#without fail once a month i feel everyone hates me and then i remember like a few days later what that feeling really is but it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

senditcolton · 8 months ago

Text

hits different

do you think i have forgotten... about you?

series masterlist | playlist | word count: 9.3k a/n: here it is! the finale of the "we're a bad idea" series. it's crazy to think that this series started on a complete whim and turned into this. i had so much fun writing this for you all and screaming about it with you and... gosh, just, thank you for all your support! I hope you all love this conclusion as much as I do. warnings: feminine reader, teammate's sister, age gap. smut! heavy handsy make out, oral (f receiving), protected penetrative sex. Disclaimer: Reading/creating content for married players isn’t for everyone. Please don’t read if you don’t vibe with it, but don’t attack me or others!

It felt like something out of a goddamn movie.

The way your eyes locked onto each other the very moment you settled next to Shannon at the altar. How the scent of the flowers that Emily had chosen for your bouquet suddenly became overwhelming. The feeling of heat that rushed through you – a heat that had nothing to do with the warm July afternoon and everything to do with the blue eyes that had captured you under their gaze.

Not the mention the film reel flashback that replayed in your head of those months when you allowed him into your bed and into your heart. And how he broke you into a million pieces and sent you running to Los Angeles to escape his hold on you.

Almost two years and three-thousand miles between you and him. You thought that would be enough.

But, even after all of that, it seems that you still couldn’t forget Matt Martin.

And based on the beating echoing through your ribcage, it was obvious that your wretched heart failed to remember how much it hurt whenever he was around.

The string music dancing on the breeze lifts to a crescendo and you almost scoff at the irony; like the universe itself was trying to arrange a reunion worthy of an Oscar-winning romance. Then you heart stutters when you see Matt lift from his seat, his eyes still locked on your frame and you fear that a love confession was about to fall from his lips.

Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. Instead, he turns from you, directing his gaze down the aisle.

The embarrassment rushes through your body and you have to shake your head at your dramatics; at the way you made yourself the main character in a moment that was anything but yours.

This was Scotty and Emily’s moment – their wedding, for Christs sake. Your eyes divert to the end of the aisle, watching as your soon to be sister-in-law walk to your brother, her stunning white dress flowing behind her. You sneak a glance at Scotty, watching his eyes water as Emily takes those final steps towards him. This was the reason you were here. Not Matt Martin.

Somehow, you manage to make it through the entire ceremony without looking out to the audience and those ocean blue eyes. When you walk back up the aisle for the recessional, your arm linked in Sebastian’s, your gaze locks with Matt’s once again before he disappears from your sight.

It’s a moment of reprieve as you sneak back into the cabin where you and the rest of the bridesmaids had spent the night, a deep breath lifting your chest.

You should’ve known he would be here. He was your brother’s teammate, a fact that you were all too aware of when this tryst began. Still, you hoped you wouldn’t have to face him. Not because you hated him or because you had moved on. But because there was still a part of you that craved him, that couldn’t let him go.

There was an ache in you and it felt like only he could heal it.

How? The answer to that question was still uncertain. You didn’t know if you needed him to apologize, or give you closure, or tell you everything you’ve always wanted him say. But you weren’t ready for it, whatever it was.

And when you walk into the reception area where the guests waited, your heart proves how unprepared you were based its reaction when your eyes find Matt. And the gymnastic routine it does when you realize that he was seated at your table, only a few spaces away from you.

Dinner is excruciating. It feels like a choreographed routine as you stop your head from drifting too far to the right to look in Matt’s direction, pretending that you don’t feel the weight of his stare, laser-focused on the toasts and your brother’s first dance. And when the dance floor opens and the mingling begins, the reason you fly from your chair was to greet other guests, performing your duty as a bridesmaid.

Not because you were desperate to delay the inevitable conversation you knew you had to have with the one man you had been avoiding.

Blissfully, a familiar voice calls to you from across the space and your eyes lock onto Mat Barzal, frantically waving at you from one of the other tables. You smile, walking over to him as he rises from his chair and hugs you, your name falling from his lips with that bright cheerfulness that you heard so frequently over Facetime calls and nights out in LA when the Islanders came to California.

“How are you doing, Barzy?” you ask, pulling away from the hug.

“Pretty good,” he replies, his hand falling to the shoulder of the pretty brunette occupying the seat next to him. “Have I introduced you to Lyla yet?”

“Well, you’ve talked about her enough that I feel like I’ve met her before,” you laugh as you steal Mat’s seat from him, holding out your hand before formally introducing yourself. “Good to officially meet the girl that stole this idiot’s heart.”

“Nice to finally meet you too,” Lyla says, taking your hand in hers. “Although, I will be honest, when I first saw your name on Mat’s phone and how many Facetime calls the two of you shared, I was a little concerned. Thought you were a long-distance girlfriend or something.”

“Completely understandable,” you laugh, admiring her candor. “But there’s nothing to worry about. He’s a little too sweet for me.”

“I’m standing right here,” Mat huffs and you look up at him with a smirk.

“It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”

Your relationship with Mat Barzal was the one thing that had shifted in the years you were away but it definitely changed for the better. He had turned from a potential romantic partner to a true friend. That shift – one that was brought on after a night of too many French Blonde cocktails – lifted a weight off both of your shoulders and opened the door for an even deeper connection with star winger.

“I hear that I have you to thank for him asking me on a date,” Lyla says.

“I did nothing but push Mat to ask for the number of the pretty girl at the gym that he spent almost a half-an-hour raving about,” you laugh, loving the way both Lyla and Mat’s cheeks flushed. “You had him whipped before he even knew your name.”

“Oh, trust me, I figured that out eventually,” Lyla jokes and you can’t help but scoot in, ready to hear all the embarrassing stories that Lyla was willing to share. And share she did. It seems like hours of laughter and conversation, Mat even dragging a chair over and joining in – although most of his comments are attempts to defend himself. Eventually, Lyla gets up to run to the ladies room, departing with a kiss on Mat’s cheek and you can’t stop the smile that appears when Mat’s eyes stay glued to her as she walks away.

“I like her,” you say, calling his attention back to you. “She’s way too good for the likes of you.”

“Oh, I know,” he laughs, taking your jest in stride before sipping his beer. You see his hazel eyes bounce across the room, pausing momentarily before they return to you. “Have you talked to him yet?”

A sigh rushes through you as you shake your head.

“I still can’t believe I told you about him.”

“You told me like… eight months ago. Besides, you can only blame yourself.”

“Hey, I can also blame copious amounts of alcohol.”

“Yeah, alcohol that loosened your tongue and sent his name falling out of your mouth,” Mat quips, his eyebrow raising. “Along with your dinner.”

“Please don’t remind me,” you say, your mind jumping back to the night in question.

It was November, when the Islanders played Los Angeles. You and Mat met up at a local bar – just the two of you and it was that night that your relationship changed completely. Because in your inebriated state, Matt Martin’s name slurred from your lips while Barzy was attempting to shove you into an Uber.

Despite facing the wrath of his coaches, Mat helped you back to your apartment and kept you company that night, his reasoning being that he wanted to make sure you were alright and a California road trip allowing him the time to do so. It was over greasy eggs and bacon that he asked why you said Marty’s name. And you told him.

You even told him about the night of the charity gala, emphasizing that you never meant to use him like that. And that the reason why you never took him up on his offer to be more than friends was because you didn’t want to use him more, keep giving him false hope.

The truth stung him for a few days but after giving him the time and space he needed, the honesty and clarity brought the two of you closer. Now, he was the only person in your life that knew the whole story of why you left Long Island. And, like the good friend he was, he kept your secret all that time.

“You know you’re going to have to speak to him at some point,” Mat prods.

“I know,” you quip, playfully rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t mean I can’t avoid him for a few more minutes.”

“You’ve been avoiding him for almost two years. Don’t know if a few minutes is going to help.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“You can thank Lyla for that,” he smiles and you watch his whole expression soften at the mere sound of her name.

“She makes you happy.”

The sentence is more statement than question. You were there on the other end of the line when he talked about the first time he saw her. You gave him pep-talks and advice on how to ask her out. You helped him plan dates and dinners. It was obvious that this girl was something special to him.

“Happier than I’ve been in a while.”

“Then why are you still sitting here talking to me?” you say. “Dance at a wedding with your girlfriend.”

“Alright, I will,” Mat laughs, standing. He doesn’t depart immediately, choosing instead to lean over to you with a serious look in hie eye. “But you have to promise me you’ll talk to Marty.”

Another sigh escapes you as you let your head turn to look at the reception hall, your eyes glancing off the crowd of guests before landing on Matt, leaning against the wall, talking to Cal and his wife. As if he can feel your eyes on him, his gaze drifts to you and you watch a myriad of emotions dance on his face, each so subtle and fleeting that you couldn’t even begin to decipher what he was thinking.

“He’s been asking about you, you know,” Mat’s voice sounds, pulling your attention back to him.

“He has?”

“Yeah. Asking me, Scotty, Emily, anyone really. How you’re doing, what you’re doing.”

“What have you told him?”

“Just surface level stuff: your job, your complaints about the weather and LA traffic, things like that. It seems like he wants to talk to you,” Mat says. “So, you should talk to him. If nothing else, you might at least get some closure.”

You exhale, you mid swirling with the information that Matt Martin was still thinking about you, maybe in the same way you were thinking about him. Your head was a mess of doubts and hopes and fears and longing and desires. You just breathe through it all, pulling Mat into another hug which he reciprocates.

“You’re a really good friend, you know that right?” you ask, your voice muffled by his tuxedo.

“So I’ve been told by this really cool Los Angeles girl who overthinks everything.”

You laugh as you let your arms fall, Mat shooting you that crooked smile before he is walking away. You see him intercept Lyla as she re-enters the reception area, taking her arm in his and pulling her to the dancefloor, the smile on her face brightening as Mat leans in and kisses her cheek.

There was a part of you that twinged at the sight. You knew it was jealousy – not the traditional jealousy but a different form. You weren’t angry that Mat found joy with someone that wasn’t you, but envious that he found someone, period.

Especially since you were unable to move on from the man you shared a scandalous but exhilarating few months with. The man you promised yourself you would forget.

But then you hear his voice sound from behind you and feel that exquisite ache that you had never been able to soothe throb in the center of your chest.

“Hey.”

You turn to see him standing behind you, his suit looking almost too perfect for his body, his hair tousled and falling over his forehead. You watch as his blue eyes rove over your face and you wonder what he’s thinking and if all the same emotions are flooding his system the way they were yours.

“Hi,” you whisper, cursing your voice for coming out sounding so timid, cursing yourself for still allowing Matt Martin to make you feel small. But instead of that cool smirk that used to always appear at the sound of your frailty, his face remains impassive, his eyes flicking down to the now vacant seat next to you.

“Could I sit?” he asks and your head spins, not only because of the gentleness of the question but the fact that he even asked at all. The Matt Martin you used to know would’ve sat down immediately, invading your space boldly and brazenly for no other reason than to get a rise out of you.

You nod, watching him settle down into the cushioned seat and take a sip from his whiskey glass, his eyes still on you. It takes an immense amount of effort to break your gaze as you reach for your own wine and letting the smooth oaked flavor dance over your tongue.

“How have you been?” Matt breaks the silence again and you know you hear a hesitance in his voice, like he is unsure if he should even be addressing you.

“I’ve been alright,” you reply, your own voice thick with trepidation. “You?”

“It’s been decent.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, and his eyebrows quirk up in curiosity at your words. “For your injury. The playoffs,” you elaborate. Your gaze stays locked on him, trying to understand the micro-expressions that pass over his face.

“Thank you,” he replies and you just nod, taking another sip of your wine. “Didn’t know if you were even watching.”

“Wanted to support my brother.”

“Right,” he sighs. “Of course.”

You hated this. Hated the weight that hung over the two of you like a lead curtain, making anything beyond small talk too difficult to say. You weren’t sure how to surmount this obstacle, not sure if it was even possible to overcome. But someone had to be brave and attempt that first step.

With a deep breath and another sip of liquid courage, you turn you attention back to Matt.

“Was there… something you wanted to ask me?” you question, the words as stilted and unclear as the intention behind them.

Matt looks at you, his blue eyes wide as he absorbs your words. It is a moment of stillness before he is finishing off his whiskey and setting the glass on the table, lifting himself out of his chair. Your heart flips in fear that you said the wrong thing, that you ruined the moment before it could even take shape but that concern is silenced when Matt stands in front of you, holding out his hand, his palm upturned.

“Dance with me?”

Of all the questions that you thought Matt Martin would confront you with, this was one that you were not prepared for. A sentiment that is echoed by a bewildered ‘what?’ falling from your lips.

“Will you dance with me?” Matt reiterates, the request turning into a genuine question. Would you let him take you out onto the dance floor and into his arms again?

Your eyes rove from his face to his hand, still outstretched. The hesitance lingers in you reflected by the way you lift your own hand, your fingers curling back in a moment of uncertainty before you allow them to touch his. They glide against his calloused skin, wrapping around his palm, his own fingers winding around your hand.

Another glance up at him shows you the slightest smile playing at his lips. But it isn’t twinged with the familiar undercurrent of cruelty or power. Instead, it looks like relief.

He gently tugs you upright before leading you to the dancefloor, the refrain of a slow melody encompassing you moments before Matt’s arms do the same. He adjusts the grip on your hand while the other finds a respectful place on the small of your back. You let your own free hand lift and rest delicately on his bicep as the two of you begin to sway.

The silence between you remains even as the music rises and falls. You still avoid looking in Matt’s eyes, content to stare at the hardwood floor even though you can feel the weight of his gaze. In the back of your mind, you knew that if your eyes locked with his, you wouldn’t be able to keep your composure. That possibility was to be avoided at all costs. You couldn’t let Matt Martin regain the control over you that he used to have.

“You look beautiful.”

Those three muttered words, the compassion behind them, makes your resolve crumble, your eyes darting up to meet with his.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice breathless – the exact opposite of the curtness you wanted your tone to convey. But perhaps it wasn’t your choice to soften your words. Maybe it was subconscious, based on the way that Matt held you, the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. It felt different.

He was different.

“I missed you,” he whispers; the first real confession of the night.

“Matt,” you sigh, the cynic jumping out to protect your heart – the one that he shattered.

“I know,” he says. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“How can you?” you challenge him, the small flame of anger that you held flickering in your chest.

“You’re right. I have no idea what you were about to say. But I can make a guess.”

His words extinguish that resentment as soon as it appears, your eyebrow raising in surprise – not only towards his words but in his concession to you, he deference of power, the pendulum swinging in your favor. Your silence allows him to continue.

“I know I haven’t given you any reason to trust me,” he begins. “For you to believe anything I say is the truth. But I guess… I’m just wondering if you would give me a chance. Let me prove it to you.”

“Prove what to me?”

“How much I missed you. How much I care about you.”

He pulls your closer to him and you allow it. You let him hold you tighter until your chests press together, the smell of his all too familiar cologne flooding your senses. You swear you forget how to breathe when you feel his hand trace up your arm before resting against your jawline. The gentle press of his fingers guides you to look up at him, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“Let me prove that I was an idiot for ever letting you go.”

