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#This is the longest I have ever spent on anything
meowthefluffy · 1 year
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Something something do you love the color of the sky
(based on this post) @zzoupz @writing-is-a-martial-art
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chiquilines · 8 months
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Redraw of a comic i made a year ago for the villain!fuyumi AU!!
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sonic-adventure-3 · 6 months
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oh god finally. after two months i’ve finally gone back and finished the first image of the sheriff shadow continuation. it really shows that there was a two month gap between them but i don’t think i can meaningfully improve on anything without going insane about essentially invisible minutiae so that means i’m done done. IM FREE HOORAY.
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landofgay · 1 year
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in two weeks I'll be in MEXICOOOOO......
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sollilua · 1 year
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im starting to have fun drawing again :3
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eddiethefreakkmunson · 6 months
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Not So Accidental Invitations
Pairing: Roommate!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Summary: Tired of ignoring your ever growing attraction to your roommate Eddie you "accidentally" send him a partial nude, his reaction is everything you had hoped it would be and more... (Modern!AU)
Word Count: 10.4k
Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Friends to lovers, Smut, Masturbation (both male and female), Sex toys, Oral sex (both male and female), Fingering, PIV unprotected
Author's note: The smut at the end of this fic was nearly the death of me so I hope it is worth it 🥲 - I was originally supposed to post this on Monday as it was my birthday but despite only having one scene left I just couldn't get it right. But here we are with my longest oneshot yet, if you enjoy it as much as I hope please consider leaving a comment/reblogging it really means the world ❤️
Thanks to @shybunnie20 for the idea, editing helping and general constant love and support 😘😘
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Nope. Nope. Possibly that one. Immediately delete that one. 
You swiped through your camera roll examining the close to a hundred photos you had just spent the entire afternoon taking as you sat on the floor of your bedroom in your lacy red panties and an oversized band tee that belonged to your roommate, Eddie. Your roommate who just happened to be the intended recipient of the photos you had just put so much effort into perfecting. 
Eddie had moved in with you approximately six months prior when you mentioned to your co-worker Robin that you were going to put out an ad for a new roommate. Initially, your plan was to live by yourself after your best friend moved out and in with her boyfriend but after the first month on your own, the burden of bills became very apparent. You spent a couple of weeks surviving on a diet of ramen and came to the realisation that going solo just wasn’t going to be financially feasible for you. Robin told you that she had a friend who had just landed his first steady job and was looking to finally move out of his uncle’s one bedroom home. Upon being introduced to her friend Eddie the two of you engaged in effortless conversation. The exchange came so naturally in fact that he moved in only five days later. 
At first you wondered whether it would be awkward. You had never lived with a boy before and not only was Eddie a boy but he was also a stranger. It took less than an hour for you to realise that you had been worrying about nothing. You and Eddie hit it off in an instant, he was charming, he made you laugh and he even managed to fix the leak under your bathroom sink which your landlord had been ignoring your complaints about for months. He was also very easy on the eyes. Sure he was a little messy and often played his music too loud. He set off the smoke alarm more times than normal when he was cooking himself dinner but all in all, he was proving himself to be a pretty great roommate. Maybe, just maybe, you had developed a teeny tiny crush on him. Eddie was flirtatious by nature, and you would be lying to yourself if you said that his comments didn’t occasionally set off a wave of butterflies in your stomach. You weren’t trying to make anything happen with him, you were just curious to see if he had been having the same kind of feelings towards you.
That’s how your little experiment came into play. You were going to send him a nude, nothing too explicit, but something that was clearly meant to get the recipient more than a little riled up. You would tell Eddie you had sent it to him by mistake and to delete it, he would either respect your wish and you would both move on as if nothing had happened, or he would use it to his advantage. You really hoped it would be the latter. After narrowing it down to your favourite three photos you settled on a winner, you were kneeling on your floor in front of your full length mirror, your legs spread wide enough to just make out the faint damp patch soaking the material of your underwear. The hand that wasn’t holding up your phone was crossed over your bare chest, your breasts enhanced in size as they were pushed up by your forearm, careful not to expose your nipples. Your face was partially hidden by your phone, your lips set in a soft pout while you made direct eye contact with the camera. 
You opened up your messages and found Eddie’s name, you selected your photo of choice ready to send and debated whether to add a caption to tease him further. After typing and deleting several cheesy messages you settled on a simple kissy face emoji and hovered your thumb over the send button. You crept over to your bedroom door and cracked it openly silently. You could hear Eddie moving around in the kitchen as he made his dinner, you listened to the clinking of various pots and pans while he sang along to a new metal song you weren’t yet familiar with which was blasting out of the Alexa on your kitchen counter. With your heart racing in a mix of nerves and anticipation you hit send before you could talk yourself out of it. You heard the chime of his phone and the pause in his singing told you that it had gotten his attention. The loud clatter that followed as the plate he had been holding shattered against the floor confirmed that he had opened it. You counted to three and took a deep breath, putting on your best acting face you flung your door open and marched down the short hallway to the kitchen.
“Don’t open that!” you yelled in feigned panic. “That wasn’t meant for you, I’m so sorry please delete it.”
With wide eyes you covered your mouth with your hands and tried your best to look apologetic as you stood in front of your bewildered roommate. Eddie’s jaw was slack as he gawked down at his phone screen, the blush tinting his cheeks deepened by the second and when he finally glanced up at you he looked like a deer in headlights.
“Erm - Too late,” he stuttered, clearing his throat when his voice sounded more strangled than he wanted it to. 
You continued to stare at him, your eyes widening even further as if to silently say ‘Well?’
“Fuck - Sorry - I’m sorry,” Eddie scrambled with his phone to get the image of you off the screen in front of him. “I’ll delete it… I’m deleting it.”
You didn’t know what you expected his reaction to be but it wasn’t this, you had never seen him this flustered before. Eddie Munson exuded the confidence of a guy that had girls falling at his feet. Given that he also fronted a remarkably talented band as a side gig, you always assumed that was exactly the case. It only occurred to you now that you’d never seen him bring anyone home before, not even for a one night stand. Eddie blew out an exasperated breath and slammed his phone down beside him, crouching down he averted his gaze and started to pick up the scattered shards of ceramic from the linoleum around his socked feet. 
“Oh hey, let me help,” you fussed and kneeled down beside him to grab some of the bigger pieces. 
Eddie felt light headed as your perfume invaded his senses and it was then that he noticed the sliver of red lace peeking out from beneath your shirt, or rather his shirt. The same red lace you were wearing in the photo that he knew was probably still damp with your slick. He felt his cock twitch within his boxers and became extremely self conscious when it dawned on him that he was wearing sweatpants, the last thing he needed to make this encounter even more awkward was to pop a visible boner in front of you. 
“Ow - Shit!” Eddie hissed as he felt a sharp sting, in his distraction he had sliced the pad of his finger open. 
“Oh my god,” you gasped as a droplet of blood spilled from the cut and ran down his finger. “Are you okay?”
“Uh huh - Yeah I just need-” Eddie was trying to desperately angle his body away from you as you continued to encroach upon his personal space.
“Seriously if you just let me -” You reached out for his bleeding hand.
“Please. Just stop!” He scolded which froze you in your tracks.
You quickly withdrew your hand as if he had burned you and hastily rose to your feet. Eddie immediately felt awful. He didn’t mean to snap at you, but the combination of your close proximity and the less-than-innocent thoughts that were plaguing the forefront of his mind caused his composure to break. Not to mention the mounting anxiety he felt at the possibility of you noticing the soon-to-be tent in his pants, you’d probably think he was a pervert if you saw it. 
“Eddie I’m sorry-” you started to apologise.
“No, no don’t be,” he cut you off. “You were just trying to help.”
You watched him stand and toss the broken plate into the trash can before moving to the sink to clean his wound beneath the stream of cold water, he kept his back to you the entire time. Great, not only did your plan not work but you also managed to piss him off. He turned only his head to look at you over his shoulder, sensing you watching him uneasily.
“Really, I got this, you can go- And I’m sorry about…” he softened his voice to let you know he wasn’t mad at you as he gestured towards his phone, you must have been feeling just as embarrassed as he was.
“My mistake,” you waved a hand in dismissal before turning on your heel and heading back to your bedroom.
Eddie didn’t move once you had disappeared behind your closed door. He stood, hands braced on the edge of the sink in front of him with his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to will away the image of you in such a sultry position but it was no use, it was already burned onto the inside of his eyelids. He groaned to himself and bent forward to rest his forehead against the cool marble countertop, his fingers woven into his tangled curls as he tugged them in frustration. He couldn’t stop thinking about your curves, your pout, the smoothness of your skin, that goddamn wet patch. He couldn’t help but wonder who was lucky enough to be the real recipient of your photo. Who had the power to get you so worked up that it was visible through the material of your underwear? Eddie groaned even harder when he acknowledged that the stabbing pain in his stomach was without a doubt jealousy. He’s spent the last six months sidestepping his unyielding attraction to you. He kept himself wound tight and made sure to avoid any actions that could jeopardise your relationship as roommates and friends. In a matter of minutes you had managed to unravel him. It wasn’t until the faint smell of burning interrupted his self deprecating internal monologue that he realised his dinner was burning.
“Shit!” Eddie blurted, snapping out of his trance to slide across the kitchen floor and yank open the oven door.
Eddie coughed as he accidentally inhaled a face full of smoke that quickly filled the kitchen. Snatching up the oven mitts he quickly turned off the oven and pulled out his charred dinner, dropping it on the countertop irritably. He leaned over and grabbed the nearest dish towel, desperately swatting at the air in an attempt to get the smoke to disperse. 
Eddie winced, his hands instinctively covering his ears as the shrill blaring of the smoke alarm rang through your apartment. 
“Not again,” he groaned through another cough, tears pooling at his lash line in the grey haze of the kitchen. 
He ran down the hall and jumped up aiming to reach the reset button on the alarm. You sat in your room and did your best not to burst into laughter as you heard him struggle to silence the deafening chirping.
“Shut the fuck up!” He barked in annoyance. “Stupid piece of shit!”
“It’s just saving our lives!” You called out from behind your closed door once the blaring had finally ceased. 
“There was no fire!” He yelled back in response before he grabbed his frayed grey bath towel from his room and ducked into the bathroom.
What he needed right now was to cool off with a cold shower. Fuck dinner, he’d lost his appetite anyway and he knew you’d eaten before he had gotten home from work. He would tidy the kitchen in the morning when his mind was no longer foggy.
You spent the next half an hour moping in your bedroom assuming that your plan hadn’t worked out. You knew it was a possibility and had convinced yourself that you had nothing to lose if Eddie didn’t reciprocate your crush. In reality, you were processing the blow your self esteem had just taken. You just hoped you hadn’t made him too uncomfortable, you couldn’t bear it if he now felt weird in your presence. 
You busied yourself in an attempt to take your mind off the entire situation. While rearranging your closet to be colour coordinated you were absent mindedly singing along to a song that had been stuck in your head all day. The sound of the bathroom door opening and Eddie’s bedroom door slamming shut had your stomach sinking all over again, you must have really upset him. You contemplated checking on him, maybe offering a more genuine apology would make things less awkward in the morning. After a moment of pondering you decided it was best for him to sleep on it, leaving him be you returned to softly humming along to the tune in your head.
Eddie flopped down on his squeaky mattress feeling no better than he had before his ice cold shower. Not only was he still overwhelmed but his aching hard-on had yet to subside. While he stood under the cool stream of water Eddie considered doing a little bit of self-maintenance to solve the very prominent problem he was dealing with. But instead he chose to suffer, knowing he would feel guilty if he jacked off imagining your photo while you sat right across the hall oblivious to his sinful activity. He hadn’t looked at the picture of your partially naked body since the shit show in the kitchen but now that his phone was next to him on his nightstand it was calling out to him, a siren’s song luring him to inevitable disaster. He had deleted the picture from his messages while you were standing in front of him, but Eddie’s phone was also set to have any images saved to his camera roll automatically, if he opened up his photos it would still be there. 
He knew it was wrong, you were his friend and you trusted him, but as his fingers fiddled with the plain plastic case covering his phone the temptation became too much. Just one more peek he told himself, just one moment of pure self indulgence before he deleted it for good. Swallowing any feelings of remorse Eddie pulled up the photo once again. His heart rate immediately kicked up as his eyes zeroed in on the swell of your chest. Despite how much of you he had already mistakenly witnessed he was greedy in wishing that your arm wasn’t covering your nipples, he wanted to know what you looked like wholly.
He imagined that it was his palms pushing them so high rather than your forearm. What kind of sounds would you make if his skin was touching yours? If he pinched your nipple between his thumb and index finger, would your back arch needily into his touch? Would you gasp or would you moan? Would you say his name? 
Eddie glanced down at the towel that was still wrapped around his hips, his cock hard and straining against the cotton which threatened to fall open at the slightest twist of his hips. He cursed himself for not taking care of it whilst he was in the shower. As lovely as your apartment was there had always been one thing that made living with another person a slight inconvenience, the walls were extremely thin. It didn’t help that your room was set up so that your bed was directly adjacent to his on the opposite side of the wall. 
Eddie listened to you singing along to some tune that he couldn’t decipher, you must have had your headphones on. This was his chance to get it out of his system while you wouldn’t be able to hear him. He could be quiet, this wasn’t his first rodeo. 
He trailed his free hand down the length of his bare torso, a soft groan rumbled in his throat as he cupped his aching length. He played with himself as his eyes returned to his phone, his gaze roaming lower over your soft stomach. He tried to picture what your velvety skin would feel like against his lips as he descended your body, kissing his way lower and lower until he reached the real treasure hidden beneath the damp, red lace. 
“Fuck,” he whispered as he gave himself one last gentle squeeze. 
With his finger hooked beneath the towel he tugged until it fell open, his cock springing upwards towards his tensed abdomen. His body trembled when he wrapped his fingers around the base, imagining your hand in place of his own he worked himself steadily. Would you set the same pace that he usually did? Eddie only had one setting when it came to touching himself, merciless and eager for any kind of friction that would quickly bring him to his climax. Or would you take your time with him? Experiment with the pressure of your touch as you carefully studied what his body reacted to the most. Your hands were smaller than his, dainty and delicate in comparison to his muscular, veiny ones. He knew he could experience so much more from your caresses, knew you could melt him into a puddle as you edged him with languid and careful strokes. Lost in his fantasies Eddie impatiently reached into the drawer of his nightstand where he kept the bottle of lotion he regularly used as lube.
With your closet in order you decided next to paint your toenails. You had halted your singing as you made yourself comfortable in the centre of your double bed with your choice of polish in hand. You were leaning forward over your bent knee ready to paint when a sound made you freeze on the spot. Was that a moan? You jumped up towards the head of your bed and eagerly squished your ear flat against the wall separating your room from Eddie’s. For a few moments there was nothing but silence, you wondered if your mind had been so caught up in Eddie that you had imagined it. Right as you were about to chide yourself for being so nosey you heard it again. Quieter this time, the softest little “Mmph..”, but unmistakable nonetheless. Your stomach flipped as you realised he was jacking off. You knew he must have done it countless times since moving in here but you had never heard it with your own ears until now. What a coincidence it happened to be the same day you tried to inconspicuously seduce him.
Eddie hadn’t noticed that your side of the shared wall had fallen silent. He was oblivious to his surroundings, too focused on the glide of his fist over sensitive flesh while staring at the pretty little pout your lips wore in the photo. His stomach quivered as he pictured them parting, accepting the weight of him heavy on your tongue while your head bobbed in time with his avid thrusts. His toes curled as he picked up the pace, a strangled whine escaping his throat as his thumb glided over his swollen, leaking tip. The sounds of his pumping fist echoed louder and wetter now, precum mixing with the lotion to provide sufficient lubrication. Eddie was fighting to keep his eyes from fluttering shut in bliss, determined to not waste a second of the time he had to look at you before having to get rid of your picture.
“O- ohh,” Eddie stuttered, no longer caring about trying to stay completely silent. “Oh my - fuuuck.”
You had emerged from your room to hear him more clearly, cautious not to position yourself directly in front of his door in case he caught sight of your shadow. You found a spot, one you deemed safe, and perched yourself against the wall. You blushed at the sounds of his laboured pants and sinful grunts, not thinking as you allowed your thighs to squeeze together in an attempt to somewhat alleviate the throb situating itself between them. Was he pleasuring himself to your picture? Maybe he wasn’t being honest when he told you he was deleting it, you hoped he wasn’t. Maybe he had and he was just imagining it, you thought of his big brown eyes squeezed shut tight as he tried to recall every little detail he’d seen of your body. Maybe he wasn’t getting off to you at all, he could’ve just been watching porn on his phone. You were about to let your feelings of discouragement take over again when you heard it. Your name. He whimpered your name huskily followed by a string of incoherent expletives. 
“Jesus fucking christ… Mmmph… Baby, bab- ohhh.”
Eddie felt his balls begin to tighten as his hips started to jerk, involuntarily chasing his fist. His grip around his cock tightened as his impending orgasm made itself known in the form of a tingle at the base of his spine. Through gritted teeth Eddie growled fiercely as he came, head thrown back into his pillow he fought the roar from deep in his chest as he rode out the most earth shattering high. 
“Oh shit, oh shit,” he panted hard, his body shaking when he glanced down at the pearlescent mess he had made across his stomach and chest.
Tossing his phone beside him on the comforter Eddie ran his hands down his blush tinted face. ‘Great,’  he thought. ‘Might as well get straight back in the shower.’
Your brain felt as clouded as Eddie’s had as you reeled from probably the hottest thing you had ever heard in your life. Now you needed a little self care of your own and the last ten minutes would absolutely be the soundtrack. You heard the bed springs creak behind his bedroom door and scrambled back to your own before he caught you eavesdropping and thought you were a pervert. Back in the safety of your room you bit your lip in giddiness with the knowledge that your little scheme had been successful. Eddie wanted you. He wanted you the same way that you had been wanting him for months and now that you had that confirmation, it was time to move onto phase two of your plan to seduce him.
Eddie was woken the next morning by the sound of your singing carrying down the small hallway to his bedroom. He groaned as he rolled onto his back, his closed fists rubbing harshly against his bleary eyes. He squinted against the rays of sunshine pouring in through the gaps in his broken blinds, your voice slowly waking his sleepy mind one sweetly sung word at a time. A small smile graced the edges of his lips until it dawned on him exactly what you were singing. The events of the night before came rushing back to him and his stomach sank with the guilt of it. He prayed that he would be able to compose himself enough in your presence that it wouldn’t be totally obvious that you had been the only thing on his mind for the entire night. He still hadn’t deleted your photo. 
He stretched out his aching limbs, grunts of relief escaping his throat with each crack of his spine. Grabbing the first clean t-shirt from his top dresser drawer and his discarded sweatpants from his bedroom floor he made himself decent and prepared to face you. 
He opened his door and was hit with the sweet smell of pancakes, a Sunday morning ritual. His bare feet padded softly down the hall until he met you in the kitchen, his ruined dinner from the night before nowhere in sight. 
“Morning,” Eddie said softly, his voice still raspy and laced with sleep. 
You jumped slightly, not having heard him approach. 
“Morning,” you returned without even looking at him. 
“You didn’t have to clean that up,” he gestures towards the countertop where his former mess had been. “Swear I was gonna do it before you woke up - Sorry.” 
“It’s okay,” you shrugged, still keeping your eyes on the pan in front of you. “Needed the kitchen.” 
‘Okay,’ Eddie thought. ‘This feels fucking awkward.’
He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched you plate your breakfast. His eyes narrowed as you smothered it in your chosen toppings, why were you not talking to him? After grabbing some cutlery from the drawer by your hip you picked up your plate and turned to leave the kitchen, looking at Eddie for the first time that morning you gave him a tight lipped smile as you pushed past him and disappeared back into your own room. 
You hadn’t made him any pancakes. Not that Eddie expected you to make him breakfast. He was perfectly capable of pouring himself a bowl of cereal, but this was the first time since he moved in that you hadn’t offered him pancakes on a Sunday morning. Were you still embarrassed about him accidentally seeing you in such a vulnerable position? The thought of that possibility made him feel like even more of a creep for not only keeping the photo, but using it to jack off with you in the next room. Oh fuck - What if you heard him? No, no, no you can’t have heard him. He was quiet, wasn’t he? Sure, maybe he got a little lost in the thought of you sucking his soul out through his dick but he wasn’t loud. He definitely didn’t say your name. Nope, definitely not. Shit. 
Eddie was starting to panic. He was second guessing what had slipped out of his mouth in the heat of the moment and the fact you might have heard him, or probably did hear him if your behaviour this morning was anything to go by, was making him feel sick. What if you wanted him to move out? How mortifying would it be for him to go crawling back to Wayne and explaining he needed to move back in because he was a degenerate that couldn’t control himself around his cute roommate. Oh God, what if you mentioned something to Robin? What if you asked her why she had recommended such a weirdo to move in with you? Then she would surely tell Steve, soon after all of his friends would know and he’d be a laughing stock. By this point Eddie’s heart was in his throat and his palms were sweating profusely, he had to force himself to breathe and stop overthinking it. He didn’t know for sure that you had heard anything, maybe you just didn’t feel like being social this morning. He decided his best course of action was to just stay out of your way for the rest of the day and hope by tomorrow it had all blown over. 
So that’s exactly what Eddie did. You barely bumped into him all afternoon, Sunday was the one day that you were both guaranteed to be off work together. Usually the day would be spent in easy company, both of you occupying the living area. He would practise a little guitar while you sat and read a book, you’d watch a couple of episodes of whatever TV show you had been binge watching together recently. Sometimes he’d fire up his Playstation and you’d laugh as you watched him get himself riled up at a particularly difficult part,  so much so you would have to force him to take a breather before he broke something. It was the one day a week you always ate dinner together. But not today. Eddie hadn’t left his bedroom since your uncomfortable encounter at breakfast. You heard him emerge a handful of times to use the bathroom but each time he would disappear too quickly for you to grab his attention. 
You had meant to play it cool this morning, act like nothing had happened the night before but maybe you had overdone it. Now you were worried that you had come across too cold, you felt guilty for not making him pancakes like you always did. You knew how anxious he got sometimes and you just hoped you hadn’t freaked him out too much. Did he suspect you of eavesdropping on him last night and think you were mad at him? You had planned to draw out your plan of seduction a little longer but maybe it was time you made things even, it was only fair. 
