain stories. It feels like it’ll just be a matter of time until something happens near here.” 

“I’m sorry that--” 

“Things sure are rough,” A voice that brings out every negative emotion possible speaks up from behind you, Dabi’s familiar figure slithering into sight. He takes a seat on the bench, close to your person, wrapping a tight arm around your shoulder. “I hate to interrupt, but I need to borrow her for a bit. You mind?” 

Neither of you were expecting the sudden interruption, Ryota trying to piece everything together. “Oh, uh, not at all.’

Everything hits you like a ton of bricks. From Dabi’s rich cologne that mixes in with the smell of ash, his hair brushing against the side of your face, to the possessiveness of his grip. He squeezes your shoulder, looking from Ryota to you. It takes a moment to register what he’s communicating, but you’re able to decipher the gesture. In a last ditch attempt to salvage this situation, you confirm Dabi’s statement before things get ugly. Nodding your head, you watch with bated breath as Ryota looks from Dabi to you. He gets up from his spot on the bench, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets.

“It was nice talking to you.” 

Ryota heads off towards the mall doors, leaving you in the clutches of the devil incarnate. You feel how terribly warm Dabi is next to you, words wanting to spill out to justify the actions that led up to this moment. Before you get the opportunity to ramble out your thoughts, Dabi places a finger on your lips, looking at you with the same grin as always.

“Making some new friends, hm?” He inquires, drawing out the syllables. His finger goes south, lifting up your chin, and holding you close to his face. “Awe, babe. You look like you’re aboutta cry. Don’t give me that look.” 

You’re not sure if you should feel horrified at his sudden spike in talkativeness, or relieved over not having to speak your piece yet. The words wouldn’t be able to leave your mouth even if you wanted them to, a lump forming in your throat to coincide the dryness of your tongue. Dabi makes a point of emphasizing his engulfing height, having to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. Not wanting to make a scene, you do everything within your power to still the tears that are threatening to spill out. There’s no visible signs of wrath, not that you can pick up on. He watches with great interest as you calm yourself, releasing the grip on your face and leaning back into the bench. 

When you appear sufficiently soothed, he speaks up once more, voice grating your ears. “So tell me, doll. What was all that about? I knew you’d be hurting for company in my absence, but I didn’t think you’d be so bold as to speak to someone else.” 

“I… I was approached, and… I swear, nothing happened. He just-- just wanted to know about a drink for his sister, and--” 

Dabi gently flicks your forehead, unable to stifle his cackling any longer. “I’m just messin’ with ya. I saw everything.” 

It doesn’t settle in immediately, the hypothetical cogs and gears of your head turning in slow motion. Your heart is pounding so violently that you hear it in your ears, your face erupting into a bright red. Humiliation, indignation, and finally, loathing take turns dominating your mind. He’s always had the best of times playing with you at your own expense, poking and prodding to see what reactions he can get. There’s a knee jerk reaction to want to slap him, anything to let out these overflowing feelings. Knowing that getting bothered is what he finds the most pleasure in, you’re further motivated to gain control over yourself. 

A deep breath. Inhale, exhale. You continue repeating these steps, biting your tongue to the point it stings. Dabi rests his head on his fist, watching you calm yourself down through lidded eyes. You really do get yourself worked up so easily, it’s endearing. He wants to pinch your cheeks and tease you more, but is feeling generous enough to give you this time to gather yourself. There’ll be plenty of time to play with you later, occupying himself with this cute sight placates him for the time being. When you finally reopen your eyes, you’re met with the deplorable sight of Dabi’s crooked grin. 

“Can we just… go home? Please?” You hate how weak your voice sounds. You hate everything about this situation, about the life that you’ve been forced into living. How you have to adapt to unspoken rules, subjected to twists and turns that never let you lower your guard. Most of all, you hate the person who has done this to you. His touch, his scent, his voice, all of it. You want nothing more than to scream at him at the top of your lengths, ripping that satisfied looking off his flesh and ridding yourself of this turmoil once and for all.

“Hm? Already? I thought you were hoping to get some dinner out tonight.” Dabi keeps up an air of nonchalance, likely wanting to hear you repeat yourself. Not willing to give in outright, you instead bunch up the fabric of his jacket with your hand. 

“Dabi…” 

It’s a low plea. You know you’ve gotten your point across ages ago, but he’s deriving too much pleasure from seeing how you squirm. The painful utterance serves you well, earning the slightest bit of reprieve as he gets up. On shaky legs, you follow after him, head downcast. Fixating on the tops of your shoes, you wonder if distracting yourself might do anything to ease your tormented soul. The events of the day have left you thoroughly exhausting, and nothing sounds better to you than sleeping for as long as he’ll allow you.

“Alright, alright. Let’s head on back,” he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. No longer having strength to muster up in retaliation, you let him do as he pleases, still fighting down sniffles. “Don’t bother your pretty little head about this.” 

You don’t bother honoring him with a reaction. 

Dabi takes a final glance over his shoulder, spotting the pesky man from before, who is still waiting against a wall. He takes a mental picture of the notable features, lips settling into a deep frown. How troublesome. Before you notice anything, he picks up his pace, continuing the walk back to his apartment. Ideas and resentment swirl within his mind like a tornado, pent up frustration begging to be released. 

All in due time, he thinks.

[1kook]

skirt chasers

jjk x (f) reader

summary “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” tags f2l, triple texting king kook, ncampus crush kook who is also the weird gamer boy, the skirt aspect is forgotten towards the end tbh, dumbassery is a disease and we are all affected by it, confessions SO CORNY it could be a 2005 teen romcom warnings smut in the form of: unprotected sex, use of mirrors, mostly heavy petting as foreplay I’m sorry, mentions of Jk’s furry ways as a gag kinda, like an unnecessary amount of swearing  wc 7.8k 

to make a long story short, i saw this nsfw gif and wrote this entire fic between 2 am and 6 am anyway i actually really like how this turned out!! lmk when u think

Part of the ideology behind the pleated skirt was in hopes that buying a new wardrobe would somehow help you rebrand your image around campus. Truthfully, it was kinda too late for that now; you’d been here going on three years, your friends and anyone with eyes could see that the style of clothing you leaned towards favored comfort over fashion. However, someone—it might’ve been Taehyung—had gone on a drunken spiel the other night concerning the importance of presenting oneself via fashion. It wasn’t aimed at you, but it certainly left you wondering. 

Which is how you find yourself shivering to the bone now, lingering around the west quad as you wait for Jungkook to come out of an anatomy lab. He’s at that point in the semester where grades mean nothing and everything to him at the same time, so Namjoon’s commissioned you and your other pals to take turns babysitting him once a week to make sure he gets at least some assignments done. 

You don’t know where any of you would be without Kim Namjoon.

Anyway, your legs are fucking cold and if this is what it takes to be known as the fashionably cute girl around campus, you’d rather choke. The imaginary sound of your bones rattling is cut off when Jungkook throws the door nearest you open, his big dopey smile engulfing his face the moment he sees you. He barely acknowledges the gaggle of students that follow after him, all calling out a chorus of goodbyes to him, because unlike you Jungkook was the cute, campus boy crush with his suave looks and comfortable fashion. God, if only you could pull off sweats and mustard-stained Venom shirts like him.

“Lets go,” you yawn, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your long cardigan. Jungkook jogs over, slinging an arm around your shoulders and nearly knocking you into the emergency telephone you’d been brooding by. “You smell sterile again.”Jungkook grins. 

“That’s because I was touching dead people again,” he informs you, too giddy for someone who’d probably fingered the fuck out of a gallbladder twenty minutes ago. 

“Ew,” you whine, the sudden urge to shove Jungkook and his dead people germs away from you. He cackles in your face, and you wonder again how he single handedly enthralls half the campus population with a laugh like a seagull. 

You’ve barely moved ten feet when Jungkook finally notices your vibrating body, and it’s only because you’re nearly convulsing with shivers at this point. “Woah, what are those,” he exclaims, eyes pointedly eyeing your legs. 

You know your bare legs are a rare sight when Jungkook has to resolve to overused memes to refer to them. 

“They’re my legs, and they’re fucking freezing,” you calmly reply. 

Jungkook seems shocked for only a moment longer, and you almost think he’s gotten over it when he suddenly snorts and scares the shit out of you in the middle of the crosswalk. “Why the fuck are you wearing a skirt in this weather, you dinglehead?” 

You shove him, and he stumbles over the curb, but you get the feeling he’d do that without you pushing him. Jungkook was clumsier than Namjoon on his bad days. “I’m trying to be fashionable, you hater,” you huff, not even bothering to say thank you when he pulls open the coffee shop door for you. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to someone who doesn’t even wear the right size shirt.” 

Like always, he’s one step ahead of you and hands the cashier his card before you can even reach for your wallet. Next time. “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” 

“For your information I bought this from H&M,” you retort, though you can’t hide the flush that warms your cheeks at his comment. “Also, what's the point of working out your hotbod if you’re just gonna hide it under shirts long enough to be a mini-dress, huh? Riddle me that, Jeon.” 

You flinch when your bare thigh touches the cold seat of the booth, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Your skirt is mad short,” he points out, and you kick his shins. 

You’ve already got a Google Doc open on your laptop from last night when you and Jimin had been going ham on a psych essay, but you also have a Fashion Nova cart on another window that’s just begging for you to check out. 

“Short skirts are just a concept made by men with lingering eyes to demean and belittle women who don’t submit to their every want and need.” 

“Oh my god,” he groans, and you watch him muffle a laugh into his palm as he gets his own work out. “Do you think I’m gonna pull the meninist card out on you and call you a slut or something?” 

You fake gasp, eyes wide and shocked as you give him your best disappointed face. “Jeon, how could you? I expected better from you.”  

This time he does laugh, a dorky sound unlike his witch cackle from earlier, and you finally let a smile slip. Jungkook was funny, too sweet and kind hearted for his own good. A little dumb, but most cute guys were. He’s one of those guys who thinks girls are nice to him out of their own free will, and not because they’re trying to bag the campus hottie. 

“Seriously,” he says once he’s pulled his fat anatomical reference book out, stuffed to the brim with worn scientific essays he’d printed out, and pictures he’d taken at every single one of his visits to the cadaver lab. His voice is earnest and genuine when he speaks again. “You can wear whatever you want, I was just curious about the skirt ‘cause you normally wear things past the knee and elbow.” 

When he puts it like that you kinda sound surprisingly conservative. 

You shrug, tapping away at your computer as if the sight of you in anything other than what he said isn’t really weird. “Just thought I’d try something new. Why, does it look too weird?” Your voice suddenly feels meek, and you’re not sure if your cheeks are warm from the chill outside or from something else. 

Jungkook shakes his head, coconut hair bouncing from side to side. “Nah, you look cute,” he says, and then, as if an afterthought, adds, “weirdly sexy, too. Like you belong in a Brazzers video?” 

“What the fuck, Jungkook,” you groan, sinking your head into your palms. 

“What! You asked for my opinion and I gave you it,” he defends, too casual for someone spewing their unwarranted porn knowledge at you. You urge him to do his homework, drink his coffee, anything besides embarrass you further. 

He does, but you don’t miss the goofy way he glances under the table one more time. 

The pleated skirt makes it’s return three weeks later, this time accompanied by her best friend, the sheer pantyhose. 

“Oh, who’s this sexy schoolgirl?” Taehyung exclaims the moment you step into the diner. Your cheeks flush red when the family beside you send you and your friends a disapproving look. 

“That’s what I said!” Jungkook says as he gets up to let you slide into the booth. He has this incessant need to be sitting at the end of the booth just in case nature calls in the middle of dinner and he can’t usher the rest of you out fast enough. 

(It almost happened once, and the sight of Jungkook shoving Hoseok flat on his ass had been too funny to forget.) 

“Wait a minute, is that why you stopped using EOS and started using the Dove shaving cream?” Chaeyoung interrogates from across you. “So you could show off your sexy model legs?” 

“No, Dove is just cheaper,” you reply, trying to sound as aloof as possible but if anyone at this table knew you like the back of their hand, it was definitely Chaeyoung. “Why can’t you guys let me live my best life?” 

Taehyung scoffs. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“Who the fuck are you?” You snap back, but your level of sass can never seem to match his. 

“We all know your ‘best life’ would be spent in those fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama pants and one of Kook’s big ass shirts,” he points out, and you hide behind your menu much to everyone’s amusement. 

You whine, “why can’t you all just be supportive besties and tell me I look cute?” 

“You look gorgeous, babe,” Chaeyoung assures you, gesturing for you to pass her the sugar for her coffee. “It’s just weird seeing your legs out. Almost weirder than if you randomly pulled your tits out right now.” 

Behind her, you can see the same mom from the family glaring at you guys. You lower your head in shame. 

“For the record, I’m team skirt, but I wouldn’t be opposed to the other,” Jungkook adds after being silent for so long. Taehyung fist bumps him as you slap your hand over your eyes. At this rate you’d rather just put a paper bag over your head. 

“We’re sitting on the same side of the table, so you’re supposed to be on my side!” You groan, and Jungkook shrugs mid-milkshake sip. 

“I am!” He splutters once he’s gulped down the thick substance. “I just said I was team skirt, did I not?” His scandalized pout twists into the same sneaky little smile he has whenever Taehyung has convinced him and Jimin to do something stupid. “But I’m also a man, and therefore, a skirt chaser,” he winks. 

From the other side of the table Taehyung’s eyes twinkle. “Bro, your mind,” he says in awe. He reaches over to shake Jungkook’s hand as if he’s just presented the table with some riveting discovery in the medical field, and the fucker has the nerve to look smug about it too. 

“You guys are so stupid,” Chaeyoung whispers right before the server sets her pancakes down. 