You can feel the tears prick the corner of your eyes and you know Matt can see them, watching as they well up on your lower lashes. His words seemed so sweet, so genuine, and you so desperately wanted to believe them. But there was still that voice in the back of your mind screaming, ‘this is what he does; he’s an expert at speaking these saccharine words but you know they’re never fulfilling.’

But here, now, he was promising to prove it to you.

The words of acceptance are dancing up your throat, hanging on the tip of your tongue and at the edge of your lips. But before you can speak them into existence, the universe silences you once again.

“Alright everyone, please clear the dance floor and let the bride and groom have one private last dance. Make your way to the front entrance and get ready to send them off in style!”

The MC’s voice booms from the speaker, pulling your attention and your body away from the gentle hold of Matt. The uncertainty and distrust take advantage of the interruption to reassert itself in your mind.

‘This was a sign,’ it said. ‘The universe is protecting you from getting your heart broken again.’

But when you look back, your eyes connecting to Matt’s once more and you still see nothing but yearning on his face, you feel your own longing surge again.

“Meet me by the fountain when this is all over?” you ask.

“I’ll be there.”

This time, you really do believe him.

You meet with the rest of the bridesmaids and hand out the silver streamers. You are blessed with an immense amount of coordination and impeccable timing as the streamers pop right as Scotty and Emily make their way through the crowd and hop in the car, already packed with their suitcases and honeymoon plane tickets. It is another few moments of clean up and meeting with the wedding coordinator before you are able to run back to the cabin where you and the other bridesmaids stayed for the past two days. You grab your overnight duffle bag, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way through the country club and out to the garden near the front entrance.

The two aspects of your personality were still at war with each other as you entered the terrace. Part of you prayed that Matt would keep his word and be there, just like he said. The other part prepared itself for the possibility that this was all just a cruel joke, an elaborate attempt for him to keep his hooks in you.

But when you walk out and see Matt standing next to the stone fountain, his profile illuminated by the garden lights, your desire once again silences the doubt in your mind.

You wanted to trust him. Sure, you might get hurt. But you could also heal.

That hope was worth the risk.

Matt hears your heels clacking against the pavement and turns to face you, his lips curling in a gentle smile at your approach.

“You’re here,” you say, breathless, as if your brain still didn’t trust that this wasn’t all a dream.

“I told you I would be,” he replies, holding out his hand to you again, another offering for you to accept or reject. This time, your hand slides easily into his, your fingers intertwining.

There is a pause, as if neither of you expected to be in this situation. Now that you were, you were both unsure what to do next. The uncertainty sinks into you, your voice breaking the silence in an attempt to continue the moment.

“I was planning on getting a room at the hotel airport,” you explain. “If you want to join me.”

You swear you see a flash of surprise cross Matt’s face at your suggestion before softening, a look of gentle exasperation painted on his features.

“Is that how you think I’m going to make it up to you?” he asks. His tone isn’t frustrated or offended. Instead, it’s curious, like he truly wonders if that’s what you thought of him. Or if that’s what you needed from him.

The ache that rushes through your body, reminiscent of the desire you always felt towards him but multiplied tenfold, gives you your answer. The months you spent denying your hunger for him, the ways you explained away the pain of losing him as something akin to withdrawal, how you used those brief moments of happiness to justify your choice to leave, keeping you handcuffed to the idea that you would be better off without him… they all melted away.

You wanted him. You’ve always wanted him.

You step forward, pressing your body close as you look into those eyes that haunted your dreams.

“It’s how I want you to,” you whisper, the response to his question cutting through the night air.

There is no clear indication on who moved first but you find it doesn’t matter when you feel the press of Matt’s lips against yours. This kiss itself is delicate, as if he was careful not to cross any line, any boundary that you wanted to place. But you had no sense of restraint.

Your desire surged forward, free from the cage that you kept it locked in. You release your grip on his hand and your duffle bag, your free hands flying up to his hair, tangling in the silky locks as your body presses impossibly closer. Matt takes your desperation in stride, his own arms wrapping around you, holding you steady. Your tongue presses against the seam of his lips, silently begging for access which he gives. A whimper escapes your throat, the taste of him on your tongue only increasing your craving. You can feel Matt’s grip tighten in response to your sounds, his fingers crumpling the silk fabric of your dress as he swallows every desperate noise that he pulls from you.

Somehow, the kisses slow until your lips are falling away from each other. Matt keeps you near, your forehead pressed against his, the warmth of his breath fanning across your cheekbones.

“Let me take you home,” he murmurs and you don’t even think twice before your head is nodding in agreement.

The car ride back to his place feels both familiar and foreign. The air between you is still thick with need but those powerful emotions are lightened by the feeling of Matt’s fingers intertwining with yours over the center console, the way his eyes dart over to you, looking at you as if he couldn’t believe this was real. You were sure that your face conveyed the same thought.

He pulls into the driveway, the porchlight gleaming like a beacon in the darkness, calling you back to him. His grip around you is firm as he walks you to the front door, escorting you across the threshold and your eyes take in the sight of a house that you felt you knew like the back of your hand. The pillows on his couch were different as was some of the art lining the walls but besides that, it looked exactly how it did the last time you were there.

You hear Matt kick off his shoes behind you and you aren’t sure if it’s habit or muscle memory that pulls you forward, your own heels tapping against the hardwood as you wander deeper, your body guiding you to the staircase. Your hand wraps around the wooden railing as you begin your ascent to the second floor. Matt is close behind you, his own steps slow and measured as he lets you guide him up the stairs and to the first door on your right.

The master bedroom is more of the same, the smallest and subtlest of changes catching your attention as you walk into the room. You can hear the small click of the door latch finding home echo and you turn to see Matt leaning against the doorframe, his eyes observing you in the low lamplight.

Your smile is all the encouragement he needs to push himself away from the door, crossing the distance stretched between you in only a few steps. His hand lifts to cup your face, your eyes locking with his before he is capturing your lips in another kiss.

In the safety and security of his bedroom, it seems as if both of your desires were unleashed with a vengeance. His hands pull you closer and your own scramble on his body, wanting to feel every inch of him, wanting to recommit his shape to memory. You are pressed against him, pushing him deeper into the room, your feet moving across the carpeted floor. He lets you manipulate him, walking backward and holding you against him as if he wanted no space to separate the two of you ever again, be it three-thousand miles or three inches.

It isn’t long until his body is falling to sit on the edge of his mattress, his thighs spreading to pull you between them. His desire to have you close is reciprocated, your body moving on its own accord. Your hand mindlessly reaches down to grip the fabric of your dress, pulling the midi hem higher to allow you to climb into his lap without hinderance, your legs straddling his waist.

Matt’s hands grip you tighter, pulling you close, the movement of his lips against yours never ceasing. Your own hands return to tangle in his hair, the taste of him more intoxicating than all the bottles and glasses of alcohol that you drank trying to forget him.

If possible, your desire ratchets up another level and your hands fall from his hair, tugging off his suit jacket. You blindly reach for his tie, undoing the knot as Matt’s hands wander all over your body, grabbing your ass, pulling your hips down to meet his. A moan rumbles from your chest as you feel the hardness of him pressed against you, your lips falling from Matt’s. He doesn’t seem affected, his own lips moving to kiss your neck, his hands still tracing your curves.

You are blind with lust as Matt’s head dips across your collarbones and the top of your decolletage and you let your instincts guide you, your fingers finding the buttons of his dress shirt. Each clasp is unfastened deftly and as soon as the shirt falls open, your hands sneak underneath the fabric, pressing against Matt’s warm skin. You can feel the strength of his chest, the movement of his muscles, and the pounding of his heart underneath your palms as they glide up, pushing the material off his broad shoulders. Matt’s hands only depart from your body momentarily to rid the shirt from his frame completely before he is pulling your lips to his again.

Your hands drift back down to his abdomen and you can feel his muscles clench in response to your gentle touch. It’s another generous roll of your hips against his before your fingertips find the button and zipper of his slacks. You blindly undo them just enough that you can slip your hand beneath both the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Matt groans against your skin as your hand wraps around his length. Another rush of heat flows through your body at hearing the familiar pet-name fall from his lips. Your own lips twist in a smile as you give him a few languid strokes, relishing in the way his moans vibrate against your skin – the way he weakens for you.

The need to make him unravel more takes over as you begin to pull away from him, your body scooting back in order to dismount and fall to your knees in front of him. But before you could even drop a single foot onto the carpeted floor, Matt’s hands hold you firm, halting your motions.

“No,” he whispers, pulling you back to him. “Not tonight.”

You stare at him, your eagerness to have him in your mouth mixing with the confusion of why he was preventing you from doing just that. The immediate response he gives you is another kiss, his hand returning to rest against your jaw. When he does pull away, you hear his sultry timbre echo around the room.

“I should be the one on my knees worshipping you, not the other way around.”

His declaration burns through you, igniting a need that had been left untapped for years.

You were used to submitting to Matt Martin. You thought that you loved it. But now, here he was ready to bow to you and your desires and your will. That thought alone made a fire pool in your lower stomach, your lips pressing against his again.

His hands tighten against your skin, securing his grip on you as he lifts himself from the bed with you in his arms. The sensation of the smooth sheets pressing against your back is almost instantaneous, Matt’s lips falling from yours to retrace their previous pathway along your jaw, down the column of your throat and across your collarbones. You are about to lift yourself upright to pull the material of your dress away from your frame but Matt’s arms keep you pinned against the mattress. Instead, his hand simply tugs the fabric up, painstakingly exposing more of your skin to the cool air until the silk is bunched around your waist.

You feel Matt’s smile against your skin as his lips continue their descent, kisses placed against your stomach before he presses a whisper of one right above the edge of your panties.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes darting up to look at you.

The only sound that your voice can manage is a whine but it’s enough for Matt, his elegant fingers hooking and twisting around your waistband. Your head falls back as you lift your hips to help him pull the soft cotton away. He tugs the material down your legs at a painstaking pace, lifting your feet to unhook the elastic from around your ankles.

You expect – no, you need him to return to the apex of your thighs. But you soon realize how much Matt meant it when he said he planned on worshipping you.

His hands guide your feet to rest on his muscular thighs as his finger unbuckle your shoe, sliding it off before repeating the action on the other side. He lifts your leg, your bare heel now resting on the back of his shoulder and you sigh when you feel his lips press against your calf. They linger as he makes his way back up your frame, a kiss pressed on your shin, your knee, your inner thigh.

It feels like reverence. It feels like devotion – to you, to the way you make him feel.

Your hand reaches down, tangling in his hair and gently tugging him closer to the place you needed him most. Matt lets you guide him and, after he brings both of your legs to rest on his shoulders, his arm wrapping around your waist, pinning your hips to the bed, he finally – finally – presses his mouth against your core.

A relieved sigh escapes your chest as Matt’s lips move, his tongue darting out to trace your folds. Your sighs turn to whimpers to moans as he continues his ministrations, remembering all the things that make your breathing hitch, your thighs shake. Remembering all the ways you come undone.

“Still so sweet,” he murmurs. “Still so desperate for me.”

He resumes his movements, winding you up in the most deliberate way. Your free hand twists into the sheets as he drags you closer to the edge, his tongue diving into your cunt before lifting to flick against your clit, the action causing your hips to jolt from beneath his strong arm. You swear that you are about to rip his sheets based on how tight you are holding them.

You’re too strung out to see Matt’s eyes lift, him noticing the death grip you have on the soft cotton covering the mattress. In your haze, you can feel the grip he has on your thigh loosen and depart but your mind doesn’t understand the reason until you feel his hand dancing across your fingers twisted in the sheets, silently coaxing you to release the fabric. You do and as soon as there is space, his fingers filling the gaps between yours, holding your hand tightly as his mouth continues to work its sinful magic against you.

Your orgasm hits you unexpectedly, your back arching off the bed as the tidal wave of pleasure crashes through your body, radiating from your stomach down to the tips of each limb. Your hand tightens around his so firmly that you believe you must be cutting off circulation. But Matt doesn’t seem to mind, squeezing your hand tighter in response. He moans against your core in response to the taste of your release flooding his tongue, the vibration sending another round of shudders down your spine.

The feeling of Matt’s mouth and hands leaving you ignites a new wave of desperation, one that is only partially satiated when he returns to hover over you, kissing you deeply. You moan into his mouth when you taste the tang of your own essence still coating his tongue.

“I can’t believe I forgot how good you were at that,” you exhale when your lips fall from his.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget how gorgeous you look when you cum,” he murmurs, his head dipping down to your neck, his quiet assertation making you smile.

You let him press his lips against your throat, content to lay beneath him for the moment. But when you feel his hips roll against yours, his own hunger for you and your body not yet satisfied, another ache of need hits you. You pull his head back up to your face, capturing his lips in another feverish kiss.

Matt’s body hovers mere centimeters above yours, his hips pressed against you. The position makes it easy for you to hook your leg around him. Using what strength you had, you somehow manage to flip the two of you around, Matt’s back crashing onto the bed, your body now suspended above him.

You break the kiss, lifting yourself upright with a grin on your face as your hands trace over the ridges of his chest. His own hands dance up your thighs, sneaking beneath the hem of your dress to caress the soft skin around your hipbones. In the span of a breath, your fingers bunch the silken material of your gown, gathering it in your hands before you pull the fabric over your head.

The gentle sharp inhale of Matt’s breath as your body becomes entirely exposed to him is music to your ears. There is no stopping his hands as they continue to drift up your body, gliding over the curves of your hips and waist, dancing across your ribcage before coming to cup your breasts. He caresses the sensitive skin, his thumbs reaching to brush against your nipples causing your head to fall back, a soft plea for him to continue falling from your mouth. He listens, his fingers roving across your body, as if there was not an inch of skin that he wanted to leave untouched.

“Such a gorgeous perfect body,” he mutters, making the pool of desire within you fill again.

You lift your hips up only so far as to reach behind you, tugging at the fabric of his slacks and boxer briefs; a silent request. His hands fall from your body to pull the material down his legs and you feel him kick off the only remaining barriers between your bodies. You lean forward as you kiss him again, your hips sinking back down. A simultaneous moan escapes both of you as you grind against him, your arousal coating the soft skin of his shaft.

There is want and then there is pure unadulterated need and the latter is what takes a hold of you now. Your lips fall from his as you stretch your body forward, your arm reaching for the nightstand drawer, the place he used to – and now you hope still does – keep his condoms. Your progress is halted briefly by Matt’s head lifting to wrap his lips around your nipples, the action making another gasp sound your throat. You persevere, albeit somewhat distracted because of Matt’s ministrations, pulling open the drawer, relieved to see the box in the same place, thankful that not everything had changed.

But as you reach for one of the square packets, your eyes land on a stack of envelopes pushed against the other side and you swear you see your name scrawled across the white paper. You don’t have any time to linger on them as you feel Matt’s teeth gently nip at your skin, pulling your attention back to him.

“Please, darling, hurry up,” he implores, dark blue eyes looking up to you. “Need to get inside you.”

Who were you to deny him?

Your fingers grasp the foil, your body returning to its upright position above him. You rip open the packet, pulling the rubber from the confines and preparing it before you reach behind you, taking Matt in your hand. He throws his head back, his hair haloing around his face as you give him a few languid strokes before sliding the condom on.