Eddie had grabbed as many snacks and cans of soda he could carry in preparation for a day shut alone in his room. Then after the growl of his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten since he was at work the day before he returned to grab more before you reappeared with your empty breakfast dishes. He spent the entire day keeping himself occupied, luckily he had a lot of planning to do for his next campaign which served as a successful distraction. While hours had passed without him giving you much thought there was still the lingering feeling of guilt, deep in his chest that he was unable to shake off. 
Any time he needed to leave his room to make a quick trip to the bathroom he lingered by his door for a few moments, listening extra carefully to make sure he couldn’t hear you moving around outside before he made a run for it. He would have to settle on something microwaveable for his dinner, something that would only take minutes to cook whilst you were in the shower. He would wait until he heard the rush of the running water to make his move and be back in his safe haven without you even knowing he had surfaced. Eddie wondered if he was being ridiculous, was going out of his way to make sure he didn’t face you even once the entire day making things so much worse? Then he remembered how dismissive you had been of him at breakfast and decided that he definitely didn’t want to experience that again. 
By the time Eddie heard the bathroom door close and the shower faucet come to life it was almost 11PM. He counted to sixty to allow time for you to get under the water, then with his unsatisfied stomach gurgling he darted to the kitchen. He shoved his frozen mac and cheese into the microwave and watched the timer count down each painful second as if he could magically make it go faster if he just stared hard enough. With his fork at the ready he yanked open the door the instant it started beeping and dumped the piping hot mush into a bowl before scarpering back to the safety of his room. 
You rolled your eyes at the sound of Eddie’s heavy footsteps bounding down the hall, if he was trying to be sneaky about leaving his room he was doing a terrible job at it. You were tired of him avoiding you now, whether it was for his benefit or your own you were struggling to figure out but either way you had to make it stop. As the steaming water ran down your body you let your mind wander to the night before. You had been thinking of the heavenly sounds that drifted through the cheap plywood door, the desperate little whines and whimpers that Eddie was clearly trying and failing to hold in, the way your name sounded as it slipped from his lips right before he came. You pictured him lying back on his black and white chequered bedsheets, his thick ring clad fingers pumping his stiff cock. You knew he probably wasn’t wearing his rings having been fresh out of the shower but in your fantasies, he was always wearing them. Wait, you told yourself as you resisted the urge to reach between your legs to appease the ache blossoming in your core. Stick to the plan. 
Back in your room you rifled through your underwear drawer to pick out a matching set, another lacey get up that made you feel extra cute. After spritzing yourself with your favourite perfume you turned off your lights until your room was bathed in only the soft glow from the small bedside lamp on your nightstand. You put on a bit of music, slow but hardly audible, just enough to set the mood. After the finishing touch of burning a few vanilla scented candles your classic self seduction set up was complete. You pressed your ear to the wall to see if you could hear any movement from Eddie but were met with complete silence, you only hoped he hadn’t already fallen asleep. 
You made yourself comfortable, reaching into your nightstand you pulled out your favourite vibrator and lay back against your pillow. Closing your eyes you let your thoughts wander back to the scene you had been picturing in the shower, fingertips softly glide over your skin, already tingling with the anticipation of what you hoped was going to happen tonight. You wondered if Eddie still had your photo, it sounded like he had put it to good use and you could only hope he wanted to revisit it again. Was the reason he had been in hiding all day because he wanted to avoid another confrontation or was it because he couldn’t look at you without seeing you almost naked? 
You kept your underwear on, not wanting to get too carried away while you were still on your own, but with your patience dwindling faster than you had expected your thumb eagerly flipped the switch on the vibrator. Keeping the speed low to begin with your breath hitched with excitement as the light buzzing filled your room. With one hand palming your breasts over cups of your bra you dragged the silicone toy over your skin, imagining it was Eddie’s touch electrified. You teased the lace edges of your panties, squirming beneath the vibrations as your pussy begged you for attention. 
Eddie’s ears pricked up the instant he heard the gentle buzz from your side of the wall. Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me he thought. He tossed the book he had been reading carelessly to the side, not bothered about losing his place as he knelt by his headboard and pressed his ear just above it. Were you doing what he thought you were doing? The soft little whimpers and sighs he could just about make out  told him that yes, you were doing exactly what he thought. He didn’t know you had a vibrator, he’d never heard you use it before now. Were you trying to punish him for the night before? 
Eddie backed away from the wall the second he felt the stirring in his sweatpants. No, no, no we’re not doing this again. He jumped off his bed and paced his floor, messy curls in disarray as he tried to shake the image of you pleasuring yourself out of his head. His attempt was futile as the whirring of the toy only got louder. Were you trying to kill him? He eyed up his headphones lying on top of his desk, he should just put them on. That’s what he should do, just put them on and turn his music up loud enough that it drowned out any sound that could tempt him. But Eddie didn’t walk towards his desk, instead his feet took him towards his door. 
He turned the handle and pulled the door open just a crack, he listened carefully but found that your sounds were somehow more muffled than when he was shut in his room. He opened it fully and stuck his head out, his body acting like he had no control as he crept closer to your room. He avoided the squeaky floorboard that he knew was right outside and suddenly his body was practically pressed against your door. Fuck. Eddie could smell the vanilla candles along your perfume and his head was starting to spin. He listened to your little “oh”s and “ah”s and knew that he was screwed, there’s no way he wasn’t taking care of the tent in his pants without thinking about you again tonight. 
Your hips bucked against the air, your pussy aching to be filled as you pressed the vibrator against your clit, your greedy thumb edging the speed setting higher and higher with each passing minute. You almost forgot about the show you were supposed to be putting on, too caught up in the sensations your head lulled to the side, eyes screwed shut. It wasn’t until they fluttered open again that you were reminded of the reason you were doing this. Eddie. He was outside your door, apparently in his lust filled haze he wasn’t as mindful as you when it came to the little things like his shadow being visible beneath the gap. 
Your stomach flipped and your heart stuttered, the excitement only growing knowing that your plan was working once again and he was listening to every sound you made. You pulled the toy away before you were too far gone, without switching it off so he wouldn’t think you had stopped, you reached for your phone. Right beneath the picture which started this whole thing you typed out your message and quickly hit send. 
Eddie almost had a heart attack when his phone chimed, it was almost comical how far into the air he jumped to the point it slipped out of his pocket and clattered to the floor beside him. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck, there’s no way you’re gonna let him keep living here now. This is what he gets for being a pervert. Eddie tried to slow his heart rate as the mortification of being caught again set in. He desperately tried to think of a way he could pass it off as a coincidence, that he was simply walking past your room to the kitchen when his phone went off. He picked up the phone to see who the fucker that dropped him in it was and froze when he saw your name accompanied by just two words that made his jaw drop. 
‘Help me’
Surely you didn’t mean help help, Eddie had never been that lucky. If that’s what you truly meant then he must be dreaming. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard as he tried to decide if he should reply or just open your door. His anxiety got the better of him, somehow convincing him that your very obvious signals were a figment of his imagination and he settled on the former. You bit your lip and giggled to yourself as you watched the speech bubble appear and disappear a hundred times over. When his reply finally popped up you wanted to bang your head against the wall. 
‘With what?’ 
Eddie waited nervously for the bubble that indicated you were typing, it only appeared for a fraction of a second before your next message appeared and his heart skipped once again. 
‘Please’
That was all Eddie needed to finally accept that this was really happening, that you had been thinking about him the same way he was thinking about you. He typed out a quick ‘Ok’ and counted out sixty seconds in his head, as if delaying his entering would somehow convince you he hadn’t been hanging outside eavesdropping. Flexing his fingers to try and shake off the slight tremor in hand he reached out to slowly open your bedroom door. 
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath when he took in the sight of you laying back in the centre of your bed, legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on your elbows.
You waited patiently for Eddie to process what he was seeing. He knew he shouldn’t stare but he couldn’t stop his eyes from raking over your body, he couldn’t believe that just 24 hours earlier he was seeing this through his phone screen and now you were here right in front of his eyes. You watched him gawk at you with wide eyes and parted lips. Your own gaze travelled the length of his lean figure, you had to bite your lip to suppress the smirk brought on by the sight of his obvious erection. Arching your knees you grinned at him softly, spreading your legs to reveal the damp spot between them. Eddie gulped, almost choking when he realised how dry his mouth had become. His brain suddenly reminded him to stop making an ass of himself and move, mentally slapping himself out of his trance he forced his feet to carry him forward. It felt as if every nerve in his body was alive as he crawled along your mattress and settled himself between your legs, careful to not touch you just yet he hovered above you.
“You really want this?” he asked breathlessly, praying that you wouldn’t take the last chance he was giving you to change your mind. 
You leaned further forward on your elbows until your face was inches from his own, flicking the off switch on your vibrator you placed it on the bed beside you before you answered him. 
“So fucking bad.”
Eddie growled as his plush lips crashed against yours, your fingers instantly threaded into his soft locks desperate to hold him close to you. He wasted no time deepening the kiss, revelling in the feel of you as your tongue glided against his. You whined into his mouth as he let his full weight press you down into the mattress, his hips needily rutting against your heat. 
“Need you,” he breathed against your lips. 
Your ankles locked around his waist, your heels digging into his ass to encourage his wild thrusts against the place you were craving him most. With the deliciously hard outline of his cock rubbing so blissfully along your need you writhed beneath him. Your hands wandered his body, frantically grabbing any part of him you could reach. Snagging the hem of his shirt with your fingers you ripped it up over his body, he huffed a breathless laugh at your eagerness when it got caught around his neck. 
“Easy, easy,” he warned gently, slowly untangling his limbs from yours so he could lean up to pull the shirt over his head. 
Starved for his touch you followed him upright, your lips attacking the softness of his belly. With his shirt gone he was infatuated as he watched you kiss your way down the light trail of hair below his navel. He groaned when your head continued lower, his body physically shuddering as the bridge of your nose nuzzled his already aching cock. He had to pull himself out of his captivation before he was unable to tell you to stop, his thumb caressed your cheekbone softly pulling you from his crotch. 
“Not until I taste you first,” he leaned down to press his lips to yours, quickly pulling back and smiling when you chased him for more. “Been dreaming’ of doin’ this every fucking night.” 
Moving his hand to your shoulder he guided you to lay back on your pillows and quickly slid down your body until his head was between your spread legs. His hands gripped the underside of your thighs and pulled you down towards his face. 
“Mmmm,” he hummed as he admired the wet spot now noticeably larger than when he walked in. 
Your hips jolted upwards when you felt him trace along your slit with his index finger, tickling you with his featherlight touch. His button nose nuzzled you tenderly, mimicking what you had been doing to him before he interrupted. Eddie felt himself getting lightheaded as he inhaled your scent, his own hips bucking with primal need against your mattress as he let his desire take over. 
His fingers hooked into the elastic of your underwear, using your heels you lifted your hips to assist him with removing them before he could ask for permission. He peeled off the flimsy lace, sticking for a moment to the heat at your core. Tossing them over his shoulder he placed a line of damp kisses along the inside of both your thighs. You were practically vibrating with anticipation by the time he delved in. 
To say he knocked the breath out of your lungs the moment his tongue pushed between your folds was an understatement. If you weren’t already lying down you would have buckled at the knees, his slow purposeful licks along your entrance ripping from you a moan that reverberated in his ears. 
You almost whined at the loss of the warm wetness pushing into your entrance until one long lick upwards had him settling at your clit. With the tip of his tongue flicking at your sensitive bud his strong hands gripped beneath your ass, squeezing the flesh of your cheeks to smother his face further into your cunt. 
He was messy, hungry, drunk on the taste of your arousal. His unruly curls tickled the inside of your thighs as he shook his head back and forth between them, the rumble of his own moans resonating deep in your core. He pulled one hand from beneath you and brought them to your dripping entrance. 
“Fuck Eddie!” You cried as he pushed two fingers deep into your pussy. “Oh my - fuck.” 
You couldn’t believe how full you felt just from his fingers. The pressure of your impending orgasm rising in the pit of your stomach as he fucked them into you at a brutal pace. You could feel him smirking against your clit as he rejoiced in the feel of your walls clenching around his digits rapidly. 
“Gonna soak my face, pretty girl?” He purred as he came up for air. “Don’t get all shy on me now huh, I wanna hear you fucking scream.” 
Your eyes rolled back into your skull as he dived back in, the flick of his tongue twice as fast as before. The filthy wet sounds of his fingers stroking your g-spot echoed through your room and before you knew it your release was ripping through you like wildfire. Your entire body tensed as you sobbed his name, the grip you had on his hair tightened painfully and it only made him roll his own hips harder. 
“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie…” You repeated his name like a mantra as your soul returned to your trembling body. 
Eddie gave your clit one last kiss before he removed his fingers and sat back on his heels. He looked feral as he beamed down at you. His face shone with the evidence of the earth shattering climax he’d just given you, his hair was a mess and sticking to his sweaty forehead, the warm chocolate brown of his irises almost completely black. 
Despite feeling weak you still burned for him in your post orgasm haze, especially when he started to push his sweatpants down over his hips. Your mouth started to fill with saliva as you watched his cock spring up from the confines of his boxers and bob in the air up by his stomach. He was so fucking beautiful. You already knew from the outline of his erection that he was well endowed, but now that you were seeing him in the flesh you couldn’t wait to feel the underside of his velvety shaft glide across your tongue. 
Raising to your knees in front of him you reached for his hands. Eddie took them, enveloping your fingers in his much larger ones and leaned down to capture you in a kiss. You giddily accepted, sighing as you tasted yourself on his tongue your head started to feel hazy again. Untangling your fingers from his you reached up to cup his rosy cheeks, his hands settling on your waist and pulling you closer. The pit of desire in your lower belly stirred once again as his hardness pressed prominently into your hip. 
Without moving your mouth off of his you encouraged him to switch places with you, dotingly guiding him to sit back against your pillows. Eddie’s eyelids fluttered closed, a hum of content passing his lips as your kisses now travelled the length of his jaw and down the tender flesh of his neck. He hissed as you nipped playfully at his collarbone and continued south towards his groin. 
You had never wanted to suck a dick so badly but with Eddie’s sticky red tip, leaking blots of precum you craved the bitter taste of him flooding your mouth. Eddie hissed as you ran your palm up the length of his member, painfully swollen and begging for any form of friction. 
“Oh shit this is happening,” he whimpered above you. “This is really fucking happening.” 
You smiled at the sweetness of it, his chin was still shining from the way he devoured your pussy only two minutes before and yet he couldn’t believe you were about to return the favour. That you were on your knees and dying to worship him the same way he had you. Eddie gasped when your tongue ran along his fully hard shaft. Taking his tip between your lips you swirled your tongue around his slit before greedily taking him to the back of your throat. 
Eddie didn’t realise how far gone he already was until he felt the warmth of your mouth engulf him whole. You choked slightly as your nose almost touched the dark thatch of curls at his base but breathed through it when you listened to the guttural moan that tore from his throat. His hands threaded into your hair on either side of your head to hold you in place, not forceful but encouraging. 
He began to softly rock his hips in time with the bob of your head. With the power of speech lost on him Eddie felt the all too familiar rush of his climax beginning to rise and quickly used his grip on your hair to pull you away from him. 
“Fuck I’m sorry,” he babbled breathlessly, foreheads brought together as his nose nuzzled the apple of your cheek, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles to your temple in case he had tugged your hair too hard. “M’sorry I was gonna cum.”
“I wanna see you cum,” you pleaded just as breathlessly with a sloppy kiss pressed to his lips.  “Please Eddie I wanna make you cum.” 
“C’mere,” he whined, tapping your thighs in a signal to straddle him. 
You grabbed his shoulders for leverage and did as instructed while he fumbled with the clasp of your bra. With his frustration evident, you batted his hands away and popped it open yourself. Eddie wasted no time ripping the straps down your arms and taking your nipple into his mouth, groaning as you reached between you to grasp his cock in your fist. You teased him as you slid the head through your heat gathering your slick. He released your nipple with a wet pop and looked up at you with his lust-blown orbs. 
“Do we need a condom?” He asked, pulling himself out from under your spell long enough to be sensible. 
To his relief you shook your head. 
“Ready?” You asked, voice shaking with need. 
His head nodded wildly, your forehead rested against his to stop the movements and your eyes locked with his as you slowly sank down his length. You both gasped at the same time, your gazes never breaking as the burn of his cock stretching you left you equally breathless. 
“Oh my god.. you’re so fuckin’ tight,” Eddie’s voice was strained as he worked to control himself. 
“Eddie…” you whined, faces so close your breath tickled his skin. “So full.” 
He wrapped his arms around you to pull your chest flush with his, one hand holding you securely in position around your waist whilst the other found purchase on the back of your head. With your bodies pressed so closely together it was awkward to set an even rhythm but you rocked your hips together best you could. His tip was deep inside you and you squirmed against the dull ache as your body continued to adjust to his size. 
“You okay?” He asked filled with concern as he felt your brow crease deeply against his own. 
“Mmhm,” you reassured him, never breaking eye contact while you held his face in your hands. “You feel so, so good.”
Eddie couldn’t remember a time he had been treated with such tenderness, especially during sex but he knew you were different, had known from the moment he met you that you were destined to be more than just roommates. 
You adjusted the angle of your hips while Eddie continued to buck into you, seeking out the spot you knew would bring you to edge faster than any other. You froze when you found it, a curse leaving your lips as your walls pulsed around his cock. 
“Oh fuck… right there baby?” Eddie chuckled as you started to bounce in his lap, your hips now moving of their own accord desperately seeking that jolt of pleasure as he brushed your spot over and over. 
Frustrated that he couldn’t move as easily as he wanted, Eddie squeezed your hip and attempted to shift your position. 
“Eddie!” You cried in exasperation as he thwarted your imminent orgasm. 
“I know, I know I’m sorry,” he panted, tapping a kiss to your lips in apology. 
You let him manoeuvre you until you laid flat on your back, legs falling open easily to welcome him back where he belonged in that moment. Gripping his length he gave your clit a quick tap, delighted in the way it made you squirm before he hastily re-entered you. With the freedom to move as he wished Eddie began to piston his hips at a brutal pace. You were practically weeping as you reached for him, while the new speed and angle was sending you dizzy you missed the feeling of his skin pressed to yours. 
Eddie leaned forward at your request, hovering over you as he braced his weight on either side of your head. You growled as you dug your heels into his tailbone, still not totally satisfied you reached around his hips to grab two handfuls of his gorgeous ass in an attempt to take him deeper, you wanted him so deep it felt like he was splitting you open. 
Eddie felt like he was going to explode at any moment, with the way you were acting almost ravenous for his cock and the fact that he had been walking the precipice since the moment he entered your room he was surprised he had managed to last this long as it was. Desperate to feel you cum for him one more time he leaned back to grab the discarded vibrator from your bedsheet, with no patience left in either of you for teasing he flicked the switch to a high setting and held it firmly against your clit. 
“Oh my god!” You screamed, head thrown back into your pillow as his cock continued to thrust in and out of you at a brutal pace. “Eddie, Eddie baby… Gonna cum.”
“Oh yeah, you're gonna cum?” Eddie grunted, teeth gritted as he fought off his own orgasm, the vibrations from your toy travelling through your core and along his dick. “Give it to me sweetheart give me everything - From the moment I first laid eyes on you I knew I was fucked - Oh I’m so close fuck, fuck, fuck fuuuck…”
All it took was a few more strokes against your spot as he pounded into you before the dam broke. Your nails bit into the skin of his forearm as your release crashed over you wave after wave. If Eddie hadn’t been so close to breaking point before, the feeling of your pussy clenching down rhythmically around his cock would have driven him there in an instant. 
The tightness in his muscles snapped and his cum painted your walls in sharp spurts. The whimpering moan that slipped from his lips would have embarrassed him under any other circumstances but in that moment the electric pleasure that coursed through his veins made it hard to care. He was pulled back to Earth by the feel of you trying to push the vibrator away from your sensitive clit, the overstimulation becoming too much as Eddie was frozen in place. 
“Sorry, fuck sorry,” he mewled, clicking flicking the off switch before he collapsed fully on top of you. 
You squealed as his weight pushed you down into the mattress, your legs wrapped around his hips keeping him inside you while your arms encircled his shoulders. 
“Eddie…” you cooed sweetly into the crown of his head, your fingers gently combing back strands of damp hair which stuck to his face. “Eddie…” 
He tilted his head up to look at you, the dopey, lovesick grin that stretched the corners of his lips did nothing to slow your racing heart. He planted one, two, three kisses to the centre of your chest before mustering the strength to roll off of you. You pouted at the loss as you felt his dick slip out of you. Eddie flopped onto his back and patted his chest. 
“C’mere baby,” he sighed, pulling you into an embrace. “Just wanna hold you.”
You scooched forward and lay your head next to the demon tattoo on his left pec. 
“Did you mean what you said?” you asked, panting slightly as you still tried to catch your breath. “About when you first saw me?”
“That I knew I was fucked? Yeah I meant it,” Eddie chuckled softly. “You’ve been driving me crazy for six whole months.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I erm - I’ve thought about you a lot, you know when I -” he awkwardly reached down and made a jacking off motion with his hand, you pressed your lips together to suppress a giggle. “Last night wasn’t the first time.”
“Ah so I did hear correctly then,” you teased, your laugh this time escaping as you watched the blush creep up his cheeks. 
Eddie internally cringed when he realised you had never confirmed that you had been listening to him. 
“It’s okay,” you reassured him casually. “I thought about you too.”
“Sure you did,” he scoffed.
You rolled over to reach down the side of your bed and snatch up the discarded t-shirt you had stolen from him, you tossed it behind you so it landed on his chest.
“Remember the weekend you went away on that fishing trip with Wayne?” you watched as he curiously picked up his shirt, only nodding when he realised you were waiting for an answer. “Well I stole that from you cause it smelled of you the strongest.”
“You went smelling all my shirts?”
“Yes,” you admitted confidently. “Then I took that one back to my room and buried my face in it while I humped my pillow.”
Eddie almost died at your lascivious confession. His face was a picture as the redness tinting his cheeks deepened, his eyes growing impossibly wide. You would have given anything to be able to hear his thoughts in that moment.
“I have your panties,” he blurted out suddenly.
“What?” you shrieked out in disbelief.
“I didn’t steal ‘em though,” he side-eyed you sheepishly. “They musta got mixed up with my laundry and I just didn’t tell you.”
“The black mesh ones with the little white daisies?”
“Uh huh.”
“Eddie!” you scolded as you swatted his arm playfully. “Those are my favourite pair. I've been looking for them for like a month!”