“Hey, have you seen Joon’s book? He said he might’ve left it—oh, Jesus, fuck sorry,” Jungkook says before whirling around to face the wall. 

You turn from your bent over position by your bed where you’d been rummaging around for a book you coulda sworn you stuffed there last week. Jungkook’s blazing cheeks don’t register with you until you realize your favorite skirt is draping over your rear, giving him a clear view of your dorky star-printed panties. 

“Kook,” you stammer, quickly jumping to your feet and brushing your hands over your skirt. “H-How’d you get in?” You ask for lack of greeting. 

“Um, uh,” Jungkook stutters, eyes laser focused on some point on your wall. “Chaeyoung let me in.” 

“Oh,” you say, and then silence falls over the two of you. 

Holy shit this was awkward. 

Despite being friends for going on three years, you don’t ever remember there being any stale moments between you and Jungkook. You were the type of friends that just clicked, never having gone through that awkward phase before. But you’d also never seen each other in any state less than presentable. (Being drunk at parties did NOT count, and even then, you’ve always been pretty collected.) 

To know that he’s seen your ass, covered or not, tilted your Golden Friendship with Jungkook scale extremely off center. Your fingers twiddle at your sides, not really sure if you should mention what just happened or… what?

He coughs, and you snap back to reality. “Um,” he drawls, still not looking at you but at the socks you’d thrown off the second you got home. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, voice soft and earnest in that Jungkook™ way that made all the girls swoon. “I should’ve knocked before coming in all rude.” He finally gathers the balls to look you in the eye, and the dude looks like a kicked puppy. 

“No,” you wave him off, hands fluttering in front of you because standing like some Macy’s holiday mannequin certainly isn’t making this situation any easier. “It’s okay, the skirt—y’know this wouldn’t happen if I just wore pants,” you say, tacking on a self-deprecating laugh. It’s your turn to look away in shame. 

Jungkook jumps at your words. “The skirt’s cute!” He basically shouts and you flinch at the sudden increase in his tone. Then you’re both left looking at each other wide-eyed again as he scrambles to assure you it isn’t your fault. “I like it, and it makes your legs look really nice, so don’t-“ he stutters, as if realizing the meaning in his words, “don’t stop wearing it...” he trails off, cheeks rosy. Your mind goes blank. 

“R-Really?” You stutter, surprised at his compliment. It’s not like Jungkook never complimented you—dude couldn’t go fifteen minutes without telling his friends how much he loved them—but for some reason it feels different now. 

“Yeah,” he assures you. “Makes you look nice, and um. Pretty.” 

“Jeon Jungkook telling me I look pretty? Someone call TigerBeat magazine,” you joke, trying to ease the tension somehow. Your chuckle sounds awfully robotic to your ears, but it makes Jungkook crack a smile and that’s all that matters. 

“Shut up. You know I’m not friends with ugly people.” 

“Wooow,” you laugh, real this time. “How noble of you,” you retort, and he gives you his best snobby expression possible. 

“Ya, you’re welcome,” he teases, and then suddenly remembers what he came for in the first place. “Give me Joon’s planner, I know you’re holding it hostage.” 

You roll your eyes, and point over to the notebook on your desk that’s absolutely overflowing with sticky notes and bookmarks. “As if I’d want his nerd diary ruining the good vibes in here.” 

“These good vibes smell a lot like Bath and Body Works perfumes, you cheapskate,” Jungkook says as he snatches the book off the surface. He’s at the door again, narrowing you with another faux uppity look when he adds, “this is a Victoria’s Secret Bombshell household.” 

“Bombshe—you don’t even live here!” You huff in laughter, ushering him down the hall to the front door. He’s half a foot out the door when he suddenly whirls around, making you take a step back in surprise. 

“The stars are cute, but I prefer hearts.” 

He slams the door shut behind him so fast, that you almost don’t catch the smirk tacked on at the end. 

You were many things, but a liar was not one of them. You couldn’t lie to your parents when you were younger and wanted to sneak out, to your teacher when she asked where your homework was, or to your friends when they asked you who you liked. You couldn’t even lie to yourself. 

You’ll admit it, there was a time your eyes had lingered a little longer on Jungkook. When you would spend moments tracing the slope of his jawline, and memorizing the twinkle in his eyes. He was devastatingly handsome, and you would be blind not to see it. 

But that was before you became close friends—before game nights at Hoseok’s became a regular staple in your schedule, before your little makeshift picnics in the quad, before you all became Park Jimin’s dedicated fan club (it’s a rotating unit consisting of whoever’s able to go to Jimin’s showcases). 

Those fantasies of kissing Jungkook and going on dates were stuffed to the back as you became pals. As you’ve mentioned a million times now, Jungkook was the campus dream boy. He was hardly the skirt chaser he made himself out to be, too sweet and romantic for his own good. Besides, there was no need to be when the skirts flocked to him. 

He’d had flings, and even girlfriends, in the time you’ve known him, but he rarely mentioned them to his friends. And even though you pushed that teensy crush aside, you still wondered how Jungkook acted with girls he was interested in, if it was the same he treated you and Chaeyoung, or special on an intimate level a platonic friendship could never be. 

It’s the middle of the night when you first get a glimpse. 

[1:21 am] jk wyd 

[1:21 am] you sleeping , u? 

[1:22 am] jk same anyway I finally beat world 8 in super Mario bros

[1:25 am] you omg the 1 w dry bowser?? [1:26 am] you wait u said u wouldn’t play w/o me :/

[1:27 am] jk u suck at Luigi and u know it 

[1:30 am] you fuck u  [1:31 am] you ok but seriously what do u want I have a test tmrw morning and am pretending to be asleep 

[1:32 am] jk damn ok can’t I just talk to my friend about my successes  [1:33 am] jk but if u must know 

[1:33 am] you I must 

There’s a lull in messages for a while, and you decide you should finally actually go to sleep, dabbing some spot ointment onto your skin before hopping in bed. You turned off the overhead light long ago, so the only light illuminating you now is the lamp by your bedside. You tap your phone once again right as Jungkook sends another message. 

[1:40 am] jk you looked really pretty today

Oh. Your entire body pauses for a moment to process the sudden message, cheeks slowly heating up. You roll your lips in to stop the squeal that threatens to rip itself out of your throat, scrambling for something to type. But it’s the first time he’s randomly thrown something like this on you, and your brain feels like that episode of Spongebob when everything’s on fire. 

Before you can send the jumbled letters you’d convinced yourself was acceptable, your phone vibrates with another alert. 

[1:42 am] jk I know its weird to say that but I gotta make sure someone told u at least once today 

Your heart flutters at the explanation, and you have to slap a hand over your face to get rid of the goody smile that overtakes your features. This time, you’re a little less thrown off and quickly tap out a reply before he can say anything else. 

[13:43 am] you thanks kook :) was it the red skirt lol 

You’d been experimenting with different skirts lately, quickly growing bored of the black pleated skirt you’d originally worn. Your latest trip to the mall had you coming home with a variety of colors and styles, like the dark red denim one you’d worn today. 

[1:45 am] jk no!!!! [1:45 am] jk maybe… [1:46 am] jk ok yes you looked gorgeous 

The tiny letters blink back at you, and you set your phone down for a second to smile stupidly at your dark ceiling. You only let yourself wildly kick your legs around for five seconds because Chaeyoung was asleep next door. 

[1:47 am] you haha well I’ll make sure to wear it again for u :)

It’s only after you’ve sent the message that the last two words have you stuffing your face into your pillow to hide your embarrassment. Girl, what the fuck!!!

Oh my god, he could’ve just been friendly and polite this whole time. Jimin had said the skirt looked cute on you as well, and you hadn’t responded like this. All it took was a few compliments from Jungkook to have you dopily acting like a clown for his affections.

Before you can scold yourself anymore, your phone vibrates and you have to sit up to retrieve it from where you’d tossed it across the bed. 

[1:50 am] jk for me? I’m honored :)  [1:51 am] jk anyway get some rest before ur exam!!! [1:51 am] jk night cutie

You squeal, and Chaeyoung kicks your shared wall. 

You liked to clown Seokjin for being the president of his fraternity. He was already a stereotypical frat boy, so it wasn’t that hard anyway; he came from money, was ridiculously gorgeous, and played on your school’s soccer team. However, behind that facade he liked to put up, he, too, was infected by the dumbass disease.

“Wait, are those your legs?” He says the moment you step into his frat party. Normally, he wasn’t prone to the same stupid questions that regularly plagued Taehyung and Jungkook (sometimes Namjoon, but everyone had their weak moments), so you deduce that he probably had some alcohol in his system to openly be asking you such a question. 

“Yes, now give me whatever’s in that cup,” you brush off, not bothering to stick around to watch him not-so-subtly grope Chaeyoung as she enters behind you. You trust him enough to hand you a drink that hasn’t been roofied, but you’re also aware that Jin drinks like he’s trying to die three times over. One sip has your face scrunching up at the sour bitterness of it all. 

There’s a loud cackle of a laugh that you’d recognize anywhere, and you turn to find Jungkook leaning against the staircase banister looking like a wet dream. “Someone lost on their way to Weenie Hut Jr?” he sneers, cheeks a nice rosy color. You flick his forehead. 

You don’t bother gracing him with a reply, instead shuffling over so you’re stood side by side observing the party before you. Yoongi’s here, which is an even weirder sight than your legs being out, so you wonder why no one is talking about that. But then you see the way he’s trailing after Seokjin’s cat, Jalapeño, and realize he’s only here to make sure no one hurts her (she’s more important than anyone else here). You honor his service with another sip of Jin’s whatever the fuck mix. 

“Wow, getting braver every day, huh?” Jungkook teases after giving you a very intense once over. He’s referring to the skirt you’re wearing, a little black circle skirt that flows around you like the first one you’d worn a couple months ago. Call it a tribute to the one that started it all. You’ve definitely experimented with lengths a little more, the one you’re wearing now brushing just barely below your ass. Appropriate for the frat party, but definitely not for your theology elective. 

You hum, stepping aside as a couple makes their way up the stairs. You’re tempted to go tattle on them to Seokjin, but decide against it when you feel Jungkook’s fingers brush against your thigh. 

He grins at the surprised little gasp you let out. “Pretty,” he chuckles, deep and seductive in a way you’ve never seen before. You were used to giggly Jungkook, and Jungkook who laughs like the stepmom from Cinderella, but you’d never seen this one before, the Jungkook who looked and laughed like he was straight out of a Calvin Klein campaign. 

You giggle like a teenager at his compliment, unsure of what else to do so you settle on chugging Jin’s death drink. You only get a good three gulps in before Jungkook’s tugging the plastic cup away from you and setting it down on the nearest flat surface. “Don’t get all drunk on me now,” he jokes, eyes the teensiest bit glassy. He doesn’t look drunk, and he’s certainly not acting drunk. He might be a little tipsy, you think, because a completely sober Jungkook would never have the balls to tug you closer by the waist like this one does.  

Your hands fall flat on his chest, warm beneath the material of his shirt. Not one of his super baggy ones today, but still a bit loose where it could hug his build. “What happened to the little red one? You said you’d wear it for me…” he questions, lips playfully pushing out into a pout. 

You struggle to meet his gaze, focusing on the mole beneath his lip instead. “I, um, haven’t got around to washing it,” you stutter, absentmindedly shifting your weight from side to side. 

“Really?” Jungkook presses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you at all. After a moment in which he ducks down to catch your gaze, he seems to accept. “That’s fine. This one’s cuter anyway.” 

His words are emphasized by his fingers, tracing along the edge of your skirt while purposefully making sure to graze your skin. You shiver, unconsciously arching your chest into him. It’s only afterwards that you realize when Jungkook smirks in triumph. “Easy access too,” he murmurs, and your heart leaps in your chest. 

“Jeon,” you whisper, hyper aware of all the people in this house right now. You’re standing at a point where everyone walks by, and the idea of Jungkook groping you in front of these people, some of which are friends, seems horrifying. “People can see.” 

Jungkook’s Cheshire smile grows even wider, and you muffle a yelp when his hand slips beneath your skirt to grope your ass. “Since when were you shy?” He says, voice soft and lilting over the hum of whatever music is playing now. “Weren’t shy when you had your ass in the air that one day in your room.” 

Your cheeks burn at the memory, but your core surges with a newfound heat at his wandering hands and teasing words. “Remember?” 

You nod, tucking your head against his neck in a last ditch effort to hide your embarrassment. From here, your senses are bombarded with Jungkook and only Jungkook. 

You feel him let out a long sigh. “Been thinking about you since,” he admits. “Nah, even before that. When you wore my shirt that one day after our balloon fight in the west quad.” 

Your heart thunders at his sudden confession. The balloon fight in question had been a little over a year ago, a rallying effort from your friend group to cheer Taehyung up after an exam. After soaking each other to the bone with water guns and balloons, Jungkook had let you wear one of his stupidly big shirts home. So you’d ditched your usual jeans and shirt, wearing his shirt like a dress all the way home. 

The fact Jungkook’s been thinking about you since then makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. 

“Every time you wear these little skirts, I think of that day. You, in my clothes, looking so soft and warm. Fuck, baby, you don’t know what you do to me.” 

You glance around, and your soul almost leaves your body when you make direct eye contact with Yoongi holding Jalapeño across the room. He gives you that Yoongi look, the whatever you’re doing is weird but I won’t say anything because I don’t care look, and that’s your signal to stumble your way upstairs before Seokjin can see you two and scold you. 

You’re not sure who’s room you end up, just that it has one and a half bunk beds in it, so you don’t hesitate to push Jungkook down onto the half. He plops down like a little cherub, all sweet smiles until you see the way his pants strain at the crotch. Of fuck, this is happening, you think as you climb onto his lap. 