There is no waiting, no more hesitation as you lift your hips up. Your free hand presses against the center of his chest for balance as you guide him to your entrance. You aren’t sure if it’s him or yourself you’re teasing when you slide the tip of him against your folds once, twice before you align yourself to him.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as you sink down, the stretch of him entering you delectably foreign and yet comfortingly familiar. Matt has a similar reaction to the sensation of your walls wrapping around him, his hands flying up to your hips, his grip tightening around you so much so that you swear you’re going to have bruises in the shape of his fingerprints the next morning.

“Fuck, darling,” he growls as your hips meet his, him bottoming out inside of you. “Still feel like fucking heaven around me.”

Your only response is a whimper as your eyes flutter shut, both of your hands now resting on his chest, using him for leverage as you begin to move. Matt guides the motion of your hips, helping you bounce on top of him, letting you grind against him, more sharp gasps falling from your lips as your clit rubs against the taut skin of his lower stomach.

“That’s it sweetheart,” he praises, fingers brushing against your skin as you ride him. “Take what you want from me. It’s yours to have.”

You whine, grinding your hips even deeper onto him, one of your hands lifting to tease your nipples. You missed this, the feeling of Matt hitting spots so deep in you, spots that no one else had been able to find before and since.

“God, I missed this,” Matt groans, echoing your thoughts, his eyes devouring your body. “Missed you.”

His words force you to open your eyelids and when your eyes lock, you almost cum simply from the way he is staring at you: like you were the most beautiful piece of artwork, like you were sculpted from the purest marble, crafted from the finest paints. Like you deserved to be hung in the Louvre.

“Matt,” you whine, his name falling from your lips in a plea as your movements falter against him.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks, his own voice strained and earnest. “What do you need?”

“Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” he questions. But unlike the times before, he’s not asking in order to tease you, to be cruel, or to force you to beg him for a mere sliver of his attention. He is asking because he wants to hear you say it – wants to hear you confess that you’ve missed him and that you’ve been wanting him as much as he has been wanting you.

“Please,” you reply. “Please, I need it. I need you.”

Your words aren’t twinged with contempt, nor are they wretched from your mouth unwillingly. They fall from your lips because you mean them, because you want to beg for him – not the other way around.

A gasp is torn from your chest as Matt lifts himself up, his chest pressing against yours. His hands trace your spine, one burrowing into the hair at the nape of your neck, the other resting heavy on the small of your back. He pulls you to him, kissing you again and swallowing every noise that falls from your lips as he drags your hips into his.

You weren’t sure if it was because you were wound too tight or that you truly couldn’t comprehend what was happening because before you knew it, Matt had spun you around, flipping you once again so you were the one laying against the sheets. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips and before you can moan at the feeling of him thrusting into you, your sounds are muffled by his lips again.

Matt eventually breaks away, one arm reaching back to grip your thigh, pulling one leg higher, the new angle causing every stroke of him to brush against that damnable spot that made you see stars. You cry out, your head collapsing against the bed, Matt’s name falling from your lips.

“Fuck, I missed this,” Matt mutters, keeping his steady pace as he watches your body respond to his movements. “Missed how beautiful you look underneath me. Missed this perfect fucking pussy. Fucking taking all of me like it’s made for me.”

His possessiveness makes you whimper, the high-pitched sound catching his ear.

“That right, baby?” he asks. “This cunt still mine, even after all this time?”

“Yes,” comes your reply, wrapped in a strangled moan. “I’m all yours. I’m still yours,” you gasp out, your hips desperately chasing his.

“And I’m all yours,” Matt replies, his head dropping down to kiss you again. “Let it out, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

He doesn’t speed up, content to keep his languid pace, steadily driving you towards that cliff. The noises that escape you are incoherent, a jumbled mess of curses and pleas as your walls flutter desperately around him. It feels like the most deliberate and exquisite torture, a pleasure that you would welcome time and time again if he would let you.

“Come on, darling,” you hear Matt’s voice whisper in your ear. “Remind me how good it feels when that beautiful cunt cums around me.”

It is the quiet demand that has you falling off the edge, your muscles stiffening as your orgasm hits you. You can hear a faint growl rumble from Matt, murmured praise being spoken into your skin like a prayer as he fucks you through it, your legs trembling as they fall from him.

Matt’s movements finally increase in speed as he chases own climax, each move of his hips making you whimper. You tug his head to you, kissing him fiercely and swallowing his groans as he stills and you bask in the sensation of his cock pulsing inside of you.

Your labored breaths mingle as you stay wrapped up together, sweat drenched foreheads pressed against each other as you both collect yourself. Matt’s hand, the one that that had been gripping your thigh, lifts to brush your hair away from your forehead as his eyes appraise you. You can’t stop the way your eyes close as he leans in, kissing you once again, his tongue dipping into your open mouth and you whine as you feel him slowly pull out of you.

He places a gentle chaste kiss against your lips before lifting himself off you, walking around the bed. Your eyes track his movements, watching as he stops at the nightstand, the top drawer still open. There is a flicker of some emotion that crosses his face before he pushes the drawer closed before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. You hear the water running before he returns, a warm damp washcloth in one hand and a t-shirt in the other.

Matt gently presses the washcloth against your skin, starting at your forehead and temples before descending until he reached the apex of your thighs, brushing away the lingering wetness of your release from your skin. He throws the towel into the hamper and holds out his hand, which you take. You let him lift your torso off the sheets as he hands you the t-shirt. He holds you steady while you slip the soft cotton over your head, the worn Maple Leaf emblem resting on your upper chest almost completely faded.

You collapse back against the sheets as Matt pulls on a pair of boxers before climbing next to you. His arms wrap around your body as he settles behind you, pulling your back close to his chest. Your own fingers lift to absentmindedly play with his as reality crashes back over you.

You aren’t sure what to say, if there even is anything to be said. You don’t want to ruin the golden halo of peace that surrounds the two of you but you knew you couldn’t just leave it like this. There were still too many questions unanswered, still too much uncertainty.

“What are you thinking about?” you hear Matt’s husky voice whisper from behind you. You sigh, wiggling in his grasp. He loosens his hold enough for you to spin and face him, his blue eyes soft as they take in the sight of you in his bed.

“A lot of things,” you answer, the response vague enough to let him decide whether to press on or to leave it at that. He decides to do the former.

“Like what?”

Your eyes lift to think, picturing the mess of thoughts in your head as you attempt to untangle each. The loose threads seem innumerable, too many to choose which was the most important to tug and which could be saved for a later moment. So, you just latch onto the first image that appears in your mind.

“Could I ask you a question?” you say, eyes connecting back to him.

“Of course.”

“When I was in your nightstand earlier,” you begin, carefully observing even the tiniest reactions that tug at Matt’s expression. “I saw a stack of envelopes and it looked like they had my name on them. What are they?”

There is a myriad of emotions that dance across Matt’s face, each more fleeting than the last before his features settle to what looks to you to be apathy or resignation. You feel your heart panic as his body turns away from, fearing that you spoke the wrong words – said the wrong thing. But it quiets when you watch him pull open the nightstand drawer, his hand reaching in. Your eyes follow his movements as he pulls out the stack of envelopes before spinning back to you.

“They’re for you,” he says, holding them out towards you. You take them from his hands, the bundle held tight by a rubber band. Your fingers flip through each of them, finding your name written on every single one. Your eyes dart from the paper back to him and you swear you see his cheeks tinge a lightish pink.

“My therapist suggested that I write you letters.”

“Your therapist?”

“Yeah. I started seeing him shortly after you left,” he explains, his hand reaching behind to awkwardly scratch at the nape of his neck. “Realized that there was a lot I needed to work on.”

“Why didn’t you send them?”

“I didn’t know your new address,” he tells you, the candor in his voice strengthening as he continues. “And I was too proud to ask. Besides, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to hear from me. Thought you might throw them away if I did send them.”

You don’t respond, neither confirming or denying his assumption because in that moment, you weren’t certain what you would’ve done if a letter from him had appeared in your mailbox.

“What’s in them?” you ask, choosing to revert to a safer statement.

“Things I wanted to say to you. Things I never said to you when you needed to hear them. Everything I wanted to tell you but never got the chance to.”

There is a silence as you take in his declaration, your curiosity piquing as your fingers trace the edges of the envelopes. There is a desire to read them but also a fear, unsure if the contents would contain blame or apologies or gaslighting or regret.

“You don’t have to read them now,” Matt speaks again, his voice drawing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to read them at all if you don’t want to. They’re yours to do whatever you please.”

Something inside you tells you that it’s dangerous; that it’s a bad idea to open them. To trace over the words and strong emotions that forced him to put pen to paper. To allow Matt Martin back into the heart that you’ve spent years repairing. But when you feel his hand trace down the side of your face, his fingers twirling a strand of your hair, you realize that that line had already been blurred beyond recognition.

You didn’t know what a bad idea was when Matt was around. You had already done so many things that you shouldn’t have with him. What was one more bad idea compared to the thousands you acted on before?

What was this bad idea in comparison to one that brought you to Matt Martin’s bed in the first place?

Your mind swirls with all the drastic changes you had experienced in such a short amount of time. How different the world felt right now versus a few hours ago. How different the man sitting next to you was from the man you left in a Long Island bar two years ago. You felt as if you lived twenty lifetimes since you woke up. The past, the present, and every possible future tangled together in your mind, an amalgamation of all that had happened and all that could happen.

But you didn’t want to think about that right now. All you wanted to do was sink into Matt Martin’s arms and hold him close.

So, that’s exactly what you did.

You gently turn away from Matt, reaching up to place the stack of envelopes on top of the neighboring nightstand. There was still uncertainty whether you would read them, but the action of keeping them meant that you would consider it. And when you face Matt again, it seems that – for him – that was enough. This time, it is you who reaches out to intertwine your hand with his, scooting closer to him. He follows your lead, his body sinking into the mattress until you are pressed together, side by side. Your head comes to rest on chest, your eyes closing, the sound of his strong heartbeat echoing in your ear.

Right before sleep overtakes you, you manage to whisper to him the truth that your heart sang out, the sentence that you realized you couldn’t deny even after months of trying to do just that.

“I missed you too.”

The last thing you register is a soft kiss pressed onto the crown of your head, and encompassed in Matt’s warm embrace, you let the feeling of peace wash over you.

… but it’s gonna be alright. I did my time…

a/n 2.0: I did decide to leave it a little open ended because i just liked the feeling of it better. but if you want to know how what i think happens after this, i will direct you to this mashup

tagging the babes who made writing this so rewarding: @texanstarslove @comphy-and-cozy @smileysvech @laurenairay @dissonannce @cowboybarzy @cellythefloshie @provokedgoalie @m00nlightdelights @tkachvkmatthew @cixrosie @alwaysclassyeagle @geospatialharmony

#nicole writes #matt martin fic #matt martin imagine #matt martin smut #new york islanders fic #new york islanders imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

126 notes · View notes

shootingstarwritings · 11 months ago

Text

First Impressions

Coming home from another exhausting day, Lydia threw herself onto her couch and screamed into a cushion.

“Hey Lyd,” her husband Carlos said as he came into the living room. Chewing on some leftover chocolate cake from the fridge, he sat down on the other side of the sofa, taking one more bite and swallowing before asking, “‘nother rough day?” The crumbs were probably all over the living room by now… to Lydia's immense chagrin.

“The hell do you think?” said Lydia, the pillow muffling her voice. She looked up and glared at her annoying beloved. “More asshole clients not interested in my business proposals for like the 12th time this week, motherfuckers that lose any and all interest as soon as they hear my voice over the phone, and every smug prick that landed a deal just telling me, ‘Just work hard, this is a meritocracy! Nobody thinks less of you cuz you’re a woman.’” She made sure to put on her ‘bro-voice’ as she regurgitated the same garbage everyone of her male peers that managed to keep getting sales said to her.

“Damn, I’m sorry honey.” Carlos shifted over and began to massage her back. Lydia let out a low moan as Carlos worked his magical hands once more. The knots in her back slowly untangled and her head began to clear. It was so difficult to think with all the stress causing her head to turn all soupy. “I just wish there was something I could do.”

“... There is something I’ve been thinking about.”

“Oh?”

“You’re on vacation starting tomorrow, right? Three weeks?”

“Yeah…?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” Carlos continued asking, but Lydia insisted nothing was wrong. She also had to make sure that she would get out of work after just a few more days. All she needed to do was meet with a few more clients and they could enjoy the summer together.

Carlos still seemed incredulous, but eventually he relented and walked back to his office. “You’re the best, honey,” said Lydia before he shut the door behind him. Carlos looked over his shoulder and beamed at her with a loving glint in his eyes. Because of his job as a programmer and debugger, most of his work could be done at home. The rest of his time was spent taking care of some errands that Lydia was either too tired or simply hated doing (mainly cooking and taking care of any bugs or spiders).

It also made it convenient whenever Lydia needed to take a break from herself, without his knowledge of course.

The rest of the day was spent recuperating from the day’s stress. A few rhythm game rounds and a scalding hot shower was enough for Lydia to regain her upbeat and chipper personality. Around midnight, the two of them cuddled in the bed.

They had been married for months, but somehow holding each other beneath the sheets never got old. In fact, it somehow got more personal and intimate with the passing months. Light kisses on skin, stroke and caressing flesh that smelled like home, and the faint yet steady heartbeat never failed to relax Lydia’s mind and allow her to comfortably slip into a lengthy slumber.

Tonight was the sole exception.

“Mind if I’m the big spoon this time?” Lydia whispered to a half-asleep Carlos. Opening just one tired eye, Carlos just mumbled something and nodded before flipping over. Lightly tittering to herself, Lydia wrapped her arms around Carlos and squeezed him tight. She rubbed her face against his back and took a whiff. Chestnuts--the scent of his favorite conditioner. Lydia was truly glad she had introduced such a world of bathroom supplies to him.

“You’re the perfect man,” Lydia muttered, her voice muffled as she buried her face into the space between his neck and shoulder. “You won’t remember, but I almost feel bad for doing this.”

Carlos was barely even able to let out a questioning hum before Lydia’s body began to slip inside of him. Carlos let out a gasp as his body tightened in response to the sensual penetration. It wasn’t too dissimilar to the first time Lydia had pegged him. “Huh—! Whu—! Oh…WOAH!"

Lydia didn’t stop her possession. She thrust into Carlos, her petite yet rotund form slipping into Carlos’s thinner and hairier body. Carlos let out muffled moans as she shoved his face into a pillow with her free arm. He could do nothing as Lydia humped her hips further into his own fatter and hairier hips. His legs kicked and convulsed on the bed as he could hardly struggle.

“I love you, Carlos,” Lydia whispered, licking his sweaty neck. “I just need to borrow you for a few…” She nibbled on his ear lobe. Most of her legs had already melted into his. Not too long afterward, she pushed her chest into his own. She giggled at the sound of Carlos’ long, drawn-out moans as her boobs became replaced with his pectorals. “It’s nice being a man from time to time. So big and hairy…” she muttered to him.