“Finders Keepers,” he shrugged, a cheeky smirk tugged at his lips.
“Perv,” you taunted.
“Hey, they were clean,” he refuted. “And I didn’t do anything with them, you are the pervert here.”
You narrowed your eyes at him in a scowl and he copied you. You stayed that way in a stand off until it was you that finally broke, your lips twitching into a smile as you couldn’t hold your laughter in any longer. Eddie quickly followed suit, through his giggles he cast aside his shirt once again he pulled you close so your head rested on his chest above his heart. 
“I really didn’t think you liked me that way,” he muttered into the crown of your hair, his tone more serious once the snickers had subsided. “You know when I first moved in here I used to parade around in my towel after my shower on purpose just to see if you’d ever check me out. Was kinda bummed after a couple of weeks and I hadn’t caught you looking.”
“Oh I was checking you out,” you affirmed with a smile. “I’m just way more subtle than you.”
“If I’m not subtle then what was the need for your little experiment?” he challenged. 
He had you there, unable to think of a decent comeback you rolled your eyes and let him take the win. He snorted a laugh and squeezed his arms around you tightly, you buried your face into his pale skin and indulged in finally being this close to him.
“What happens now?” you asked without looking up at him, your words muffled by his chest. 
“Huh?” he asked, removing one hand from your waist to force you to lift your chin up.
“I said what happens now? I mean we are still roommates, does everything stay the same?”
“I hope not,” he frowned. “You gonna let me take you out?”
“Like a date?”
“Yeah like a date. I actually wanted to surprise you since your birthday’s coming up and all, was gonna cook you a nice meal. Been practising and everything but since I clearly still can’t cook for shit how about Enzos?”
Your heart melted at the thought of Eddie trying so hard to impress you, that all those times you cursed at that damn smoke alarm going off again it could have been an attempt at him doing something special for you. You were glad that you had gotten the ball rolling by sending him your picture, but even if you had chickened out maybe you both would have found your way here eventually anyway.
“Enzos sounds great.”
Tags for anyone that asked/rebogged/showed any interest in my preview ❤️: @ali-r3n @tlclick73 @bebe07011 @chaoticoffin @boomhauer
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syzygy-yzygy · 5 months
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Supernatural is not a good show. In fact, it is pretty objectively terrible. It has moments of brilliance and potential, but it squanders it most of the time.
But there will never be another show like this one.
Supernatural was a show where pretty much anything could happen, and it went on long enough that pretty much everything did. It went from a straightforward, procedural monster-hunting show to a weird, meta parody of itself where the main characters beg for freedom from a cruel and all-powerful writer controlling their fate.
Supernatural was a show made for cishet white men that gained an audience of anything but, and spent years struggling with that dissonance. It became multiple shows at once to appeal to its vastly varied fanbase and, when faced with the need to choose an ending and decide its identity once and for all, ended up angering everyone.
Supernatural was a show that the writers completely and utterly lost control of. I don't think the writers of 04x01 Lazarus Rising could have ever in a million years imagined the events of 15x18 Despair. It became a monster bigger than itself because of the energy of its fanbase. The show itself briefly became a mirror of this dissonance in its final season, before the show finally tried to regain control and ended the way that it did.
Supernatural has had an impossibly impactful mark on internet and fandom culture. It has changed this website in tangible ways that won't be forgotten anytime soon. It was the 12-year-long queerbait, the one that would serve as the scale against which to compare all queer ships before and after. It spawned the only ship to date with over 100,000 fanfics on ao3. It was the homosexual homophobic show. The world's longest, most drawn-out hate crime. And it ended it all with superhell, tetanus, and party city wigs.
Supernatural is not a good show. But it is undoubtedly fascinating and influential. I want to study this show endlessly. It is just so fully insane to me.
Anyways, I'll be posting about this show A LOT tomorrow as well so sorry to my non-supernatural mutuals. I'm jealous that you are not cursed with the burden of knowledge that is this show.
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fiapartridge · 3 months
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♡ how you get the girl | quinn hughes
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quinn hughes x fem!reader
summary: after you walk out on quinn, he realizes he made the biggest mistake of his life, leading him to your doorstep. wet, soppy, and begging for forgiveness.
warning(s): cursing, kissing and grinding and stuff leading to sex but no actual sex described??? idk it just gets heated, angst but there is a happy ending!!!! <33333
author's note ����: i love writing for quinn. he's my fave. anyways, i got a request to do a part two to the "you're losing me" imagine so! hope u enjoy!
read part one here !!
YOU LEFT HIM. And for a moment, the longest moment of his life, it felt like Quinn’s heart stopped beating. It felt like a wake-up call. 
Ever since becoming captain, his focus shifted. His eyes grew tired, waking up before you had the chance to pepper him with kisses in the morning. His arms felt sluggish, coming home later and later, trying to perfect his performance, trying to be a good captain for the team, trying to be the person they needed after a terrible, horrific season. He was trying so hard to be what they needed that he forgot about the most important person in his life, and what she needed.
The second you walked out the door, he knew he fucked up. He knew he should’ve called out for you, or kissed you before you had the chance to break up with him and end it all, or promise to be there, to be what you needed. But that argument—it felt like the end. He hadn't lost you in that moment; you had been slipping away for much longer.
“Hey, where’s Y/N going?” Brock drunkenly draped his arm over Quinn’s shoulder, watching him watch the door like you were going to come back and rush into his arms, saying that it was all a huge mistake; that you didn’t mean what you said; that you didn’t care that Quinn had made no time for you in the months he became captain. But that’s not who you are. When you say something, you mean it. 
“I fucked up,” he whispered, like he didn’t want to believe that it was true. 
Brock’s brows raised, his words a bit slurred but still comprehensive. He pouted. “What did Captain Huggy do now?”
“She asked me if I wanted to marry her.”
Brock released a breath as if gaining his sobriety. “Oh shit. What’d you say?”
Quinn gulped, not believing the words he was gonna say. Of course he wanted to marry you. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He would give up anything to be with you, even hockey. And he should’ve said it, he knows he should’ve said it. But would you even believe him if he did? He hasn’t spent a waking minute with you for the past three months. You don’t do that to someone you love. “I said no.”
“What did you want to say?”
Quinn didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t have to think about his answer. “That I would marry her in a heartbeat. That I fucked up and I don’t even know how to fix it.” That when he’s asleep, you’re the only thing he sees in his dreams; that when he’s at practice, and he sees his teammates with their wives and kids, he wonders what it would be like for you to be there, your child on your lap, cheering him on from the stands; that he knows he’s been neglecting you, but he just felt like you would always be there, even if he stopped paying attention. 
“So what’re you gonna do?”
Walking back into the party, Quinn scrambled to find his car keys, ignoring the questions of where he’s going and if he’ll return because, for once, he didn’t care about what they thought about him. All he thought about was making it up to you and getting you back.
After fifteen of the longest minutes of his life, he finally made it to your apartment. He knew you would be here instead of his, but it broke his heart nonetheless. You always said that you hated being here. It felt cold and lonely in contrast to Quinn’s, but after these past couple months, neither apartment felt like home. 
It was raining outside as he paced outside your apartment complex, trying to come up with the right words, not wanting to say something that’ll upset you further. His suit was wet, his hair shaggy, and his new white socks a squishy mess. You deserved more than him, he thought. You deserved so much better. Someone that would actually be there for you and love you and take care of you. That wasn’t Quinn; it was never going to be Quinn, but the least he could do was try.
Knocking on your door, Quinn shook from the rain, and maybe also from a little bit of fear. As terrible as it sounds, he knew you still loved him, but he was worried that that part of your heart was growing smaller and smaller by the second. 
Opening your door, you saw the wet mop on his head and his flustery red cheeks. He was standing in a puddle of rainwater and his hands were trembling. You wanted to hold them, give him a mug of hot chocolate, and warm him up. Swaddle him in a fuzzy blanket, cuddle him, and never let go, but you were also pissed as hell. Why was he standing here? Did he want to rub it in some more? That the only guy you’ve ever truly loved, that you ever actually considered marrying, doesn’t want you? That’s just messed up.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, anger still laced in your tone. But you felt like your heart was stuck in your throat. You wanted to push it down, but the longer you looked at Quinn and his sad stupid eyes, you resisted it a little less.
“I was afraid,” he muttered, a little less than a whisper. 
You rolled your eyes. You’ve been together for years, and he was afraid to tell you he loves you? That he sees a future with you? That he could maybe possibly want to marry you? 
Not wanting to hear his excuses, you held your hand on the wood, attempting to close the door as he held it open, a plea in his eyes—please hear me out. “I was afraid that I wouldn’t be what you needed. You shouldn’t marry me. You deserve so much more than me, Y/N.”
You scoffed. “And that’s supposed to be your decision? I get to decide who and what I deserve, not you.” Tearing your eyes from him, Quinn felt his heart plummeting even faster. He can’t lose you. “You know, maybe you were right, Quinn. Maybe we don’t have a future together.” 
Was he dying? Was Quinn dying? Is this what death felt like? He felt like he was dying. Everything was going wrong. He was wet, you two weren’t back together yet, and somehow you are even more mad at him than before he came.
Just be honest, his mind screamed.
“I thought that I needed to be what everyone else needed,” he said, staring at the puddle of rain he tracked in. “I needed to be a good captain, I needed to be a good player for the fans and for the organization, I needed to be good for my family, but I forgot about you and what you needed.”
“You don’t need to be on for me, Quinn!” you shouted, not caring for your neighbors that could probably hear from down the hall or the people walking past your guys’ melodramatic scene. “If you just told me how you felt, I would’ve been there! I would’ve been there for you!” your eyes were stinging, sparkling with unshed tears. “But you pushed me aside like I was nothing.”
“Y/N-”
“No, no.” You shook your head. “I think you should go-”
“I’ve thought about marrying you since the moment I met you. Since the moment you met my family and you couldn’t care less that Jack had no idea what personal space was, and that Luke was in love with you so he always asked to sit next to you at dinner. And how invasive my parents were and my grandma giving you those crazy ten-minute-long hugs and always asking you when you were going to give her grandchildren. I’ve thought about marrying you since our first date when I got whipped cream on my nose from the funnel cake we shared and you licked it off even though it was our first date, and I thought ‘this girl is crazy and I think I’m in love with her.’ I’ve thought about marrying you every time we went to a wedding together, not even caring about the actual ceremony because I was imaging it was you and I walking down that aisle and you would start crying during your vows but you’d somehow also sneak in some sort of joke about me balding soon that would get everyone laughing and I would somehow fall more and more in love with you than I was before. 
Quinn walked closer, you let him. “Believe me, I want to marry you, Y/N. I would do it right now if I could.”
“So why-”
“I saw you pulling away. I knew I was losing you. I knew that hockey and my life and everything going on right now was hard, and I didn’t want you to be stuck with it if we got married. I didn’t want you to feel like you were stuck with me.”
You breathed out shakily, not expecting…any of that. “I don’t care if you go on roadies every other week, bring me with you. I don’t care if you have a bruised eye or a missing tooth, I’ll be there with an ice pack. If you have to practice from 5 in the morning to 5 in the afternoon, wake me up and I’ll be there with snacks! If the Canucks tank this entire season or they win every single game, I’ll still be here. I don’t care about any of it," you shook your head. "I only care about you. 
You held his wet cheeks, his eyes closing against your warm palms. “I’m not stuck with you,” you whispered against his lips. Planting a soft kiss, you felt him chasing your lips as you pulled back. “I want to be with you forever. But what do you want?”
For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to think. “I want you, Y/N. I want to marry you, and grow old with you, and do everything with you. I just- I want you.”
Standing on your toes, you pulled Quinn into a kiss, his lips quickly closing the distance. He melted into your body, his hands finding themselves underneath the fabric of your shirt, wrapping his arms around your torso as if you were going to dissipate into a clear mist.
As you backed into the apartment, Quinn kicked the door shut, sealing the world outside. With the living room dimly lit, you found yourselves on the couch, pulled gently onto his lap, his hands exploring the curves of your body. “I love you,” he whispered, wanting to get closer, closer, so much closer.
Meeting his urgency, you grinded against his hard-on, licking his lips. “Yeah?” 
He nodded profusely, already imagining you back at his apartment, where you were meant to be, in his bed, in his shirt, moaning his name. “Yeah.”
You smirked, lifting your shirt over your head, your lacy red bra being on full display. Quinn's eyes drank in the sight, his desire palpable in the air. “Show me how much.”
Quinn wasted no time, his hands finding the clasp of your bra, skillfully releasing the constraints. As the fabric fell away, his hands traced the contours of your skin, a silent vow to explore every inch. To kiss each mole and each dimple, and thank whatever godly entity led you to him. 
"Wanna marry you," he moaned into your lips.
"You obsessed with me or something?" you smirked, giggling as he lifted you from the couch, carrying you to your bedroom.
"Something like that."
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The Pressure of a Crumbling World - LN
Summary: After Lando's girlfriend gives birth, there's complications that leave Lando torn. But a promise before labour means Lando finds himself at a race weekend leaving his girlfriend in the hospital and their baby needing him to step up in a way he didn’t quite expect.
No part 2 requests please
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It didn't feel real, even recollecting the moments of the past 12 minutes didn't feel real.
This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He was supposed to be getting beautiful pictures of their daughter and y/n together. He's supposed to be enjoying their first moments as a little family.
Not sitting in a cold corridor after being rather aggressively pushed from her side when she went grey and stop responding.
"Mr Norris-"
"Is she ok? Can I see her?"
"Y/n haemorrhaged badly. They've taken her in for emergency surgery." The midwife explains making her sit back down in defeat. "But you have a baby girl, who I think you should meet."
A baby girl.
He'd cut the chord, heard her cry and caught a glimpse before rushing to tell y/n how beautiful she is. She was meant to be getting handed to y/n when things suddenly went north so quickly.
They'd went into the birth not wanting to know the gender because it was just more fun that way.
"Yeah-yeah, sorry."
"Don't apologise, Mr Norris...these things are never easy but we are here to support all three of you however you need."
He doesn't want to need to be supported. He wants to be happy and to celebrate the birth of their daughter with his girlfriend.
When he walks into the nursery, there's a lot of babies there, some asleep, some crying and his little girl is just lying there, big blue eyes look around.
"Can I-Can I hold her? Is she ok?" Lando chokes out feeling guilty that he'd not thought to rush to her but his mind had been so caught up in y/n not being ok that he couldn't think of anything else.
"Of course you can hold her and she is perfect. Healthy weight, no problems and so far all the tests are exactly what we want to see. We're waiting on the results of a couple others but it shouldn't be long and I don't think they'll be any scares."
"Would she need to stay?" Lando questions making the nurse frown for a moment.
"We usually place babies in with mum, but...I don't see a reason that you couldn't take baby girl home by tomorrow."
Lando has to restrain himself from asking what the time frame might be for y/n. He does't want to get an answer that might just destroy him.
"Mr Norris, I assure you that y/n is in the best hands and being given the best care. I'm confident you will all be home as a family." The midwife assures him. "Do you know what you and y/n wanted to name baby Norris?"
"Yeah. Ah, y/n wanted to call her Odessa (this is actually on my baby name list and I'm not sorry for it)." Lando recalls them smiling. "She probably had some middle name that she didn't tell me about but Odessa is the first name."
-
Despite the surgery going well, y/n hadn't woken up in the three days following and the doctors just couldn't answer as to when she would wake up.
Lando had taken Odessa home and with a lot of help, learned to take care of the newborn. But he spent morning, noon and evening with y/n by her side. Lying Odessa on her mum's chest which seemed to bring the baby more comfort than he'd ever achieved with her.
A new dilemma was coming, Lando has a race weekend in 4 days. It's not far really. It's the Hungary race. So from Monaco, a couple hours by jet.
Still not ideal and he's put his foot down about leaving Odessa without him.
"Travelling with a newborn isn't easy." The midwife states. "Flying won't be easy."
"I can drive, it's not the longest drive so long as I know I need to drive." Lando mumbles, it'll be a long drive but equally it can be done in one day if necessary."
And that was the conversation done.
They ended up giving him the ok to fly so long as someone was onboard who could confidently check the baby was ok. So Lando ended up bringing the midwife with them. But she was essentially getting a free holiday because Lando was insistent that he could handle everything.
Odessa does manage well and when Lando is helped by Jon to get her into a carrier.
The news had broke out a matter of two days after the disastrous birth. The media and fans have been sending love and best wishes to Lando and y/n for days now.
"Feels secure?" Jon asks since making Lando check all the straps, tugging lightly just to be sure.
"Yeah, we're good."
Lando has essentially decided that unless he's getting ready for the car or is in the car, then Odessa will be with him.
He's also got y/n's mum sending half hourly updates on y/n, who still shows now change. Much to his frustration.
Not that he's upset at her but he's just upset that she isn't waking up. She's showing brain activity, she's healing, she's just not waking up.
"Oh my gosh, is this Odessa?" Naomi asks as Lando appears, having agreed to fully commit himself to the media duties. "She's beautiful, Lando."
"Thank you." Lando smiles while stroking a hand over the sleeping baby's hair which is just peaking out. "I'd say I think she's enjoying herself. But she sleeps 20 hours of the day."
"And cries the other 4?" Jenson jokes since they're all trying to keep it light-hearted. "It's nice you can bring her here, she's a week old now right?"
"Yeah-yeah. She's a week old today."
"And getting to witness her first F1 race. A very lucky baby." Jenson smiles earning a nod. "Even if she sleeps through it."
"Knowing my luck, she won't." Lando laughs then hugging her tightly. "I'm glad she's here though. She's going to be glued to me unless I'm in the car."
"That's great to hear, I'm sure this early exposure to motorsport will have her with an immediate love. Even if she doesn't know what it is." Naomi laughs earning a nod from Lando.
They do manage to shift the conversation away from the baby on his chest and to the race itself.
It's later during some stretches with Jon where Odessa has been placed into a little bouncer seat to that he makes a comment.
"You know, I had my doubts about you being able to do very well as a dad. But you really are...amazing."
Lando doesn't comment as he's released from his necessary stretches. Mumbling something about needing to change Odessa.
"I'm just glad my mum and dad are here to watch Odessa while I'm in the garage or on track." Lando states, not that he's got to see much of his parents. There's been a lot of fuss over him.
After all the media eat up everything they can especially off track stories.
Lando smiles looking down as Odessa who's big blue eyes have quickly become Lando's new favourite thing in the world. She's always looking at him. But it always feels shit.
He should get to fall in love with Odessa with y/n and he knows she's going to wake up and never forgive herself for missing the first week, or however much she misses.
"My gorgeous girl." Lando smiles then leaning down to kiss her nose once she's redressed. "I want to feed her before I'm out on track."
"No problem."
-
Y/n groans waking up, her body feeling heavy and just aching. She feels weak.
"Lando?"
"Y/n! Nurse! Nurse! She's awake!" Her mum's screechy voice which makes her brain pulse with a new pain.
"Mum?"
"Oh my poor baby." Her mum hiccups as y/n tries to sit up. "Oh y/n."
"What's going on what-where's the baby?"
Her brain is slowly recollecting memories. Piecing things together. All she remembers is glimpses of Lando beaming at their baby and the crying, then everything went black. What the hell happened?
"Lando has her, oh y/n she's so beautiful."
"What? Where? Where does he have her? Is she-She?" Y/n chokes out realising it's a baby girl. "How long have I been asleep?"
"A week...well-8 days this is the 9th. Lando took her to Hungary, he didn't trust anyone with her if it wasn't you-I tried to offer but he was having none of it. Took the midwife with him for security but he's bene getting-oh my gosh-what are you doing?"
"I'm going to Hungary! That's my baby! And-And I've missed enough of her life. Where is the-Nurse! I need-Doctor! Please, I need all of this off of me."
Y/n's mum begins to panic at her daughter ripping sensors and almost ripping her IV out in a careless move but she stops short thinking better of it.
"Where's my phone? Is he on track?" Y/n questions feeling overwhelmed by it all.
"Miss y/l/n, you must rest."
"Rest? I need to be on the next flight to Hungary. Rest." Y/n scoffs while her mum watches helplessly.
-
Lando got the phone call as y/n was in a car to the airport.
"Y/n?" Lando chokes out.
"Are you insane?" Y/n questions making Lando almost want to laugh. "Don't even answer that, I know you're insane. I'm flying over, I'll be like 3 hours. Possibly more if my mum doesn't calm down from having heart palpitations."
Her words at the end at clearly directed at the woman nearby who he has no doubts is stressed.
"Y/n, you shouldn't be out of hospital-"
"I don't think you're listening. I don't think anyone is fucking listening to me." Y/n mutters clearly also speaking to herself with that last part. "I'm discharged from hospital, I'm in the airport and I'm flying over on the next flight whether I die in the air. I'm not staying here...you have our baby there."
"I know. I'm sorry. I just...they didn't know when you would wake up." Lando chokes out feeling too happy to hear her voice to care all that much that she's so upset. "She's so beautiful, y/n."
-
It's a Saturday, so Lando is under no threat of needing to panic about the race.
Safe to say, the sight of y/n in the paddock marching through with her mother stumbling behind her. She's on a mission and she has no intention to care for herself or anyone who gets in herself.
"Y/n, please slow down. You're still healing." Her mum tries but there's nothing stopping y/n until she stops very suddenly and her mum actually slams into the back of her. "Oh honey."
Lando is stood outside the unit, having been awaiting y/n's arrival. There's already tears streaming down y/n's cheeks at the sight of her tiny baby, bundled up and strapped to Lando's chest but seeing her he begins to get the baby from the carrier.
"Go on honey." Her mum whispers rubbing her back.
Y/n wipes at her eyes quickly sniffling and hiccuping as she closes the space and smiles kissing Lando a couple times first before accepting the hold of Odessa.
"Oh my gosh." Y/n breathes out holding Odessa closely while Lando smiles at the two. "I'm sorry."
"No. Don't even dare." Lando frowns shaking his head then cupping her face and wiping at the tears. "These better be happy tears."
"Can we go inside?" Y/n sniffles earning a nod before she kisses the top of Odessa's head softly.
Lando guides her inside and smiles she sits down just beaming down at their daughter.
"You called her Odessa?" Y/n smiles earning a nod.
"Yeah, I did." Lando confirms then sighing. "Odessa Norris. She's already been duped as a future F1 driver, the most beautiful baby ever and everyone loves her. Obviously."