His lips envelope yours the second you’re in his arms. You’re not usually one to give into those John Green cliches, but everything about being in Jungkook’s embrace feels so right. Like you belong there, or whatever. 

He’s a good ass kisser, but you shouldn’t be surprised. Jungkook was good at everything he did—such was a known fact. But he still kisses you like he’s trying to prove something, like he wants you to melt into him, and he succeeds. His mouth moves against yours, tongue sneaking it’s way past your lips until it’s inside yours, and you’re swapping spit. His breath hot, but you imagine yours is as well because just making out with Jungkook has your body temperature hotter than the inside of a sauna. 

“Jungkook,” you groan when he pulls away, desperate to feel his mouth on yours again. He smiles, lips slick and cherried as he drops his hands to your waist. 

“‘M right here,” he assures you, pressing a few pecks to your mouth before trailing his lips down your neck, deliciously licking and kissing every inch. You let out a choked moan, and you can feel his smile press against your skin. “Cute,” he croons. 

“More,” you beg, fingers curling themselves into his hair. It’s gonna way longer these last few months, the front pieces almost brushing the tip of his nose. He looks sexy as fuck. 

“At least let me stretch you out first,” he teases, face too cute for someone about to fuck your brains out. You huff in annoyance, snatching his hand away from its path to your panties. 

“No,” you whine, and then shuffle forward to grind your center onto him. Jungkook groans, jaw tight as he watches you. “Just fuck me, Jungkook.” 

His eyes roll back at a particular roll of your hips. “I-It’ll hurt, though,” he tries to reason, but his hands are already hiking up the back of your skirt. 

“Make it hurt,” you mumble, so caught up in the moment that your eyes bulge out when he suddenly lifts you to your feet. “What’s wrong?” You huff in dismay, lower lip trembling at the thought of him changing his mind. He lets out an airy chuckle. 

“Turn around for me, doll,” he softly demands, and not a single inch of you feels the need to go against him. 

You’re met with the sight of your own expression, staring back at you from the closet’s mirrored sliding doors. It’s a little dark in the room, most of the light coming from a desk lamp on the other side of the room that had been on when you first broke in with Jungkook. 

“So pretty,” Jungkook praises from behind you, and you watch in the glass as two firm hands snake around your waist, slowly easing you back into his lap. In the seconds you were distracted by yourself, he’d unbuckled the front of his jeans, the cotton fabric of his boxers brushing against your ass. “Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby?” 

You nod, unsure of what to do with your hands. You needn’t worry any longer, your body naturally guiding you through the motions, until one hand grabs his thigh and the other grapples for the bedside drawer next to you. His fingers trace around your waist, hiking your skirt up to—only to reveal a pair of white undies with red hearts. Jungkook’s chuckle against your ear makes you clench your legs together. “Fuck, it’s like you knew this would happen,” he murmurs, and you can’t take your eyes off the mirror as you watch his fingers trace over your covered mound. “Did you?” He asks, breath fanning over your ear. 

“N-no,” you gasp, hips jumping when he presses a lone finger to where your clit would be had your girly panties not obstructed the way. You’re embarrassingly wet just from kissing Jungkook, and his playful fingers only worsen your state. “Please hurry, Kook,” you plead, grinding back against his engorged cock. 

“You sure?” He checks, and your bobble head nods have him muffling more laughter into your shoulder. “If you say so, baby.” 

He lifts you up just the slightest bit to tug his cock out of its confines, and this is the only instance where you wish you weren’t looking at the mirror. His fingers dance along your skin again, tugging your panties to the side. 

Screw it, just do it, you say to yourself before sinking down on his cock in one go. “Oh fuck,” you cry, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder at the sudden intrusion. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs into your hair, one hand circling to the front of your waist, while the other creeps upwards to rub at where he knows your nipple is. If he were to pull your shirt and bra away, he’d see how rock hard your nipples were right now. “Relax for me, doll, I promise it’ll feel better if you relax.” 

You nod, eyes squeezed shut as your body slowly assimilated to the feeling of being stuffed full. God, he felt good inside you. Fit every crevice of you pussy like he was made for you. “Jungkook,” you moan, and he hums in response. “You feel so f-fuckin good,” you babble, swiveling your hips much to both your pleasures. “Can feel you everywhere.” 

He presses a kiss to your scalp. “Can you move for me, baby?” He questions, dropping his hands to your waist before slowly pushing you up so you’re not flopped against him like a rag doll. “Wanna see you bounce on my cock. You can do that for me, can’t you?” 

You nod eagerly, desperate to show Jungkook how good you ride dick. You muster up the strength to sit up, one hand right around his thigh again, but this time the other one clamps down over his hand on your waist. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, giving your hips a tight squeeze. 

It’s like you thrive off Jungkook’s compliments, because soon enough you’re riding him like your life depends on it. 

It’s a rhythm of pushing yourself over and over, thighs tense from the effort it takes to pull yourself away from his cock until only his tip breaches you, before dropping back down. You can’t entirely take the credit, because Jungkook’s arms are there, lifting you up before pushing you back down. Truthfully, he’s probably still doing most of the work in fucking you with the way you see his arms flexing in the mirror. 

“Lemme hear you, doll,” Jungkook huffs, and you don’t hesitate to moan for him. It feels overwhelmingly good, his hands tight on your waist as they move you up and down, the material of your skirt bunched up between his fingers. What you’d give to feel them inside you some day, a day in which you’re not dying to feel his cock inside of you. “That’s it,” he grunts, and doesn’t even complain when your legs begin slowing down. 

He picks up the slack for you, thrusting his hips up into you like you’re just some toy for him to use and discard. But the soft praises slipping past his lips assure you you are anything but. “F-fuck,” you whine, forcing yourself above and beyond as you begin to feel that familiar coil of heat grow tighter in your abdomen. “Your cock’s s-so f-fucking big!” You cry, and one look at the mirror let’s you know you look as stupid and fucked-out as you sound. 

“Really?” Jungkook smirks, drilling into you like his life depends on it. There’s an embarrassingly growing stain on the front of your panties that you catch sight of in the mirror, and part of you wants to clench your legs shut so he doesn’t see. But it seems to do it for Jungkook, and he starts rambling about that next. “Look at you. Fuck. You’re ruining your cute little panties. Absolutely fucking soaking them with hot wet you are. I get you that wet, doll?” 

You squeal at a particular thrust of his hips, feeling his cock so deep in you that your eyes momentarily go cross eyed. “Yes, yes!” You agree, bouncing yourself with a renewed vigor. 

The answers please Jungkook, and he rolls forward until he’s pressing his tip faintly against your cervix, and your body damn near leaves your soul. “O-oh fuck!” You scream, body turning into jelly as your orgasm has you spurting hot cum into your panties and over his cock. 

“Pretty even when you come,” Jungkook huffs, hips rocking up into yours for a few more minutes until he eventually comes when you roll your hips backwards. “Holy fucking shit,” he moans, finally releasing your skirt from the death grip he had on it. 

You watch it flutter back into place around you, and you almost look like two platonic friends sitting together, but then Jungkook shifts inside you and your body convulses from the oversensitivity. 

“Wait, you and Jeon finally fucked?!” Chaeyoung exclaims halfway through breakfast, which she had so lovingly prepared at three in the afternoon. “When? Is that why you made us get waxed last week?” 

“No!” You flush, shoving another forkful of burnt scrambled eggs into your mouth. “We waxed our coochies before that, but I didn’t know we were gonna fuck.” 

Chaeyoung blinks. She’s stupid pretty even with avacado spread on her cheek. “So do you have like a seventh sense on when to get your kitty trimmed?” 

“What? No,” You scoff. “Seventh? What’s my sixth?”

“Knowing the exact moment Taehyung’s gonna throw up at a party.”

You accept. “Anyway, we just… I don’t know. It was at Seokjin’s third birthday bash last weekend.” She nods like she remembers anything besides sucking face with him all night. “We were talking and then suddenly we were upstairs and...” you trail off, glancing at your fake collection of succulents lining the kitchen window. 

“Was he good?” She interrogates. 

You flop back onto your chair dramatically. “Chae. He was so good,” you whine, and she slaps your arm in enthusiasm. “He made me ride him facing a mirror,” you spill. 

Chaeyoung squeals. “Bitch!! Here I was thinking Jeon Jungkook was the poster boy of vanilla sex,” she pauses. “I mean, still pretty vanilla compared to the time Seokjin stuck it in my—“ 

You gag and she rolls her eyes. “Have you been talking since?” 

This is the part where things get awkward, and Chaeyoung immediately senses as much. “Oh, honey,” she frowns, eyes furrowed in worry. 

“He walked me home,” you mumble, toying with the tablecloth ends. “Kissed me on the doorstep and all, but besides a few texts, I haven’t seen him around,” you lamely finish. It’s been a week. 

“Ugh, men are trash,” she spits, turning in her seat to play with your hair. “I swear if I see him on campus I’ll rock his shit. My older brother used to practice WWE moves on me, I could easily smash him through a table.”

“WWE wrestling is staged, Chae,” you point out. Chaeyoung was about ten thousand times more experienced when it came to men and their behaviors. She’s been played but also has played, so her reaction to you telling her about Jungkook is all you need to hear. 

In all the scenarios you’ve ever had about Jungkook, him randomly ghosting you had never even been a possibility. The Jungkook from your imaginary universes either just dumped you, or awkwardly friendzoned you. But completely disappearing on you? Now that was some John Greene shit. 

You’ve gone long periods of time without seeing him, like your freshman year you saw him one time in March. But even then he’d made sure to keep in contact with you, randomly blowing up your phone with Cup Pong and 8Ball requests. 

He sent you two texts this whole week, and both of them had been to cancel your homework sessions. 

You almost couldn’t believe you were living this life. The men are trash, love isn’t real, heartbreak can possibly cause death life. Forget John Green, your life had taken an unexpected Shakespearean turn. 

“Oh,” you say the moment you step into Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment, surprised at the fact Jungkook is there despite the fact he, y’know, lives there. In retrospect, you should have seen this coming when Tae had asked you over to help him decorate a poster for Jin’s next game. He’s never been to a single soccer match in his life. “Is Tae here?” You ask, looking every part the stupid bitch. 

Jungkook’s cheeks had flushed the moment he opened the door. “No…” he answers, glances at the shoe rack behind the door as if to make sure. “Were you supposed to meet him?” Well no shit. 

“Uhh, yeah,” you say, and it’s even more awkward than the time he saw your star undies. Granted, now he’s become very familiar with your underwear and what’s hidden beneath it. You would think such an encounter would bring you two closer. “I’ll just come back another time.” 

“Do you wanna come in?” He blurts out before you can even turn away. You flinch at the sudden intensity of his voice, and then both of you are left staring at each other like cringey high schoolers. “I cut some cucumber slices with lime and that one spice you like.” 

“Taíjn?” You confirm, and he nods. “I mean...sure, if it’s not a bother.” 

Usually when you and Jungkook hung out at his place, you’d throw your bag across the room and flop onto the ugly armchair the moment you stepped in. Now, you’re awkwardly hovering by the armrest of the sofa, like this is your first time here. 

Jungkook disappears into the kitchen to, you assume, get the cucumber slices. He comes back empty handed, and with a heavy heart. “I lied. There’s no Tajín,” he confesses, and you rush to tell him it’s okay but he beats you to it. “There’s no cucumber slices either. I just needed to get you inside to talk to you.” 

“You act like I needed to be lured in, Jungkook,” you say, forcing a tight smile on your face. Jungkook visibly deflates at your tone. 

“No, this isn’t right,” he huffs, dramatically throwing himself onto the couch. You jump at the loud groan he releases from his position, which is face stuffed into the cushion. 

“You...okay?” You tentatively ask, clutching your bag even closer to your side. Jungkook shakes his head no against the couch. “Should I call Namjoon over?” 

He sits up so fast you worry he’ll get whiplash. “I have a confession to make,” he informs you, doe eyes wide and serious. 

Your brain processes for a minute before slowly responding. “Okay…”

At your response he jumps to his feet. “This may come as a shock, but I’m not a womanizer.” 

You blink. 

“When have you ever been a womanizer, Jeon?!” You nearly exclaim when you mull over his absurd proclamation. “Are there people who actually think that?” 

“I think that people think that,” he stresses to you, running a hand through his hair. “Look. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m really nice and cool, and sometimes people think that means I’m flirting with them.” Valid point. “But I’m not, because frankly I’m terrible at shooting my shot.”

The fact he’s actually admitted it out loud leaves him devastated, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Finally, something Jeon Jungkook isn’t good at. 

“What lead you to that conclusion?” You carefully press on. 

“Because,” he sighs, dropping back down onto the couch, except this time he’s sitting like a normal person. You sit beside him, close enough to the edge that you can just spring yourself out the door if need be. 

“There’s this girl I like,” your heart pangs, even though the logical side of you can more or less guess where this is going. You’re stupid, but not that stupid. “She’s amazing, like everything about her makes me like her. God, she’s so cool, like everyone wants to be her friend, even though she sucks at Super Smash Bros., and burns her ear on a straightener at least once a month. But she’s funny and sweet, and makes me wanna join a clown troupe just to hear her laugh. And she looks gorgeous in skirts, and the way she rides dic—“ 

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” you interrupt, glancing at the coffee table decorated with Jungkook’s anatomy books, because you don’t want to look at the big dopey grin on his face as he talks about you and your dick riding abilities. 

Jungkook grins, this much you can tell from your peripheral, before it drops into a frown. “Whole point is, she’s cool as fuck. And I… I think I might love her,” he admits, and you whip around to face him. His cheeks are as red as Taehyung’s current hair dye, which is to say they’re as red as a fire truck. You get th feeling you're mirroring his expression. 