Carlos’ continued to moan, breathing deeply as Lydia fucked herself into him. Soon, she was comfortable enough to drop her free arm and force it into his own. “Haah…! Haaahh… you’re a kinky one, Lyd…” he said in between fast, tense moans.

“I know, baby,” she said, half her head already phasing through his wider back. “I know.” As the last of Lydia melded into Carlos, he let out a long moan and collapsed onto his back. His hips thrust into the air over and over as Lydia acclimated herself inside of him. Each limb was dangerously full.

“HAAAH! H-Holy shit… I-I’m… I’m--!” Then, with one last hump, Carlos’ cock exploded all over his boxers. “Ahh… Ahh… J-Just… Just do whatever you want, babe…” he said in between labored pants as he lost consciousness. Although it felt like a completely new experience, it was truly the third or fourth time this had happened. And just like the previous times, Carlos would believe that it was just a strange and hazy dream from a mind that needed to be a little more open to experimenting in the bedroom.

At least, that was what Lydia would tell him.

Speaking of…

Lydia let out a moan as she felt her borrowed muscles and the familiar weight of Carlos’ body. She stretched her toned and hairy limbs with a little giggle. It wasn’t fair that Carlos always got to feel like that whenever he woke up. It was part of the reason why Lydia would always rub up against him in the morning. She just couldn’t get enough of the muscle and hair. However, as the giddiness of yet another successful possession began to wear off, Lydia found herself yawning and slowly drifting off to sleep. Taking over another’s body always took quite a bit of energy, for both the possessor and the host body.

Tomorrow was a new day for Lydia.

“Great, glad to hear it!” Lydia said with Carlos’ deep and friendly voice as she spoke to her fourth client.

“And I’ll follow this meeting up with an email with more details of the deal. Mm-hmm, mm-hmm,” she said, giving Carlos’ cock a nice and firm stroke. None of her clients had any idea that the man they were speaking to was Lydia’s husband. Being able to roleplay and pass off as her husband to these strangers, knowing that she was able to fool these sexist pigs that would’ve sneered and turned up their noses at just the sound of her voice, light up Lydia’s borrowed loins. “Thank you so much for your time and have a great day!” Lydia forced Carlos to say before hanging up.

She threw Carlos’ head back and let out a loud, unbecoming moan as her borrowed cock grew to full mast in her grip. She threw an arm back and took a whiff of Carlos’ natural musk. “Mmm, Carlos. Just another day of me inside and we can get our vacation started. I just have a few more clients to talk to.” She chuckled as she flexed a bit more in her husband’s body. Lydia was already done with all the clients in her schedule. She had some privacy for the rest of the day…

“Oh, Carlos…!” she said as she began to explore her husband’s body once more.

#male possession #male body possession #f2m possession #husband possession

191 notes · View notes

satuguro · 2 years ago

Text

*ೃ࿐ BLUE MONDAY

[ ACT III: KNOWING, WANTING ]

ethan landry x reader

#SYNOPSIS— you facetime someone first and you hate it, ethan can't tell when you're joking or serious, and you really hate richie's style.

#CONTAINS— murder!, gore!!!!, satire (!!), familial issues (implications of abuse), mentions of anxiety/ptsd, richie x reader (heavily one sided), stalker behavior!, fake dating, richie (yes, he needs his own warning), suggestive content

#AUTHORSNOTE— i'm so sorry for such a late update and the lack of activity on my blog, my mental health took such a plummet.

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III

the low hum of the computers in the radio studio and the soft sound of music paying through the control room speakers were the only sounds you heard as you spun around in your chair. a clean spotify playlist— something you weren't supposed to technically use for radio, but your station manager used it, so who cares? — played soft music on air as you waited patiently for your last song to end.

humming softly to yourself, you scrolled mindlessly through social media, taking in the last few days of relaxation you had until you finally began with you and ethan's little plan.

reluctantly date richie. gather information. get the fuck out and give it to the police.

and if all else fails? well, you'd kill him (something ethan was surprisingly not that disturbed with. talk about sibling rivalry.).

you hadn't spoken to either of them ever since sunday, when you and ethan formulated your little plan at an aesthetically pleasing botanical cafe.

the music came to a slow end, and you paused the playlist before turning on your mic. "that was my last song of the night. remember; variety hour with blackmore university radio's music manager— which is me, if you've been paying attention —is every thursday from 9 to 10. good night, new york." and with that, you returned the radio on auto play, allowing it to bleed into a few promos.

the radio and studio office was dark at this point, lacking any form of life other than you. with an entire radio station being led only by college students, it was common for everyone to be gone by the time 6 pm hit.

but you were a bit of a masochist. so here you were, doing your mandatory radio show in the ambiently lit studio and office of your station. it smelled of soft lavender from the plug-in wall scent one of your co-workers put up, and the only lights came from the lamps and soft yellow light that was put in to replace the fluorescent white that you swore made days go by longer.

your headphones were over your ears, one of them pushed back behind your ear to allow yourself to hear the outside world (you had to be cautious nowadays). pulling your tote bag over your shoulder, you locked the studio door behind you and closed up the station. and as you walked down the dimly lit stairs to the exit, you half listened to the echoing of your footsteps as you shut the door behind you.

fall was your favorite season. not just for the fact that the weather was a perfect mix of not too hot and not too cold, or that it was the last few months before you fell deep into procrastination due to the lack of sunshine, but it was because it was always so beautiful. red and browns, yellows and oranges, all painted on once-green leaves before they fell.

the crunching of the leaves below your feet as you began to walk back to your dorm was soothing behind the autumn playlist (which you had carefully curated, of course) you were listening to. and it would've gone on like that for the entire walk home. the same walk you did every thursday without fail, when barely anyone was out and about on campus and when it was only you and whatever weather there was that evening.

but you could feel someone watching you.

as though someone had poured water down your back, your skin prickled and the hair on your body stood up as your walking suddenly came to a stop. pushing your headphones down around your neck, you dared to look behind you.

nothing. nothing but the darkness of the rest of the campus, barely lit by the flickering street lamps. the light from the lamp you were standing next to bled into nothingness, revealing practically nothing to your eyes.

your hands dug into your pockets as you grabbed your phone, swallowing thickly as you dared to stare deeper into the night. deeper into the darkness you stared.

and then you dared to turn back ahead of you, walking with a stride quicker than how you usually walked. step by step, shoes crunching in the leaves as you briskly walked, keeping your chin up in faux confidence, as though you weren't hearing another pair of footsteps walking in the same exact pace you were.

and then you came to a sudden halt.

and you heard the extra footstep from someone that certainly wasn't you.

and you began to walk faster. step. step. step. feeling those heartless and emotionless eyes staring in to the back of your head much like you had stared at the back of your father's head. hungry. blood thirsty. desperate to feel the warm crimson on your skin.

you could hear them breathe. heavy and warm, excited and thrumming with adrenaline because it felt as though you were paying attention to them. you were finally reacting to them in the way they wanted you to; by running away in fear.

you pulled out your student id card, slamming it against the card reader before opening the door to your dorm building and shutting it behind you, chest heaving as you tried to compose yourself.

you went to the elevator, slamming on the button to get you up to your dorm room.

your feet walked briskly on the hallway as you made a beeline for your dorm room, hands trembling as you found yourself disassociating, barely showing any emotion at all if it weren't for your shaking hands. but as you were pulling out your key, you saw the flower on the ground.

lilies of the valley. your favorite.

looking up and down the hall, you grabbed it hastily and you unlocked the door, shutting it behind you and letting out a breath. staring down at the flowers, you pulled out a single note with a heart drawn on it in crimson red ink.

"fuck," you breathed, shaking your head as you walked into your room and locked it behind you, throwing the lilies into the trash as you swallowed thickly.

who else could have done this? who else in your life was most likely to follow you like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?

richie.

he was stalking you. richie was fucking stalking you.

you grabbed your phone, scrolling before you found a contact, clicking facetime on it and waiting patiently as you tried to clam the harsh beating of your chest. once, it rang. then twice. then three times, and you almost reached over to hang up, if it weren't for the face that the little sound came out of your phone speaker, signaling that he actually picked up.

"hello?" ethan said, his face squished by his pillow as he peered into the phone screen. "you actually called me. i never took you for a facetime person, but uh—"

"is richie there?" you hissed, almost scared to raise your voice as you paced your room frantically. your hands moved on their own as you took your ring off of your finger and began to run it over your knuckles.

back and forth. back and forth.

"no, i don't think so— what's going on?" ethan sat up in his bed, voice hushed low as he looked down at you. you were moving— he could see it —and he looked haphazard as he stared at you through the phone. protectiveness striked at his chest again as ethan gripped his phone tighter. "y/n, what's going on?"

"ethan, he's stalking me," you hissed, panic evident in your tone as you tried to compose yourself.

back and forth. back and forth.

"i— i was walking home from work and i swear to god, e, it was him. and he probably left these fucking flowers at my door too." you flipped the phone camera to show ethan the trashed flowers. "i'm not having second thoughts or anything, but if i have to deal with his stalking it's honestly just gonna be a pain in my ass—"

"you're not having second thoughts?" ethan ran a stressed hand through his hair, breathing out a heavy exhale. "jesus, y/n, if i were you i wouldn't even pull through with this shit."

"good thing you're not me then, huh?" you swallowed thickly, walking to your bed and throwing yourself onto it, letting your back hit your mattress. raising your phone so that ethan could see your face clearly.

you hated facetiming people.

"okay, that's all," you stated, as though letting him know that his brother was a stalker was just the most casual thing in the world. "i'm hanging up now."

"w—wait!" ethan said hurriedly right before your finger pressed the bright red button. face dusted light pink, ethan looked over your (once again) unreadable face. "can we.. stay on call?"

"no." you blinked. "why would we?"

"because i'm basically sleeping in an apartment with a stalker-murderer!" ethan hissed, voice coming down to a harsh whisper as the sound of the apartment door opening and closing rang in his ears. "i don't want to be, like, attacked in my sleep or something."

"he's not gonna attack you when quinn is there," you stated bluntly, finger still hovering over the big red button. "even if he does suspect something. you'll be fine." and you almost pressed the red button again. almost.

"y/n," ethan groaned, letting his free hand cover his face. you were so stubborn, so brutally honest, and yet ethan found himself not even minding it as he practically pleaded for you to just stay on call with him. "just.. just stay with me for a bit, okay? promise you can hang up once i fall asleep."

you narrowed your eyes at him. "do i look like a guard dog to you?"

"you basically act like one."

you stared at ethan, practically challenging him silently as he stared right back at you with those warm hazel eyes. "please?" he added, making you suck in a breath as you huffed.

"..fine."

an appreciateive smile spread on the boy's face as you set your phone down, murmuring a half hearted, "i'll be back," as you went to do your skincare routine and get ready for bed. "don't die," you added before you shut your room door behind you.

bad joke.

you washed your face, letting your hands move slowly down your face as you let out a long sigh, feeling your continuously tense shoulders relax. staring at yourself in the mirror, you found your face blurring into the background, melting into your bathroom walls, features seeping into the tile, melting into the grout.

you stared at yourself in the reflective one way mirror, face blank, pupils constricted as your reflection stared back at you. it felt like you were floating far above your head, unable to anchor yourself in the present.

the voice of the detective felt like someone was speaking to you from underwater. his voice was so garbled, so muffled, you could barely comprehend it. “y/n. you have to at least say something.”

but what was there to say? that you mashed up your father’s brain and liked it? that was a bit straightforward. and only a little bit too guilty.

what were you doing? you were putting yourself into the same position you were in those few years ago; a position of danger, playing a victim just to feel the satisfaction of watching someone’s life melt from their face. and that satisfaction didn’t come with any kind of remorse, because it took a special kind of person to make you want to see their brains on the outside rather than the inside.

you were regressing. maybe you really weren’t over what had happened to you. maybe you never would be, and you felt tour skin prickle at the thought, your hands gripping the sides of your sink as you stared at your mirror.

“your mother says you were protecting her.” the detective leaned in, putting his arms on the table in front of you both. his gaze weighed heavy on you, and you could feel him scan you like a file; taking in how expressionless you were, how even after everything that had happened, you didn’t shed a single tear. “was your father abusive, y/n?”

and that made your eyes snap towards his, cold and cunning, staring at him, unblinking. but if you peers too closely, focused too much on the emotion behind your eyes, the exhaustion of living, you could see that you had every reason to feel nothing for what you had done. you had every fucking reason to smash your father’s head in.

the door to your bedroom shut behind you as you walked back into your room, throwing your shirt over your head and grabbing one to sleep in. "hello?" ethan's voice came through your phone, your breath hitching when you realized he waited on call the entire time while you disassociated in the bathroom. just another day.

"hey." you made yourself comfortable in your bed, hands coming together under your head as you laid it down on your pillow, staring at your phone right next to your bed. an awkward silence followed for nearly five minutes, the only sounds coming from your breathing and ethan's mild shuffling. your eyes had fallen shut as you listened to ethan's breathing through the speaker.

"are you scared, y/n?"

the question, the sudden break of silence didn't make you move. you only kept your eyes shut, silently manifesting for the sweet arms of sleep to clamp around you. you hummed in response, pretending to think, but you knew how you felt. how this exact situation made you feel like you were 16 again, killing your own flesh and blood for just an ounce of freedom.

you hadn't broken at the seams yet. you were still here, breathing, eyes shut, on a phone with some boy you had taught how to smoke only a few days ago.

that's what mattered.

"are you?" you asked, dodging the question easily.

".. yeah." ethan sighed, the sound loud through your phone (he needed to move away from the phone just a bit, but you didn't feel like telling him that yet). from his side, he laid on his back on his bed, eyes set on the white ceiling above him as he spoke to you, someone emotionally stunted (he would never say that out loud, a it would be hypocritical of him to do so), about how he was feeling. "i think i've always been scared. of richie, i mean."

you stayed silent, your eyes slowly opening as you looked at your phone. the waver in ethan's voice, the way he almost felt ashamed to tell you how he felt.. he was being genuine. "what has richie done to you? to make you scared of him, i mean."

ethan's jaw clenched, eyes unblinking towards his ceiling. staring. gathering memories he had tried so desperately to forget, but every time he saw richie's face, he could only remember them. "he was always the more popular one. him and quinn— i was like.."

"a nerd."

"rude, but true." ethan sighed slowly. "one time, during middle school, i snitched to my dad that richie had brought a girl into our house —he was in high school, mind you —and i couldn't sleep because they had been fucking in his room. and that lack of sleep made me late. my dad doesn't like it when we're late." he breathed in shakily. "a few days later, after my robotics club, i was walking home and a bunch of high school kids drove up next to me and, uh..."

your brows furrowed. ".. beat you up?"

"yup." ethan popped the 'p', breathing in deeply before exhaling again. "and i saw him. richie. sitting in the back seat of the car just watching as these teenagers more than half my size beat me up to a pulp. and he smiled at me. as though i deserved to have my torso bruised and my face slammed on the concrete in the 7th grade." ethan chuckled humorlessly, his laughter quickly fading. "point is.. he always gets what he wants."

he sounded so.. defeated. years and years of being tormented by your own blood made him so afraid to speak up; to the point where he didn't even feel like doing so anymore.

you didn't know how to respond.