"I'm sorry for being mad at you for taking her...I'd rather she be with you than anyone else." Y/n mumbles then sighing softly, not taking her eyes off of Odessa. "And I'm sorry you had to do it on your own."
"I wanted to do it with you or on my own. She's our baby."
"Still." Y/n sighs then rubbing her face with one hand. "It shouldn't have been a situation you were in."
"Hey." Lando frowns hooking his finger under her chin to force her gaze up to look at him. "Y/n, it's not your fault-it's not anyone's fault. But even if someone was at fault. It would not be you. You hear me?"
"I hear you." Y/n mumbles, but she doesn't sound or look convinced.
"I love you."
"I love you too. I love both of you."
Lando smiles before sighing when he sees some of his team awaiting him.
"I have to get out for practice."
"Go on, we'll be just fine here." Y/n smiles then kissing him softly as he leans down over her. "We'll be just fine, won't we?"
Lando smiles just finally getting to see y/n with Odessa is the best thing he's ever seen. and he's not sure that anything will beat the sight.
-
"Lando. Quali was good, that's a P3. You seem to have been rejuvenated. Can we ask...we saw a certain someone who looked...possibly a bit disheveled but I think I speak for everyone we were happy to see y/n."
"Yeah, yeah. She actually came straight from the hospital." Lando smiles softly before he sighs. "I definitely felt better having her here. Though I will be having words about the fact she travelled less than 2 hours after waking up from a coma. I'll think I'll wait to give her a lecture on it."
"And how is little Odessa?"
"She's amazing, I think much happier to be with her mum than to be with me really. But I can't hold that against her." Lando joeks since he would prefer y/n's company to anyone else's although Odessa is proving to be harsh competition.
Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos @llando4norris @partyinpitlane @lpab @xoscar03 @harrysdimple05 @mellowarcadefun @cixrosie @scopeiguess
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slytherinshua · 3 months
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BURNT PROMISES, SECOND CHANCES : a wonwoo atla au.
genre. avatar the last airbender au. arranged marriage au. slow burn. no communication istg. mutual pining. angst. fluff. fire lord wonwoo. nobleman's daughter/fire lady/briefly assassin reader. ft. advisor!jeonghan & brother!mingyu. warnings. wonwoo is frustratingly bad at anything social. reader is neglected. reader is depressed. wonwoo is overworked ngl. dragons. swords. (reckless) firebending. brief brief mention of child abuse. burns from firebending. blood. assassination lol. wonwoo is shirtless like... 3 times BCUZ AXE WANTED IT OKAY?? kissing. pairing. wonwoo x fem!reader. wc. 14.5k (i am so insane and i almost died 15 times writing this.) a/n. this fic is my longest ever fic and tbh idk if i'm ever gonna write a fic this long for a long time. i used to not be able to write more than 3k and then suddenly BOOM 14.5K OUT OF NOWHERE?? this is definitely a fic i'll remember for a long long time, and i have to say i'm extremely proud of it. fandom cross-overs have always been one of my absolute favorite things to write, and this definitely filled a little spot in my heart that i didn't know needed to be filled w a svt atla au. special thanks to @blue-jisungs who has hands down been the most helpful person in me being able to complete this fic-- i seriously wouldn't have finished it without you </3, and thank you to @wheeboo for proofreading this beast for me <3 i love you both very much :D
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Wonwoo stood at the edge of the coffin, blank eyes staring down at the body that lay inside it. The news had been shocking to the whole Fire Nation. As far as anyone knew, the late Fire Lord had been healthy and suspected to rule for several more decades, yet here he lay, lifeless and cold in the wooden box. Wonwoo felt neither sadness nor grief. His father had always been a cold man who had shown little attention to his children.
Mingyu, Wonwoo’s younger brother, had become a ship general the year prior, and was still at sea, unable to return in time for the funeral or his brother’s suddenly announced coronation. Though, hearing the news of his father’s passing had started him back in the direction of home, it would take him several months or more to arrive still. He would stay for a month or two before returning to his diplomatic travels to the Earth Kingdom.
Wonwoo had, of course, been aware from a young age that he would one day become the Fire Lord. It was destined for him as the eldest son, and he had spent his entire life leading up to now preparing for it. His training had been twice as intense as Mingyu’s growing up, and while he had sometimes seen it as unfair during his teen years, he quickly grew to understand the burden he must bear as the next in line to the throne.
He had responsibilities that Mingyu did not. He was not only expected to attend extra fire bending lessons, but he was required to be well-versed and knowledgeable in political matters, royal etiquette, local affairs, military management, and public speaking. On paper, he had all the qualifications necessary to be a responsible and wise leader, though it was Wonwoo’s own doubts and uncertainties that led to the uneasy feeling in his stomach at the thought of the power.
His gaze wandered a little, up to the throne surrounded by crimson flames, once occupied by his father, now empty. Soon, he would be the one seated there. There was a sense of pride that flickered in his eyes as he took in the sight. He had always been determined to become a leader that the nation could trust. He had always assumed he would have a little more time to prepare, though.
There were many things that still felt improper about his coronation in two days. For as long as the position of Fire Lord had been in place, it was customary that the lord be already wed before taking the throne. And, if he happened to already have children to secure the family line, even better. 
Wonwoo had neither.
He had barely ever thought about women or love, having been too focused on his studies. But now, the task of finding a wife as quickly as possible was plaguing his mind among the other sudden changes. 
“Your Highness?” 
Wonwoo turned at the sound of the voice echoing in the empty throne room. It belonged to Jeonghan, Wonwoo’s advisor and long-time friend. Jeonghan was one of the few people that maintained Wonwoo’s absolute unwavering trust, something that not even Mingyu could say he possessed.
“I’ve compiled a list of eligible young ladies that would be suitable to be your bride. Given the pressure from the public, there isn’t much time for you to spend much time with them, but if any of them pique your interest, you could at least meet them before the wedding.” He explained, handing over a scroll to Wonwoo. 
Upon unravelling it, Wonwoo scanned a long list of names, each clearly stating who the woman's father was and what connections she had. Below each name was a brief description of background, and important or notable skill sets and events were specifically stated. 
“You’ve put stars next to some names.” Wonwoo noted, furrowing his eyebrows as he read further down the list.
“The stars are to separate the ladies whose fathers have already expressed their approval of their daughters marrying you. I didn’t star the ones who seemed greedy for the throne or possibly had ulterior motives, I might add. I would suggest picking from them if no one particular interests you.” Jeonghan clarified, pointing to a couple of the starred names, “These young ladies are well beloved by the public for their beauty and skills. Some are excellent firebenders, others have accomplishments in different areas.”
“How long do I have to choose?”
“About 4 days… 6 at most. Though, I’m sure the wedding planners and the lady’s family would both be appreciative of extra time to prepare for the ceremony. If you leave it to the last minute, they’ll have to scramble to get everything ready in less than 48 hours.”
Wonwoo nodded, “I’ll decide by this evening and give you my selection. Please set up a meeting with her family for Thursday. If the wedding is on Sunday, I’d like to have at least met her once before then. Thank you for the list, it makes the process a little easier.” He said sternly.
Jeonghan laughed and threw an arm around his shoulder, “Why so gloomy? You’re about to become the Fire Lord! And you get to choose among the most beautiful young ladies of the Fire Nation to be your wife! Brighten up a bit!”
“Despite the celebrations, I’m not feeling particularly cheerful about any of it. I’m juggling the coronation, picking a wife, the wedding, keeping track of Mingyu’s route back from the Earth Kingdom, electing a new army recruit, firing some of the higher ranking generals that only survived because of bribes with my father, and tending to the public’s complaints about the reconstruction on the East side of the city. My brain feels like it’s about to explode.” Wonwoo sighed.
“For this week until your wedding, focus on the first two of those tasks. The coronation will go smoothly even if you don’t write the speech ahead of time. You’ve prepared for many years for this. The rest can wait a little, but you can’t show up to your wedding without first choosing who you are marrying, so please inform me of who you choose as soon as possible.” Jeonghan patted his shoulder reassuringly. 
Wonwoo nodded, taking one last look at the long list of potential wives before rolling the scroll back up, “You’re right. I’ll make sure to give the time sensitive tasks my full attention.”
“Would you like to join me for some tea?” Jeonghan suggested, “I’d like to take one more chance to address you as Prince Wonwoo before your change in title. Or should I start calling you Fire Lord Wonwoo already?” They both laughed at Jeonghan’s teasing, and Wonwoo agreed to the offer for tea. He was glad that amongst all the change, Jeonghan remained a constant steady fixture of his life.
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Wonwoo kept his word and picked out a bride from the list before his coronation. He trusted Jeonghan and his judgement on who were the best potential wives, and so he picked from among the starred candidates. After comparing descriptions and seeing some portraits, he finally landed on his final choice.
His crowning as Fire Lord took place on Wednesday. The ceremony went by surprisingly quickly, which relieved him of some of the stress he carried. The Fire Lord headpiece felt heavy and unstable on top of his head, and though he had made it through the coronation, he still felt uneasy. Was he really qualified to take on such an important role?
Wonwoo didn’t get much sleep Wednesday night. Shuffling in the corridors and disturbance of the long red curtains in his bedroom kept him awake most of the night. He was sure it was just all the sudden changes getting to his brain and keeping him up, but the anxious feeling that he couldn’t shake off almost tormented him.
He put on one of his best robes to visit his soon-to-be bride the next morning. The walk to the family’s house was short as they were among the nobility of the Fire Nation and lived within 20 minutes of the royal palace, in the heart of Caldera City. Wonwoo had done some additional research on the lady he had picked with the help of Jeonghan. Since he wasn’t able to pick a bride the traditional way, he wanted to try to lessen the chance of unhappiness in the marriage by trying to pick someone with qualities he respected, which is how he landed on you. 
Y/n L/n: the daughter of a high-ranking government official who worked in Ancient Studies and the Preservation of Fire Nation Culture. Wonwoo had heard that your father was quite the fire-bending expert, though it was said that you did not possess the gift. You were renowned for your beauty and intelligence, as well as a kind heart. 
If it was true that you fit the description, Wonwoo had high hopes that even if he didn’t fall in love, he would still be able to proudly say that you were his wife. He just hoped that you wouldn’t despise him. He didn’t have the best track record when it came to romance.
Being busy with his princely duties and preparing for the throne all his life, whenever he received any romantic gestures or subtle flirting from girls, they usually went right over his head. He didn’t have the slightest grasp on the concept of flirting or reciprocating emotions, and since it wasn’t something that came naturally to him as a teen, he always assumed that he would learn later in life. He had always expected there to be plenty of years for him to find a wife when he felt ready. He certainly hadn’t bet on being rushed into it when he was barely 22. 
But this was the way things had panned out, and Wonwoo had no choice but to face it head on. He was the Fire Lord now. There was no room for nervousness.
He left his guards by the gate of the house, strolling through the pleasant front gardens by himself. There was a stone pathway that led to the front of the house. He took his time getting there, stopping to smell the flowers that had been planted on either side. His real intention of getting to the door as slowly as possible was his quickly growing nerves in the pit of his stomach, but he masked it well.
As soon as he knocked on the door (Wonwoo swore even before he opened the door), it was opened by family servants. They immediately bowed at him and welcomed him inside, leading him towards a large sitting room where the family was waiting for him.
His eyes immediately fell on you, and without even knowing, his lips upturned into a small smile. The portrait he had been given of you really didn’t do you any justice. You were infinitely better in person, he thought. He introduced himself and took a seat, preparing for the conversation that would unfold in the next hour or more. 
He could tell that you were nervous as you talked. You fiddled with your fingers in your lap each time you had to answer a question Wonwoo or your father posed, and for some reason, it made Wonwoo feel more at ease. He was glad he wasn’t the only one feeling anxious over this first meeting, though he was sure no one would be able to tell. He had perfected his public speaking at the age of twelve.
The basic introductions and formalities were coming to an end after almost an hour of speaking. Wonwoo had clarified all the expectations that would come of being a Fire Lady and your father seemed overjoyed that Wonwoo was taking interest in his daughter.
“It seems this conversation is dying down a little. Would you mind if I talked with Y/n alone? Perhaps we could take a walk around the garden?” Wonwoo asked gently and was met with enthusiasm from both your parents.
“Of course! Take as long as you want with her.”
You led the way out to the back garden which Wonwoo found to be even more charming than the front garden. There were twice as many flowers, as well as a stone fountain in the centre of the grounds. What Wonwoo found most pleasing was the small turtle duck pond nestled by a tree. He made his way over to it with you.
“I hope you’re not… opposed to this marriage?” Wonwoo started tentatively, first addressing his biggest fear.
Thankfully, you smiled and shook your head, “I would be a fool to be opposed to a marriage to the Fire Lord.”
“But, are you not disappointed?” He asked.
Again, you shook your head, “You must be referring to the fact that we are not marrying for love? Of course I had always hoped that my marriage would contain mutual love and respect… who knows, maybe it still can? I know I will be making my parents happy with this, and I am flattered that I, of all the Fire Nation, seemed to catch your attention. I wouldn’t have accepted this marriage if I hadn’t considered thoroughly all that it would entail. I’m ready to commit to being your wife, though I am not sure why you sought out me.” 
Wonwoo smiled, “You don’t seem to give yourself enough credit. Your list of accomplishments was longer than any of the other ladies.”
“My ‘list’?” You questioned, digging into your pocket to pull out a small piece of wrapped up fabric.
“Yes,” Wonwoo laughed softly, “Given the rush for this marriage, I was given a list of ladies to pick from to make it easier.”
You unfolded the piece of fabric, revealing some small pieces of bread, and crouched down to toss one piece into the water. A baby turtle duck swam up to eat it immediately, the others following along, hoping to get a piece of the bread too. Wonwoo smiled again, watching you feed the turtle ducks with care. He hoped you would like the turtle duck pond at the palace as well. 
“What accomplishments were on that list… If I may ask?” You were curious. You didn’t view your life as particularly grand or accomplished. You had spent most of your childhood sheltered and started school late.
“You graduated top of your class from one of the most prestigious schools in the nation. I heard you took up a variety of extra classes beyond the basics, including painting and even army history despite not being able to firebend. Your list of charity work was particularly long. If I remember correctly… over ten different organizations are in your name?” 
“I’m glad they included that, at least. It might be one of the only things I’m actually good at.” You mumbled, and Wonwoo furrowed his eyebrows.
You stood up again to face him, “Is it true that you own a dragon?” 
Wonwoo was partially taken aback by your question, but he answered it nonetheless, “Yes. Part of my firebending training was studying the behaviours of Huoyan. We learned together. She was just a baby when I got her. I owe my firebending skills more so to her than any of my past masters.”
You watched Wonwoo talk about his dragon, intent on the way his eyes— which had been dull and tired looking all during his visit— seemed to brighten and sparkle as soon as he started telling you about Huoyan. You had always been interested in animals, particularly Fire Nation ones. You took close care of the turtle ducks, but because you couldn’t firebend, you were never allowed to own a dragon.
“She sounds incredible. If you wouldn’t mind…” You started, your cheeks flushing halfway through. You weren’t sure if what you were about to ask was entirely appropriate— you could be majorly overstepping. The way Wonwoo was waiting expectantly pushed you to complete it, though. “Would you be so kind as to introduce me to her once I move into the palace?” 
Wonwoo graced you with a smile back, “Of course. Once you move into the palace I’ll be sure to introduce you to her. Perhaps I could even take you for a ride on her?” Wonwoo suggested, and was met with your ready agreement. You asked again if you really had his word to complete the request. You wouldn’t rest until you were sure of his sincerity. You grinned when he promised— within the first week of being at the palace, in fact, you would be well acquainted with his dragon. 
Wonwoo had other meetings for the day, so he had to leave shortly after your discussion about dragons. The next time you would see him, he would be your husband. You wondered how living with him would be. Would it feel awkward and cold like your conversation in the house or would it feel warm and honest like the brief discussion about dragons?
You hoped it would be the latter, but you soon found that your hope only led to disappointment.
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Your wedding to Wonwoo was a very public affair. All the nobles and half of the middle class of the Fire Nation were invited to the ceremony. While you weren’t unused to public events from growing up in the nobility, the massive number of people attending a royal event as prestigious as a wedding was definitely foreign to you. You used to be part of the crowd and only very rarely the subject of attention. Given that you were becoming the Fire Lady, you would have to get used to the attention quickly.
There was no chance to talk to Wonwoo before the ceremony, despite getting ready at the palace. The servants helped you with your wedding garments, which were fancier than anything you had ever put on before. The gold elements of the luxurious silk robe were hand-sewn on and glimmered when the light shone on them. They depicted flames of gold and red, and even the red thread seemed to shine brightly. The dress was mostly made up of a rich dark red material which was lightweight but clearly much higher quality than anything you could buy at a market. 
The maids applied gold shimmer to your eyes as well as a dark red lip, as was traditional of the wife of the Fire Lord. The last piece of your outfit was an elegant headpiece. It, too, was gold and was pinned uncomfortably tight into your hair to keep from slipping. 
You looked in the mirror one last time before the ceremony, turning your face to the side to view every angle with scrutiny. These were your last few minutes as just the daughter of nobility. Within half an hour, you would be the new wife of Fire Lord Wonwoo, ruler of the Fire Nation.
As soon as you stepped into the view of the public, there were deafening cheers. More than half the Fire Nation was in attendance, it seemed. Such a cause for celebration hadn’t happened in years. 
The public had always been nosy about the personal lives of the royal family. There were groups of people who loved to romanticise it and believed that every royal wedding only came about when a son or daughter of the royal family had fallen into the deepest of love. 
There were people with a bit more sense, thankfully. They still wished you and Wonwoo to have the happiest marriage possible, but their judgement wasn’t clouded with the unrealistic idea that royals had the luxury of marrying for love. 
You could only hope that Wonwoo would fall in love with you. You believed yourself capable of loving him if you were sure he loved you back. Until you were sure, though, you took everything with healthy apprehension. You weren’t going to allow your mind to be clouded with the softness and warmth that you had felt from him during your walk in the garden. Your mother had always told you that you couldn’t judge a person by how they acted when they were trying to make a good first impression. You needed to watch and silently observe— and only then would you know the true nature of your husband.
This is why your eyes stayed firmly on Wonwoo throughout the ceremony and afterparty. The public thought you were enamoured with him, oblivious to the fact that you had barely spent more than two hours in his presence. You were eager for the wedding to finally be over, hoping in your mind that Wonwoo would invite you to meet Huoyan after.
He did not, though. Instead, he bowed to you and said he had some things to attend to before retreating back to his chambers, letting the servants show you to your new room. You were disheartened when you realized it was almost on the opposite side of the palace from Wonwoo’s. What kind of married couple slept so far apart? Even the justification of this being an arranged political marriage didn’t constitute that level of separation. 
You sat down on the edge of the bed, contemplating the issue. Your brain was screaming to bring it up with Wonwoo. How were you supposed to get close to him when you were separated during the day and during the night? He was your husband. There was no reason why you couldn’t bring it up with him. 
But what if he wanted to be separate from you? You thought about the possibilities for minutes before finally dismissing it. You felt nervous at the thought of asking him about it first. You didn’t have the courage to speak to him that freely yet— you were sure you would sound entitled if you did. 
You hoped that the situation was just a result of how the royal palace worked, and not because Wonwoo had no wish to get to know you more. Despite growing up a nobel, you had never set foot inside the royal palace and were ignorant to its inner workings. But there was still time to learn.
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You spent the next 2 weeks familiarizing yourself with the palace and your responsibilities as Fire Lady. There weren’t many— especially compared to the Fire Lord’s responsibilities— but it was enough to keep you busy for a few hours of the day. They were mostly social matters, enriching yourself with the people of the nation, and listening to their concerns.
You quite liked the work you were given. You had always excelled at finding solutions to tricky problems, and it stimulated your brain much more than at home. The times you were working were the best part of your day. When you were left on your own in the palace, you succumbed to boredom. It was big and empty inside— the only warmth in the place coming from the elaborate flames used as decoration. It didn’t feel like home to you, so you spent most of your day by the turtle duck pond in the gardens. Though you longed for some human interaction, the turtle ducks at least kept you company.
One thing continued to bother you, though.
You barely saw Wonwoo at all.
Since your wedding, you had only had two other conversations with him in 2 weeks, each of which only lasted for a few minutes. Wonwoo woke up earlier than you did and didn’t wait for you to come down to eat breakfast to start on his tasks as Fire Lord for the day. He would often go on overnight trips without informing you, which made you feel almost invisible to him. 
Whenever you crossed paths with him inside the palace, he was very clearly on his way to somewhere important and couldn’t spare any time for you. You had started to try to initiate conversations with him in hopes that a little effort would break the ice between you two— just simple things like asking about his work or how his day had been. He responded gently, but it was very clear in his tone that he had no desire to continue talking to you. It had been unsuccessful so far, as each conversation ended abruptly when one of the servants called for Wonwoo’s attention or he excused himself from your presence. 
You often saw him talking to his advisor: Jeonghan. He seemed to follow your husband around everyday with a huge pile of scrolls. You assumed they were the daily tasks of the Fire Lord.
You were the last person to interrupt someone when they were so clearly busy working, so you kept to yourself as much as you could. Despite your loneliness and constant boredom, time seemed to pass quickly. April fourteenth marked six months post the wedding. By this time, it was quite usual for you to not even see Wonwoo at the palace for weeks at a time. 
You didn’t ask for much. You were never a greedy or dependent person. But the lack of attention given from Wonwoo had started to affect you more than you realized. You used to be social and bright, filled with energy to tend to people’s issues or helping animals. Now, you barely even went out to the market anymore. 
You had become rather dull and cold to Wonwoo whenever you saw him, hoping that he might pick up on your change of demeanour and fix something in his attitude, but he seemed as oblivious as ever. In your head, you had absolutely resigned to the fact that your husband did not care for you at all, and that the rest of your marriage would carry on in this sad lonely state. He still slept in his room that was on the other side of the palace from you. He still kept busy with duties all day long. He still woke up earlier than you and turned in early (you had started to think that he was doing this to purposefully avoid you). You felt hopeless and your loneliness brought with it depression.
You even felt a little betrayed by him. He had made several promises to your father that first meeting, one of which was that you would be sure to be happy and content at the palace. He couldn’t have been more wrong on that. 
Your brain also kept going back to his later promise that he made to you in the garden— that you would get to meet Huoyan as soon as you moved in. All these months, you had clung in vain to that side of Wonwoo in the garden. If he was truly like that to you everyday, you were sure you would’ve fallen deeply in love with him.