The silence following his confession seems to drag on an eternity, but truthfully, you and Jungkook both have the patience of a soccer mom of three, so he jumps to fill the spaces between you. “And like, I just wanna kiss her and hold her and watch her eat and cuddle her to sleep and hold her hand and buy her gifts, and I think I would die for her?—”

“Okay chill, Romeo,” you scramble to cut off that train of thought. Jungkook’s looking at you like you were the creative director behind Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker and the trailer released two minutes ago. It’s a weird reference but coming from Jungkook, it means a lot. 

You don’t know what to say, but Jungkook beats you to it anyway. “There’s this girl I like,” he repeats, and your heart does nearly implode on itself when he reaches over to clutch your hand in his. Your hands are sweaty and fidgety from his confession, but so are Jungkook’s. “How do I tell her I like her?” 

You gulp, before reaching over to smack at his bicep much to both your surprise. “Jeon Jungkook! How’re you gonna give me the best fucking of my life and then ghost me for a week, because you’re too much of a pussy to tell me you like me!” You almost want to cry, and you almost do when he wraps you in his arms with a delighted, warm laugh rumbling through his whole body. “You suck,” you huff, and sniffle once, and only once. 

“Thank fuck,” he sighs in relief. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you friendzoned me.” 

“The friendzone—“

“—is a made up concept created by men who feel like they’re entitled to women and their feelings, I know,” he huffs and you laugh. You push yourself away from his chest to meet his gaze, stretching up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns naughty when you feel the flex of muscles beneath your hands. 

“Ugh, you beefcake.” 

“I wish,” he snorts, tugging you back into his chest as he flops down onto the couch. You snuggle into him, the position all too comfortable in your skirt. The only reason you’re reminded of it is because Jungkook traces his fingers along the edge of the material. “You asked me why I workout out but hide in big clothes, and the truth is its so I can beat up any meninist douchebag that tries to slander my girl in her thot skirts.” 

You sputter. “My thot skirts—you asshole! All my skirts are of appropriate length,” you defend, pinching his side and winning a giggle for your efforts. “That doesn’t even explain the baggy clothes part either.” 

“Shh, your thot skirt is tempting me.” 

“He made you dress up as a what now?!” Chaeyoung exclaims, fork clattering loudly against her plate as everyone in the diner turns to look at you two. You try desperately to quiet her, but the damage is done and even the server whose long since become familiar with your antics looks disgusted. 

“Oh my god,” Chaeyoung sighs, her concern on everything but this public humiliation. “I knew it. I told you he got along too well with Jalapeño, remember?” 

[ NOW WITH A DRABBLE WOW!!! ]

[delicioussshame]

Okay, so my plans for this one is to publish it by itself on AO3 once it’s done, which, I hope (strangled laughter) shouldn’t be in a year, so do what you want with that info. In the meantime, have the first part of a silly modern AU.

For fuck’s sake, there is no way that’s Luo Binghe.

Shen Yuan had a very clear idea of what Luo Binghe would look like. A white lotus like him had to be a small, shy, bespectacled young man. He’d probably sit by the wall, only daring to glance up occasionally to look for Shen Yuan anxiously.

The man who is refusing a woman’s overture for the third time cannot be him. It must be a coincidence that he’s wearing something that looks like what Luo Binghe said he would have on.

That must be it. Reassured, Shen Yuan starts looking for the little sheep he’d taken under his wing. Could he be the guy engrossed by his phone sitting at his right? Meh, maybe, but-

“Shizun!”

Shen Yuan is instantly mortified. The nickname was cute when they were talking cultivation novels online, but here, in real life? That’s why Shen Yuan insisted on them sharing their real names: to save himself the embarrassment of being the kind of nerd who calls themselves by a fake, geeky name in public!

Then again, since he looks like that, Luo Binghe could be larping surrounded by a crowd while wearing a shirt with a naked waifu on it and still he’d get hit on, Shen Yuan bets. A face this stunning must act as a shield, making him impervious to embarrassment.

Shen Yuan is not impervious to embarrassment. He dashes to the table where, apparently, his disciple is waiting for him. “Luo Binghe.”

He almost flinches under the strength of the beaming smile he’s faced with. “Yes! Shizun! It’s good to finally meet you in person!”

It would be better if you were not calling me Shizun. “The feeling is mutual.” Kind of.

Luo Binghe pushes a paper bag in his direction. “Please accept these as a token of gratitude for your guidance. I know it’s not much, but I hope you can enjoy it anyway.”

Shen Yuan opens the bag with no small amount of trepidation, to discover half a bakery’s stock of desserts, sweets, cakes and other patisseries.

How did he know of Shen Yuan’s weaknesses?

Shen Yuan quickly closes the bag. It would be gauche to eat outside food in a café. “This really wasn’t necessary, though it all looks delicious. Where did you buy them? Did you find a good shop already?”

Luo Binghe shakes his head. “No. I made them, so if they’re subpart, I’m the only one to blame.”

Come on! This guy cooks? At this level? Shen Yuan can feed himself, but a glance was all it took to know how outclassed he was. How is he the shizun here? “I’m sure they’re delicious.” They smell like it, anyway. “So you’re already settled down enough to bake? Moving wasn’t too much of a hardship then?”

“No, everything went well. I’m ready for the term to start.”

He’d better be, since he was accepted at Tsinghua University. How did poor Luo Binghe, who grew up in a small village in the middle of nowhere, swing that, Shen Yuan doesn’t know, but he must be smart as hell. Shen Yuan himself is no slouch, having graduated from Peking University, but it took the “help and encouragement” of his parents and his parents’ many contacts.

Not that they’re here to talk college education, unless Luo Binghe is planning to have much more fun than Shen Yuan did during his own college years. “Still, I suppose that didn’t give you much time for reading.”

“I did read! I had nothing but time on the train, so I finished Shizun’s latest recommendation. As he said, the heroine was the best part. I really liked when…”

This. This is why they’re here: for Shen Yuan to coach Luo Binghe in the ways of decent online literature, stirring him away from complete trash and protecting his innocence from the worst of the worst. He’d known from the first comment Luo Binghe had posted that he was too pure for this world, and that it was his duty as the last bastion of criticism to keep him that way.

He likes to think he did pretty well. Luo Binghe took to his teachings easily. Before he knew it, Shen Yuan had an online friend always eager to get his recommendations and to discuss them with him.

Shen Yuan had thought that maybe Luo Binghe didn’t have that many friends, or that he was socially awkward, but that is very obviously not the case. He can hear the girls oh so coincidentally sitting nearby giggling and congratulating themselves that Luo Binghe hadn’t been waiting for his girlfriend, but only a friend, which meant they still had a chance!

Ha! As if! The only way Luo Binghe didn’t have a girlfriend was if he left her behind to come study here in Beijing. Shen Yuan is sure that won’t last. He’ll probably find someone as soon as school begins.

In the meantime, he might as well take it easy. Reading more books, discovering the cities, getting to know his neighbours; he should take some time to do all this before he is swarmed by his studies.

Still, this is nice. Shen Yuan isn’t the most sociable person ever, vastly preferring to remain indoor by himself to making small talk, but this is a good combination of both! He can talk books with someone who listens to him while drinking his bubble tea and nibbling on snacks. He could get used to this.

“Could I have your phone number?”

Shen Yuan shakes himself back to the conversation. “Sure, but why?” They’ve always written one another before.

“Now that I live nearby, wouldn’t this be easier?”

Shen Yuan swears by the written word, but if Luo Binghe wants to call him from time to time, he can probably deal. “Fine.”

His pupil looks too happy to have gotten a simple phone number. Maybe he really doesn’t have many friends? Aww, don’t worry, you’ll do great here, away from the hicks that couldn’t appreciate you.

“Now that I’m here, there are a few places I’d like to visit. The city had museums, theatres, libraries, everything! Would Shizun mind being my guide?”

Luo Binghe did not need to punctuate that request with puppy eyes. It was overkill. “Are you sure you want to go with me? Shouldn’t you go with friends your age, or your girlfriend?”

“Shizun isn’t old! He’s only eight years older than me! It’s perfectly acceptable!”

Now Shen Yuan feels bad. Luo Binghe might look like… what he looks like, but at eighteen, he’s barely an adult! He should be enjoying his youth instead of wasting his time with a jaded old man like Shen Yuan.

Anyway, he probably just doesn’t know enough people yet. “If you’re fine with me, then I’ll tag along.”

Shen Yuan is once again nearly blinded by the brightness of Luo Binghe’s smile. “I’ll prepare lunch! Does Shizun have favorites?”

“I’m sure anything Luo Binghe prepares will be delicious.” He has no idea, but the stuff he gave him looks like it, at least. At worst, Shen Yuan can definitely afford to pay for a nice restaurant for them both, just like he’ll be paying here.

“Shizun shouldn’t bother. I’m the one who invited him, I should be taking the check.”

There is no way rich, adult Shen Yuan is letting Luo Binghe, a college student on scholarship who just moved to one of the most expensive cities of China, pay for him. Ever. That’s not happening. “First, you did not invite me, I volunteered myself. Second, I’m older. Third, I have a job (kinda, but Luo Binghe doesn’t have to know that) and you don’t. I will be paying for all our expanses, and that’s not negotiable. It’s that or I’m leaving.” He could never live with himself if Luo Binghe had to skip a meal to afford going out with him. The mere idea leaves him queasy.

Luo Binghe frowns, displeased.

A chorus of sighs can be heard from the tables surrounding them.

Shen Yuan estimates there are at least fifteen women of all ages staring at Luo Binghe like he’s a choice morsel now.

They should leave before this degenerates.

Shen Yuan pulls at Luo Binghe. “Let’s go.”

(He valiantly ignores the hissed “Don’t touch him!” coming from a genuinely terrifying fifteen-year-old.)

Luo Binghe seems reluctant to part once they’re out. “We’re meeting Sunday at ten. Shizun can’t forget! I’ll be waiting for him!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” His social calendar isn’t busy enough to forget his one deliberate engagement.

_________________

Sadly, his social calendar isn’t empty. His dear parents made sure of it. Shen Yuan doesn’t quite rue the day he agreed to their conditions for funding his lifestyle, but sometimes he really wonders if the sinecure he calls his job, providing him blessed solitude and copious amount of free time, is worth suffering through the parties.

Lucky for him that the feeling is shared between all participants now.

Shen Yuan keeps his face perfectly placid as he reads a passable novel on his phone. The hero is trash, and the heroine, just as bad, but there’s a decent world being built, and he’s honestly interested in the fauna the writer created. It’s not good enough to be recommended to Luo Binghe, but few things are. Only the best for his little sheep.

No one interrupts him. They don’t dare anymore. Long gone are the times where Shen Yuan let himself be bullied. Now, he has focused his hatred of a certain character into an imitation so lifelike he’s now famous for his emotionless expression and his ability to lash out with enough venom that the wounds he leaves behind aren’t healed by their next meeting.

One does what one needs to do to survive the jungle that is the circles of Beijing high society.

His parents would weep if they could see him. “You’ll never find a wife like that,” they’d lament.

Shen Yuan doesn’t care. His two brothers are already married. He’s an uncle. His little sister is more popular than any of her siblings ever were. His parents will have all the heirs they could ever want. They don’t need him to reproduce.

There’s a commotion somewhere at his right.

Shen Yuan doesn’t bother lifting his eyes from his phone until the noise is close enough to be a nuisance. Letting none of his irritation show on his face, he looks for the cause of the disturbance in a nonchalant way that would fool no one.

His heart almost stops when he finds Luo Binghe, Sha Hualing and Xiao Gongzhu hanging off his arms like they belonged there.

What is he doing here!? This isn’t a place where his white lotus should be standing! He should still be unboxing in his apartment, not wearing this frankly obscene suit and flirting with heiresses as wealthy as they were mean!

Oh. This must be it. Shen Yuan did think Luo Binghe would get a girlfriend in no time after all. He must be here as someone’s date, and Luo Binghe being Luo Binghe, he has stolen everyone’s attention from the moment he set foot in the room.

Okay. He has terrible tastes, but whatever. No one is perfect.

Fuck, if he sees Shen Yuan and dashes over while screaming “Shizun”, he’ll ruin his new relationship! Not only will he be revealed as nowhere near as cool as he appears, but being associated with Shen Yuan isn’t a good thing. He’s made sure his disdain for this crew was well-known.

Shen Yuan tries to message Luo Binghe to warn him to stay clear, but, as expected, he doesn’t check his phone.

Fuck his parents. Shen Yuan, very ostentatiously, pretends to get an important but unpleasant message, and starts walking with a speed and certainty that cannot be interrupted.

“-Shen Yuan. Don’t bother. He’s an asshole.”

Shen Yuan doesn’t falter, but only because he’s a pro at this. So what if they’re trash-talking him to Luo Binghe? He knows better.

“I’ll have to make my own mind. Wait here?”

Luo Binghe, what the fuck? Can’t you see how obviously I’m leaving? Don’t come over!

“Hello. My name is Luo Binghe. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Shen Yuan has to answer him now. He can’t just ignore him. That would be unforgivably rude. His mother would find out, and she would never let him live it down. “Shen Yuan. I’m in a hurry, so if you would…” He’s not sure why Luo Binghe is playing along, but if he’s game to pretend they don’t know each other, that’s perfect. Shen Yuan will do the same.

The smile Luo Binghe favors him with is nothing like the one he first shown Shen Yuan, all brightness and childlike joy. This smile is, dare he say it, seductive. He smiles like he’s certain the person he’s gracing with this smile is appreciating every moment of it, as they should. “Please spare me just a moment of your time. I promise I’ll make it quick.”