".. you're still up for killing him?" you asked, voice slightly unsure due to the fact that ethan had just casually spilled some of his trauma over the phone to you, who was half asleep and barely coherent at this point.

"i wish it didn't have to be this way—"

"no you don't."

"what?" ethan blinked, brows knotting together in confusion as he looked at his phone in disbelief over your words.

"you don't mind that it went this way. because you hate him." you sounded so factual. so casual, as though the entire situation was a case you could easily dissect and observe from a far. "and he's done a lot of shit to you and others. the people he's killed. the people he's manipulated. people like richie don't deserve anything." your words became sour, laced with the poison from the past.

"how do you do that?" ethan asked you.

"do what?"

"be so calm in this situation. this is dangerous shit— y/n, you're willingly putting yourself in danger."

you swallowed hard, weighing your words in your head. "it's because i don't want anyone else to die like his victims did. and i," you blinked, "i want to get them their revenge."

"by killing him?"

"if i have to." a beat. "are you still okay with that?"

was he okay with that?

ethan didn't know. he had been walking through the entire week as though he was nothing more than a ghost— eating and drinking to survive, speaking only when spoken to, living his days out of fear because if his brother had been killing people, when would he turn on his siblings? when would richie kill quinn, or chad, or mindy, or tara, or sam, or him?

he didn't want to tell the police and had his brother escape from their confines the next day.

ethan sighed. "if i'm helping you, then yes. i am." a beat of silence, as though his thoughts were overcoming him, as though he was weighing his options in his head. he knew you were perfectly content with the silence over the phone (as you probably didn't want to be on the phone with him for so long in the first place), but ethan wasn't like that. he wanted to talk, but about what?

he wanted to talk to you.

he wanted to know you.

"if we're going to be working together, don't you think we should know each other more?" and his question came out as such a pure example of simple curiosity, simple human want to know of someone simply for the sake of knowing someone. to walk past one's walls and know the little facts about them.

you were not one to let people do that. you were not one to let someone simply know you, because your mind didn't work that way. it felt off, it felt odd— the idea that ethan wanted to know you before the shitshow began.

"you don't have to get to know me."

"i want to know you." ethan's breath hitched. "nothing like.. personal, or anything. just like.. what's your favorite season?"

"well, that's really pushing it." you heard his small chuckle on the other end, your eyebrows softening ever so slightly at the sound. "it's autumn. and yours?"

"spring." ethan blinked up at his ceiling. "i like the rain. the smell of petrichor— a lot of people hate it but i just.. don't."

you hummed in acknowledgement, turning your head towards your phone. "favorite color?"

"forest green. and yours?"

"greyish blue. like the kind that appears at dusk when there's fog over the ground." you felt your body relax a bit; the questions were fortunately far more shallow than you thought they would be. ".. are we gonna do this until you fall asleep?"

"if you don't mind," ethan murmured softly, shifting gently in his bed.

"what if i do mind? i do have shit to do tomorrow, you know," you muttered under your breath.

and ethan would've felt pretty bad by your words. you were always so brutally honest yet so horribly awkward (it was painful to watch at times, he had to admit), but there was one particular question weighing on his mind ever since he picked up your call. one that you had easily deflected moments before. "y/n, you didn't answer my question."

your brows furrowed. "what question?"

"aren't you scared?" ethan swallowed thickly, eyes spacing out as he stared at his ceiling, at the darkened abyss of his room. "for your life, for your friends, for anything?"

were you?

you didn't want to be honest with him. you didn't want to tell him that in all honesty, you were terrified. terrified of losing the friends (that was a strong word for it) you barely had, of losing the small bit of family that was still speaking to you with faux smiles and condolences even though they were under the impression that you were an unpredictable woman.

and unpredictable women terrified them.

but your emotions were always increasing tenfold with every passing hour, the thoughts being so jumbled up and so strong that you had simply learned to drown them out. to continue on with your life with your tornado of thoughts and no one to speak to and no one to look for because you were used to doing this all on your own.

you had dealt with it on your own before. you could deal with it again.

but rather than lie to ethan's face, you found yourself confessing much like a sinner to an angel. "i am. i'm terrified, ethan." and that was all.

your fingers flew over your keyboard, the past year of having to write essay after essay finally paying off as you typed furiously into your laptop.

evelyn campo murder 2020

evelyn campo murder cambria california

evelyn campo case

you had only found a few articles on her murder, most of them not even mentioning the girl's name, much less many details about her case (unless you counted grim retellings of the crime scene). there was only a brief mention of a possible suspect (the man you had a date with in literally a day), but other than that, nothing. the police had no leads.

"why isn't there much on her murder?" you asked, scrolling down an article with a frown on your face.

ethan sat next to you on your bed, peering over your shoulder as your eyes scanned your screen. jesus, you read fast. "quinn told me that her parents wanted to keep it under wraps," he murmured, only catching glimpses of the article's words. "but i heard they got some private detectives on the case, too."

"sounds like small town gossip."

"oh, that's cause it was." ethan's eyes landed on one quote from the article as your scrolling finally came to a stop. adam's apple bobbing at the sight of it, he read, '.. found stabbed an approximate 78 times ..' the sheer strength and passion, the excitement richie must've had when he killed evelyn made his stomach sick. and ethan would've easily puked over the side of your bed if you didn't speak to him, breaking him from his stupor.

"hey, stay with me."

and just like that, ethan did. his mind was brought back to the present.

"right. sorry." you oculd feel his breath fan gently over your neck as he continued to look over your shoulder. "if we find the fingertips of his current victims, we can connect him to her— evelyn's —murder."

"maybe he kept them." you looked at ethan, confusion written over his face at your words. "it's just a guess, i dunno. but if evelyn was richie's first victim, then he might have kept parts of her. like a—"

"trophy. oh, this is so fucked," ethan muttered under his breath, moving to lay horizontally on your bed, the situation at hand easily driving him to exhaustion as he stared at your ceiling.

"we should first find out who his most current victims are, if possible. see if anyone our age has gone missing in our university or nearby universities." you looked down at ethan, whose face laid near where you sat. "if we can't, then we need to find those fingertips."

"right."

a beat.

"richie's working, yeah?" you asked ethan, who nodded as his doe eyes turned to you.

"yeah. he can't really be anywhere but work right now.” a hint of a smile graced his features. “i stole a look at his scheduling. he’s probably knee deep in papers right now.” he saw your eyes flash over in worry, the glint disappearing just as quickly as it arrived, and ethan knew. he simply knew that ever since richie gave into his impulses and followed you home, you were on edge.

you were just good at hiding it. good thing ethan was a little bit too observant when he wanted to.

"y/n, he's working." silently reassuring, ethan gazed at you, reading your indifferent face, searching for any more sign of fear or worry, but it was gone. you had gotten rid of everything before it could show even more.

"right." you looked away from ethan, feeling his stupidly innocent gaze still lingering on your as you looked back at your laptop. if you were to meet with ethan anywhere else but your dorm, richie surely would've gone out of his way to see. at least in the safety of your dorm room, you could shut the blinds and lock the door and be sure of your safety.

"what're your guys' plans tomorrow?" ethan asked you, finally allowing your to move on from the indirect topic of your emotions.

you shrugged. "no idea. i never texted him first— that's embarrassing."

"you seemed fine with calling me first last night."

"i never said that wasn't embarrassing." you rolled your eyes, almost hearing the stupid small smile that graced ethan's face at your words.

a minute passed in silence, the only sounds being your typing as you tried to build your list of articles on evelyn's murder. you had a grand total of 5 articles; better than you thought, but not as much as you would've liked.

he shifted umcomfortably in his seat, the dead silence only a bit too awkward for him. "shouldn't you know your plans, though? just in case he, uh," ethan clears his throat, raising his brows knowingly. he didn't want to say the word; but you already knew what he was implying.

"kills me?"

"well, yeah."

"he's not going to kill me," you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "not yet, anyway. i'm too close to mindy; if i suddenly go missing after a date with him, mindy will find out for sure."

ethan's lips twitched into a small frown, hazel eyes darking with turmoil as he listened to you. "evelyn was my neighbor, y/n. she literally lived down the street from me; he's unpredictable—"

you almost winced at that word.

you could feel them all staring at you. whispering harshly, practically pointing at you as you stood at the doorway of your aunt's house, hands clasped together in front of you. your mother believed that having you locked up in the room of your new shared apartment in new york was unhealthy; and maybe she was right. for once, she had your best interests at heart, only you knew the outcome of her plan to assimilate you back into society under your shiny new last name.

"she's unpredictable," your aunt hissed as she talked to your mother, shamelessly looking you up and down as though you were some freak of nature, ignoring the clouded look over your eyes because you were barely keeping it together as it was. "you saw what she did, didn't you?"

luckily, you barely reacted.

"i know that, e."

"you know," he sat up in his seat, moving to sit next to you, facing the opposite way with his long legs splayed out on your bed, "after he was questioned by the police, he'd come home as though he had just come home from work or something. and he'd," he let out a sigh, "talk about it. like it was something so fucking casual."

"around you?" your eyebrows raised at that.

"no, never around me. but he would around my dad." contempt laced ethan's tone as he continued. it was hatred, but there was something underneath it that was something akin to jealousy, you realized. ''he'd tell him everything. what they asked that day. the leads he thinks they have— and he almost sounded proud that he was their only suspect."

"can i ask something?" you shifted to face your body towards his, your legs lightly touching his side. "if you were so sure that richie was the killer, why didn't you say anything?"

"because my dad worked for the department. so richie had an in." there it was again, you noticed; that familiar contempt. "and even though wayne bailey wasn't a part of the case, he upheld richie's innocence."

you blinked. "your family is fucked."'

"oh, i know."

"do you think you're the same way?"

ethan's eyebrows raised at your blunt question. he would've laughed in your face at your honesty if it weren't for the fact that you were dead serious. you stared at ethan, almost unblinking, expecting an equally honest answer back. "oh, you actually want to know?"

"yes?" you frowned a bit, tilting your head to the side a little. "did you think i was joking?"

"maybe?"

your brows knotted together. "i'm not joking, though."

"well, i know that now," ethan groaned, cheeks dusting pink out of slight embarrassment. "i haven't been diagnosed with anything other than like.. seasonal allergies and peanuts. maybe my moral code is a little messed up because i told you last night that i'm willing to help you kill my brother if i need to," his hands moved as he fell deeper and deeper into his ramble, "so maybe? the answer is maybe."

you listened to ethan ramble intently, watching his hands move as he spoke, as he ranted his jumbled thoughts in his mind to you. and in any other circumstance, you would've found ethan bailey annoying. he talked too much, couldn't handle silence, and had a way of going back and forth on things.

but you didn't mind ethan. he was tolerable.

you liked tolerable.

"or maybe the answer isn't maybe and i need to see a therapist. because i don't particularly feel bad for trying to put my murderous sociopathic brother in jail — not as much as i probably should, by the way — so the answer might be a yes, but for the sake of my sanity the answer is still.." ethan's string of words died in his throat when he realized he had been rambling for a good minute now.

you seemed like the type to interrupt someone who was speaking far too much and far too fast in a short period of time, but you hadn't said a word.

you were listening to him. staring (albeit a little creepily; had you blinked yet?) and observing ethan as he spoke too much about an uncomfortable topic to try and get rid of the unsettling feeling in his chest.

ethan cleared his suddenly dry throat as he stared into your eyes (for someone who hated to socialize, you held eye contact a little bit too much sometimes). "the answer is still a maybe," he managed, officially finishing his ramble. offering you a tight lipped smile, he added, "i rambled."

"you did." you replied.

"i'm sorry i did."

"nothing to be sorry about. i don't mind it." you stared at him for a little longer, blinking before turning back to your laptop, failing to notice the way ethan's face turned a prettier shade of red at your nonchalance. "when richie and i are out on our date, you should look for any ids or items he may have kept from his victims."

"right." ethan focused his attention to the task at hand, ignoring the way your prior words seemed to echo in his mind. how could he be thinking so deeply about such a thing when you were acting as if it was nothing? you were just a nice person; there wasn't more behind your words. "you should try and be out with him for a good few hours just to give me time."

"a few hours with richie. sounds great." you clenched your jaw, your fingers stopping on your keyboard. but they were still thrumming on your thumb, each finger tapping your fingertip in an undisclosed rhythm. "any pointers? like anything he may like in a person that'll make him," your nose wrinkled at your words, "not want to go home?"

"he likes you as you are already." ethan paused, biting his bottom lip gently as he reevaluated his words. "actually— he likes girls who he can't really have. like sam?" he rolled his eyes as he remembered their hellshow of a relationship. "he pined after sam for like a year just because she was dating someone before they got together."

ethan avoided your gaze as he looked at your laptop screen. "you know when he listened while we pretended to have sex? how he waited," from his peripherals, he could see your expression sour with anger at his words, "until you 'orgasmed'," ethan made faux quotations with his fingers, "before he left?"

"yeah." the memory of richie's shadow under ethan's door made a sick feeling broil in your stomach. and that feeling only grew when your mind came to a horrible assumption. "you don't think richie's interest in me grew after that night.. do you?"

ethan finally looked at you, his jaw clenched in anger and protectiveness as he nodded once. and that alone made your face fall in horror.

richie partly wanted you because it meant he deemed you 'forbidden' territory. because he believed ethan was interested in you first.

you groaned, letting your upper body fall back on your bed. "your brother's disgusting," you stated, staring at your ceiling.

next to you, ethan sighed. "i know."

you stood stiffly as you stared at the black dress you wore. in any other circumstance, you would've been comfortable with how you looked. you had styled your hair and this was one of your many black dresses that fit your features well, and to top it off, you wore a heart locket necklace and had your bag over your shoulder.

but knowing what you were getting into, it was hard to stay completely confident. you had basically shoved more of your strongest emotions into the deep dark hole in your mind just to keep yourself sane, but you couldn't even deny the sickening feeling in your chest that seemed to grow with every passing minute.

you still had no idea what richie's plans were. maybe it was something boring, like a movie then dinner. or maybe a walk in the park that would eventually lead to your death.

all you knew was that he would pick you up at 7 pm. that was all richie texted you, and now it was 6:45.

15 minutes.

"hello?" ethan's voice on your phone made you snap out of your thoughts, jaw clenching as you looked at yourself one last time, making sure not a hair was out of place just to keep up the facade.

you had called him again. at this point, you were wondering if you were lacking self respect for yourself, choosing to continuously call ethan during times of high stress in your shared situation.

you really needed to stop calling first. it was getting embarrassing.

"hello." you looked at your phone, watching as ethan tried (and failed) to set up his phone on his bedside table. you had been in a call for 30 minutes now, and while most of the conversation was honestly just ethan talking and you replying with short comments, you didn't mind it too much.

"are you, uh," ethan swallowed hard, "ready? hasn't been back since work so i'm guessing he's on his way to you now."