But now you knew for certain that it was all just an act. You had been wrong about Wonwoo all this time. He had no intention of getting to know you. The warmth you had once felt from him was truly a one-time thing. You didn’t expect that he would ever showcase that sincerity to you ever again.
Over time, you slowly lost interest in making an effort, and retreated further into your new life of solitude. There was a lot you could do in your room, big open space secluded from the rest of the palace. With a quick trip to the palace armoury one late night, you found yourself a new hobby.
If you had done this right after your wedding, you would’ve made sure to ask Wonwoo about it first; another precaution in hopes of being a “good wife” and “one that he could grow to love”. Having tried everything you possibly could think of and failing at that task, though, you didn’t care if he minded or not. The servants all took your orders as the Fire Lady without any questioning, and you quickly learned to use your position of power to keep yourself entertained enough to not entirely lose your mind stuck doing nothing for months.
And so, with two borrowed long swords from Wonwoo’s collection, one sharp dagger, fifteen ancient martial arts scrolls and five sword-fighting ones, you dedicated yourself to the art of self defense and battle. If you were careful enough, Wonwoo would hear nothing about this.
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Wonwoo had been anticipating Mingyu’s arrival back home for weeks. It was unsurprising that he had taken twice the expected amount of time to get back home than any other general would have. Mingyu’s skills at directing a fleet of ships were… questionable. No one could strip him of his position, though. His title as prince overruled any judgement from any of his crew.
“Wonwoo! How have you- Ow!” 
Wonwoo looked up from the map he was studying, quick enough to catch Mingyu hop forward in pain, clutching his foot from where he had bumped it against the edge of a table. Wonwoo smiled. He had a lot of affection for his younger brother, no matter how incompetent he was sometimes. And though he would never admit it, he had missed him while he had been gone for a year.
“I’ve been well. It’s still the same here. Quiet. Especially when you’re away.” Wonwoo commented, rolling up the map and setting it aside.
“It’s still the same? Father died, you became Fire Lord, and you got yourself a wife, yet it’s still the same?!” Mingyu asked incredulously. Wonwoo could only nod, stepping down from the throne to walk with Mingyu.
“How is married life?” Mingyu asked once the two were walking out of the throne room.
Wonwoo shrugged, “I thought it would be different from being single, but it barely is. I still spend most of my time in solitude.” 
“Don’t you talk to her?” 
Wonwoo paused before answering, “I don’t see her much. We both seem to be rather busy.”
“Do you at least make an effort to talk to her when you can? You can’t be that busy. No matter how many tasks you had, I know you still drink tea with Jeonghan every day.” Mingyu pointed out, disappointed in his brother’s excuses. “I know you were always hopeless when it comes to this, but you must have considered how lonely she must feel in solitary in this massive palace, right?” Mingyu studied Wonwoo’s face carefully, sighing when he caught the guilty look in his eyes which he had hoped would not appear.
“So let me get this straight,” He took a breath, “You married one of the prettiest ladies in all of the Fire Nation, only to never talk to her and then wonder why married life is so quiet?” 
Wonwoo admitted to it in a hesitant mutter, causing Mingyu to groan.
“God, you’re stupider than I thought! At this rate, she’ll want to break off the marriage, Wonwoo. Don’t you see that she has the power to ruin your reputation as Fire Lord if she chooses? If you don’t remedy this, she could tell the entire Fire Nation that their beloved Fire Lord is a cold and cruel man with no affection for his wife, despite her efforts to get closer to him.” Mingyu stated clearly.
Wonwoo frowned. He had never thought of that possibility before. “It’s been… almost a year since our wedding already.” Wonwoo realized, shocked at how fast the time had all gone. The days seemed to bleed into one another, and with his lack of sleep keeping up with daily tasks, you were often the last thing on his mind.
“Do you think it’s even possible to make it up to her now?”
“Well, yes, you have worsened your chances of fixing it by studiously ignoring her existence for 12 months, but you shouldn’t feel completely hopeless. If you put in the right amount of effort, she might come around.”
“What should a husband do to try to win the affection of his wife?” Wonwoo asked, feeling completely overwhelmed at the situation. 
“Send her flowers, do her favourite activities together, take her on dates, devote time to her! And for God’s sake, don’t forget your own wedding anniversary! You can’t expect her to care for you when you don’t give her any of your time.” Mingyu explained frustratedly. Among the two brothers, he was definitely the more experienced when it came to love. Unlike Wonwoo, he actually had time to date amongst his other commitments. 
Wonwoo felt a pit in his stomach, an uncomfortable lurch in his core that was screeching out all the mistakes he had made. He realized in an instant how truly awful he had been treating you without even knowing it. He had foolishly assumed that you, being of nobility already, would do fine on your own in the palace. Given the nature of the marriage, he hadn’t even considered your possible desire to get closer to him, or the stress that would come with being uprooted so abruptly, going from your own familiar living space to the deafening quiet of the royal palace. Now that he was aware of all of these errors on his part, he felt a strange crack in his heart; an ache that couldn’t be soothed without knowing that he could make you happy again.
He had made many mistakes— almost innumerable. As his brain raced, it only pulled more and more instances of your clear discomfort that he had never bothered to pay attention to before this moment. He thought back to every interaction he had with you over the months, and it was never more clear to him that you had only been comfortable around him during your first meeting together. The feelings that the dragon conversation had brought in both of you had never been repeated.
Wonwoo now knew what he needed to do. He was determined to get you back to the way you were smiling and laughing that first conversation. He needed to fulfil his promises— however late he was to that. And he had a hope that the key to setting everything to rights was sleeping on his back doorstep: Huoyan.
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Your mental health had significantly improved since you had picked up your new hobby. It gave you a thrilling surge of excitement whenever you were able to pick up the two long swords from the box under your bed. It was more dangerous than anything you had ever been allowed to try as a nobleman’s daughter— yet, it was always something you had been interested in.
You liked delicate things well enough. Sewing and painting and dancing were all enjoyable hobbies, but they never truly excited you as much as dragons or firebending or sword fighting. You had grown up watching your father teach Fire Nation history and demonstrate some of the very first fire bending techniques; learned straight from the dragons. 
Tried as you did when you were a child, you could never seem to produce a single spark or flame. It disheartened you early on in life, and once that fantasy of adventure had been shut down, your father never saw the point in teaching you sword fighting. You had been disclosed to be a gentleman’s lady: one who sat still and looked pretty and smiled a lot. But now that you had the tools and authority, you weren’t one to let this chance to indulge your inner child go.
You quickly got in the habit of sneaking out to test your quickly improving skills in the real world. You used the training grounds in the middle of the night when no one would see you, and after a couple months, you felt confident enough to go even further. You found a list of active criminals in the Fire Nation and took it upon yourself to take them on.
Charity work had always been your favourite— helping people had always been your passion. It fuelled you like nothing else had, and each night that you snuck back into the palace having successfully taken down another threat was another night you slept soundly. 
It wasn’t long until the Fire Nation started to notice. A new hero taking out the nation’s top criminals— ones that not even the royal guard had been able to capture. They named you The Scarlet Shadow for your dark crimson and black robes and your proficiency in the art of stealth. Your smaller frame and stature helped you get around unseen. You used the shadows to your advantage, slipping in and out of them without being caught. 
It was incredible how much you learned without a dedicated master. You wished you could hire one, but you didn’t want to be found out by Wonwoo, so you kept everything as secretive as possible. You spent the entire day reading scrolls and practicing in the privacy of your room. Once the sun set and you had told the servants you were sleeping early yet again, you snuck out.
It was now the first week of October, and you were dreadfully reminded that your first wedding anniversary would come on the fourteenth of the month. The first six months had been some of the worst of your life— mercilessly having been ignored and made to feel insignificant by your own husband. But the latter six brought some of the best months of your life.
The freedom of The Scarlet Shadow completely disconnected you from your duties as the Fire Lady. It brought a freedom that you never had, and if this was how you would be spending the rest of your life in the palace, you would gladly accept it.
Your target for tonight— the fourth of October— was an infamous and nefarious man named Orin. He was known to capture children from homeless Fire Nation families with an excuse of paying taxes. He then sold them to the rich and corrupt as slaves. The abuse didn’t stop there, as many of them were malnourished, overworked, never paid, and even beaten. 
Your heart ached for the victims of the man. You had known about this situation for years, but was never able to do anything about it. Given his reputation, Orin would have probably taken one look at you before being determined to marry you. You could only wonder at what horrors his past wives had to go through. They had all run away from him as soon as possible. Some, less fortunate ones, had died trying.
You got dressed in your garments: a black and red robe that was easy to move and fight in. It was stealthy, and didn’t make any sound when you walked in it unlike the fancy bejewelled silk robes that you wore as Fire Lady. You sheathed the long swords and stuck the dagger safely in your shoe, ready to pull out and throw when you needed to. You pulled up the black cloth over your nose, shielding all but your eyes so that no one could identify you. 
And then, you jumped out the window.
It was a cold night: one of the first proper ones in October. Given the change of the season, more people were sleeping earlier. Most of the city was hushed and in their beds already, which made your task even easier. It was always more risky to navigate in the summertime when night festivals were held until morning.
Orin’s house (or mansion, that is) was on the East side of town. The man slept late, usually partying until the early hours of the morning. You wished you could get the job done while he was sleeping, but it would be too risky. If anyone found out that you weren’t at the palace, you would never hear the end of it from your personal servants and advisors. You grimaced, thinking what Wonwoo would think of this whole situation.
You weren’t sure why he was always on your mind. Everything you did came back to him, even though you still didn’t know him. You had always thought that the relationship between a husband and his wife should be intimate and companionable. You wanted to be able to tell your husband anything and everything— to be able to confide in him and seek comfort when you needed it. You wanted to be taken care of, and in turn, take care of him. You wanted the supporting relationship that you had seen in your parents.
And though you knew that Wonwoo had none of these qualities, you still held out hope that he would one day improve. You had seen many people have changes of heart; even the cruelest man had a chance to change his ways.
When you had first met Wonwoo, you had been overcome with just how beautiful he was. You had been so sure that his heart must be as beautiful as his face, foolishly having fallen for his charming smile and pleasant offers which you now knew were just a facade to win you over. Your chest tightened thinking about how wrong you were. 
Yes, he was still the most beautiful man you had ever seen. His dark silky hair always fell perfectly over his forehead, hitting just below his eye, complementing his face shape. He always dressed in only the finest silk. You admitted to being guilty of admiring his figure from afar. You were sure he was in shape— any firebender who trained as vigorously as he definitely was. You had never seen more than a sliver of his collarbone; but it was enough to confirm that he had enough muscle to run a nation.
And that was something you did admire about him. He was able to run the Fire Nation to perfection. Within the first months of being Fire Lord, he had already come up with several clever solutions to problems that his late father had started. He was healing the Fire Nation’s relationship with the Earth Kingdom through his younger brother, Mingyu. He sent diplomats to the other 2 nations as well, promising aid in any crisis that might arise. He preached peace and harmony between the 4 nations, and you were glad he wasn’t a proud Fire Lord with elitist ideals, but a humble and honest one.
You still held respect for him as a Fire Lord, but any respect that you had for him as a person was dwindling the more days spent as if you didn’t exist. You longed to be noticed, to be treated as an actual person. You didn’t need to experience love, but you had always wanted to. Didn’t you deserve to at least once?
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Wonwoo huffed, sweat beading on his forehead and back from the challenging training he had set himself to do. He breathed, and with each breath came new sparks of fire. It was hot in the room, but he barely noticed, too focused on the new skill he was attempting to master. It was a sort of jet propulsion— using the flames he was able to create to propel him forward at a high speed. 
Huoyan watched him from the corner where she napped. Her red scales brandished against the warm light that came from the fire in the room. Since Wonwoo was 13, he had stopped taking lessons from the palace masters and learned on his own with Huoyan instead. She was a strict master, one could say; but the bond he had created with her was stronger than anything else.
Wonwoo attempted the move again, faltering at the last second, causing the blast to hit the ceiling in an uneven flurry. He groaned and fell to the ground, frustrated at how long it was taking. He used to be the quickest learner in the Fire Nation. He was able to focus all his attention on mastering new skills with ease, and that allowed him to pick up on techniques twice as quickly as others.
He just couldn’t focus at all right now.
Huoyan whined from the corner, showing her disapproval of Wonwoo’s inability to pick things up quickly. He frowned, rolling to the side, still on the floor, and looked at her. She was curled up, almost catlike, her wings wrapped around her body like a blanket. But Wonwoo couldn’t miss the grumpy look on her face. He stood up and walked over to her, reaching out his hand to rest on her nose, scratching it gently.
“I’m sorry, Huoyan. I don’t think I’m in the right mindset to train right now…” He muttered, sitting down in front of the dragon. He reached over for his silk robe that he had folded before training, slipping his arms through the arm holes again but not bothering to tie it across his body. Huoyan licked Wonwoo's hand— a sign of affection and trust amongst dragons and their owners, and Wonwoo smiled.
“Do you think she hates me?” Wonwoo asked quietly, not really looking for an answer from the dragon, though she gave him a low rumble. “Right. She probably does. I would hate me too…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had been thinking of you ever since Mingyu had come to visit almost a month ago. It was all he could think about. The guilt was eating him up from the inside out. Whenever he heard mention of you, his stomach lurched forward and the guilt practically doubled. 
“I don’t know what I need to prioritize anymore. I prepared my whole life for being the Fire Lord… I’ve learned what to do in situations and what choices to make that keep the wellbeing of the entire nation at its core. But no one prepared me for being a husband. How do I even make it up to her?” He frowned. 
He had always confided in Huoyan. As ridiculous as it sounded to talk to a dragon, Wonwoo had always found it the most natural. She couldn’t give him responses like Mingyu or Jeonghan, but she had insights that they didn’t. She couldn’t talk, but Wonwoo could still understand her. Their bond was strong enough for that.
He was too scared to talk to Jeonghan about his struggles. He was sure that he would laugh at him, unable to see how serious the problem was. He had never had any problem with dating or love.
“How do I show her that I care?” Wonwoo questioned. Huoyan huffed, making Wonwoo scowl and raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Of course I care about her! She’s my wife. It’s a husband’s duty to care for his wife.”
Huoyan shifted, tucking her wings closer to her chest and wagging her long tail along the floor.
“You’re right, I haven’t been showing her any attention… But… I have noticed her. I always have. She looked hopeful… and then… it was gone. I-I watched it fade away. Her eyes stopped shining. They’ve been dull for months.” He explained, distraught. “I wanted to talk to her. She always caught me at my busiest— or maybe I’m just… too nervous? You should see her Huoyan. She’s prettier than you. I’ve never seen anyone so… angelic. She used to try to start conversations with me; ask about my day and the sort. I wanted to keep talking to her but my heart would race so fast in my chest. It felt… uncomfortable.” He narrated with a small smile. Huoyan listened intently, her eyes closed. Every once and a while she would give a response— a grunt or a huff whenever Wonwoo was being unreasonable.
The conversation proved incredibly productive thanks to Huoyan’s sharp ears. Wonwoo was able to let out all his thoughts. Explaining them out loud helped him understand where things had gone wrong and how he could fix them. He decided to talk to you tonight. No more avoiding it out of fear, no more suppressing the guilt he felt. He would lay it all out to you; admit to every mistake. 
He needed to earn your trust, and he would do that with being painfully honest. He knew his ego would take a massive blow, but it already had. It was dwindling. The great Fire Lord that he had always aspired to be wasn’t able to even win over his own wife. The thought was laughable.
The walk down the corridor towards your bedroom was filled with nerves. His throat felt dry as he gave a gentle knock to your door. When he didn’t hear a response, his heart sank, but he knocked again. Did you hate him so much that you weren’t even willing to listen to him?
His chest tightened at the thought. He felt entirely helpless. If you wouldn’t even listen to him, there was nothing else he could try. He knocked one more time, calling out that he would open the door if you didn’t say anything.
There was no response, and so he pushed it open slowly.
The room was empty, and Wonwoo’s eyes widened. You had nowhere to go except for the palace and the servants had informed him that you had gone to bed early and should be in your room. 
Panic flooded through every inch of Wonwoo’s body. From the top of his head to his finger tips. His hands started to shake as he thought of all the possibilities.
The most likely of which? Kidnapping.
You were a nobleman’s daughter. You weren’t a firebender— you couldn’t defend yourself. You were the Fire Lady, an extremely desirable victim for enemies of the Fire Nation who wished to get some leverage over Wonwoo. His mind raced to the possibilities of needing to choose between you and whatever the people who took you wanted.
If it were a case of life or death, he would choose you in an instant.
Thanks to his extensive training, Wonwoo was easily able to think of the best move to take. Mingyu had brought with him a pack of shirshu from the Earth Kingdom. They were excellent trackers. They would be able to find you faster than Wonwoo’s search party could.
He found one of your headpieces from on top of your vanity and took it. He was in a frenzied rush, calling over his personal guards to come with him in case he needed backup. He had the shirshu sniff the headpiece, a relieved sigh escaping him when the animal seemed to pick up on your trail. He mounted Huoyan and had the guards go with the Shirshu, and started on the hasty search.
His heart was racing the entire time. Each time it looked like the shirshu had picked up on something, his heart rate felt like it doubled. It didn’t take long to find where you were, but when Wonwoo realized the location, his heart completely sank.
Orin was well known in the upper circle of the Fire Nation, and he was without a doubt, the most sickening man Wonwoo had ever met. His father had held a position in government and Orin had inherited it. Though Wonwoo wanted to arrest the man or even banish him from the Fire Nation, he didn’t have the means to expose him for his wrongdoings yet.
Kidnapping was one thing, but knowing that you were in the hands of Orin had Wonwoo’s stomach twisting inside out. He had never felt so sick to his stomach. And worst of all, it was all mostly directed towards himself. He hated himself.
If he had taken better care of you then this would never have happened. If he had paid attention to you— made sure you were safe and happy and looked after. If he had gotten over his stupid nerves and been a good husband, then you would never have had to have suffered like this.
Until he saw you with his own eyes, he could only pray with his entire being that you were still alive. He didn’t even want to think about the things Orin could do to you. Would he manipulate you? Threaten you? Take advantage of you? Harm you? Kill you?
He didn’t wait another second to storm into the house, startling the servants who quickly got out of the way. He quickly made a search through the entire house, his guards taking the lower floors while he took the upper. He blasted down the door to Orin’s bedchambers with firebending, not wasting a second to rush in.
What he found there was certainly not what he expected. The man was lying on the floor, a pool of blood underneath him, dripping out from a heavy stab wound to his chest. It was obvious that he wouldn’t survive more than 10 minutes at the most.
Before he took his chance to interrogate Orin, he saw a dark figure jumping out of the window from his peripheral vision. Was it the person who killed Orin? Then… Could they have taken you?
Wonwoo quickly changed his course, believing that going after the assassin would be more productive. If they had killed Orin then they must also know where you were, and maybe even, what Orin had done to you. He knew better than to trust anything Orin said to him. It was likely that even if he asked, the man would lie even until his dying breath. Honesty had never been one of Orin’s virtues. Not that he had any of those to begin with.
It was hard to pursue a person dressed in black and dark red during the night time. Wonwoo was thinking with a panicked and terrified brain— and so the easiest way he thought of to see where he was going was to firebend. He tried to be careful as he sprinted, shooting flames in front of him when he needed to. Sweat was building up as the exertion started to take a toll on his body. He needed to catch his breath; calm himself down from the panic he was dealing with. But the assassin was almost within reach, so he pushed his body just a little further.
He blasted one more flame forwards, but due to his exhaustion, it wasn’t perfectly aimed. It hit the assassin square in the back, knocking them to the ground roughly. Wonwoo’s eyes widened and he rushed forward. 
He heard them cough, trying to roll on the ground to put out the flame, but it had clearly already burned through their garments. They screamed as the fire scorched their skin. Wonwoo felt like he couldn’t breathe. He had never used firebending so carelessly before. Even in an Agni Kai, he was focused and precise. He had rarely been in combat that wasn’t for training purposes, and even when he was, he knew how important it was to stay in control of fire. It was known that fire was the easiest element to lose control of; and so, the first thing that new firebenders were taught was the first rule of fire bending to never break: never lose control of your flame. 
But Wonwoo had done just that.
Wonwoo quickly put out the flame on the assassin’s back, grimacing at the bright red scorch marks they had left on their skin. From the design of the robes, he quickly realized that this wasn’t just any assassin. He had come in contact with The Scarlet Shadow. 
He quickly pushed her back so that her face was up, holding her shoulders so that her exposed back couldn’t come into contact with the rubble on the road. His hand trembled as he moved to pull down the black fabric covering the assassin’s face. She needed to be able to breath easily after being burned so badly.
Wonwoo had already been through enough panic tonight, but this was more than anything else. The face he was faced with once he removed the cloth was the last one he ever expected. Soft eyebrows, delicate eyelashes closed over eyes that he knew well, perfect lips parted to let uneven heaves escape, cheeks tainted with dirt and scraped from the fall. 
“No… N-no…” He struggled to breath, holding her up as carefully as he could. His eyes stung with tears that he refused to let fall and his chest constricted for the fifth time that night. It had all gone wrong from the start— his attempts to help had all backfired. And now he was faced with a reality that felt like a stab to the heart.
Wonwoo had burned his own wife.
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Wonwoo’s brain made sure to remind him of his very first conversation with you as Huoyan flew him back to the palace, you securely in his arms. You had asked to meet his dragon. You had been excited to, even making sure he promised to. Those promises had burned to the ground like everything else. He would never allow himself to forget the sparkle in your eyes as you asked him. He hadn’t seen the same shimmer of excitement since you had first become his wife.
“Would you be so kind as to introduce me to her once I move into the palace?” 
He had smiled at your question back then. He had been pleasantly surprised that you seemed so interested in dragons. It wasn’t what he would have expected from you, but it gave him hope that he would be able to go closer to you. He had also always loved dragons.
“Of course. Once you move into the palace I’ll be sure to introduce you to her. Perhaps I could even take you for a ride on her?”
Take you for a ride on her. That promise was finally being completed now, in the worst way Wonwoo could ever imagine. He held you a little closer as he thought about it, his heavy breath dispersing into the air with every heavy sweep of Huoyan’s wings.
He would never forgive himself.
The healers at the royal palace were the nation’s best, and Wonwoo made sure that they had strict orders to give you their full attention. He couldn’t leave the room; couldn’t bear to think of leaving you again. No, he would stick by your side from now on. He would never leave you alone. He would devote all his attention— his heart, his mind, his body, his soul to loving you. He would make sure you never questioned his affections again. 