It turns out Shen Yuan doesn’t know Luo Binghe at all, if he can smile like that and make it look as easy as breathing.

Shen Yuan is not enjoying this. If he had known Luo Binghe would be there tonight, they could have planned something instead of, of whatever this is. His best option right now is to leave, meet up with Luo Binghe later, explain to him his current situation, and arrange things in such a way that his disciple’s rise into power won’t be hindered by his acquaintance to Shen Yuan.

For now, that means being the jerk he pretends to be, so that Luo Binghe can be comforted instead of confronted by those women flocking to him. Shen Yuan will apologise later. “Go run back to whichever of these,” he gestures to the women, “is keeping you fed and well dressed enough to pretend to fit here. I don’t have time to waste on boy toys.” Without giving him a second look, he exits the room as fast as he can without running, inwardly mortified at what he just said.

But not fast enough to miss the mocking laughter and the elated exchanges. “He thinks Tianlang-Jun’s son is a sugar baby!”

What the fuck.

[cas-backwards-tie]

“ of course i knew where you’d be. you’re my friend. ” and “I still care” for your new fave character, my good friend 👀

Words: 999

Warnings: swearing, mentions of fighting and insults, apocalypse.

A/N: I love that you paired these two sentences together! Like ahhh!!! So cute :) This is my first time writing for Five, so... I hope it’s okay!

Tugging your cardigan snug around your shoulders, it doesn’t help block tonight’s cool wind as much as you’d thought it would. Staring up at the stars, you try to ignore the aching weight of sadness and frustration in your belly your best friend caused you earlier. Sure, perhaps you’d prodded him one too many times, attempting conversation at dinner that was clearly one-sided now that you look back at it. Eventually, the boy snapped and yelled at you in front of his whole family, however, insulting you to the point of humiliation, tears, and a dramatic exit. It all happened so fast that you hadn’t seen their faces with the blurry pool of tears in your eyes… but it didn’t matter to you. Five never did that before, and sure, over the short time you’ve known each other you’ve had arguments, but this time was different. This time it was public.

It all seems so small now, though. The stars help in that way; you suppose. A healthy dose of existentialism really puts things into perspective, shifting things and reminding you that: out of everything in this galaxy, this universe… one small fight doesn’t matter. Yeah, that doesn’t excuse Five’s behavior, but it shouldn’t ruin your night. You know that it was probably just stress, is all. Sighing, you lean your head back against the brick wall of your apartment building’s rooftop entrance. The sound of the wind and occasional cars passing obfuscate Five’s entrance. He makes sure to approach you slowly, not wanting to scare you with his sudden appearance; a lesson that’d needed learning many times at the beginning of your friendship.

A shadow blocks a few lights in your field of view and you look up to see him. Five awkwardly approaches, his hands stuffed in his pockets, lips twisted as if he isn’t sure what to say. When he’s only a few feet away he stops, standing there as he looks down upon you as you sit curled up, knees to your chest on the pavement of your rooftop. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” Your voice is cold, venomous, sharp on your tongue as you avoid his gaze, instead opting to stare straight ahead out at the many buildings in the city, a park to the right behind your building.

The old man sighs, rolling his eyes as he knows he can’t just brush you off. Words, consoling, and comforting words more specifically, just aren’t his thing. Without answering your first question, as it should be pretty obvious, he instead answers the second. “Of course I knew where you’d be. You’re my friend,” the way he states it as if it were obvious- a clue that even a toddler could deduce… well, it partially makes you mad. On one hand, there’s the admittance that you indeed both are still friends. That’s comforting to say the least, especially considering Five is a man of few words. Sneaking a glance up at him, it doesn’t go unnoticed. You make eye contact, and he sighs again, removing his hands from his pockets as he sits beside you up against the wall of the building. “I didn’t mean what I said back there. You’re not a pest, or a weasel, or any sort of vermin for that matter. I just-” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes at himself, mentally cursing his own actions, “-didn’t want to talk, alright? I don’t always like the way you’re constantly asking questions. I mean, sure… sometimes it’s fine, but… there’s just… so much going on lately.” There’s a pause in his words as he rakes his hand through his hair. Looking over at him you listen, as this might be the only time that Five actually trusts you enough to tell you anything like this- something this important.

“The apocalypse is coming in six days. Less than a week and I have no clue how to stop it.” For the first time during this discussion, he takes the opportunity to look over at you, eyes meeting, Five using the moment to finally see you. Of course, it wasn’t just because of your curiosity and questions. There had to have been more, and now it’s out in the open. Staring at you, Five can’t bear to look away. You don’t know it, of course, but he knows that you die in the apocalypse. He’d seen it himself. Sure, you haven’t been friends long, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. “I know that doesn’t excuse my behavior, or make up for what I said… but… I am sorry. I shouldn’t have let it get to me or have taken it out on you. You’re not involved in this shit and are probably the only sane person that I know. I do still care and I shouldn’t have said or implied otherwise. If you interpreted my words that way, then I’m here to correct that.” It’s not exactly an apology, as you worry sometimes he only keeps you around because you’re the only ‘sane’ one as he puts it, however you know that’s not the only reason. It can’t be. An impending apocalypse is nothing new, but distressing nonetheless. A sorrowful smile displays itself across your lips and your eyebrows furrow slightly as you search within his eyes, seeing the genuineness of his words. “I forgive you, but… I don’t appreciate being insulted, Five.”

“-and I understand that!” He defends. Making up will be a longer discussion, and dealing with the apocalypse will have to come first, but you haven’t given up on Five yet, and you’d be damned if you gave up on him now.

[winchester-fantasies]

Mind Game

Summary: After a routine hunt, you wake up to find you can move things with your mind, and you decide to take advantage of your new found ability.

Word Count: 2034

Warnings: crack (or at least attempted lol), a little bit of fluff, swearing

Pairing: Dean x Sam x Female!Reader (platonic)

A/N: This was written for a request by @princessofthefandomrealm : Maybe a fluffy Sam and Dean where reader can move things with her mind and she keeps messing with the boys. Imagine moving pie out from in front of Dean! Thank you for your request! Hope you like it!! 

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

“Whoa, (Y/N),” Sam said as he helped you up off the ground of the abandoned warehouse. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you groaned, dusting off the back of your jeans and feeling for the gash you knew was on your forehead. “Stupid witch.”

“Fucking hate ‘em,” Dean said as he came to stand beside you and Sam.

“No lie there,” you agreed.

“You wanna sit down for a few?” Sam asked, putting his hand on your shoulder.

You shook your head. “Let’s just go home.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded, wrapping a supportive arm around your waist as Dean led the way back to the Impala. Sam helped you into the back before joining his brother in the front, and Dean peeled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, headed back to the bunker.

After a while, your eyes began to grow heavy. You tried to keep them open but it was futile as you drifted off a couple of times, first bumping your head on the window and another time on the back of the seat. So you finally gave up and laid down in the back seat, letting sleep fully take you.

**********

When you finally awoke, you found yourself in your bed in the bunker; one of the boys must have carried you inside. How you’d not woken up even once was a mystery, but you weren’t complaining. Your body still hurt but you felt more rested than you had in weeks.

You stretched, enjoying the burning of muscle before you turned on your side and glanced at the clock. It was already half past noon, and you were starting to get hungry, punctuated by the growling of your stomach.

You threw off the covers and left your room, headed for the kitchen. Dean’s bedroom door was closed, but a light shown out from under it, and you could hear music playing inside. You could just imagine him lounging on his bed, legs crossed at the ankles and head bobbing to the music as he surfed...whatever the fuck he did, on the Internet.

“Evening, Sam,” you said as you passed the library where Sam was seated, as he always seemed to be, at one of the library tables.

“Hey,” he greeted, looking up from the open book in front of him. “You feeling okay? You were out for quite awhile.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you reassured with a smile. “Feel better than I have in a long time actually.”

“That’s good,” Sam said with a dimpled grin before turning back to whatever he was reading as you continued on to the kitchen.

You grabbed some bread, cheese, and meat from the fridge before assembling yourself a sandwich. You went to sit down at the table, groaning a few seconds later when you realized you’d forgotten to get a drink. You glanced over to the bottles of water on the island and grumbled. You didn’t want to get up again. It would be just great if things would just come to you and….

“Holy shit!” you exclaimed as one of the bottles suddenly tipped over and rolled to the edge of the island before falling to the floor.

“You okay?” Sam’s voice called from the library.

“Uh, yeah!” you called back absentmindedly. “Just dropped something!”

Sam didn’t bother answering, not that you would’ve heard him anyway. You were too stunned by what had just happened for you to be focused on anything else.

You slowly got up from your chair and walked around the table, eyes on the bottle of water on the floor as if it were some venomous creature. “How did that even happen?” you muttered. “I was just thinking how it would be nice if things would come to me and….” Once again the bottle moved, rolling closer towards you. You backed up in shock. “It’s me!” you shouted.

“What’s you?”

You jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice as he came into the kitchen. “Uh, nothing,” you muttered, reaching down to pick up the water bottle. You quickly sat back down and continued eating in silence as Dean moved around the kitchen, making himself lunch. Your leg bounced under the table as you impatiently waited for your friend to leave so you could test out your theory.

Dean finally finished, giving you a weird look before he left, heading back towards his room. You watched the doorway for a second before looking at the water bottle that you’d sat beside your plate. You stared at it intensely, your mind imagining it moving towards and just like that, it tipped over again and rolled over to you. Your mind spun as you realized you weren’t crazy. You were moving it with your mind!

You jumped up from the table, abandoning your unfinished sandwich and water bottle and ran to your room. The door slammed shut behind you when you thought about the fact you’d forgotten to close it in your haste, and you jumped before making a beeline for your nightstand. You fumbled for your phone, pressing the ON button before bringing up your contacts.

You dialed you who wanted and raised it to your ear. “C’mon, c’mon,” you said under your breath, your leg bouncing.

“Hello?” a lilting voice answered.

“Rowena!” you shouted into the phone.

“Good heavens, girl!” the witch admonished on the other end. “Must you really be so...animated?”

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “Listen, I need your help. I think a witch put some kind of spell on me.”

“About time,” Rowena quipped.

“Really, Rowena?” you said in a tone that conveyed your displeasure.

“I apologize, my dear,” she said, sounding anything but remorseful. “What exactly seems to be the problem?”

“I...I can move things…with my mind,” you said secretively, your eyes darting to your bedroom door as if Sam and Dean could hear you.

“That’s what she cursed you with?” Rowena asked incredulously. “Out of all the things…. What were her exact words?”

You repeated what you could remember, Rowena’s titter coming through the receiver a moment later. “What’s so funny?” you asked, eyes narrowing.

“Must have been a witch in training,” Rowena said, catching her breath. “Because she made a very rookie mistake. There are two very similar spells; say one and whoever’s affected has their memories slowly fade until they’re left nothing more than a shell of who they once were. Change one word, and they’re able to move things with their mind. Fortunately for you, and unfortunately for me, yours seems to be the latter.”

“So...I’m good?” you asked.

“You are,” Rowena said. “This particular spell only lasts for twenty-four hours, but in the meantime, have some fun with it.”

“Okay, thanks, Rowena,” you said.

“Have fun,” she said in a sing-song voice before hanging up.

You put down your phone. Rowena said to have fun with the spell…. And although you knew you could move things with your mind, you weren’t sure you could with everything. Best try it out with something small.

You opened your bedroom door and peeked out, looking both ways down the hall before stepping out and tiptoeing to the library. Glancing around the corner, you found Sam still seated at the table, same book from before open in front of him.

He slowly flipped the page right before his phone dinged, indicating a text. He picked up his phone and read it silently before typing out an answer.

You snickered as an idea crossed your mind. You zoned in on the book, imagining the page turning. Sam was so engrossed in whatever he was texting back that he didn’t notice the page moving as you flipped it back to the one he’d just read.

Sam sent the text and glanced back down, his brow furrowing when he realized he’d already read that page. He flipped it back over and began to read again when another text came through.

Once again you flipped the page back to the one he’d already finished, and once again Sam was too engaged to notice. He frowned again when he encountered the same problem, but just like before, he simply turned it over and continued reading.

It was a little longer than before when he finally got another text, and he waited a few moments more before answering. But he finally picked up his phone again, and you went to work. You began to flip the page but this time Sam’s hand slammed down onto the book, halting your work and causing you to jump.

“Okay, that’s it!” the giant of a man bellowed as he looked around the room for the culprit.

You ducked into the nearest bedroom as Dean’s door opened down the hall and his sock-clad feet hurried to the library. “What’s the matter?” Dean asked in concern.

“I don’t know, man,” Sam said, confusion in his voice. “But I think the bunker might be haunted again.”

**********

You messed with the boys for the rest of the day; moving chairs, opening and closing doors, moving objects from one place to another, flipping the lights on and off, and just generally driving both Winchesters insane. They were genuinely afraid the bunker was haunted, and you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself as you heard Sam say he was about ready to get the salt.

Later that evening you made your way to the kitchen. Your mind was tired from the amount of concentration it took to move things, and your stomach was beginning to growl from all the time you’d spent pulling tricks throughout the day.

Dean was sitting at the table when you entered, a pan of pie in front of him. His eyes were gleaming and mouth practically watering as he raised his fork, ready to dig in. That’s when you had a wicked thought.

Without even trying that hard, you flicked the fork out of his hand, the metal landing on the concrete floor with a sharp clink. Dean’s eyes were wide, but he didn’t react, bending down to retrieve the silverware. He wiped it off on his jeans before turning back to his pie.

He was once again about to start in when you jerked the pie out from under him, his fork landing on the table, the prongs actually embedding into the tabletop. “Okay, I’ve had enough!” Dean shouted, pushing back from the table so fast his chair fell backward. “You can move my chair; you can hide my beer! But no one, and I mean no one, messes with my pie! Including a goddamn ghost!”