"i'm ready to get this over with, if that's what you mean." you set your phone up on your table, thankful that anika and mindy were out on another one of their movie dates (mindy was a little too excited to watch evil dead rise), so you could speak without interruptions. you sat on your desk chair, showing the upper half of your body to ethan, who was sitting on his bed, his back laid back on his head board.

but when he saw you, dressed up and looking a little bit too nice for his shitty brother, ethan sat up. throat running dry like it always seemed to and cheeks heating up, he managed an almost shy smile as he looked at you. "you look.. nice."

"thanks." a pause. "do i not usually look nice?"

ethan's eyes widened in shock (and slight fear). "i didn't say that! i just haven't known you for that long and i've only seen you like a handful of times but i swear you always look nice! you just look especially nice tonight. for richie." his nose crinkled in disgust at the thought.

you were all dressed up for his brother. and while the entire situation had made ethan throw up almost daily and feel far too many negative emotions that he didn't know how he felt anymore, he knew one thing as he looked at you, sitting so casually as though you weren't stopping ethan's train of thought.

he was jealous. and worried. and feeling far too protective over you, someone who could definitely handle everything on your own.

you tilted your head a little as ethan ended his short ramble. "ethan, i was joking."

"oh." ethan nodded, clicking his tongue as he tried to play it cool. "right."

lightly glossed lips curled up slightly, revealing a small smile. "thank you." your hands pulled your ring off of your finger. you let it run over your knuckles; back and forth. back and forth. the heated metal (you hands were and it was only a little disgusting) moved easily over your skin as you tried to calm yourself.

9 more minutes.

"y/n," ethan said, making your eyes focus again. "be careful, okay?"

your mouth opened to protest, but ethan continued on.

"and i know you said you could handle it," he said pointedly, making you shut your mouth, "but i want you to be careful."

three loud knocks at your dorm door made you jump, hand closing over your ring and curling into a fist as your steady heart began to pound loudly in your ears.

he was here.

"i have to go." you grabbed your phone, voice lowered down as you looked at ethan one last time. and for a brief moment, he saw just how worried you were. "you know the plan. be careful." and with that, you hung up.

the door to you and mindy's shared dorm felt far away as you walked out of your bedroom, shoving your phone into your purse before opening your dorm door. richie stood outside with a single orchid in his hand, its petals pristine and white as he held it. sleazy eyes traveled down your body, as though he was silently taking in your every curve, every exposed area of skin. and not even caring to seem the least bit subtle, richie took his time traveling back up to your face, his cold eyes watching you with interest.

as though you were some unpredictable toy for him.

"you look beautiful," richie murmured, making you force a smile as you tilted your head to the side a bit. shutting the door behind you, you looked him up and down; an open button up black shirt with a white shirt inside and some black jeans. the lack of effort in his style was infuriating— why did you have to dress up but he showed up as though he robbed old navy?

"you look.. good," you managed, unable to keep your honesty at bay as you managed a tight lipped smile. your lackluster response made you want to walk back into your dorm and lock it, but richie only chuckled at your response.

"nothing else?" he asked, handing the orchid to you. "i got you another flower."

another flower. you tried to hide your disgust at the confirmation that richie really was your stalker, instead taking the orchid with a tense hand. as you took it, richie began to walk down the hall of your dorm building, ready to lead you out.

"thanks," you stated, walking next to him and reluctantly allowing him to take the lead. wary eyes watched him, taking in the way he seemed to have perfect posture, how pleased he seemed in himself, as though his mere presence was a blessing to you, and the way he was staring right back at you.

observing. watching, pupils almost dilating as he took in how perfect you looked under the fluorescent light of the hallway. richie could feel his heart pounding, adams apple bobbing as he took a moment — just a moment — to admire his date. his date. the phrase rolled off of his tongue quite nicely.

you immediately averted your eyes back to the hallway in front of you. "so," you began, ignoring the way his eyes felt on your skin, "you were pretty enigmatic about this whole date. i almost thought you'd kill me or something." the dry humored joke fell from your lips before you could stop it, and yet you kept your eyes focused on the hallway in front of you, barely a reaction on your face as blood rushed through your ears. as you both began to take the elevator downstairs, you heard richie laugh.

even his laugh sounded ingenuine.

he stood next to you, arm pressed against yours, a little too close for comfort in the empty elevator. "just wanted to keep it a surprise, that's all." richie's eyes traveled to your hand, watching as you rubbed your ring subconsciously, a lopsided smirk appearing on his face. "are you nervous for our date?" he asked.

eyes blinking, you looked up at him confusedly. "no," you said with a tilt of your head, "why do you say that?"

"because," richie said, looking down at you with a mischievous smile, as though he was always one step ahead of you. "you've been rubbing that ring of yours ever since i arrived. i'd call it a," he thought for a moment before clicking his tongue, "nervous tick." a knowing glint appeared in his eyes, and suddenly you felt a wave of sick paranoia wash over you.

you immediately stopped rubbing your ring, your head turning back to the closed elevator doors in front of you both. your distorted reflection stared back at you from the steel of the elevator doors, and it was as though you realized just how trapped you were. there was no going back from this plan.

again, you began to subconsciously rub your ring. and richie continued to watch.

#AUTHORSNOTE— i'm actually soso sorry for the long update & the cliffhanger, but thank you for reading!

#TAGLIST— @cham9ions , @netey6m , @mskitkatbubbles , @onlyangel-444 , @cyueksims , @tisthedamnseason69 , @helpimgoinginsanehaha , @anthemabby , @clemenscove , @vanillawhale , @lanascinnamongirll , @rhaenyra4ever , @shebreathedherlast , @datingspiderman , @marurubahbah , @taetae123094 , @kn1n3 , @nox222 , @ch9mpi0n , @ooyuhgetitig4

176 notes · View notes

katzchai · 1 year ago

Text

private session for free // seo changbin x reader

pairing: seo changbin x reader contains: fluff, personal trainer seo changbin, date invitation

"okay, maybe it's not that bad." i said to myself while looking at my reflection in the glass doors.

i've moved to a new city a month ago and i've finally built up the courage to get out of the apartment after work and try a new gym. back in my hometown, i'd visit the gym once a week for the fitness class and i loved it. perfect amount of a workout and fun.

if someone would try to call me a gym rat i'd laugh in their face. do i like going to the gym? like the actual gym? hell no. i always hated the PE classes at school and i still remember all the times when the coach would scream at us because we couldn't hit the ball right or run for longer than 5 minutes without a break. it wasn't until the coach got sick in the middle of the last semester and we got a new PE teacher that i started to enjoy something gym-related.

our new teacher introduced us to fitness and she would hold one class a week. that was the only time i had fun. after graduating and starting a job i decided to try fitness in my free time and it became a part of my friday. everyone would go to clubs on fridays but me? i'd get my bag and go straight to my favourite gym in the city.

now after moving for a new job, i had to find a gym in the city that's not only close to me but also feels good - the right vibes have to be there - otherwise it's not fun at all. i did my research on maps to see where the closest gym is and i found one 5 minutes away from my apartment so after work i went home, grabbed my bag and i came here.

now, as i'm standing in front of the doors i'm thinking if i'm at the right location. everything inside looks so - black and white. no character to the place and i'm rethinking my decision to come here. but hey, momma didn't raise a quitter.

as i'm opening the doors and stepping into the gym i hear lots of very upbeat music. "okay, i can still turn around and go back home." and as i'm about to turn around a lady behind the desk pops up.

"hey! welcome to hitshOt, the only gym in the city where nobody judges you. is it your first time here?"

"yes, hello. i was thinking about signing up for the gym membership."

"awesome!" the girl behind the desk has a name tag and while i'm coming up to the desk i read that her name is dabin. "we don't offer any free trials but we offer the best equipment and the best personal trainers so i'm sure you'll find something for yourself here."

"oh actually, do you offer any fitness classes? i'm not interested in the typical "macho" stuff. i prefer something more... fun."

"i'm so sorry but we don't. we're in the process of firing more staff and maybe one day. but hey, you can go in and take a look around and if you decide to stay you can pay me once you'll be going out." am i disappointed? yes. this is the closest gym to me and the ratings were high but if there's no fitness this is not a place for me.

"well... i'm sure the gym is amazing but no thank you. i'm not interested. to be honest with you Dabin i hate working out in a gym because it seems like everyone is waiting for you to fail. i'll keep an eye on your website to see if there are any fitness classes in the future though."

as i'm picking my bag from the floor i can hear a strong voice behind me. "who said that the gym is only for the typical "macho" stuff? i'm pretty sure you can do anything in there and have fun." i turn around and see a very muscular guy who is definitely at the gym almost 24/7 - i mean who has arms like that and doesn't go to the gym? "do you think that maybe you could give the gym a chance with me?"

"and who are you?"

"changbin. i'm a personal trainer here and before you say anything - i'm willing to get you on a private session with me for free. i've got time since the person who was scheduled didn't show up and i can show you around and maybe you'll decide to stay with us."

"and what if i don't want to try out the gym with you?"

"i can take you out for a coffee and convince you that working out can be just as fun as fitness."

shocked i start to wonder why this guy is so keen on getting some one-on-one time with me. i won't lie he is handsome and i'm all for the meet-cutes but something seems fishy.

"i can see you haven't decided yet, so i'll be in the cafe next door," he says and walks up to me. when he stands next to me he whispers "the coffee and the private session will be on me, beautiful. no matter what time."

and what do i do? i say bye to dabin and walk out of the gym and head to the cafe. you never say no to a free coffee. and a private session with a "macho" like that.

#stray kids #seo changbin #changbin #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #changbin x reader #changbin fluff #stray kids x you #personal trainer seo changbin

86 notes · View notes

tillthelandslide · 2 years ago

Text

You've Got Me Forever - Ross Macdonald One Shot

A/n: something I just whipped up in about 10 minutes because I woke from having dreams about this glorious man and just had to write one down. It's not been proof read so please don't hate me

Fluff, spelling and grammar mistakes

He stands by the door to his bedroom, resting against the frame, it's cold against his bare back but he doesn't falter, doesnt flinch. His eyes remain on her, sitting in just his Tshirt and a pair of panties, an acoustic guitar resting in her lap as she sits cross legged.

She fiddles with the strings for a second, completely unaware that he's been standing watching her the entire time. She begins strumming a familiar song, playing the chords effortlessly. He has to hold in a gasp as her voice then fills the room.

"So I heard, you found, somebody else" she sings. Ross' mouth falls open, shocked that the girl he had been spending months with now, was revealing something about her that he didn't know, something huge. She could sing and was amazing at it too.

"And at first, I thought, it was a lie" she was completely wrapped up in the music and he couldn't help but smile, heart beating twice as fast in his chest. They had spent every waking moment they could with each other for 6 months (going on dates on and off for two months before that mainly due to his busy schedule), she joined them on tour when she could (her own job making it pretty easy for her to do so), he spent every minute of his time off with her and their families and they quickly fell in love.

He had her in his life for 6 whole months and was yet to discover this about her. Every day he spent with her he learnt something new, something that made him want her more, something that made him realise she was his person.

"I took all my things, that make sounds, the rest I can do without" he remembers Matty saying to him once that some people have to really work on singing and some people just get it. She just got it. Her voice was effortless, her tone was beautiful, her voice never wavered or cracked, a small fact that let him knew she must have done this a lot. They had spoken about their mutual passion for music, she explained that she had been playing guitar since she could remember, but she failed to mention this.

"I don't want your body, But I hate to think about you with somebody else" she sings. She stops after that, fingers pausing on the strings.

"Can feel you staring you know" she says, eyes flicking up from the strings to the man in the doorway. He simply smiles at her and she smiles back.

"Darling..." Hjs next words fail him and she stares back, waiting for him to say something, anything.

"You never told me you could sing" he says, large frame coming to find her on the bed. She simply shrugs at his words, placing the guitar onto the floor lightly.

"You're amazing" he says, she moves herself so she's draped over him, legs either side of his thighs. His hands instinctively move to her hips, holding her in place. Her hands find his shoulders, the muscle contracting under her touch.

"I've been singing since I was 2" she says matter of factly.

"And you didn't feel like telling me that?" He chuckles. She shrugs again and it makes him chuckle, his hand finds her jaw pulling her towards him for a brief kiss.

"Singing... It... Frees me" she explains "But... I like to keep it to myself, it's my own little thing you know, people don't need to know that" she says and he nods along fo her words.

"I appreciate that... But baby a talent like yours can't just be hidden... Everyone needs to know how good you are" he says and she shakes his head at him.

"No they don't" she smiles at him "I don't tell anyone, I prefer it that way, I don't need to tell anyone it's like my secret, you're lucky I shared it with you" she laughs and his face falls, suddenly looking at her very seriously.

"Thank you" he says, if this was something she kept to herself, he was unbelievably thankful she allowed him to know.

"But I will... With some persuasion... Sing for you if you liked it so much... Just for you" she says and he smiles widely at her again.

"You must really like me" he jokes. She simply smears her lips to hers, playing with the hairs covering his chin, before pulling away.

"You're alright" she says making him laugh, flipping them easily as his hands encapture her waist, tickling her. Her giggles fill the room and soon he's laughing too, until eventually their stomachs hurt too much and they have to stop.

So he rests in-between her thighs, one of which has hooked over him, keeping him there. He holds himself up by his elbows as his right hand moves the hair from her eyes.

"I'm going to marry you one day" he says simply as she smiles at him.

"You better, otherwise I might have to kill you... Can't have you going on about how good of a singer your ex-girlfriend was" she says making him laugh above her.

"You'd want to marry me?" He asks. He had always struggled navigating relationships with his job, but with her it was never complicated, in fact it was one of the easiest things either of them had ever done. They just made it work and she was the most understanding person about his career. But he was ever the worrier and despite plenty of reassurance from her, he still doubted that she wanted him: all of him forever.

"If you'd have me, of course. Thought you knew that by now" she says, placing a gentle peck to his lips.

"You worry too much Macdonald" she says, pushing the hair from his eyes now. "I'm not going anywhere, no matter what we'll make it work" she says and he nods down at her.

"And one day you'll marry me. You promise?" He says making her chuckle.

"I promise" she seals it with a kiss.

He had found his person and he was so unbelievably lucky and ecstatic it was her. Someone who loved him fiercely, loved him for every part of him (even the parts he wasn't too fond of). Someone who seemed to not give a shit about rumours or tabloids because she trusted him and knew he was her person too. Someone who supported him through every adventure he had, had so far in the time they had known each other and someone who would go on to support through every other one.

"You've got me forever you know that right?" She asks and he nods.

"I love you" he says simply, pressing a firm kiss to her mouth.

"I love you more Ross Macdonald"

#ross macdonald #the 1975 fanfic #ross macdonald x reader #the 1975 #ross macdonald fluff #ross mcdonald fanfic #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald one shot #ross x reader #ross the 1975

153 notes · View notes

sunwarmed-ash · 1 year ago

Text

Angst Prompts: Roy/Jamie

Prompt by @novelbear *Their full list here*

when you want to introduce them to someone but you have that slight hesitation before saying "they're a friend."

"you called me your friend." "was i not supposed to say that?" "you really think i'm just your friend? after these last few weeks?"

A/N: usually I write flirty, sexy, happy RoyJamie but I feel like shit so you're getting sad prompts today. (Ficlet under cut)

“This is Jamie, my …friend.”