As he watched the healers apply medicinal creams and ointment to your back, he was again reminded of that very first conversation with you. 
“Of course I had always hoped that my marriage would contain mutual love and respect… who knows, maybe it still can?”
Your hope and optimism was something Wonwoo should have cherished. Your faith that a love-filled marriage was still possible for you was a quality that he could only wish he possessed. He had been entirely foolish. He had made every mistake possible to make. He had watched silently as all that hope and excitement and trust had faded from your body.
He would never forgive himself.
He always saw you roaming the corridors alone. You often went out to feed the turtle ducks. They were your only company other than the servants. Wonwoo assumed at first that you would immediately find ways of entertaining yourself. You had all the power you could wish for; anyone would bend knee and foot to your every command. You could host extravagant balls or buy gifts for yourself from across the world. You could wear the most precious gemstones and fabrics in the entire Fire Nation. 
But you never did. Your humbleness had stuck with you all this time. It was something that Wonwoo could not take away from you. He didn’t know whether to be grateful for that or not. The virtue was admirable, but if you had not possessed it, could you have been happier?
Wonwoo shook his head. It was all too late for these trifling what if’s and maybe’s. The past was set in stone, unchangeable. All he could do was look to the future with hope and treat the present with the proper determination to change his ways.
Your burns were severe. Being blasted by such a powerful fireball from such a short distance had certainly left an impression. Wonwoo cried when he first saw it. Red, angry, scorched skin marked right in the middle of your back, sticking out awfully against your otherwise smooth skin. It was all because of him. He had left a second mark on you— one much more visible than the first. He had damaged your mind, and now, he had damaged your body. The guilt he carried was sickening.
Wonwoo asked Jeonghan to cancel every single responsibility for the next 4 months. Jeonghan panicked, of course. It was nearly impossible to expect the Fire Lord to do nothing for that long, but Wonwoo was firm in his request, and somehow, Jeonghan managed it.
He spent most of his time by your bedside, looking after you as carefully as he could. He ordered the healers to show him how to properly wrap your wound and apply new medicine, and once he was sure he could do it properly, he assured them that he would take care of it.
Huoyan slept closeby as well, knowing that Wonwoo wouldn’t leave your side, but wanting to be a listening ear if he needed it. Wonwoo was grateful for that, and used the opportunity well. Daily talks to the dragon helped him clear his thoughts and understand his feelings. Huoyan couldn’t lift the guilt, though.
There was only one person who could.
Wonwoo anticipated when you would wake up for more than a week. He needed constant reassurance from the healers that this was normal. Your body needed to conserve its energy to focus on healing itself. The medicine helped, but it was your own body that was going to heal it.
It took ten days for you to regain consciousness.
The first thing you felt when you woke up was excruciating pain in your back. You felt like you barely had any strength in your body. Everything felt as if you were in a daze, and your memory was extremely foggy. You couldn’t remember anything from the last month.
When you gathered enough strength to open your eyes, the first thing you saw was the symbol of the Fire Nation. A large red tapestry was hung on the wall, at least four times the length of your body. You couldn’t see much else besides it, as you were lying on your stomach, your head resting on the pillow sideways.
Ah. The palace.
You sighed, but immediately regretted it as any movement brought more shocked pain to your back. You grimaced, a pained whine escaping your lips. You felt relief before you could register the reason why, and forced your eyes open.
It was Wonwoo, pressing a cool cloth against your bandaged back gently.
Wait.
It was Wonwoo?!
“Wonwoo?” You questioned, your voice softer than you were used to. It would still take some time to get your energy back— even talking felt like more exertion than comfortable.
“Y/n. Don’t talk, please. It will only tire you out.”
You furrowed your eyebrows. Wonwoo sounded different. His voice was deep and slightly raspy, but soft and full of worry. You were sure of it. It was impossible to miss. He was… worried about you?
“Wonwoo?” You asked again with a little more urgency. You felt the cloth on your back stop moving. He stayed silent, waiting for you to continue your thought. Clearly you wanted to talk, and though he didn’t like the idea of you overexerting yourself, there were many things that you were probably curious about.
“Why are you… doing that?” You were almost scared to ask. Your own sensibility forbade you from blindly trusting Wonwoo in the moment, even though your heart was screaming for it. He was so close to you (literally within 30 cm of your face), and it was all you had wanted in the past. You had just wanted to be close to your husband. You wanted to love him, and for him to love you back. 
You forced yourself to be rational and not fold immediately, though everything about him was entrancing you at this moment. The smell of bergamot hit your nose and almost distracted you completely from the pain in your back. Wonwoo’s touch was soft and hesitant. He handled you as if you were a piece of glass that could shatter at any small impact. He had already hurt you enough for 1 lifetime. He never wanted to do it again.
“I want to take care of you. You’re badly injured, Y/n.” He muttered. You looked at his face, searching for sincerity in it. And it was there; clear as day. His eyes were scared and tired, as if he had barely gotten sleep in the last week. 
“What… happened? Why- how did I get injured?” You demanded. Your throat was strained from the energy it took to speak, but you needed answers.
“I don’t want to distress you. You’re still in pain. Please, just… sleep for now?” He asked hopelessly.
You were torn. Sleep sounded like a dream right now, but you didn’t know if you could trust Wonwoo for answers later. You couldn’t figure him out— you didn’t know him; you couldn’t trust him. He changed like a switch after a year, and now you weren’t sure what to believe. 
“Will you tell me later? Will you tell me everything?”
Wonwoo nodded, “Yes, of course. You are overdue for an… explanation. And I am sorry. I’ve treated you worse than an animal for the past year. I… I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to regain your trust, but I want to. Please believe me— there’s nothing more I want to do than to make things right.” You saw his eyes get hazy, overcome with emotion; grief, remorse, self-loathing, hope. You wanted to believe him, and you barely had the energy to do otherwise, so you found yourself humming in small agreement. It seemed to put him at ease a bit. He relaxed his shoulders and stood up.
“I’ll be here if you need anything. Let me know if you’re uncomfortable.” He smiled at you— an expression you hadn’t seen from him since that very first meeting. This smile was sad, though. It couldn’t reach his eyes and it quickly fell back down. You wondered what it would look like in full. You wanted to see him smile brightly. You wanted to be able to be the cause of his smile; to be able to make him happy.
He drew the curtains to block out the sun that had just risen and walked out of your view. You closed your eyes and welcomed sleep, falling into dreams quickly. Your dream was unpleasant. You tried again and again to get Wonwoo’s attention and affection, only to be met with his old attitude. It was as if he was unaware of your existence. When you woke up, you had a bitter feeling in your chest.
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You were in significantly less pain after your sleep. From the light outside, you reckoned it was a couple hours after dinner. You could sit up on your own, and you could feel your strength slowly coming back to you. You sat up quietly, having your first view of the room you were in. It was large and spacious. A large balcony was to the other side of it, decorated with elegant golden statues of two dragons. They were embracing each other; a couple.
You looked over to the dresser, and heat immediately spread up your neck and to your cheeks. You had caught Wonwoo changing his top robes. His back was right in your view. You couldn’t deny that you had pictured it before. Wonwoo had always been the most attractive man you’d ever seen. His skin was milky and smooth. His muscles were defined but he still kept a lean physique. Your eyes were trained on him as he slipped his arms through fresh red robes, tying the garment across his chest. It was only when he started turning around that you forced yourself to look away, pretending as if you hadn’t been staring. 
“You’re awake.” Wonwoo commented, soon joining you on the bed— sitting on the edge of it. “Did you sleep well? How are you feeling now?”
You shied away from his dark pupils that were examining your face. His eyes looked brighter and more refreshed than before— he looked more alive than he had hours ago, and you liked the look on him. He looked… prettier.
“I’m not in as much pain now. I slept okay… just had a bad dream.” You admitted, frowning at the thought. It was hard to trust that Wonwoo would keep being this nice to you. You had never been an attention seeker; usually you hated any kind of focus on you, but something about Wonwoo’s attention was pleasant and warm. 
“A bad dream?” Wonwoo echoed, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “What was it about?” You shied back slightly, unused to his contented look as he waited for you to respond.
“It was just… you were ignoring me again. In the dream. I hated it.” You whispered. Wonwoo���s eyes softened and saddened, and without thinking, he reached out to cup your cheek. He knew that he had hurt you by ignoring you all those months, but to know that it had hurt you this much? It felt like his already shattered heart was splintering into his insides, tearing apart his entire body and being. 
“I am so sorry, Y/n… For not showing you the love you deserve, for ignoring you all that time. I don’t know if I have an explanation for it… there’s no excuse that justifies treating you like that. Especially you. I-I’ve thought about it every day since my brother’s visit. I’m ashamed to say that it took him to knock some sense into me. I would try to explain myself… but I’m afraid I’ll only sound selfish and stupid.” He sighed heavily, shutting his eyes tightly and dropping his hand from your cheek.
“No. Tell me, Wonwoo. I want to know, no matter how bad it sounds. I want to know everything. You said you’d tell me everything.” You demanded. He nodded.
“You’re right. Are you… quite comfortable? Explaining it all might take some time. I’m still worried about your back.” Although it warmed your heart that he was so worried (the cute frown that he wore while trying to inspect if you were in pain had you melting), you cared the most about hearing what he had to say.
“I’m okay, Wonwoo. Don’t worry about me.” You reassured him. That was all it took to get him to start talking, and he started from the very beginning.
“After my father’s death, I had to find a wife quickly, as you know. I didn’t have time to deliberate much on who to pick— I just had my instincts to trust. I am certain I picked the right woman, though. You have never once disappointed me, Y/n. The fault was always on my part. I was the one who ignored you. I was the one who never tried to get closer. I was the one who failed you. And I’m so, so sorry for it.” Wonwoo’s eyes were getting teary— he couldn’t hide the gut-wrenching guilt that he felt whenever he thought about it. 
You had never seen him this emotional. You were happy that he felt comfortable enough with you to be this vulnerable, but the burden he was carrying made you feel heavy as well. You wanted to comfort him, console him, assure him that it was alright. You didn’t like holding grudges— for as long as you can remember, you were always hopeful that people could change. Wonwoo was finally showing the sincerity you had always longed for. He blinked back the tears before continuing, taking a deep breath and steadying himself by looking at you.
“I always wanted to talk to you. It just… felt uncomfortable. I’ve never been good at talking to people casually. They don’t train you for that in classes, believe it or not. I’m good at public speaking and strategic planning for the nation; but if you had ever put me next to girls in school, I’d end up a flustered and oblivious mess. I was always like that. Mingyu was better with the ladies and I was better with… textbooks or animals. They can’t be hurt as easily.
“I can only assume that by ignoring you, I was trying to avoid hurting you with my words. I never considered that by doing that, I would have caused you much more pain than a few awkward conversations. You always left my heart racing when you would smile at me from across the room those first few weeks. I kept a straight face because I knew the image would stay in my brain for the rest of the day and keep me from completing important tasks. Ignoring you and the effect you had on me was a bad way to cope with my feelings. I didn’t think I had time for love.” 
The explanation took you by surprise. You had always presumed that Wonwoo had never cared for you, and that was why he never put any effort into talking to you. Knowing that you had been in his heart all that time surged the hope that you had for him that had been hidden away in your heart.
“I planned to talk to you sooner, but on the night I tried to find you, you weren’t in your room. I assumed you had gotten kidnapped, so I tracked your scent with a shirshu brought from the Earth Kingdom. You can imagine my distress when I realized that the trial led right to Orin’s homestead. I was so panicked. I could only imagine what a man like him would want to do with the Fire Lord’s wife.” He breathed, the panic he felt from the time rushing back slightly.
You frowned, your heart aching to hear how much he cared for you. You grabbed his left hand gently, slowly giving it a reassuring squeeze. The gesture made a tear slip down his cheek, but he wiped it away as quickly as possible. 
“I… saw someone jump out of the window and decided to follow them given that Orin was already almost dead on the floor. I thought they would know where you were if they had searched the house in order to assassinate him. I-I didn’t know it was you, and I was so panicked from it all that I used my firebending recklessly. I…” His lip trembled and more tears spilled past his waterline. 
You were close to crying as well. Seeing Wonwoo so heartbroken by his own actions twisted your insides together. You pulled on his hand, making him lean forward until you could wrap your arms around him. You had never wanted to hug someone as badly. The way he crumbled into your embrace immediately finally broke you, and you allowed the tears to fall. You didn’t want him to talk until he had calmed down, so you rubbed his back, tracing the line of vertebrae one by one. You pulled away when you felt his breathing stabilise, but still kept him close to you.
“And then? After you hit me?” You questioned softly but curiously.
Wonwoo sucked in a breath, “I never meant to hit you— even before I knew it was you. I never knew you were The Scarlet Shadow. I wish I could have taken the time to be proud of you, instead of harming you.” He frowned again, but you just shook your head.
“It was all a mistake. I will heal soon. I’m pretty strong, you know?” You smiled, brushing away a tear stain from his cheek.
“I brought you here immediately and the palace healers took care of you. I asked them to teach me how to change your bandages and apply the medicine. I’ve been taking care of you for the last week.” He smiled, and you were glad he wasn’t teary anymore. You didn’t like seeing him cry.
“Wait… What’s today then? How long was I out for?” You asked. 
Wonwoo looked up, counting in his head, “It’s the 14th of the month… You were out for 10 days.”
“The 14th? Isn’t that…?” You looked up, meeting Wonwoo’s eyes. Realisation dawned in them as well. It was your wedding anniversary.
“1 whole year and this has been our longest conversation yet.” You giggled. The hurt feelings you felt from that reality were gone now— replaced with only amusement as you knew the cause had been nothing but the shyness of your husband.
“I am never going to ignore you like that again. I promise.” He said seriously, and you smiled.
“I know you won’t.” You kissed his cheek before you were even realising what you were doing. Both your eyes widened simultaneously before blush spread to your cheeks. “Sorry, you just looked– I just-” You didn’t register that as you were stuttering, Wonwoo’s eyes were focused entirely on your lips. He cut you off before you could finish, catching you by surprise.
You had never been kissed before, and neither had Wonwoo. It felt new and unfamiliar, yet somehow comforting. Wonwoo’s lips were warm and soft, and feeling them move against yours instantly brought butterflies to your stomach. It took a second for you to properly kiss him back, and even more time for you both to find a steady rhythm. 
It was like a dance almost; You had to tilt your head the exact right amount in order to not bump your nose against his, all while still moving your lips against his at the perfect pace. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands. They felt awkward just sitting in your lap— especially when Wonwoo’s right hand was gently holding your jaw. They found their place on his shoulders before too long, and that seemed to feel right to you. It grounded you while also allowing you to pull him closer to you, which was something you desperately wanted.
When you tried to deepen the kiss, though, Wonwoo pulled away. You blinked open your eyes, breathing heavily. 
“Why’d you stop?” You asked through short inhales. Wonwoo’s face reddened. 
“I- you were pulling me closer, and I wanted to hold you, but then I’d have to hold your back, a-and I can’t risk hurting you…” He whispered.
“Wonwoo… You’re going to make me fall in love with you.” You whined softly, your eyes staring into his.
“I always wished you would.” He breathed.
“You don’t have to wish for it anymore.” You promised him. “Can I… kiss you again?” You asked in a small whisper. Wonwoo nodded, immediately resuming where it had left off— lips connected; gentle, loving, and long overdue. 
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“I told you not to get up!” Wonwoo yelped, surprised by your arms encircling his waist before he could finish tying his robes.
“I said I’m fine. It’s been over 2 weeks. It barely even hurts anymore.” You shushed him, hugging his middle and resting your cheek against his soft silk robes.
“Barely?” He repeated, “I’m not letting you do anything until you can say it never hurts anymore.”
“You’re so stubborn.” You complained. Your hands soon found the tie on Wonwoo’s garment, and you smiled subconsciously as you realized he hadn’t been able to finish getting dressed. You held the sash in one hand, the other briefly running over his abdomen before he caught it.
“You can’t keep your hands to yourself, I see.” He muttered, amused at your actions. You shifted around until you were facing him, and started to cross his robes, tying them together (not without sneaking one last peak at his chest and abs).
“I was just trying to help you get dressed; obviously.” You rolled your eyes before stepping up onto your tippy toes to give him a small kiss.
“Are you really feeling okay, though?” He asked softly. You nodded. You really did feel fine this morning, and especially excited. Wonwoo had promised to take you for a ride on Huoyan; finally fulfilling his promise to you over a year ago.
“You know I always tell you when I’m in pain.” You soothed him.
“I know, but I can’t help but be worried about you. It’s my fault, after all. I want to take responsibility to make sure you heal properly.” He sighed. He always made sure to look at the burn every day to see how it was progressing. It had gotten significantly better, but he always had lingering worries that he had permanently damaged your body.
“It was an accident, Wonwoo.” You brushed your fingers over his cheek, tracing the line of his cheekbone with care. Falling in love with his good looks from afar over the year he ignored you was almost inevitable, but in the past two weeks when he was by your side at all times, talking and laughing and loving you, it was impossible to not fall 100 times harder for him. 
“Accident or not, I hurt you. It was a mistake I am never going to let myself repeat. A husband should never hurt his wife.” He frowned. You felt like you had this conversation with him almost every day. He wouldn’t let go of the thought that everything that had gone wrong was because of him. While it was true that he had made many mistakes, you didn’t want him to carry that guilt forever. 
“I already forgave you enough times, my love. There is no need to feel guilty anymore.” You shushed him for now by hugging him, knowing that you would probably have the exact same conversation the next day. Wonwoo hugged you back— it had been 4 days since you had convinced Wonwoo that he could touch your back without fear, and 7 days since you had started trying to convince him. You had both enjoyed hugs where you didn’t need to be careful of any pain, and you enjoyed another one. Wonwoo squeezed you tightly before letting you go.
“I’ll help you get ready, and then we can go.” He smiled.
“I can get ready by myself.” Your argument was bound to fail. Wonwoo followed you like a lost puppy wherever you went, and when you started walking towards the dresser for a fresh set of robes, he quickly followed.
“You ready?” Wonwoo’s bright smile was something that you would never get tired of. The gentle creases in his face to the way his eyes brightly reflected his smile, shining brightly; it was all so perfect. You would truly never get tired of him.
“I’ve waited 382 days for this. I’ve never been more ready!” You were eager and still a little impatient as Wonwoo had made you wait until after breakfast. The much looked-forward-to dragon ride had been one of the only things on your mind for the last week. And the second you saw Huoyan, you knew it would be the most magical experience you’d ever have.
Wonwoo helped you onto her back after you said hello and gave her some nose scratches which Wonwoo told you she loved. Wonwoo got on in front of you and told you to hold on tightly. Lifting up into the air caused some shrieks from you and giggles from Wonwoo. You calmed down quickly as Huoyan flew steadily. The view of the entire Fire Nation capital from up so high was unbelievable. You had never seen anything as gorgeous.
“Everyone looks so tiny from up here.” You breathed, watching the ground below as you flew gently around it. People looked to be the size of ants, and large houses were merely the size of a gold piece coin. Huoyan soared upwards above the clouds once you had had your fill of looking at the ground. 
The sky was even more beautiful than the ground. It was a clear sunny day, and the clouds in the sky were varied. From large fluffy ones to misty thin ones, you tried to spot as many as you could with Wonwoo. You got tired near the end of the flight. You wished you could stay up in the sky with Wonwoo all day, but you still hadn’t recovered all your energy. You rested your head on Wonwoo’s back, closing your eyes and letting a happy smile envelop your face.
“Tired, my love?” Wonwoo asked softly. You hummed. You had been up in the air for hours now and easily lost track of time. 
“Would it be silly if… I wanted to kiss you up here?” You asked quietly. 
Wonwoo smiled at your slightly sleepy request, “No, it’s not silly. Unless I’m silly for wanting it as well.” He giggled softly and turned, making his face visible to you. “Huoyan, sorry.” He said quickly before capturing your lips with his. 
It didn’t last long, as Huoyan started to complain about it all happening on her back. Wonwoo didn’t press for a long kiss and just let Huoyan fly back down to the palace. The rest of the day was spent less excitingly, but still enjoyable. Any moment with Wonwoo was enjoyable. You visited the turtle duck pond again and fed them, and then walked around the grounds of the royal palace together.
Once you were all ready for bed, tucked under the covers with your head on Wonwoo’s chest, he spoke again, “I thought of a question. I probably should have asked you earlier, but it only just came to me now.”
“Hm?”
“Why did you become The Scarlet Shadow?”
You hummed, “I guess it was just… a way to spend my time. I didn’t have anything to do, and I had always wanted to try fighting when I was little, so I just decided to go for it. It was very… fulfilling. I liked being able to help people.” You smiled, “And, hey, I guess I was pretty good at it. I even killed Orin.” 
Wonwoo laughed, “I think I should be worried about what will happen to me if I ever anger you.” He rubbed your arm, sleepily watching you listen to his heartbeat.
“Don’t worry… I love you too much to do anything to you.” You mumbled.
“Me too.” He smiled, thinking back to the events of it all. It had been a long journey for him to end up here; with you in his arms. Among the ups and downs, one thing had stayed steady: your hope that he would change. You still gave him a second chance, even after all the pain and mistakes and broken promises. You still loved him, even when he couldn’t bear to love himself anymore. And as he made sure to heal every wound he had ever given you, you also healed his shattered soul, putting it back together piece by piece.
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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 2 months
Text
The Bet
Part one
Eddie is desperate to talk to you but will you ever be able to forgive and forget after learning your friendship was nothing more than a bet? Especially as you had fallen in love with him.
Do you still love him after all that anguish?
Part two.
Warnings: A lot of angst and you'll see..minors shoo! 18+
Don't copy, translate or repost my work.
❤️
A bet. That's all you'd ever been to Eddie, a bet to get one over on your now ex boyfriend, on Jason and the rest of the dark side as Eddie's friend had put it.
Had they spent this whole time laughing at you? Did Eddie get some kick out of stringing you along, stealing your heart piece by piece.
Was everything just a lie?
You had broken up with Bryan a week ago. Sick of his horrible nature and drawn to Eddie, head over heels for him. God you felt like such a fool.
The night you found out about the bet you cried yourself to sleep, walking to school on autopilot. Thank goodness for your friends because you struggled to get through the first day.
Mostly everyone was sympathetic but there was some people who sniggered when you walked past, whispered to their friends only it was so loud that you could hear.