And that’s when you lost it. You cackled so hard you had to bend over, hands on knees.

“You!” Dean hissed. You looked up to find him standing with an accusatory finger pointed your way. “I shoulda fucking known.”

His words only caused you to laugh even more, tears starting to pool in your eyes. “What’s going on?” Sam asked as he came into the kitchen, glancing from you to his brother who was still standing, body tense and scowl on his face.

“It’s her!” Dean snapped.

“What do you mean it’s her?” Sam asked in genuine confusion.

“She’s the one who’s been dickin’ with us!”

“What?” Sam asked incredulously. “Is that true, (Y/N)?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, guys,” you said, straightening up and taking a deep breath. You wiped the tears that had fallen from your fit of laughter. “Dean’s right. It was me.”

“But...but how?” Sam asked as the initial shock wore off, giving way to the more pressing question.

“The witch,” you explained, finally composing yourself. “I talked to Rowena, and she said it won’t last for more than twenty-four hours. Then she told me to have fun with it, and that’s just what I did.”

Sam chuckled, and Dean’s eyes softened. “You certainly played us,” Sam said.

“You sure did, kid,” Dean agreed with a chuckle of his own, and you were sure you saw a gleam of pride in his green eyes.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Sam said, coming over to give you a hug.

“Me, too,” Dean said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and placing a chaste kiss to your head. “Just...don’t mess with my pie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤️❤️

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:

Everything:

@divadinag @mogaruke @calaofnoldor @defenderrosetyler @coffeebooksandfandom @emoryhemsworth @satans-0-spawn @fandom-princess-forevermore @titty-teetee @gallifreyansass @swiftrogerswinchesterthot @hollymac79 @codename-nyx @kalesrebellion @peaceinourtime82 @babypink224221

Dean Girls:

@weepingwillowphoenix @akshi8278 @thesuicidalflower @adoptdontshoppets

Sam Girls:

@saladsammys @trop-mango @my-suga-kookies

[villlainarc]

roceit highschool rivals to lovers? they argue and flirt in equal amounts and both of their respective friend groups are so tired of the romantic tension (so, maybe, they decide to take it into their own hands to get them together finally) ~ Lo 🍇

Here, Blinking In the Starlight

100 stars in the sky prompts

Summary: Roman and Janus are rivals.

(And despite what Virgil may say, that does not mean they are simply refusing to admit they’re in love.)

Pairings: Roceit, Platonic Logince, Brotherly Anxceit, Platonic Analogical

Warnings: vague fantasy(?) violence, death mention, weapon mention, an unnamed character gets stabbed (but doesn’t die and there’s no gore), what could be interpreted as non-consensual kissing (it isn’t but. the character doing the kissing doesn’t have explicit permission so. this is just to air on the safe side), implied threat of murder through poisoning, (this isn’t anywhere near as dark as those warnings make it out to be i’m just covering all my bases), three (3) swear words

Word Count: 4096

Taglist: @max-is-tired @raaindropps @kiribakuandcats @main-chive @emo-disaster @heavenly-roman

Notes:

me: *opens prompts in part so i can practice writing shorter fics*

also me: *write over 4000 words after vowing to make all of these no longer than 2k 😔🤙*

tldr this really wasn’t supposed to get this long i swear but also it’s roceit so i’m not gonna complain at least. not too much

ao3

_________________________

“Get down!” Roman cried, pointing at a spot just beyond Janus’s head.

Janus turned to see what Roman had been gesturing towards, ducking as they did. It was just in time, too, as the moment they had moved out of the way, a fist flew right over their head. They gave Roman a grateful smile before their eyes went wide and they pulled Roman flush against their chest, out of the way of someone else who had lunged at him.

“You saved me,” Roman said as soon as the danger had passed, fluttering his eyes innocently as he rested a hand against Janus’s chest.

Janus rolled their eyes at the way Roman’s hand moved to play with one of the curls by the side of their face, carefully extracting themself from Roman’s arms. “You can thank me later. How about we focus on getting out of here for now?”

“I think I’d much rather stay here with you.” Roman fluttered his eyelashes once more, peering through them to fix Janus with a pout.

“And I much rather not die, but to each their own.”

“Fair enough,” Roman conceded, twirling Janus out of the way of another incoming swing. “Dying really would put a damper on our relationship, my love.”

“Darling, you’ll have to finish saving me before we can truly call this a relationship,” they shot back.

“Oh, just admit it. You think I’m the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on.” Roman’s cocky grin refused to fade as he spun them through the surrounding chaos, never letting Janus stray more than a few inches from his arms.

“I think nothing of the sort,” they replied, letting themself be guided through a flurry of swinging swords and outstretched hands that continued their onslaught in vain as Janus and Roman waltzed their way past.

Roman merely smiled at that, lifting Janus into the air and spinning them out of the way, causing two guards with who’d been rushing towards the two of them to crash into each other.

After Roman placed Janus back on the ground, there were only three guards left standing. “If you’ll excuse me,” Roman said, lightly kissing the back of Janus’s hand. “I have one more thing to take care of before you can officially call me your true love.” Leaving Janus standing there, holding the hand he’d just kissed their hand to their chest, Roman drew his sword. In one smooth motion, he turned around and drove it cleanly through the first of the guards.

The final two took one look at their newly fallen comrade and tripped over their feet trying to get away.

“Now,” Roman said, turning back to Janus, his smile just as blinding as it had been before, “love of my life, what was the gift I was supposed to receive for rescuing the princess, again?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Janus claimed, though there wasn’t so much as a drop of venom behind it. The smile they wore as they strode towards Roman also didn’t help matters, and when they wrapped an arm around his waist and dropped him into a dip, there was no question at all that their words had been purely for show.

They held him there for a moment, smiling coyly. Then, without warning, Janus drew Roman back towards their chest as they leaned into him and met his lips in a kiss.

“Stop, stop, stop. What was that, Janus? I don’t think there’s a kiss in the blocking, is there?”

“No, you’re right. Sorry ma’am, I just got caught up in the scene.” Janus gave their director a winning smile as they set Roman upright again. “Now that you mention it though,” they said, casually adjusting their dress, “I think that final scene would be more impactful if it did end in a kiss, don’t you?”

The director frowned. “I’ll think about it,” she replied. “It looked good, I’ll admit, but both you and Roman would have to be alright with the change in blocking. So, what do you think, Roman?”

Janus turned to truly look at Roman for the first time since they’d kissed him. A smirk grew on their face as they saw the brilliantly red blush that had taken over his. “Yes, Roman, what do you think?” they asked, genuine curiosity seeping into their voice that was completely at odds with the smirk that remained firmly in place. “If I made you uncomfortable in any way, I truly apologize.”

Roman had to take several deep breaths to steady his voice, opening and shutting his mouth a total of four times in rapid succession before he managed to say, “Uh, yes. Whatever you think would be best is fine by me.”

“I’ll have to see both versions again just to be sure, so if you wouldn’t mind running the scene from the top two more ti—”

“Oh! Would you look at the time!” Roman exclaimed suddenly, gesturing towards the clock hanging on the back wall of the theater. “Doesn’t rehearsal end at five thirty? And, wow, is it really five o’clock already? You usually give us thirty minutes to change out of costume so you can give us your notes before we have to leave, right?”

“Ah, so I do. Time really does fly when you’re having fun, huh?”

“It absolutely does,” Janus agreed, offering their arm out to Roman with a smirk on their face and a twinkle in their eyes. “Let’s go get changed, shall we?” When Roman remained too frozen to take their arm, Janus dropped it to instead take his hand with a wink, leading him off the stage.

And oh, how the universe spun with that one wink.

_________________________

“They kissed me!” Roman wailed upon sliding into the passenger’s seat of Logan’s car.

“I beg your pardon?”

Had Roman been feeling like his usual fabulous self, he would have replied with a flippant, ‘Then beg,’ but as it was, he could barely manage to form a coherent thought and was far from being at the top of his game. So instead, he continued in the most melodramatic voice known to man, “Janus Adler kissed me!”

“Janus Adler, your co-star in the spring musical? The one who plays your love interest? I fail to see how this would come as a surprise.”

“No no, you don’t understand, Lo. There is not a single kiss written into that musical. Not one! They made it up, they—” Roman’s head fell into his hands at that, “Janus Adler had the audacity to improvise a kiss in the middle of a scene! And I— I’m going to have to bring this up with the director. We can’t ruin the integrity of the musical by adding a kiss that isn’t even there!”

“Mm. What musical is this, again?”

“That’s terribly unimportant. Besides, I have it on good authority that the author doesn’t care about the musical at all outside of its ability to be used as a plot device, so really, the only thing you need to know is that it must not be deflowered by a kiss that was never in any way intended to be there.”

“Is this musical a classic, then? Or is it specifically stated that there were to be no kisses, no matter how many other creative liberties are taken? Perhaps you meant that the author cares about this musical’s use as a plot device, it’s lack of kisses, and nothing else? Is it—”

“That doesn’t matter, it’s the principle of the thing, Logan!”

“Interesting.”

“What is?”

“How did you react when Janus kissed you?” Logan deflected.

“I— what? Why do you— That doesn’t have anything to do with this! At all! And for the record, my reaction to them kissing me out of the blue was perfectly normal!”

“So you cringed at the fact that someone you are not romantically or sexually interested in kissed you? Or did you shove them away and tell them to never do that again because you so clearly don’t have a crush on them? Perhaps y—”

“You’re absolutely right, I don’t have a crush on them, but why did you feel the need to point that out?”

Logan sighed. “No reason at all. Now, did you react in any of those ways?”

“…Yes.”

“If you insist,” Logan said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“I very much do. Now, I would like to get home sometime within this century, so if you could drive me home and stop pestering me, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“I’m going to force you to get your own car one day, you know.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

_________________________

“I kissed him!” Janus wailed as they fell backwards onto Virgil’s bed like an ailing Victorian lady.

“That’s fantastic. Get the fuck out of my room now?”

Janus sat up with a huff, dropping their over-dramatized persona. “Virgil, my dearest brother whom I love with my entire heart, you are the worst.” They fell backwards once more. “You don’t understand,” they said, bringing a hand to their forehead. “I kissed Roman Kingsley!”

“Roman Kingsley, your co-star in the spring musical? The one who plays your love interest? Isn’t that, like… supposed to happen? Don’t love interests normally kiss in musicals?”

“Well, yes, but not in that scene. I improvised a kiss, Virgil. Do you not understand how weird that is? Roman probably hates me.” They pouted at Virgil, looking solely for sympathy as they knew, judging by the blush on Roman’s face, that he very much did not hate them.

“Wow, that really sucks,” Virgil deadpanned. “Must be so awful to have the person you have constantly referred to as your rival hate you.”

“It is— wait, no. I don’t— did I really call Roman— oh, that’s interesting. Well, we aren’t exactly rivals anymore, especially since I started presenting more feminine and getting more female leads than male ones, you know? Less fighting over roles. And I don’t think he ever hated me, even when we were more officially rivals. There’s a very specific connotation implied when you refer to two people as rivals, and it doesn’t involve flat-out animosity, so—”

“Right,” Virgil nodded in agreement. “The connotation is lots of sexual and or romantic tension followed by pining. You don’t have to tell me, I know rivals implies fanfiction-style rivals to lovers, four hundred thousand word slow burn—”

“You know what! I think that’s enough, thank you. That isn’t what I meant by rivals, and you know it.”

“Did I really? Are you sure you weren’t implying that you might have at least a little bit of a crush on Roman Ki—”

“Oh, you are hilarious, Virgil. Truly.”

“I try,” Virgil grinned, fully looking up from his phone for the first time since Janus had entered the room. “Now, what was that about Roman?”

“Rivals,” they said, completely ignoring the blush they could feel rising on their face. “Rivals, and nothing more.”

“For someone who was cast as one of the lead roles in this musical, you’re awfully bad at acting.”

“I have no idea what you mean, though I do believe you asked me to leave your room, and I’d loathe to ignore your request.”

“Aw, you sure you don’t want to stick around now? I was just getting started!”

“And now you’re done! Funny how that works, isn’t it? Thank you so very much for your input, Virgil, now I recommend watching what you drink for the next several days.”

“Love you too.”

_________________________

“Hey L?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Janus is an idiot.”

“While that is true, I’m now inclined to ask what they did this time in particular.”

“Y’know how they’ve had the most obvious, stupid, disgustingly sappy crush on Roman for the longest time?”

“Ah, how could I have missed it?”

“Right? Anyway, I want to rub their vehemently denied feelings in their face and get them and Roman together.”

“Hm, I second that. Roman has been similarly insufferable.”

“Good to know that they’re both utter morons.”

“You say that like it wasn’t already the most obvious thing in the world.”

“Touché.”

“Did you have a plan?”

“Oh, hell no. Please. Planning is for losers, procrastinating until the last possible second is where it’s at.”

“Virgil—”

“Yeah, yeah, procrastination is bad or whatever the point is that I am very much looking to you when it comes to understanding the allos. Help me Logie Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”

“If you’re going to make a science fiction themed nickname, please do not make it a Star Wars one.”

“Fine, but only if you agree to help me.”

“You don’t need to bribe me, Virgil. Getting out of hearing Roman pine hopelessly after someone who is very much in love with him is incentive enough for me.”

“Good,” Virgil said with a smile, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder. “But we’re finishing this movie before any planning is going to take place.”

“…Please tell me you don’t hope to enact this plan tomorrow.”

“Okay, I won’t then,” Virgil agreed, deliberately saying nothing else.

“You’re lucky you’re my best friend.”