Friend, friend. It feels like a slap in the face, because it is. Because Jamie is not going back in the closet for anyone.

Not for Man City. Not for Love Island. Not for his fucking father. And sure as hell not for Roy fucking Kent who Jamie had been considering, exclusively for weeks now, as his boyfriend.

“Yeah. Hey, how you doing mate,” Jamie says diplomatically, through clenched fucking teeth as he shakes the hand of some old fuck Jamie could care less about.

He’s fully trapped in his head by the time they reach the restaurant.

“You’ve been quiet.” Roy says, and Jamie struggles to make eye contact.

“Have I?”

“Eerily. Usually can't get you to shut the fuck up.”

Any other day, in any other mood, the comment would have rolled off Jamie’s back. Roy and Jamie teased each other constantly. But right now, after the ‘friend’ comment. After so much time listening to the hateful insecurities whispering venom in his ears, it just feels like a kick to the gut after he’s already down.

“Fuck you Roy,” he says, louder than is polite for a half full restaurant, but it at least the message gets through. Because Roy’s eyebrows shoot to his receding hairline and his mouth drops open in shock.

“Whoa, hey. The fuck’s going on?”

Jamie scoffs, pushing his hair back for something to do that's not destruct.

“The fucks goin on? You called me your ‘friend’ Roy. To someone important to you. Is that all this is? All we are? It’s been months Roy!”

Roy is stunned, embarrassed, and angry. Jamie’s spent enough time looking at this assholes face to understand the nuances in his expressions.

“I don't want to talk about this here,” Roy says, probably thinking he's compromising but it just sets Jamie off. He stands and leaves the restaurant without another word.

Roy stares at the empty place across from him for another second before tossing cash on the table for the drinks and getting the fuck out of here. He can already hear all of the chatter in the restaurant escalate as more seconds pass.

He needed to talk to someone. Jamie, ideally, but maybe after he’s cooled down a bit.

He wished Keeley wasn’t the first person that jumped to his mind. Only because it wasn't fair to burden her with news of a second failed relationship after he was the one who ended theirs.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuucccck.”

Jamie goes home. And he drinks. He hates himself for it, but, well, he’s already at the bottom of the well, can’t get any lower than this right?

He loses track of time, and how much he’s drank. Of how many pictures he's taken of his body and dick as revenge postings to maybe piss Roy off more. They don't go any further than his camera roll though, because the liquor makes his eyes heavy and he’s asleep less than 5 minutes later.

Waking up alone is one of the worst feelings in the world in Jamie’s opinion. Especially once he's in a relationship. And now, after 5 months and 16 days, he’s grown accustomed to waking up against Roy’s frame. To falling asleep with his light snoring in his ear.

Waking up alone, hungover, because your actions may have ended yet another fantastic relationship? Take the worst feeling in the world and compound it by 100.

Jamie isn't getting out of bed today. Maybe not even this week. Maybe he’ll quit the team all together. It would save him the embarrassing feeling of seeing Roy everyday. Of explaining to everyone how they went from best friends to enemies again over night.

He thinks about calling his mom. But then he remembered she and Simon were out on holiday till the 19th.

The last of his hope for a good day is dashed.

#angst prompts #links in pinned #novelbear #roy jamie #ramie #sunwarmed ash #find me on ao3 #i post new stuff every sunday #ted lasso #roy kent #jamie tartt #bi jamie tartt #royjamie #roy x jamie #jamie x roy

78 notes · View notes

katzoo12 · 2 years ago

Text

Of Selflessness, Stubborness, and Sickness

A.N. Okay guys, I don’t know how many of my followers know this, but…I am now an Encanto fan! That’s right! And this right here is my entry to Encanto Big Bang. It’s actually my first fic for this movie, so enjoy! The art is by @the-little-robyn , so check her out!

One of the worst things about having the gift of healing food is that it didn't heal EVERYTHING. Something that Julieta knew all too well.

When it came to what could be healed, physical injuries like broken arms and cuts were high on the list. Illness, on the other hand…her food helped relieve the worst symptoms and gave the immune system a boost, but that was all it could do.

Julieta sighed as she finished up another batch of arepas. How she wished she could halt everyone's suffering, especially now…

It had been six months since Casita had been rebuilt…and two weeks since a particularly virulent flu epidemic had broken out. While Alma's pressure on everyone had been greatly reduced since Mirabel opened her eyes, it was still hard driven into Julieta's very nature to be the caretaker of the Encanto.

She HATED seeing people injured and sick, especially when she could do something about it. Of course, with that line of thinking, she always ended up running herself ragged, trying to aid as many people as she possibly could.

If it wasn't for her familia and her loving husband Agustín, she would have died from exhaustion a long time ago.

---------------------------------------------------------

Agustín…the light of Julieta's life. Her other half.

To this day, she still remembered when she realized that she was in love. She was twenty-five years old, and it was like any other day in front of her stand, handing out her healing food.

After dealing with a deep cut and a few skinned knees, she smiled fondly at the sight of her most common patient.

"Ay, Agustín…bees again?"

Not that she needed to ask, of course.

The poor bespectacled man's hands and left ear were swollen to the size of balloons.

And yet, despite all the pain he was in, Agustín still managed to crack an awkward smile in her direction.

"You know me, Julieta…" he chuckled. "The most accident-prone man in the Encanto…"

And indeed, he was. Nearly every day found him at her stand, awaiting her healing.

It was routine, whether it was a sprained ankle or bee stings, like now.

Today, however, seemed to be a bit different. Agustín was looking at her, brow furrowed in what Julieta thought was pensiveness.

"Something on your mind…?" she asked as she reached for an empanada to offer him.

Agustín hesitated, averting his gaze. But after a moment, he seemed to gather the courage to continue.

"Well…it's just that…you always take care of everyone in the Encanto. Every day, without fail. Don't you ever get tired?"

Julieta raised an eyebrow, handing him her food.

"What if I do? Mamá always says-"

"You're only human, Julieta. And sometimes…your own well-being should come before your duty to everyone else."

The healer froze in surprise. Until that moment, no one had ever told her that before. Agustín continued.

"I'm just concerned…every time I see you, you seem a bit more worn-out. Have you been sleeping well?"

Julieta was about to answer when an impatient cough rang out from the line. She blanched, seeing the queue of injured stretching out longer than ever before.

"Don't worry about me, ok? I'm supposed to be looking after you. Eat," she urged, beckoning Agustín to take a bite of the empanada.

He did so, and immediately the swelling from the stings vanished into nothing. His worried look however, didn't fade. The bespectacled man started walking away but turned back to call one last time over his shoulder.

"Just…take care. I don't want you to run yourself into the ground!"

Julieta froze once again, lost in her thoughts. She couldn't deny how nice it felt, being on the receiving end of someone else's concern.

Usually, it was her siblings that made her feel that way, but with Agustín, it was something different…something more special. It wasn't until she got back to Casita for the day that she realized what those feelings even meant.

The tenderness she felt towards him, the warm feeling when she let him be concerned for her…it all pointed to one thing.

I love him… Julieta thought happily. I love him more than anything…but does he feel the same way?

----------------------------------------------------------------

The present-day Julieta was jolted out of her memories when the sound of footsteps behind her drew her attention.

Without turning around, she called out "Ay, Luisa, what are you doing out of bed? You need rest if you want to recover properly."

Her middle daughter sighed…which immediately turned into a rough-sounding coughing fit. She was the first of the Madrigals to be struck down, and so far was proving to be quite the difficult patient.

This wasn't the first time she'd been caught trying to sneak out to help, and Julieta doubted it would be the last. Finally turning to face the taller woman, the healer watched as Luisa tried to defend herself.

"Lo sé, Mamá, but I feel fine and…and-ACHOO!"

A thunderous sneeze burst out of her, causing Luisa to put a hand against the wall to regain her balance. Julieta smiled softly and guided Luisa to a chair.

The nineteen-year-old really did look awful, with a pale face, flushed cheeks, tired eyes, and a red nose to tie it all together. Add that to her hoarse and stuffy-sounding voice, and it was clear that she was far from healthy.

Now if only she'll ACCEPT that… Julieta thought.

"Hija," she continued gently, "I know you want to help, and that's admirable of you. However, you can't give your best effort when you're not feeling well…and I wouldn't want to see you get any sicker by pushing yourself."

Julieta lovingly put a hand on Luisa's cheek.

"Por favor…just give yourself a few more days to rest."

Her middle daughter's shoulders sagged in resignation.

"Okay, Mamá…" she relented softly.

Julieta nodded in satisfaction, proud that she managed to convince Luisa to rest some more…for now.

"Bien. Now, how about I give you another arepa con queso and you can try to go back to sleep?"

Luisa nodded…before going into another harsh coughing fit.

This time, however, Julieta was there to soothingly rub her back until she got her breathing under control.

As soon as Luisa stopped trying to bring up a lung, she turned once more to her mother.

"And…some agua too, por favor?" she asked in a small voice, as if she thought it would be an inconvenience.

"Por supesto, corazón, you need fluids if you want to beat this thing. Also…remember, you are not a burden if you ask for help…" Julieta murmured.

Once Luisa nodded in acknowledgement, Julieta got up to retrieve one of her recently finished arepas and fill a glass with ice water.

Her gift worked wonders on her ill daughter, Luisa already looking less flushed after a single bite of her cooking. "Gracias, Mamá…te quiero…" "Te quiero también, Lu…now, let's get you back to bed."

--------------------------------------------------------------

Soon enough, the third oldest grandchild was bundled under her blankets once more.

"Do you need anything else, mija?" Julieta asked.

Luisa shook her head, suppressing a single cough into her fist and reaching for the glass of water on her nightstand.

"I'm okay for now…" she said after she took a sip.

Julieta nodded.

"Bien. Just let me know if you think of something. As for now, I'm going to check on the rest of the familia…"

She turned to leave, looking back one last time at Luisa and blowing her a kiss. The healer let the door close behind her, letting out a tired sigh and swallowing. As soon as she did however, a sharp pain took up residence in her throat.

"Ah..." she gasped, rubbing her neck with one hand.

Julieta's eyes widened at the realization of what that meant.

Ay no…not now…por favor not now!

But there was no denying it. With another swallow and another wince, it was abundantly clear that the healer would be the epidemic's next victim.

---------------------------------------------------------

Besides the inconvenience, being ill also messed with the gifted Madrigals' powers. While some of the gifts became overactive (as evidenced by Camilo shapeshifting uncontrollably whenever he coughed or sneezed), others became weaker, or left their owner completely.

The latter scenario often happening to Luisa, or in this case…Julieta. Luckily her cooking wouldn't lose ALL its magic, but its diminished effects would still be noticeable.

And that could be a problem, especially if I still want to appear healthy… Julieta mused.

Which of course, she did. People still needed her help, so she couldn't afford to take a day off. And besides, her symptoms weren't THAT bad…for now.

If anyone asks, then I'll simply tell them I'm tired and I'll go to bed early tonight. Hopefully that excuse will cover for my gift as well…

Julieta nodded resolutely. She had a plan…now all she had to do was execute it. But before any of that, she needed to make her rounds and check on the other family members.

Julieta started down the stairs and headed towards the kitchen to put a few arepas on a large plate.

When she was satisfied that she had enough, she climbed to the second floor once more and headed towards Isabela's room.

Sadly, Luisa (and now the healer) weren't the only ones affected by the flu. Not long after her middle child had taken ill, her eldest was quick to follow.

Isabela's always had a good immune system, Julieta mused, but even that has its limitations…

Knocking softly on the flower child's door, she called out, "Isa…? It's Mamá…may I come in?"

A loud sneeze, a rustle of flora, and an unladylike groan was all that answered the healer, but it was enough affirmation for her to enter.

The first thing Julieta noticed was how faded the normally vibrant room looked. Most of the flowers, vines, and cacti were brown and shriveled up, with the only splotches of color around Isabela's bed.

Speaking of the eldest grandchild, she was currently sprawled out across her mattress, trying desperately to find a spot that wasn't soaked with her feverish sweat.

Suddenly, her eyes widened, her breath hitched, and she reached for a handkerchief just in time to cover a loud "ACHOO!"

The moment the sternutation rang through the air, a variety of bromeliads popped into existence around the bed.

Julieta frowned in concern and approached Isabela.

"Cómo te sientes, mi flor?" she murmured.

The young woman turned to her mother, an unimpressed look on her face.

"How do you THINK?" she snarked.

"I can't sleep, my head is pounding, my throat feels like it's being cut open, I'm all sweaty, and EVERY SINGLE TIME I cough or sneeze, my gift goes haywire!"

As if to punctuate her point, she entered into a coughing fit, causing more new flora to burst out of the floor. Julieta sighed and sat on the edge of the mattress, putting the plate of arepas beside her.

If there was one thing that hadn't changed from before the fall of Casita, it was the fact that being under the weather ALWAYS put Isabela in a bad mood.

"I'm sorry, Isa…trust me, I would cure you in an instant if I could. But the most I can do is ease your symptoms. Speaking of…would you like an arepa?"

Julieta took one from the plate and offered one to her daughter.

Isabela snatched the flaky confection from her mother's hand and eagerly took a bite…sighing in relief when she felt her chills vanish.

But to her utter confusion, her throat still hurt just as much as before. She quirked a displeased eyebrow towards the healer.

"Mamá…what gives? This didn't help NEARLY as much as last time…"

Julieta offered a weak smile.

"Lo siento…I'm just tired. I've been cooking a lot…"

Isabela's gaze softened a bit, seeing the exhaustion on her mother's face.

"Well, I suppose I can understand. Try and get some extra sleep tonight. The last thing this family needs is for you to get sick too…"

Ironic, considering I'm already sick… Julieta mused, before reassuring her eldest that she would and making her way back outside with the other arepas.

----------------------------------------------------------------

She was halfway to Pepa and Félix's room when her nose started to run.

Balancing the plate on one hand she quickly fished a handkerchief out of one of her apron pockets with the other and gave a quick blow.

Ay…this is progressing quicker than I thought…but I can't stop now. I just need to get through today.

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, Julieta continued down the hall until she reached her sister's door. This time she knocked a bit louder, having a hunch the room would be chaotic with Pepa's weather more volatile than usual.

After a few seconds, the door opened, and Félix showed his rain-soaked form.

"Ah, Julieta! Checking up on everyone?"

The healer nodded.

"Sí. How's Pepa doing? May I come in?"

The stout man nodded and stepped aside, allowing the eldest triplet into the room. Closing the door, Félix turned back to Julieta and opened his mouth to answer her first query.

However, he was interrupted by a series of sneezes ringing through the air, and the weather inside changing abruptly from raining, to snowing, to hailing, and back to normal. He sighed.

"…Does that answer your question?"

Julieta gently put a hand on her brother-in-law's shoulder.

"It must be tough, seeing her like this…"

Félix nodded.

"I love mi esposa more than anything. If I could ease her suffering, I would…"

His dour countenance didn't last long, though, turning to the healer with a slight smile.

"…which is why you're here, isn't it? Vamos!"

Félix led Julieta to the queen-sized bed, where Pepa was trying to read one of her romantic novels.