I can't believe how gullible that idiot was
Imagine knowing the freak only got close to you for a bet
Serves that bitch and all the rest of Jason's idiots and the cheerleaders right for thinking they are so hot.
About time someone took them down a peg
Each thinly veiled barb cracked your already bleeding heart and you hurried to get away from the gossip.
It trickled out a couple days later, once the people had finished finding your pain hilarious, how anyone could find someone in pain to be funny was a mystery to you.
Whenever you saw Eddie you rushed away before he could speak to you, wouldn't look at his face because all you knew from him was lies.
Everything was a lie. He didn't love you, he never did. Your heart throbs with that realisation and you do your best to walk around school, head held up high and the heartbreak tucked up inside.
It was all an act but you were a great actor, you had to be to pretend like you weren't in agony on the inside.
...
It was the worst few weeks that Eddie could remember in a long long time, Dustin was disgusted with him and took a long time to talk to him.
His heart felt like it had been ripped in half and it was all his own fault, you wouldn't even look at him.
If he even attempted to try and speak to you it was to no avail.
The longest sentence you uttered was when he begged you to talk to him, even just one word.
All you said was ''goodbye Eddie" or that ''you didn't believe a word he said"
Steve picked you up from school with Robin every day, wouldn't even let Eddie go near you. Threatened to beat the shit out of him if he made you cry again.
He tried to speak to you again a few days later when Steve had eased up on guarding you, it was agonising weeks of you avoiding him.
You were coming out of cheer practice with Chrissy and another girl, Chrissy glared at him and the other girl looked like she wanted to kill him.
"Can we talk please, princess?'' he pleads and you ask your friends to give you a second and they do, very reluctantly still scowling at Eddie. He deserves that.
"I can't Eddie. I don't have anything to say to you" he swallows, his mind going a mile a minute, trying to think of what he can say to express how sorry he is.
''I messed up. I made a stupid mistake. The worst mistake, because I hurt you. I made a dumb bet to try and get back at assholes who bullied and made my friends and my life hell, it was mean and selfish and I wish I'd never done it" you listen to what he has to say and his heart aches when tears pool in your eyes.
"But you did do it, you couldn't even tell me the truth. You lied to me Eddie and all the time I was...I fell in love with you" he moves forward to cup your cheek, desperate for you to know that he loves you too.
"I love you, I fell in love with you and that's why I couldn't tell you. I couldn't lose you" you stare at him and don't speak for a few seconds, when you do the words split his heart in two.
"That's the thing, you lost me anyway" you walk away from him and he can't think of a single thing to say to stop you. Then he steels himself and runs to catch up with you.
"What Eddie?" you snap and he talks quickly, tripping over his words and anxious to get the words out.
"I hurt you badly, I fucked up and what I did was just fucking awful. I know that. I also know that I'm so in love with you, never thought I could feel this way for anyone but you snuck into my heart and it belongs only to you" you don't say anything but you don't rush away either, so Eddie says one more thing before you do decide to leave.
"I'll wait for you sweetheart, for however long it takes. I don't care how long I have to wait, you're worth every single second"
Tears pool in your eyes and you nod slightly. Ever so gently you squeeze his hand just a tiny bit then walk away, leaving Eddie determined as hell to win your trust again and maybe somewhere along the line your heart too.
💕
It took a while for you to even speak to Eddie for longer than five minutes, but he was nothing if not determined and patient, he's was not screwing this chance up.
At first, you didn't think Eddie was serious about waiting for you, but he was. Endlessly patient and sweet. Big brown eyes full of tenderness and joy when you spoke to him.
It was hard not to find him endearing, but he had hurt you badly and there was still a small part of you that held back, that was hesitant to get close, trying to protect your fragile heart that ached for you to give Eddie a chance.
It's Friday now and after an intense week of cheer practice, you can't wait to relax for the weekend.
Chrissy had been watching you looking at Eddie with longing, the exact same way Eddie looked at you for weeks now. To be honest it was beyond frustrating, the both of you loved one another, it was killing you both to be apart.
So that's why she was saying something to you today. More than anything she wanted you to be happy, if Eddie hurt you again just even a tiny bit then she would kick his ass.
That's before Steve go there first.
"Honey, what Eddie did was wrong and I'm mad as hell at him but anyone can see how sorry he is. He's so in love with you, maybe you could give him a second chance" Chrissy says to you as you sit down for lunch.
You rest your head on Chrissy's shoulder and let out a sigh. ''I want to, I want to so badly but I don't want to be heartbroken again''
Something tells Chrissy that Eddie wouldn't dare. That he would keep his promise to never hurt you so badly again.
She squeezes your hand reassuringly and it calms your anxiety down.
"Babe, he wouldn't dare. He's not stupid. Plus everyone might think I'm a sweetheart but I'll kick his ass if he did and Steve would too. Eddie won't lose you, not again"
The words play on your mind all day and when Eddie is hurrying to his truck at the end of Hellfire Club you pluck up your courage and go to speak to him.
"Eddie" the minute he sees you it's like his whole face lights up. A dimpled smile and brown eyes full of adoration greet you.
"Hey, sweetheart" longing fills the air, stifling you both and honestly you're pretty sick of it. So you take a leap, walk up to Eddie and take his hand.
"Would you mind if I asked you for a ride Eds?'' his hand tightens around yours and he grins, rushes to open the door to his truck and almost trips over his feet in the process. It's cute and you can't help but giggle.
He holds the door open for you. "Princess, your carriage awaits" you head inside.
The drive is short and sweet, Eddie once again being a gentleman as he opens the door for you to step out.
You thank him for the ride and before Eddie can head back into the truck, you kiss his cheek gently, then leave a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips.
The kiss leaves him looking dazed, he touches his cheek then his lips and there's that smile again, the one that melted your heart the first time you seen it.
"One more chance Eddie, if you hurt me again thats it. I mean it" he nods, his face serious as he takes in what you say.
"I swear you won't regret this princess, I love you and I'll spend every day proving that, do you... do you still love me?" he whimpers after a few seconds, his expression wide with worry and fear.
"I've never stopped" you answer back.
After your confession he practically does a little dance as he goes into his truck. Just before you open the door to your house, you hear his whoop of delight before he drives off.
The smile doesn't leave your face all night.
❤️
411 notes · View notes
saerins · 1 year
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─── 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
+ sae x f!reader | wc 3.2k | content: angst, insecurities, death
notes: i’m sorry idk how this came about but i was in a mood :’) i promise i love him okay <3 feedback & reblogs appreciated !!
summary: he’s back home, and you recall the times you’d spoken to him. all the calls you made, then all the calls he made, and then all the times it went to voicemail.
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you remember every conversation you’ve had with your boyfriend. the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. it’s hard to quantify into numbers since you’d been together for the last five years.
but there’s a few of them that are prominent, that are burned into your mind, engraved onto your brain. the sound of his laugh, for one, that’s always been precious to you, if only for the fact that he doesn’t laugh often.
sae always said you were the only one who could get that out of him, and you’ve kept it close to your heart since.
to the world, he may have seemed rude and off-putting at times, and despite the countless false reports of sae being an asshole to all his girlfriends in private (because the media can never decide who he’s actually with), he’s always been the same itoshi sae to you—the kind of guy who only ever bothers what you think about him because the other people not involved in your relationship don’t matter.
you remember everything he’s ever done for you.
“you know that one day you’ll be mrs. itoshi, right?”
yeah, you definitely remember.
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MARCH 2020; [ sae’s fifth day in spain ]
“you miss me, itoshi sae?”
you can feel him rolling his eyes from the other end. “i should just hang up right now.”
“you could, but then you’d miss me even more.”
sae suppresses a grin, even if there’s no one around to see it. you’re right, but he doesn’t say anything.
it was rare for sae to call you at all. but then again, it is the first time you two had been apart since you got together. maybe it isn’t so weird after all.
“how’d practice go today?”
“it’s fine, nothing i couldn’t handle.” of course he’s fine, he’s the youngest on the team and yet it was as though he’d played the longest.
“of course it was fine, mr genius,” you tease, and he smiles because he knows you’re smiling too.
you can’t really remember how the rest of the conversation went. but you only remember this moment because it was the first time you realised that amidst all the times you’d pester him to go on a date with you, amidst all the times you asked him for a kiss, sae could miss you too.
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SEPTEMBER 2020; [ sae comes back to japan soon ]
“hey so i was thinking, i’ll meet you at the airport?”
sae hums, “wanna see me that bad, huh?”
“shut up,” you snap at him, hating his quick tongue that so easily gets you flustered. “so i miss my handsome, successful boyfriend, big deal.”
he missed you too.
“am i just arm candy for you, y/n?”
“what? no—”
“too late. i’m offended. bye.”
then he actually hangs up on you.
it takes you half a second to pull up your message thread with him.
itoshi sae, you wanna die or something?
it takes him the same amount of time to respond to you.
y/n l/n, okay, then maybe i’d get some relief from you.
before you can even be actually offended, your phone vibrates again.
miss you too, stupid. see you tomorrow.
you can’t seem to rub the smile off your face.
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FEBRUARY 2021; [ first valentines’ apart ]
it takes him three rings to pick up.
“happy valentines’, lover,” you giggle over the phone.
it’s been a few months since your about-to-go-pro soccer player boyfriend had gone back to spain, doing pro soccer player things. you miss him, especially since it’s the first time you guys are spending the romantic occasion apart.
it sucks that you couldn’t even spend new years with him. it’s okay though, you managed to video call him while you spent time with his family.
“think you got the wrong number.”
“itoshi—”
“open the door, smarty pants.”
“w-wait, what? did you send me something?”
you hurry over to your front door, not knowing what to expect. but you definitely didn’t expect sae to be there, in the flesh, sighing when you finally open your door, a pretty bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“what are you doing here?” you’re still shocked from his mere presence.
sae smirks, and you realise just how much you miss him. “think i got the wrong apartment, i was supposed to deliver these to my other girl—”
but you kiss him to shut him up. he’s full of nonsense, and so, so witty, and he’s here.
sae’s always claimed that it was not soccer stealing him from you, it was more the other way around. and he had been joking at the time he said that, but right now he thinks maybe there’s some truth to it.
if there’s anyone capable of having and getting him to willingly relinquish his attention from soccer, it’s you.
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JUNE 2021; [ night of sae’s first PR event ]
“someone looks handsome,” you comment as you watch your boyfriend getting ready over the phone.
he has an entire entourage of people over at his hotel—they must be the makeup crew and stylists. his entire team is getting vip treatment for being champions of the league thanks to last week’s game. now, even more brands are trying to sponsor them and you really shouldn’t be surprised over the amount of girls going crazy over your boyfriend.
“and someone should really sleep,” sae pauses for a moment when the man beside him (presumably his stylist, because he’s double checking sae’s suit) asks a quick that your girlfriend?, to which sae says “yes.”
the man winks at you through the video. “lucky girl,” he comments, eyes back on the fabric he’s touching, “the only time i caught him smiling was while he was texting ya.”
you snicker through the phone as you watch sae’s face go beet red before frowning at you.
“he did not.”
his stylist is laughing at his reaction too. “totally did. i thought he was possessed.”
sae grabs the phone and relegates himself to the bathroom, glaring at you through the screen. he’s not mad at you, he’s just embarrassed and you know that. you’ve known him long enough now to tell his cues.
“i hope you know i hate you.”
he’s always all bark and no bite and you’re still laughing at him.
“aw, i hate you too, mr itoshi.”
“stop with the smart mouth before i find another contender for a mrs itoshi.”
you and sae had been staring at each other through the screen up until that point, when sae realised what he just said and has to look away.
“you… think i could be?”
neither you nor sae have ever broached another about the future, and sae has always been generally avoidant about it, which is why it makes you even more surprised that he’s the one who slipped up about it.
after a moment of silence, he sighs, trying to suppress a smile. it tugs at the edges of his lips, not really there but you can feel it.
“you know that one day you’ll be mrs itoshi, right?”
you don’t know that, he doesn’t know that, not until the day has come. but yeah, you really, really want to be.
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OCTOBER 2022; [ sae’s birthday ]
“happy birthday, mr. itoshi,” you greet when he picks up the phone.
things had been rocky lately, admittedly. only because you and sae lived worlds apart.
sae is famous now, in both japan and europe, and it’s no surprise because he’s one of the best midfielders anyone has ever seen. his life is now full of the glitz and glam that you’re not even close to familiar with.
and you; you’re just a simple girl living in tokyo, with a normal life and normal friends and normal everything. except for the fact that sometimes people stalk you online because based on theories, you’re his girlfriend.
he was advised against confirming your identity with the press. for a myriad of reasons, apparently. and you’re fine with it, because yeah, you’re aware there are games to be played when you have his status. and it was fine with you, except for times when it’s not.
like how at his previous PR event he had to appear like he was dating some other celebrity. which was fine, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t suck having to see your boyfriend appear intimate with someone else. even worse when you hear said someone else mention in multiple interviews that she’s always had a huge crush on him.
“thanks, though it kinda sucks today.”
but it’s fine; you’ve been with him long enough to know that sae isn’t the type to hurt you like that. so even if it’s rocky, it doesn’t stop you from loving him.
“why? i thought the guys were bringing you out drinking tonight.”
sae sighs. “that’s exactly why.”
you smile, thinking how sae is still the same sae you’ve always known. “you’ve been playing with them for more than a year now, i think one night out wouldn’t kill you, babe.”
“but they’re freaks.” and sae says that because they’re rowdy, noisy guys and he doesn’t even want to imagine them drunk.
“we both know they’re going to bother you to no end if you don’t go,” you point out, and sae relents. “and if you need an escape when you’re too tired, you could just use my name.”
you break into a grin because you know for a fact that sae uses you as an excuse to his publicist sometimes to not attend events.
“yeah, maybe i’ll tell ‘em the missus is angry,” he jokes, and you find yourself wishing you could hug him right now.
“have fun tonight, okay?” a little hesitance comes to you before you ultimately open your mouth, “i love you.”
sae chuckles, and he can’t even describe the relief that comes to him each time he hears you say those words.
“i love you too.”
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DECEMBER 2022; [ the day you break ]
you don’t pick up his call.
when you saw the picture earlier, it’s like you’ve gone numb. and now everyone in the world will see the picture too. but you don’t really care. the images the paparazzi capture will die down after a while. the rumours will take longer.
right now you’re not even sure if your relationship is dead.
but you love him. you still do. and he’s still calling for what seems like the ninetieth time tonight.
this time you pick up.
“what?”
sae flinches on the other line because he’s not used to this coldness. “can i at least explain?”
you sniffle, gritting your teeth to stop your crying. “sure, why don’t you explain why i had to find out from the fucking news that you kissed someone else on your birthday?”
it’s that girl. the same celebrity you’ve seen ogling him and gushing over him and the one who has PR relations with him.
“i promise, she means nothing,” and you can hear the panic in sae’s voice. he sounds apologetic and manic and scared. “look, i-i was drunk, and she kissed me, and i pushed her off right after—”
“then why didn’t you tell me?” you yell back. because you’re sure that’s what happened. you believe him. but it wasn’t the fact that some other girl was so desperate for him that she’d do that, it was the fact that sae kept it from you.
sae can’t answer. he knows it, but he’s struggling to find the words. “i-i didn’t want you to misunderstand,” is all he can manage.
you pause for a while because you’re crying again, and sae can sense it even if you’re silent. he loves you and he’s killing himself for his stupid decisions.
“sae,” you call him, softly. “is that how much you know me?” because after all this time, you’d think he’d know better. you trusted him. a hundred percent. now? you’re not sure.
“please, y/n, i’m sorry, please just- forgive me?” and sae’s not sure how to do this. sae’s never had anyone he cared about this much other than you. you’re the only one and you forever will be. and he’s stupid and clueless outside of soccer but he’s always had you to hold his hand through this, yet now you feel further away from him than ever.
you’re quiet and he’s not sure what to expect. you’re just sniffling on the other side, not saying anything, and for the first time in his life, sae is afraid.
“babe, i—”
“don’t say it, sae,” you sigh, because you don’t want to think that he’s saying it just to appease you.
sae obeys, because he’s scared that just a little nudge would push you right off the edge. “i’m gonna fix this, okay? i’ll tell everyone that—”
“it’s fine,” you interject, your mind in shambles. you’re tired, and you really don’t know what to do about this when it’s so fresh in your heart. “i need to think things through anyway.”
“no- y/n, please, i—”
and for the first time ever, you’re the one who hangs up abruptly. then you turn off your phone because you know sae’s not going to stop but you really just don’t want to to feel bad about not picking up.
you still love him, but you’re just heartbroken right now.
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sae stares at his phone after you hang up. he can hear his heart beating out of his chest and his breathing gets shallow. he tries to call you again but it’s not even ringing.
there’s only one thing he knows: he fucked up.
a stupid, stupid mistake which was grave enough to make you doubt everything and you’re right. this was on him for not opening his stupid mouth and just trusting that you’d understand.
for the first time ever, he heard what you sounded like when you’re hurt and he can’t forgive himself. not if he doesn’t do anything about it.
he gives up on trying to call you and pulls up his club’s coach’s contact instead. “sub someone else in for me tomorrow, i won’t be there.”
“what? what are you talking about? we can’t play without our star midfielder! it’s a big match against our home rivals—”
but everything he’s lecturing sae about falls on deaf ears because sae’s already packing his duffel bag and searching for his passport. he doesn’t even bother acknowledging anything before he hangs up, dialing his assistant’s number instead.
“i need to fly back to tokyo. immediately.”
his assistant’s distraught voice is apparent. “wha- um, you have a game tomorrow—”
“i don’t care. i need to fly now. get me a flight or you’re fired.”
“uh, but- um, the private jet’s not available—”
“then get me tickets on a commercial flight. i don’t fucking care about what kind of plane it is.”
yeah, because he only cares about fixing things with you. no one and nothing else, just you.
his assistant sighs because he knows he’s going to get in trouble for aiding sae. “fine, i’ll send you the details soon.”
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JANUARY 2023; [ the present ]
it goes straight to voicemail. you still talk.
“you know, i hate you so much for not having a voicemail recording.”
you pause, the tears streaming down your face. you’re staring at your phone, at his instagram, at his last post. something he posted before his flight.
a picture of the both of you in private, in your room. he’s sitting behind you on the bed, his arms around your neck as he kisses your head and you take the picture.
it’s funny because he was forbidden from sharing any sort of those pictures yet he still did it anyway. you stare at the caption.
i love only you
“itoshi sae, how am i going to hear your voice now, huh?”
you’re already full-on crying now, as you have been for the last month.
“itoshi sae! talk to me, answer me!” you’re screaming but no one will ever hear you.
how can sae hear you? you’re unreasonable for expecting that.
“tell me how to reach you,” you wail into the receiver.
you’re painfully aware of what you’re getting now.
“i love you, mr. itoshi.”
there’s no one on the other line who’ll chuckle now. you can’t hear the same fondness in his voice when he says he loves you too. you can’t ever hear him joking with you again.
no more sighs, no more video calls, no more love. no more you know one day you’ll be mrs. itoshi, right?
you hang up and look at the note in your hand; something sae’s assistant passed to you on the day of his funeral.
a few weeks ago, sae asked me to get this for him. i know he wanted you to have this. before he left for tokyo, he told me to get this done for you at all costs. it was only ready a day after he left. i thought you might still like to have this. i’m sorry you have to go through this.
the gold velvet box sits heavy in your hand. it’s all of sae’s commitment to you, feelings for you—it’s all of his resolution in one tiny package and it’s heavy.
you open it, same as the countless times before.
it’s still beautiful. it’s shiny and four carats and princess cut because you were always his princess. inside the band, he has mrs itoshi engraved.
you know one day you’ll be mrs. itoshi, right?
you bring up his messages and play the last audio he sent to you.
“look, i know i fucked up and it was stupid of me to keep it from you. i’m sorry, okay? and i know you don’t want to speak to me right now but i can’t just sit around and do nothing. i love you, so i’m coming back home, and we’ll talk, and then… i promise you, nothing like this will happen again.”
you remember your last words to him and can’t help but to hate yourself. you should’ve told him one last time before you lost your chance.
if you’d just stayed on the line, he wouldn’t have come back. if he didn’t come back, he wouldn’t have gotten into that cab. if he didn’t get into that cab, he wouldn’t have been in that fatal accident in shibuya.
staring at the ring, calling his number, getting no response, visiting his plot and running into rin. and repeat. that’s all life is now.
sometimes you wear the ring to pretend he’s still here. to pretend he’s already proposed and you’re waiting for him to come back from spain.
you’re probably at voicemail #314 now.
mrs itoshi stares at you until you’re crying all over again.
you’ll never hear his voice again. never hear his laugh. never get to hug him, or pick fights with him. you’ll never get to feel his broad shoulders or his strong arms around your body. you won’t get to go home ever again.
you’ll never be mrs itoshi now.
2K notes · View notes
yoonguurt · 4 months
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Summary: A failed relationship and an ailing mother forces Y/N to move back to her hometown, despite not wanting to.  She knows in her heart that everything will be the same as the day she left. Nothing ever changes in a small town. Except when it does. A new neighbor, a new hardware store, and two new additions to the town bring the holiday magic into Y/N’s life. The question is, will the magic stay or will the ghost of Christmas past ruin everything?
Pairing: non idol!San × reader
Genre: fluff, angst, smut
Trope: strangers to lovers
Word count: 15,207 (yikes)
Warnings: mentions of death of a parent, mentions of cheating (not San or reader), mentions of depression and antidepressants, reader's mother is in poor health. Smut warnings under the cut.
A/n: this is the longest fic I have ever written and I genuinely had fun writing it. I'm so proud of this. Thank you to @kwanisms for making the banner as always
@anyamaris @stardragongalaxy @millennial-fangirl @kpop-stories-21 @twisted-tales-of-all @skyechild @staytinyville
Smut warnings: Switch!San, switch!reader, oral sex (m&f receiving), fingering, marking, protected sex, they just soft for each other.
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You step off of the bus, leaves crunching under you feet as you look around, noticing that the town looks pretty much the same as the day you left. Some of the buildings are more run down than they used to be, the roads are a little less maintained, but it’s nothing major.
You sigh and readjust the bag on your shoulder, tightening your grip on the suitcase beside you. Your thoughts drift, reminding yourself to call the moving company to confirm the arrival date of the rest of your things. Your thoughts shift to Joshua and you hear bits of your final conversation, before blinking away the tears starting to form and take your first step.