“You bet I am. We’re still waiting until this movie is done, though.”

Logan sighed, but there was little more than fondness behind it. If he asked for it, Logan would give his best friend the moon. Compared to that, sacrificing a few hours of sleep was negligible at worst and at best, it would be beyond worth it to see Virgil happy.

And whenever Logan spent time with Virgil, the universe did always seem to favor the latter.

_________________________

“This is a horrible plan.”

“Look, you were the one who agreed to it, you can’t blame me entirely,” Virgil said rather petulantly.

“I was running on four cups of coffee, so I feel I very much can. And you know, even then I’m fairly certain I told you that aggressively telling people what they’re feeling until they admit it really isn’t the best way to go about this.”

“Yeah, well…” Virgil shrugged. “Too late to change it up now.”

“No, it really isn—”

“Shhh,” Virgil shushed, holding a finger up to Logan’s lips. “Just roll with it.”

Logan sighed at that, having known Virgil for far too long to believe that there was any way to change his mind at this point.

“Oh!” Virgil tugged on the sleeve of Logan’s shirt to get his attention, nodding towards the person who had just walked up to the locker in front of them. “Janus’s here.”

“Hm, how wonderful.”

“We’re still doing this, right?”

Logan sighed once more, nodding his agreement. “If you insist.”

“Great!” Virgil wrapped his arm around Logan’s dragging him towards Janus, who had since stopped trying to open their locker and was now squinting suspiciously at the pair making their way towards them.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re just stopping by to say hello,” Logan said in a way that was likely meant to soothe Janus, but only put them more on edge.

“Hi,” they replied, taking a slow step backwards, growing more suspicious by the second. “I’m just going to… head off to class now.” They gave an awkward sort of wave, taking another step away from Virgil and Logan.

“Oh no you don’t,” Virgil said, his bright smile at odds with his vaguely threatening words. “We need to talk, so you’re going to skip your first class.” Upon seeing Janus open their mouth to protest, Virgil cut in, “And don’t pretend you haven’t ever skipped class before. And even if you haven’t,” he added once Janus started to protest again, “don’t pretend your grade won’t be perfectly fine either way.”

“Look,” Logan said, his tone much calmer than Virgil’s, “this conversation is important. And Virgil is right, your grades will not suffer because of one missed class.”

“…What the hell is going on? Since when has Logan Doyle been okay with skipping class?”

“Oh, my first period is free, so I am not skipping class.”

“That wasn’t really the point,” Janus pointed out with a frown. “Seriously, what the hell is going on?”

“You’ll see. How does the library work for you?” Logan asked, his demeanor still infuriatingly calm.

“You realize I have still yet to agree to this, don’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter, we’re doing it no matter what you say,” Virgil said, his smile quickly growing tired as he latched onto the sleeve of Janus’s jacket and began to tug.

Janus let out a huff at Virgil’s actions. “This is a nice jacket, let go!” When they realized Virgil most definitely was not going to let go, they gave a resigned sigh. “If I go with you to the library willingly, will you stop ruining my clothes?”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but he did release his hold on his sibling’s jacket. “Don’t be so dramatic, I was far from ruining anything. Come on,” he said, motioning with his head to indicate which way they were going. “I’m sure you don’t want to miss both first and second period.”

Janus gave Virgil a tired eyebrow raise as they followed him through the crush of bodies that filled the hallway, Logan just behind them. “You would be right.”

“Oh, I know,” Virgil said, shooting a grin over his shoulder at Janus. “Speaking of things that I know,” Virgil began, strolling the library doors in a way that was entirely too casual to alleviate Janus’s suspicions, “I know you’re in love with Roman Kingsley.”

Virgil was positively beaming at what was no doubt a horrifyingly shocked look on Janus’s face. And when they turned to see a matching smug expression on Logan’s, they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the universe absolutely despised them.

_________________________

“Roman,” Virgil sing-songed from behind his friend. “Roman, Logan and I need to talk to you,” he continued in the same ominously lilting voice.

Roman turned around from his seat at the lunch table with a frown. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Logan assured him with a kind and only barely forced smile. “You have nothing to worry about, there’s just an important conversation Virgil and I believe we should have.”

“If not worried, should I be concerned? You two are acting in a way that I feel should garner concern.” Roman’s question was met with a chorus of denial, and he shrugged. “Then what did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Virgil said, sliding into a chair on Roman’s right.

“Just the fact that you’re in love with Janus Adler,” Logan said, nodding his agreement with Virgil’s words before sitting down on Roman’s other side as though he hadn’t just confirmed what Roman had always known to be true: the universe was working around to clock to bring about his doom.

_________________________

“Now, love of my life, what was the gift I was supposed to receive for rescuing the princess?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Janus claimed, wearing a smile as they strode towards Roman, and when they wrapped an arm around his waist and dropped him into a dip, that smile grew coy. After a moment of holding Roman suspended just barely above the stage, Janus drew him back towards their chest as they leaned down and met his lips in a kiss.

“Finish the scene now,” the director ordered, flipping a page of her script as she marked something down in it.

“But you love me anyway, don’t you?” Roman replied without missing a beat as Janus set him upright.

“Perhaps I do,” Janus said, their voice turning unusually quiet.

Roman paused, watching them intently. “Do you love me because I saved you? Or because I’m pretty?”

“I love you because you’re you, Ro— Your Highness.”

At this, the director looked up with a frown. As far as she knew, that line wasn’t in the script. Before she could interrupt though, Roman carried on with the scene. “Do you not think I’m pretty, then?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Quite the contrary,” Janus countered. “I may not have admitted it before, but I do believe you are the most gorgeous person I have ever laid eyes on.”

“Is that so?” Roman asked, trying and failing to hide how flustered he suddenly was.

“It is indeed. There’s much I haven’t told you, Your Highness.”

“Like what?” Roman’s voice grew hushed as he stepped even closer to Janus.

“Like the fact that I love you—that I have loved you for longer than I’d care to admit.”

“Is that so?” Roman repeated, watching with wide eyes as Janus brought their hands to his face.

Janus nodded, their smile growing upon seeing Roman’s deepening blush. “What about you, Your Highness? Is there anything you’ve been keeping from me?”

“I think I love you too.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Good,” Janus said, slowly lowering their face to meet Roman’s, giving him more than enough time to pull away.

He didn’t.

So Janus Adler kissed Roman Kingsley once more, showing no signs of ever wanting to stop doing so.

The director sighed, interrupting the silence that had fallen over the theater. “Look, you’re both great actors, but I think rewriting the final scene is a bit much as far as creative liberties go. Do you two have something more you want to say to each other, or…?”

Janus pulled themself away from Roman’s lips, blinking in a slightly dazed fashion. “Sorry, ma’am,” they said, smiling innocently at the director like they hadn’t been about to start shamelessly making out with their co-star on stage.

Roman coughed in an attempt to hide how out of breath he was. “What— what did you think of, uh, adding the first kiss to the blocking?”

“Or the second one,” Janus added, acting like both had been meticulously planned out over the course of at least several weeks.

Shaking her head, the director sighed again. “If you promise to stop changing the script, you can keep the first one, but I don’t think the second one really fits—”

“What about after the last line?” Janus asked, clearly having no ulterior motives when it came to wanting to kiss Roman at any and every given opportunity.

“You mean your last line?”

“No, the one that’s split between the four narrators, ‘and they lived happily ever after.’ What if we kissed during that? It seems like a pretty good way to show that we—we meaning the characters, of course—are indeed living happily ever after.”

“Fine,” the director said, sounding painfully tired as she marked down the change in her script. “Now go get into costume with the rest of the cast, we still have every other scene in the show to run through.”

As soon as the director turned away, Janus offered their arm out to Roman just as they had yesterday, the same smirk on their face and the same twinkle in their eyes. This time, Roman took it. “Something’s got you feeling bolder today, hm?” Janus said, setting off for the dressing rooms just down the hall.

“Blame Logan. And your brother. Mostly your brother, actually. He’s very convincing.” Janus raised an eyebrow. “And by convincing, I mean threatening,” Roman clarified.

“That he is,” Janus agreed. “I suppose I should really be thanking them both, though. I likely wouldn’t have kissed you that second time without their intervention, and that truly is a tragedy.”

Roman flushed. “You don’t have to do that anymore, you know.”

“What, flirt? Oh, but Roman, then I’d miss seeing you get all flustered,” they pouted. “And why ever would I do that?”

“Um… because you love me?”

“You make a strong argument, but I’m afraid no amount of love will convince me that your blush isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“I take it you haven’t seen a mirror, then,” Roman replied, looking smug.

Janus merely laughed. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, love.”

“Mark my words, I’ll figure out how to turn you into a blushing mess one day. You won’t even see it coming.”

Janus stopped and turned to Roman, fluttering their eyelashes. “Is that so?” they purred, taking slow, deliberate steps toward Roman and crowding him up against the wall.

“Yes?” Roman squeaked out, captivated by the way even the fluorescent lights overhead made Janus’s mismatched eyes look utterly enchanting.

Taking pity on Roman, Janus laughed and took a step backwards. “I look forward to it, my prince,” they said, keeping eye contact with Roman as they brought his hand to their lips and placed a feather-light kiss on the back of it.

And in that moment, the whole universe felt perfect.

_________________________

finding other things i’ve written in my masterpost

[sparrowwritings]

The Ever “Delightful” Consequences of Friendship

Ao3 Link

"He could tolerate quite a lot from his more carefree friends, but stupidity--particularly stupidity that he'd done his best to prevent--was far more than enough to set him off."

Emet-Selch is more than happy to welcome his friend into the Convocation of Fourteen as Azem. It's a role well earned, despite lingering doubts and a disappointed twin.

Too bad said friend means to action on them, even though he explicitly advised against it.

This can only go well, clearly.

Co-credit for this idea (and one of the characters) goes to @thedovahcat

“Oh. Hey. What’re you doing here?”

“Offering both congratulations and condolences. I take it the news didn’t sit well with her?”

“With either of us, to be honest…”

“Then I suppose it’s good that I brought two well fermented bottles.”

“...Are you sure you’re not the concept of perfection in person form?”

“Please. Flattery will only get you so far, particularly now that you’re part of the Convocation.”

“Ah. Right. That. Guess we’ll see each other a lot more, huh?”

“Our roles have some overlap, yes, but even if they didn’t you’d find the time to annoy me regardless of your position. You just don’t get the benefit of team effort to do so.”

“Heh, that’s true...”

“...I’m not supposed to inform you about the selection process, but I can say that it was a close thing. Both of you were equally qualified, but there is only one seat. You being selected does not mean she is less talented. You might recall that when I was appointed, Hythlodaeus was also just as if not more qualified for the seat.”

“I know, I know...still, it just doesn’t sit well with me.”

“You’ll get over it once you’ve officially taken on your duties. You’ll be able to leave the city more often, help more people, etcetera. Everything you already enjoy doing. Feelings fade, duty doesn’t.”

“I’m this close to taking back your status as the concept of perfection.”

“I’m dreadfully devastated.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“I ought to get Hythlodaeus to come over. He’d help us find a way around this.”

“He would suggest highly illegal things when you ought to accept the situation given to you.”

“Hades! Have you lost your heart in your time as Emet-Selch?”

“I wouldn’t bother talking to you if I had. Or brought drinks."

"Hmph."

"...Look. You have been chosen for Azem, not Artemis. Wanting to change the past won’t fix anything. Besides which, the seat already suits you well, and time will only make your duties easier. Don’t try to do anything that you will regret just because of your guilt about something you couldn’t have influenced."

"Mmmm…"

"Unless you want to be known as the shortest tenure of Azem in history. I'd rather you not, but who am I to get in the way of what you desire?"

“...Oh fine, you haven’t lost your heart. Yet. I'm not going to quit."

"Good."

"She'd never speak to me again after all the hard work we both did for the seat."

"After giving you a hefty thump on the head, yes."

"But I do still want to help Artemis feel better, somehow."

"I must stress that I'm confident that she will be alright. Should that not be the case, however, I've devised a series of distractions to keep her mind off of the topic."

"...You were worried about us, huh?”

“Baseless accusations of my person aside, you and your twin both have a history of awful decision making whilst upset. My goal is to prevent the two of you from causing me more headaches, Apollo.”

“I think I can safely say that your goal isn’t a very attainable one.”

“Hmph. Think about what I’ve said.”

“I will.”

“Repeat what I’ve said, then.”

“‘Feelings fade, duty doesn’t.’ ‘Don’t focus on the past, look forward to the future.’ ‘I was slightly less qualified for my seat and I’m doing just fine.’ ‘I’m Hades and I’m always right about everything.’”

“Charming.”

“Thanks. I’ve been practicing my you-imitation.”

“I noticed.”

“You don’t have to glare so hard, I am listening to you, I swear!”

“I’ll believe that when I see the evidence for myself.”

“You wound me.”

“The drink will help with that.”

Emet-Selch felt his eye twitch in irritation at the scene before him. He could also feel the headache building at his temples already.

When he got his hands on them, he was going to let them have it. Both of them. Preferably with Hythlodaeus in the same room so that he could get the triple combination of annoying troublemakers. It didn’t matter if he'd had nothing to do with the situation that was unfolding. Blame could be given to him regardless. Hades' words would be hot enough to scald the three into submission if it was the last thing he ever--

“Are you feeling well, Emet-Selch?” 

The genuine concern in the young voice cut through his rage-fueled imaginings. Turning to face the speaker showed him none other than Elidibus, the youngest of the convocation. He had an anxious tension in his body language. An equally anxious expression surely was overtaking the face underneath the small red mask of his peer, though he was careful to be facing forward. 