It was proving to be quite difficult though, what with her pounding head, her bleary eyes, and- "ACHOO!" …her sneezing affecting her handle on the weather.

Luckily Casita had made her books waterproof. Pepa looked up at the sound of footsteps.

"Hola, Juli…" she sniffled, grabbing a handkerchief to blow her nose.

Julieta smiled softly and approached her sister, an arepa in hand.

"Hola yourself, Pepita."

The emotional woman fixed the healer with an unimpressed stare.

"You're only ten minutes older than me…do you HAVE to call me that?"

Julieta chuckled lightly. "It may be ten minutes…but that still makes you mi hermana menor."

She kissed Pepa on her forehead, frowning when she felt the feverish heat radiating from it.

"Ay…still burning. Here, you'd better eat this,"

Julieta handed the arepa to her sister, watching as she took a bite…and frowned slightly.

"My head still hurts…why does my head still hurt?" Pepa murmured, and turned to the healer concernedly.

"Are you feeling okay, Julieta?"

Julieta took a deep breath, trying not to feel guilty for lying to her sister.

"Por supesto. I am a little tired…but I've been cooking a lot…"

That explanation didn't seem to resonate with the middle triplet though; in fact, she seemed even more worried.

"Are you sure? That never stopped your gift from weakening before…not even when we were niños. Oh, Dios, if you're getting sick too…"

The more worked up Pepa got, the more the wind began to blow until Julieta put her hands on her shoulders to ground her.

"I'm not, Pepa. Lo prometo. And remember: too much stress will only prolong your recovery time…"

Pepa sighed in resignation.

"Lo sé, lo sé…you're right. Just…be careful okay? I don't want you running yourself into the ground again…"

"She's right, cuñada…you can't take care of everyone else if you don't take care of yourself first," Félix added.

Julieta smiled softly at the two.

"I'm fine. Trust me. If it makes you two feel better, I'll take a break soon. I just need to finish making my rounds."

She grabbed the plate of arepas and made her way to the door, looking back one last time at her sister and her husband.

"Que te mejores, hermana. Hasta luego."

And with that, the healer left the room, hearing Pepa sneeze once again, a rumble of thunder, and Félix offering her a handkerchief.

--------------------------------------------------

Julieta decided to check on Dolores and Antonio next, and went towards the youngest Madrigal's room, having a hunch her sobrinos would be in the jungle environment.

They weren't ill (yet, at least), but Dolores had taken it upon herself to keep her littlest hermano entertained and away from the sick members of the family.

Which is good, considering how much I have on my plate already… Julieta thought.

Soon enough she reached her destination and opened the door, stepping into the magical room.

Closing it behind her, the healer turned back around and tried to spot Dolores and Antonio among the foliage.

Hm…no sign of them…

Julieta then tried calling out, remembering to be mindful of her throat.

"Toñito…? Dolores?"

After a few seconds, she could make out a reply.

"Over here, Tía!"

Julieta adjusted the plate of arepas in her hands, and went towards the call. She eventually pushed into a clearing where Dolores and Antonio were playing tag, with the younger laughing joyfully and riding on his jaguar Parce.

The game was soon put on hold when the duo noticed their aunt's presence. Dolores turned to her hermano, ruffling his curly hair affectionately.

"Why don't you continue playing with your animals, hermanito? I'll be right back after Tía Julieta and I finish talking," she suggested.

The five-year-old nodded.

"Okay, Lolo. But hurry up!" he requested, and urged for Parce to continue running.

Satisfied that Antonio would be fine for the next few minutes, Dolores walked over to Julieta.

"Hola, Tía. Making the rounds?"

The healer nodded.

"Sí, and I figured you would probably be hungry."

She handed her sobrina two arepas, one for her and her brother. Dolores nodded in thanks, before her face furrowed in slight worry.

"Gracias…speaking of, how's Mamá?"

"Still a bit feverish…but Félix is taking good care of her. I'm sure she'll be back on her feet in a few more days."

Julieta turned to gaze at Antonio, who was now carrying on a conversation with Pico the toucan.

"And…how's Toñito? Has he been exhibiting any symptoms?"

Dolores shook her head.

"No…and neither have I," she added, guessing what her aunt was going to ask next.

"Trust me, if either of us start getting sick, you'll be the first to know," she assured.

Julieta sighed in relief…then shivered and gave a light cough. Dolores gazed at her concernedly.

"Estás bien, Tía? You look pale…" she murmured.

"Sí, I'm fine…just tired…"

The second oldest grandchild crossed her arms, an unamused expression on her face.

"…I JUST heard your heartbeat increase. You're lying," she accused.

Figures, Julieta thought bitterly, that she would be the one to unravel my deception…we could never get a lie past her, not even when she was a niña…

She sighed.

"To be completely honest, Dolores…I'm sick too…"

Dolores' eyes widened.

"Then why are you still working…? You'll only make yourself worse, Tía…"

"Lo sé…but everyone still needs my help. I don't have time to rest…and my symptoms aren't THAT bad…"

Her niece let out a breath and shook her head in exasperation.

"Well, they soon WILL be if you don't slow down and rest. You're only human…you can't heal everyone, no matter how much you want to…"

Julieta winced at the reminders, not wanting to accept those facts yet.

"Listen, Dolores…I PROMISE I'll take some time to relax soon. I just need to check on the rest of the familia first."

Dolores gazed at her a moment longer…then reluctantly nodded.

"Okay…but I WILL be keeping an ear out for you. And I won't hesitate to tell Tío Agustín if you go back on your word."

She opened her mouth to continue…but was interrupted by Antonio's voice.

"Lolo! Are you almost done? You've been talking a while…"

"Coming, Toñito!" Dolores called back to her little brother.

She started walking away, then looked back one last time at Julieta.

"Remember what I said. Finish checking up on everyone…then go and rest. Please…"

And with that, the second oldest grandchild went to continue entertaining Antonio.

-------------------------------------------------------

The healer sighed as she started making her way out of the room, the following thoughts echoing through her skull.

I can do this…I NEED to do this…they need my help…

Eventually Julieta entered the hallway, shutting the door behind her and resting her back against it for a few seconds.

Ay…has Casita always been this cold?

She shivered again, and put a hand to her forehead, sighing when she felt the fire on her skin. Julieta was so occupied with how sick she was feeling that she never noticed someone approaching.

"Mija…?"

She jumped in surprise, and turned to see her mother.

"Oh, Mamá, are you okay?"

Alma looked at her eldest, a concerned look on her wrinkled face.

"Sí, for now…but are you? You look exhausted…"

Julieta put on a weak smile.

"I've just been cooking a lot. People need my help now more than ever…"

Her mother didn't look convinced.

"Are you sure that's all it is? You know you can tell me anything, mija…"

"Por supesto…but there's nothing else to tell."

Alma stepped forward in concern.

"At least take a break, Julieta? Remember, you don't have to prove anything anymore. The gifts don't define us…"

The healer straightened back up, a calm but determined expression on her face.

"Lo sé, Mamá, but people are still suffering. I want to help them. Ahora, discúlpeme..."

She started walking away, trying to ignore her mother's concerned gaze boring into her back.

-------------------------------------------------------

The next stop was Bruno's tower. Luckily, her brother wasn't sick either…but with his anxiety, he had ended up withdrawing into his room in an effort to stay well.

"Bruno?" Julieta called softly, knocking on the door.

A moment or two passed until she heard a soft voice on the other side.

"Sí, Juli…?"

The healer sighed in relief knowing that he was still okay, then got down to business.

"Have you eaten today? You need food…"

"Eh…not yet…but I will…later…when everyone's gone to bed…"

"Ay, Brunito…"

Julieta shook her head exasperatedly.

"Here…I can at least give you a few arepas. Can you open the door, por favor?"

She heard her brother gulp.

"N-no…I don't think that's a good idea…" he stuttered.

Julieta sighed, trying to think of a way to get her brother sustenance. At last, an idea popped into her head.

"How about this, then? You stand on the other side of the room, I open the door, leave the plate on the floor, and close it. You can then come over, take what you want, and go back over so I can retrieve the plate."

A brief silence passed…before she heard Bruno's voice once again.

"…That could work. Give me twenty seconds…"

Julieta heard her brother's footsteps recede, and started counting. As soon as she deemed the allotted time had passed, she opened the door.

She could just barely see Bruno at the other end of the hallway leading into his main room.

"Okay, hermanito…here's the plate. Be sure to leave a few for Camilo and Mirabel."

"Gracias, Juli! I'll knock when I'm done taking what I need…just give it twenty more seconds before coming back in…"

Julieta nodded, and went back outside, shutting the door behind her. As soon as she was shielded from view, she succumbed to the tickle in her throat and went into a heavy bout of coughs.

Each expulsion irritated her throat even more and left her breathless. At last, she managed to control her breathing…only to blanch when she heard her brother's voice once again.

"…Julieta? Are you…"

"No!" she burst out, a little too quickly.

"Something just tickled my throat, is all…"

She heard Bruno sigh.

"Hermana…you ALWAYS do this. You deny how you're feeling, telling everyone you're fine when you're clearly not…and end up passing out, worrying us all to death. Por favor, Juli…take it easy, just this once…"

Julieta narrowed her eyes and stood up straighter, forgetting for a moment that her brother couldn't see her.

"Bruno…you know I can't. The familia-"

"-wants you healthy! For once in your life, stop being so selfless!"

The healer sighed.

"…I need to check up on Camilo and Mirabel. Just…take the arepas you want, and I PROMISE I'll take a nap after."

She could almost feel Bruno shaking his head on the other side of the door.

"...You and I both know that that won't happen, Juli. Hopefully someone will be able to get through to you before it's too late…"

The knock resounded soon after, and after twenty seconds had passed, Julieta opened the door again and retrieved the plate.

---------------------------------------------------------

Moving on to Camilo's room, the healer softly opened the door. This flu had practically knocked her sobrino out, his fever blazing and painful bouts of shapeshifting whenever he coughed or sneezed.

Luckily he was sleeping now. Julieta approached the bed to see Camilo's pale face and listless hair.

She touched the rag on his forehead.

"Hm…needs to be soaked again…"

Taking the cloth, she dunked it in the bowl of cold water on his bedside table. After a few seconds, she wrung it out and tenderly lay it on her sobrino's forehead.

His eyes cracked open.

"Mm…too cold…" he murmured, trying to lift his left arm to remove it.

Julieta softly but firmly grasped his wrist before that could happen.

"No, Cami…leave it. Your fever needs to break…do you think you can manage an arepa?"

Judging by the way the shapeshifter's face contorted in disgust, she guessed that his answer was a resounding no.

"Okay…I'll just leave one on your nightstand."

She made eye contact to ensure he understood and put an arepa next to the bowl.

"Try and eat it soon…you need food, and it'll make you feel better…"

Camilo nodded softly and peered up at his aunt.

"…Sleep?" he asked hopefully.

Julieta smiled tenderly.

"Sí, vuelve a dormir…get well soon…"

She ran her fingers along his scalp until her sobrino's eyes drifted closed once again, and once she was satisfied he wouldn't stir, carefully crept into the hallway, and shut the door behind her.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The last stop on the healer's journey was Mirabel's room.

Her youngest had remained healthy for a time, every waking moment spent helping her mother with her cooking and food distribution. It was only that very morning that the bespectacled girl awoke with the tell-tale symptoms.

Of course, being Mirabel, she still attempted to push through…but the second Julieta saw her pale face and felt the fever on her cheeks, she sent her straight back to bed. Luckily her youngest hadn't tried to sneak out like Luisa, a fact the healer was eternally grateful for as she knocked on Mirabel's door.

After Casita was rebuilt, the magical house had saw it fit to give the fifteen-year-old her own room, instead of relegating her to the nursery once again.

That wasn't to say the nursery didn't still exist; judging by the way Mariano and Dolores behaved, there were bound to be wedding bells in a few years, with their own children not long after. But that's beside the point.

After a few seconds of silence, Julieta heard a soft "Come in…"

Carefully turning the knob, she entered the room to see Mirabel in bed, trying to work on her embroidery.

"How are you feeling, mija?" she asked softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress and putting the plate beside her.

Mirabel turned her head to gaze at her mother.

"Eh…not too bad…yet, at least…" she amended when she saw Julieta's raised eyebrow.

"I mainly wish I could've helped you more…you've been going non-stop since this epidemic started…"

The healer smiled softly and ran a hand through her youngest's hair.

"Ay, Mira…you've helped plenty. I couldn't have finished half the food I did if it wasn't for you. Eres un milagro…but even miracles need assistance sometimes…"

She reached for an arepa and pressed it into Mirabel's hand.

The bespectacled girl gave a half-hearted smile and took a bite…only for a confused look to cross her face soon after.

"I feel less feverish…but…"

She trailed off as her eyes widened in realization.

"Mamá…? You're sick too, aren't you?"

Julieta tensed.

I've already admitted it to Dolores, and I'm pretty sure Bruno knows…but there's no way I'm burdening mi hija with this!

"Claro que no…I'm just tired…" she forced out.

Mirabel raised an eyebrow.

"Mamá…I KNOW you. I'm pretty sure you're where me, Isabela, and Luisa get our stubbornness from! Por favor…you need rest…"

Julieta took a deep breath to keep her agitated voice steady.

"Estoy bien, mi vida. Lo prometo. People need my help, and por Dios I'm going to give it to them. Now, excuse me…"

She quickly grabbed the plate, and stood up, fighting a sudden dizzy spell.

"Mamá, PLEASE-"

"Que te mejores, Mirabel…"

Julieta exited the room and shut the door behind her, starting to speed-walk down the hallway. With every footfall, her vision grew more and more blurry, and her balance more and more difficult to maintain.

Finally, it all came to a head. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed. Right before her consciousness faded, she discerned Agustín's panicked face above her…

---------------------------------------------------------------

Warmth. That's the first thing Julieta felt as she came to.

Warmth…and softness. She groaned…and blearily opened her eyes.

Ay, my head…where am I?

Panning her gaze around from where she was lying, she realized she was in her and Agustín's bed. The healer tried to sit up…only to have a hand pushed to her chest, keeping her down.

Turning her head, she saw her husband's concerned face.

"Agustín…"

"Julieta…Dolores told me you were sick."

His face crumpled in despair.

"You're always so selfless, mi amor, and that's admirable…but you can't ignore your own health like that…do you know how worried I was?"

Julieta's face fell with guilt.

"Lo siento…"

Her husband looked away, trying to gather his thoughts…before turning to her once again.

"I love you too much to see you put yourself through this every day. You know you don't have to…"

"True…but old habits die hard. For forty-five years I've had this mindset, and it's all I've ever known. It may be too late for me…"

Agustín grabbed her hand and gazed lovingly into Julieta's eyes.

"No…it's not. The first step is always the hardest…and I'll always be right by your side to help you through it all…"

The healer smiled tenderly through her pounding head and achy body.

"Ay, Agustín…te amo…"

"Te amo también, Juli…"

He started stroking her hair, watching her eyes gently drift close once more.

"Sleep, corazón…I'll take care of you…"

#Encanto #encanto disney #fanfiction #sickfic #sick #julieta x agustin #julieta madrigal #encanto big bang

35 notes · View notes