It took Emet-Selch a moment to enforce a sense of calm in himself, if only to not snap at the youth for something he had no knowledge of. “I believe I may be a little under the weather,” He managed to say while his gaze moved from the youth to Azem, who was still happily chatting with another member of the convocation. “I could have sworn that Azem resembled someone else other than himself. But that couldn’t possibly be the case. There would be serious consequences if my imaginings had any basis on reality.” Venom crept into his voice as he spoke. So much for keeping calm.

He was well aware that he was far more perceptive than most. His attention to detail was one of the reasons why he had been considered for the seat of Emet-Selch in the first place. Noticing the subtle things about people was what his friends jokingly referred to as his "party trick" and they often roped him into their childish games by this ability.

This time the games had gone too far. Worse, he'd specifically warned against doing anything as foolhardy as what he was witnessing. 

Even more enraging, Emet-Selch hadn't even needed a moment to tell that Artemis was pretending to be Apollo to play the role of Azem.

It was so obvious to him! Yes it was difficult for most to tell the difference between the twins (especially when Artemis decided to pin up her hair to fit inside of the hood of her robe like she had done here), but to blatantly disregard any propriety and sense on a chance that no one would notice was just irresponsible, ill-conceived, and idiotic.

He could tolerate quite a lot from his more carefree friends, but stupidity--particularly stupidity that he'd done his best to prevent--was far more than enough to set him off.

Before he could stomp over and demand what she could be possibly thinking (and damn the consequences), Emet-Selch felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see the worried frown on the part of Elidibus' face that he could see. "Did Azem do something to vex you?" He couldn't see the young man's eyes, but it was plain as day that they were wide and round with concern under the mask. "It must have been a great offense to anger you so. You're so often unflappable."

Emet-Selch winced. His rage, which had been building up again, left him all at once at Elidibus' gentle chiding. He made a mental note to be certain that no one, especially not his friends, heard a word of this. Just because he was still debating on whether or not to still call two of them friends of his didn't mean they needed to hear about this embarrassment. Beside which, he had been showing unprofessional behavior and he'd hurt the Emissary's feelings by accident. He needed to clean his own mess before he could begin to address the real problem.

Thinking quickly gave him a believable (and even somewhat truthful) tale for the youth. "My sincerest apologies, Elidibus. Azem had consulted with me about a personal matter some time ago." He spared a glance towards "Azem." She gave no indication to have noticed anything unusual, for she continued to be engaged in conversation. "I was...concerned," It took an immense amount of effort to keep his voice from expressing his true feelings. "That something he had said in jest was what he ended up doing despite my quite stern disapproval." 

Elidibus tilted his head, the frown lessening into a more neutral expression as he mulled over what had been said. He still hadn't let go of the sleeve of Emet-Selch's robe. It wouldn't take much effort to extract the cloth from the youth's hand, but he'd done enough to tarnish the Emissary's usual enthusiasm so he merely stood there. After all, he knew where the twins normally congregated. And he even had some ideas about where they would hide if they were alerted to his wrath. He could afford to wait for a response.

Eventually the youth nodded at some conclusion he had reached. "I think I understand. Your anger is related to the censure that Azem received."

"I would describe my feelings as an extreme form of irritation, though I can see why you would assume that." Off base though Elidibus was, it would neither be the first nor last time that Emet-Selch had used the assumptions and words of others to technically tell the truth. Particularly when Hythlodaeus, Artemis and Apollo were involved. The fact that a topic of the day's meeting had indeed been a public reprimand for Azem's recent unsanctioned (yet heroic) actions made for a good cover. "Azem is incapable of ignoring those in need. Regardless of the warnings given by wiser fellows."  It was a true statement no matter which twin he was talking about. 

A grin settled on the Emissary's face. "How fortunate, then, that we are blessed to have the seat of Azem filled by one so willing to go above and beyond what is asked of them." The smile dimmed a smidge as Elidibus added, "Though it comes at the cost of the concern of their friends."

He looked away from the youth, carefully keeping his face neutral although the words struck a chord within him. "I don't recall mentioning being friends with Azem."

"You don't need to disown Azem just for not listening to you, Emet-Selch." He could have sworn that he heard a hint of an eye roll in that sentence. Not that he could confirm it even if he were searching for an expression. "Mayhap there is a reason behind their actions that you have yet to grasp? The only way to know for certain is to ask." 

A pause grew between the two until finally Emet-Selch gave a snort. "Truly you are the heart of the Convocation, Elidibus." A warm smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced back down at the youth. Sure he was practically lectured by one much younger than him, but his own worry over the well being of two of his fellows was endearing. "I will take what you've said into consideration."

A truly radiant smile greeted his gaze. The young man finally released Emet-Selch's sleeve. "I look forward to your reconciliation." 

It was his turn to roll his eyes with as much subtlety as possible. "We'll see about that." With that, he turned on a heel and made his way to Artemis.

Apparently she had just noticed him walking towards her, for she said her goodbyes and made to leave. Emet-Selch deftly wrapped a hand around his friend's arm before she could escape. "Azem, there you are. I've been meaning to talk with you about something. Let us away and chat."

Just because he was less angry did not mean he wouldn't have strong words for his friends.

"So, how did the meeting go...?"

"Fine enough. I made an upsetting discovery, but was discouraged from acting on it immediately."

"I see."

"And then I had a serious conversation with the twins."

"Ah."

"...You knew that Artemis and Apollo were impersonating each other while also taking on the role of Azem."

"Why that's preposterous. And illegal. And many other equally negative descriptors--"

"Hythlodaeus."

"--why would you accuse me, your dearest friend, of knowing such seditious information? I'm hurt, Hades. Very hurt."

"Hythlodaeus."

"I'm just as shocked as you are that such a thing is happening--"

"The twins didn't say a word about you knowing. Then again they didn't have to."

"Oh fine. Yes, I knew."

"And you didn't try to stop them?"

"How could I? You know as well as I do that once those two have something set in their minds, nothing will discourage them. Even you couldn't stop them if you'd known about it beforehand."

"I did try. I didn't know what the plan was going to be, but I attempted to discourage it anyway."

"And see how much that slowed them down."

"Hm."

"...If it helps, I had nothing to do with that particular decision. They came to me after they had already set themselves on it. I merely made a few suggestions about how to better impersonate each other."

"So the hair extension concept was your doing."

"Guilty as charged."

"Be thankful you're not being charged for anything. Nor are the twins, in case you hadn't heard."

"Good, good."

"...It's odd, though."

"What is?"

"I told Apollo 'feelings fade, duty doesn't.' And I still agree with that. Yet, here I am shirking my duty to report all of this for the sake of my friends' feelings."

"...Perhaps you just have the wrong phrasing."

"Oh really?"

"Don't look at me like that, you can be wrong sometimes, Hades."

"Then what, pray tell, is the correct phrasing?"

"I'm no wordsmith, but perhaps it should be something like, 'many things, including feelings, can and should slip from your grasp, but duty and friendship are what you should hold onto.'"

"...You are absolutely no wordsmith."

"My apologies for trying to sum up your own clunky speech." 

"How are we friends?"

"We just are."

"...She really was being obvious about not being Apollo, though. I told her to not get caught, but I'll need to make certain that no one else suspects. It'd be a nightmare if any other member of the Convocation knew."

"Oh, they didn't tell you?"

"......Tell me what."

"They've informed Elidibus already. It was one of the first things they decided on because, to quote them, 'It would be cruel to leave him confused about the situation.'"

"...Please tell me you have a well fermented bottle."

"Coming right up."

[multiparadise]

not worth it anymore ✦ g. dolan

summary: being asked to be grayson dolan’s girlfriend wasn’t the easiest because for starters it was going to be a relationship for the camera’s, just a show for the fan’s. and secondly, it already sucked that the guy who made your heart beat like crazy had a hatred towards you and can barely stand being in the same room as you and sometimes the pain is not worth it anymore.

warnings: lots of angst, grayson being a really mean person, and lots of heart break.

cue the hand signal from ethan. the lights were bright, slightly blinding your vision as you intertwined your fingers with the man next to you. a big smile on your face. you looked happy. you knew you did. you knew this would trick whoever was behind the screen watching this video. the man, grayson, smiled down at you and for a second you thought it was real too. just a happy couple. 

“well guys, should i confess the obvious now?” grayson said to the fans while looking in the camera. “you guys were absolutely correct, (your ship name) is real. and i’m sorry we kept it from you, but i hope you guys can see how in love i am with her. and maybe you’ll learn to love her just as much as me.” 

another cue, he pressed his lips to your cheek. you blushed. cleared your throat and spoke the first time during the duration of this video. “i love him so much, grayson dolan you are my everything and i am so thankful for these past 7 months. thank you for making me happy.” 

signal the last cue. the two of you shared a kiss, it was quick but it was enough. it was enough to convince them, but it was enough for you to remember the way they felt. 

then the recording stopped after the outro. ethan told you two that you did great and the chemistry even looked real to him. this caused your heart to flutter as you felt the chemistry was real too. how can someone even deny it? there has to be something there. but you were wrong again. you watched as grayson rolled his eyes, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. a disgusted, disturbed look etched on his face. he let out a harsh laugh before getting out “i swear to god if we have to kiss one more time i’m gonna punch the wall.” 

you didn’t need a cue for this, this was real. a heartbreak in the moment was real. you didn’t need someone to tell you how to act or how to feel because this was reality, this was real. the man you’ve given all your heart to had no clue he owned it and didn’t care about the power he had over it either. 

the three of you went your separate ways after that comment from grayson. you sighed, dragging yourself to the front door leaving their home knowing you’d have to come back in a few days to record another video updating the fans about your wonderful, perfect relationship. 

once you got home you received a text message from ethan apologizing for grayson’s words because to him it wasn’t a secret that you loved grayson. and at times it was a blessing and a curse that he knew. you messaged him back stating that it was okay, it’s always okay (when it’s not) and that he should’t be apologizing but you still appreciated it anyways. 

three days pass by and your social media has been blowing up none stop with comments and edits of you and your ‘boyfriend’ grayson. and due to discussions ahead of times the two of you would repost things from fans, comment hearts, stupid shit like “i love him so much” and “she’s my everything” and even talking about each other in a lovey dovey way on snapchat to make them thing that the distance between you two is so fucking painful. 

it was, at least for you. 

you find yourself at their house later that day, ethan recording a live video. cue this, cue that. you became used to it. the acting was natural for you. and you had to admit that grayson was a damn good actor, or maybe he did have feelings for you. and you were a fool that kept telling yourself that. 

during this live Q&A a fan had asked what was your favorite thing about each other. you smiled, feeling your heart flutter. “my favorite thing about grayson is everything. he’s phenomenal at everything he does. and also i have no complaints that he cooks for me and he builds things for us all the time! maybe he’ll build our future house with a great view we can look over to as we wake up and cuddle in the morning.” grayson smiled too and that was enough to send your heart to beat like crazy. “that sounds fucking awesome, i would love that. and i would even build a crib for a nursery because of course we’re going to have mini us running around.” 

cue the butterflies, cue the genuine smile, and cue the love you have for him. 

the video was coming to an end as you both said goodbye, holding hands glancing over at ethan as he had a big smile on his face thinking that maybe grayson did have feelings for you his (ethan’s) best friend but he was too stubborn and hurt from past shit to admit it. 

the lights die down, the moon was shining in the night sky, a blush etched unto your cheeks grayson rips his hand away. turning to you, “and don’t think we’d ever hook up. got it?” and the venom dripping in his voice was enough to set you straight. 

there was no way he loved you. 

for some reason you stuck around, but it wasn’t for long. it was about a month after the first video announcing your ‘relationship’ when grayson found you sitting on the guest bedroom’s bed with tears streaming down your cheeks painful sobs crawling it’s way out. he hesitated, “are you okay?” and that ticked you off. you stood up, pain in your eyes and grayson could see it. he could see the raw emotion you held and realized this was the first time he actually looked into your (eye color) eyes. they were mesmerizing. 

“shut up!” you yelled at him catching him off guard. “just stop, please i am begging you. stop. don’t act like you care, because you don’t. you know you don’t! so why fucking bother?!” 

“i-” he started but couldn’t get much out as you sobbed once again. “no, grayson. don’t. just fucking don’t. whatever you have to say i don’t care. tell me how terrible it is, how terrible it would be to date me. but guess what grayson we’re not actually together! i don’t see why after every single video you have to remind me of that. to tell me how horrible it is for you to act like your with me, to tell me how bad it would be for anybody. do you know how much that hurts?”

no he didn’t know. 

he didn’t know how much it hurt. 

and he stayed silent as you poured out all your feelings, all your sadness on him. 

“i can’t-” you choked out, “i can’t do this anymore. this pain is not worth it anymore your hatred for me is too much. if you hate me so much then why even fake a relationship with me? is it because you know you’d never fall for me? because if so, congratulations, congratulations to the fact that i’m so horrible. right grayson? wasn’t that what you said after last nights video?” 

he was still silent, but tears welled up in his eyes feeling mad with himself to become such a jerk to someone who was never a jerk to him before. he watches you tug on a suitcase he didn’t notice until know. he felt his heart being tugged, urgently looking around for ethan to give him his lines, a cue, something but ethan wasn’t there because this was reality. 

it wasn’t until you turned around at the front door staring deep into his eyes did he realize how horrible he was and how much he loved you but it was too late as you whispered, throat sore from the screaming, too tired to even show anger with him. just hurt. “you’re the most selfish man i have ever met grayson bailey dolan but i guess i’m the biggest fool i’ve ever met because through all the pain, i loved you. but not anymore.”

and then, you left.

author’s note: hello, thank you for reading this. this is my first imagine here on this account. feedback would be appreciated, both negative and positive. i am here to improve with my writing. i write about the dolan twins and possibly more to come.