You had sold your car, knowing you wouldn’t need it in such a small place, your mother can no longer drive so you can use her car if needed. You look at your watch, not having a cell phone since not only was it on Joshua’s plan, but you didn’t want an easy way for him to contact you.
You start walking along the sidewalk, keeping your head down and lost in your thoughts. Your childhood home isn’t that far from the main square and you still know the way like the back of your hand.
A few people stop you and make small talk, surprised that you’re back in town and seeming to be staying for a while. You try to be polite, though avoidant when they ask questions, only telling them that your mother needed you here so you came. Your patience is being tested, but you do your best not to let it show on your face. God, you really don’t want to be here.
After finally getting away from the nosey town people, thinking that no one in this town has anything better to do than worry about other people’s business, you smile as you pass the local diner. You know you’ll be the talk of the town for a while, but the memories of all the time spent in that dingy diner drift through your mind.
Your first date, your first job (well sort of), your last hangout before leaving town. You remind yourself that you really need to stop by and talk to Lou as soon as possible. Out of everyone here, you’ve missed him the most and you know he’ll be happy to see you.
You make it to your mother’s neighborhood, looking around to see what, if anything has changed. Everything looks mostly the same, your mother’s house is in desperate need of paint and good lawn care, though. You notice the house to the right of her mother’s has changed.
There is a swing set in the yard, a small inflatable pool and a tricycle scattered throughout. You guess that the older lady that lived there must have moved. Of course she would have, it has been 12 years since you left. That lady may not even be alive anymore, that thought bringing a ping of hurt to your heart. She was always such a wonderful lady. You shake the sad thought away before stepping up to the front door and pulling your key out and unlocking the door.
You call out to your mother, letting her know that you made it. You hear your mother’s voice sounding out from the kitchen. You kick your shoes off beside the door and walk down the short hall, making a right into the kitchen to see your mother standing at the island in the center of the room, a smile on her face. You greet your mother with a hug and accepts the mug of coffee she hands you.
You look around as the two of you talk about your trip, noticing that there are many repairs that need to be made. Cabinets need to be painted and finished, the counters need to be fixed, and the wallpaper is peeling. You briefly wonder what else needs to be fixed.
You think you noticed the railing along the stairs was tilted. You sigh again, knowing that there’s no way you can leave these things the way they are. You know these things are bothering you, but in her current state you also know that she can’t fix them herself.
Your mother’s questioning about Joshua brings you out of your thoughts, and you force a small smile. “ He’s fine, mom.” You know that your mother can tell that there is something you aren’t saying, but decides not to push the issue right now.
After finishing your coffee, you excuse yourself, telling your mother that you are going to unpack your things and you make your way back down the hallway, making another right to go up the stairs.
As you reach the top of the stairs, you pause, taking a look around the upstairs of the house. Your childhood bedroom is to the left of the stairs There is a door to the right before you get to your room, your mother’s old sewing room. You remember sitting on the bean bag chair on the floor of the room reading while your mother sewed.
The next door on the left is the bathroom, you think about how many days you spent hours in there, trying to make sure you looked your best for school. Your bedroom door is the last door on the right, the room across the hall is an old storage room that you’re sure has many of your childhood toys. Your mother has always been a sentimental hoarder.
Before entering your room, you turn and take a long back down the hallway. There aren’t as many rooms down the right side of the hall. Your parent’s room is the only door on the left, the master bedroom with their own bathroom and there’s a small alcove with a bay window on the right.
Your eyes pause on the door at the end of the hall, your father’s study. You stare at the door for a moment before turning back to face your door. With one more sigh, you open your door, throwing one last look at the door at the end of the hall, and head into your room, closing the door softly behind you.
You let your eyes drift around the room. The desk that you used for homework is set up against the back wall and you quickly take your laptop from your bag, setting it on the desk and plugging the charger into the wall.
You had found a job as a remote legal assistant, mostly fielding emails to the correct parties, getting video calls of meetings that you needed to type the minutes for. You were very thankful that your former boss had put you in contact with someone that had the position available. Without being able to stop them, your thoughts drift to your old life.
You had left your hometown not long after graduating, knowing that the small town life wasn’t for you. You had quickly found a job as a receptionist for a law firm, and you were damn good at your job. And you loved your job. You regret that you didn’t visit more, really only making the two hour drive back home for the holidays. You had still talked to your mother every day, but you knew that she would have loved to see you more.
After being with the firm for a year, a new partner was welcomed into the work family. Joshua had immediately caught your attention. Not only was he gorgeous, but he was soft spoken and polite. A true gentleman. He had a wonderful sense of humor. He was just amazing.
For two years, your life had been everything you had wanted. Until the death of your father. His death hit you hard. You essentially shut down for a while, you can admit to that. You know that Joshua tried to bring you out of your grief, but you hadn’t let him in.
Though you could realize that those things happened, that didn’t excuse Joshua’s actions. It didn’t excuse you walking into Joshua’s office on day to find him fucking his assistant. No, there was no excuse for that. You had come to tell him that you would need to come back home for a while, your mother wasn’t doing well and you needed to get her settled. Now, your visit has become a permanent residence.
You shake yourself out of your thoughts and focus your attention back on your room.
Your bookcase sits left of the door, mostly empty. Your face falls into frown. You didn’t read much when you were a teen, too busy with parties and friends. You had picked up on the hobby after you had moved. The thought that the bookcase would be full once the rest of your things arrive lifted your spirits a bit.
Reading had become one of your most treasured hobbies. When you had a bad day, you could lose yourself in a fictional world. The thought that you didn’t know if you could take away the worries and doubts you have currently makes your heart sink a little bit, but you swallow the sadness down, determined not to let yourself breakdown again. You had done her crying the night she left and you promised yourself that that was the last time you would cry over Joshua.
You look around your room again, smiling at how it looks exactly like you left it. Your queen size bed still has the zebra print bedspread you had gotten when you were 16 and you cringe a little. “The first thing I’m buying is a new bedspread and sheets.” Your voice is a whisper despite being the only one in the room.
Your slight grimace fades into a smile when you see the handmade quilt your aunt had given you as a Christmas present folded and placed at the foot of your bed. You take a step forward and rub your fingers along the fabric, her eyes watering a little at the memory of your aunt giving it to her. You really need to call her and see how she’s doing. You huff a small laugh, remembering that even in this day and age, both your mother and aunt still have wall phones, thinking that they really are sisters.
After taking a shower and changing into a tank top and sweats, you make your way back downstairs to check on your mother and help her make dinner. You pop your head into the kitchen, clearing your throat to let your mother aware of your presence. “Need any help?” Your mom smiles and nods. “I would love some.”
The two of you make small talk as you bumble around the kitchen, cutting vegetables and preparing everything your need. You turn to face your mother, only to notice that she is winding, but trying to hide it. “Mom, sit down. I can handle the rest of this.” She opens her mouth to argue, but you throw a stern glare at her and she sighs and sits at the table, a slight pout on her face. What an adorable woman.
The food is ready in no time, and you make a plate for each of you.
“Wanna eat in the living room? Maybe we can watch The Thornbirds?” Your mother quickly agrees, glad to be spending time with you and watching something you both love.
You eat quietly, paying attention to the movie like you haven’t seen it a million times. When you’ve finished your food, you set your plate on the coffee table, fully intending to wash it once the movie is over. It hits you just how much you have missed spending time with your mom like this. You pull your feet onto the couch and throw a blanket over yourself as you lay your head in your mother’s lap, simply enjoying how much better it makes you feel.
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“Y/N. Wake up, sweet girl,” your mother’s voice wakes you up.
You hadn’t meant to fall asleep but you guess that the comfort of snuggle up to your mother must have lulled you into slumber. You stand slowly, stretching with a grunt. Your mom stands as well, much more slowly than you had.
“Mom, is it your feet?”
She nods and tells you that it’s fine, but you make sure to help her up. You wrap your arm around hers, helping her up the stairs. “I can do this on my own, you know?” Her voice has a bit of her trademark attitude and you have to bite back a laugh. “I’m sure you can, but you’re not.” That makes her fake angry front break and she giggles.
Once you make it to your mother’s door, you let go of her arm. “I’m glad to have you home. I love you,” she ends with a kiss to your forehead and you tell her that you love her too before turning to return to your bedroom. You hope that your bed is as comfortable as it used to be as you climb in, getting comfortable. Sleep comes quickly, though your dreams are filled with arguments and tears.
You wake up later than you had planned the next day, though you don’t feel guilty about it. Your new job doesn’t start until next month so you don't necessarily have to be up early.
You hear your mother moving around downstairs and you make a stop by the bathroom to potty and brush your teeth before heading downstairs. You can’t help but stop at the top of the stairs, your eyes stopping on the door at the end of the hall. The thought of walking into the study crosses your mind, but you quickly dismiss it, knowing that you aren’t ready for that.
You peek in each room looking for your mother, eventually finding her on the back porch, a cup of coffee in her hand as she sits on the porch swing. She flashes you a smile and wishes you a good morning. “Though it’s almost afternoon. There’s fresh coffee in the kitchen,” she laughs at her own little joke.
“Morning Ma,” you greet her. “I’m so glad you made coffee. I’m not used to that bed anymore so I tossed and turned all night.” She hums in acknowledgement and you turn, moving forward to the kitchen to get your coffee.
While in the kitchen, your attention is brought back to the state of disarray of your mother’s home. You make the decision that today you'll go into the main square and get yourself a new bedspread and some basic necessities. Tomorrow you can go to the hardware store and look into what you’ll need to fix the kitchen up.
You make your coffee, and return to the porch and talk to your mother about your plans for the day, asking if her mother needs anything.
“All I can think of is that my medicine should be ready at the pharmacy. Do you mind picking it up for me?”
You agree and the conversation turns to what happened to the older lady that lived next door. “Oh. Her son had to put her in a home after she fell. I heard she passed after about a year.” Although this was what you expected, knowing that this is what happened still hurts.
“There have been a few people in and out of the house since then. Right now, there’s a young man around your age and his son. I don’t know much about him, but he seems like a nice boy.” Maybe more changed around here than you thought.
You take your time enjoying your coffee and chatting with your mom, getting a shower afterwards and getting ready to run your errands. The hot water feels amazing on your skin and once again you take your time. You’re used to being in a rush when you get ready and it’s nice to just be.
Looking through your clothes, you choose a pair of black skinny jeans and a band tee. You complete the outfit with your black combat boots, the ones that have little metal hearts on the side. A lot of things have changed since you left town, but you still sure hasn’t.
When you decide that you’re ready go, you stop by the back porch to tell you mother that you’re heading out and telling her that you’ll see her later.
The late fall air feels crisp and you take a deep breath, simply enjoying it. The fresh air is definitely something you’ve missed about being home. The city is great in many ways, but the air quality certainly isn’t one of them. It’s also nice to step outside and not hear sirens and horns everywhere immediately.
There’s something peaceful about being able to feel the breeze and just walking in silence.
As you step off the front porch, you find yourself walking to your mother’s car out of habit. You had already decided to walk, though you have second thoughts when you remember that you’ll be carrying a bed set home.
You stand firm in your decision to walk, thinking that the walk could be the replacement for a gym trip that you totally would have gone on in the city. (That’s a lie. You hate the gym, but it sounds better in your head.)
As the slight breeze hits your back, you think about grabbing a jacket. If your back gets cold, you’re fucked, but you take the risk instead of trudging back inside. Plus, you remind yourself, the weather here is finicky and it could suddenly warm up and you could be sweating.
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As you walk to the square, you feel as if you’re repeating the day before. Multiple people stop you, they obviously haven’t heard the gossip from the people that stopped you yesterday. Or they just want to see if they can get something else out of you, which is entirely possible.
As you make it to the center of town, the sidewalk traffic slows down and you breathe out a sigh of relief. You notice that the hardware store has barely changed, only the name is new. You glance through the window, the inside still looks exactly the same. There’s a little boy grinning and talking to anyone he see. The boy is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. His little afro bouncing a little as he runs around.
Smiling softly at the image in front of you, you turn your head back to the sidewalk as you press on. Just past the hardware store is the pharmacy. It looks as if it hasn’t changed a bit and you are certain that an older version of the pharmacist sits inside behind the counter. You make a mental note, reminding yourself to stop and get your mom’s medication on your way back home. The thought of carrying medication around the home goods store makes you uncomfortable, so you feel resolute in your choice.
You lower your head as you pass the diner, not ready to be stopped yet. You still need to stop in and see Lou, but you think that you’ll do that tomorrow. The home goods store is a couple buildings down from the diner. It still baffles you that this town has such a large store, though it wouldn’t be considered large by most people’s standards, and you’re kind of shocked it has lasted as long as it has.
The bell dings as you open the door and you cringe slightly, hoping no one notices that it’s you who walked through the door. You walk down the main aisle, looking at the signs on the edges of side aisles trying to find the bedding aisle. Honestly, you don’t have high hopes about the selection they’ll have, but you guess anything is better than the zebra print monstrosity that is on your bed currently. You finally find the bedding aisle and you are pleasantly surprised to see both sides of the aisle are full of options. You look over the choices in front of you, realizing that you were correct. Most of the options are different brands of the same plain sets. When you resign yourself to having to get a plain white set, you find something that perfectly suits your taste. It’s black in color and has a large sun with smaller stars and moons floating around randomly on the rest of the comforter. You discretely jump in happiness when you see that they have one queen sized set left and you quickly snatch it up and make your way to the register, remembering half way there to grab some new body wash and basic necessities. Luckily, the store is fairly empty and you don’t recognize the young girl at the counter, so you feel relief at someone probably not knowing you. You’re very glad to know that your assumption was correct, the girl barely pays attention to you and you’re able to quickly pay and leave.
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As you carry the bedding, you groan internally, annoyed at yourself for not stopping at the pharmacy before you went to the home goods store. The bedding is slipping from your hand and the angle is awkward. This is not one of your best decisions.
'Mistakes have been made. '
Readjusting you grip on the bedding, you pick up you pace, doing your best to make it to the pharmacy as quickly as possible. As you turn towards the door of the pharmacy, you let out a groan when you realize that you going to have a time getting this open with your hands full.
Resigning yourself to the fact that you’re going to have to put the bedding down to open the door, you’re surprised when a hand and a soft “Let me,” comes from your right. You turn your head and you have to hold in your gasp gasp.
An absolutely beautiful man is smiling a bright smile, briefly reminding you of the boy you saw earlier through the window of the hardware store. His black hair is pushed back off of his forehead and you have the thought that you want to run your hands through it.
His shoulders are broad, but his waist is tiny. He’s gorgeous.
He pulls the door open, gesturing with left hand in an “after you” motion. You smile, slightly shyly which is very unlike you, and thank him. He holds the door open for you before he steps inside him self. “You’re welcome,” he replies. “Just couldn’t stand to see a pretty lady struggling,” he adds, giving you a smile and a nod, turning while you continue straight toward the counter.
A friendly older man smiles as he asks you what he can help you with. You were right when you guessed it was the same man that worked here before you left. People tend to stick to the same thing forever in small towns.
You give him your mother’s name and tell him that you are her daughter and are here to pick up her medication. He gives you a nod and steps away to locate the medication. You quickly set the bedding down, giving your arm a stretch so it doesn’t get stiff.
The pharmacist comes back with the medication for your mother and gives you the total of the purchase. You pays pausing to ask him a few questions about the medication before you grab your things and head toward the door. You notice the man from earlier standing in front of the vitamins, looking a little confused.
You step forward, voice not too loud to scare the man. “You need any help there?” He startles a little and you chuckle a little and apologize, telling him that he just looked like he was confused. He laughs shyly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I-uh, came to get my son’s vitamins, but they’re out of the ones I usually buy. I’m trying to find a suitable substitute.”
You give him a firm nod turning to look at the options. You asks him what kind he normally gets and he tells you the brand. You scan the shelf, unaware of the eyes on the side of your face, before making a small “aha” and setting your bedding down again and reaching out to grab a bottle.
“These are just as beneficial as the ones you normally get, but they’re cheaper. Plus, they’re gummies so he’ll probably like them more,” you explain as you hand him the bottle. He smiles widely at you and you can feel your breath catching again as he thanks you.
“No need for thanks. Just returning the favor.” He gives you another big smile and follows you to the door, opening it again so you can step outside. You thank him and tell him to have a good day as he turns back around to pay.
The rest of your trip home is without incident, much to your relief. You walk through your mother’s door and call out. “Mom! I’m back!” You take your things upstairs to drop your things off in your room. You go back downstairs to find your mother. She asks about you day and you decide to bring up her medication as you hand it to her.
“Momma, why didn’t you tell me things were so bad. Mr. Jones told me a bit about these medications. Antidepressants, medicine for chronic sinus issues and face pain, and pain medication for your feet.” You watch her face as she processes what you’ve said, not pushing her to answer you immediately. You want her to be able to take her time.
After a moment or two, she speaks. “I’ve been handling things the best I could. You had your own life and I didn’t want to worry you more than necessary.” Your eyes begin to water and you hug her, apologizing for not being around more.
“Oh dear, I’m not upset with you for growing up and going on your own path. But I sure am glad to have you home.” The two of you stand in each others arms for a bit longer.
You think it’s finally time to break the news to her mother that you and Joshua are no longer together and the reasoning behind your breakup.” Mom, Josh and I aren’t together anymore. I found him with another woman a week or so before I came back.”
She tilts her head and pulls you back into her arms, asking if you’re ok. You softly tell her mother that you’re ok, still hurt, but ok. You mother suggests that the two of you cook together and watch another movie and you smile and agree.
After eating and watching the movie, you had decided to watch Ma and Pa Kettle, an old favorite of yours, you help your mother to bed and change your bedding. You take a look at what feels like a brand new bed, beyond pleased to have the god awful zebra atrocity gone from sight.
You check your email before bed, noticing an email from Joshua. You delete it without even reading it, not even thinking twice about it. You order yourself a new phone, already tired of not having one and climb into bed.
You wake up earlier than you did the day before and go through the routine of brushing your teeth, showering, and having breakfast and coffee with you mom. You definitely picked up your coffee addiction from her.
“Just a reminder that I’m going to the hardware store today. Gotta get started on fixing this kitchen.” She nods telling you to take the car today, and you agree with a laugh, telling her that you had already planned on it. “Are you dead set on these white cabinets?” Your mom smiles softly.
“The kitchen is your project, my baby. You do whatever you want with it. The house will be yours eventually, might as well have it the way you like it.” You smile despite the painful thought that one day your mother won’t be here. “Besides, you did always talk about designing the perfect kitchen.”
You give her a wide smile, glad she remembers how much you always talked about designing the kitchen in your future home. You tells her that you will see her later as you grab the keys to the car and steps outside.
You hear laughter from the lawn of the house next door and turn to see a little boy running to the car in the driveway, and a man hunched down chasing him, wiggling his fingers like he’s going to tickle the boy. The sight warms your heart and you briefly think that they look familiar. You smile to yourself and makes your way to the car.
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You park the car in the small lot in front of the hardware store, sitting for a moment before getting out and stepping to the door of the building. Pulling on the handle, you find that the door won’t open. You check the hours on the front of the glass, it says that the store should be open by now. You heave a sigh, something that has become quite common lately, and turn to head back to the car.
“Are you trying to get into the hardware store?” A voice comes from behind you. You turn to find the man from the pharmacy the day before, a set of keys in one hand and the hand of a small boy in the other. You give him a smile and nod, waving at the boy. You bend down a little.
“Well, hello there.” The boy smiles and waves back. “I’m so sorry. Normally, I’d have opened up by now, but a certain little boy didn’t want to get out of bed this morning.” As he finishes his sentence, his eyes flicker down to the boy, who is still wearing his bright smile.
You laugh and tells him that you understand and there are still some days where you don’t want to get out of bed. The man laughs his beautiful laugh again and opens the door, making the same motion with his hand as he did the day before.
Once you get into the store, the man snaps and makes an oh sound. You jump a little and look at him with a confused look. “This is the second time we’ve met and I still haven’t introduced myself. I’m San and this is my store.” He’s wearing a small smirk as he speaks.
You give him your name back, trying not to let your tummy flutter when he says that it is a pretty name. You squat down to the boy, making sure you’re face to face. “And what is your name, cutie?”
He gives you a big smile. “I’m Mason Choi and I’m four.” He holds up four fingers as he speaks. “My address is--”
“Ok, buddy, you don’t have to tell her all of that,” San interrupts with a breathy laugh, causing you to giggle along with him. You stand back up to full height, asking San where you can find the paint, and he points you in the right direction before you both go your separate ways.
You browse the paint aisle, taking your time looking through the colors. You aren’t sure you’ll be able to pick one for certain, but you know she’ll be taking home some swatches. You spend a few minutes thinking about the overall theme you want for the kitchen, trying to think about what would go best with what you have in mind. you gets a memory of what she wanted to do as a child, softly smiling at where your thoughts have drifted.
“You must really like that color.”
A voice comes from you left, a laugh following. You turn to find San there, giving you a smirk. You laugh softly and tell him that you were just thinking about a childhood memory. “When I was little, I wanted to design my mom’s kitchen. When she asked me what I wanted to do with it, I had a solid plan. Bubblegum colored walls, with white paint dripping down and splats of bright colors randomly placed around. I wanted the walls to look like ice cream.”
He gives a big laugh and you feel your insides churn again, internally cursing yourself. “What even brought that to mind?”
You tell him that you’re here to pick out paint, but you needed to think of a theme first.. He nods his head as if telling her to continue. You tell him that you current pet project is to redo the kitchen and that it’s in desperate need of a remodel.
“Do you plan to paint first?” His question isn’t judging, merely asking as if he’s trying to help. You think for a moment before shaking your head. “I should probably replace the cabinets and counters first, a slight blush coming to the surface of your cheeks.
You should have thought of that. And why are you blushing? You don’t blush. What is going on?
“In that case, you’re probably going to want to look into what kind of style you want the cabinets you want. There’s many different styles. Same goes for the counters. So many different patterns for counter tops.”
He pauses for a moment, allowing you nod to let him know that you are paying attention. Honestly, you don’t think you could pull your attention away from him.
“Now, I don’t have pre built cabinets here, but I’m sure I could track down a catalog somewhere that you can look through.” You give him a shake of your head, telling him that he doesn’t have to go through that much trouble, you could just do a search online. He gives you a sideways smile, telling you that he’s going to do it anyway. The smile is so fucking adorable that it has you smiling with him.
“So, are you going to be doing this yourself or is your dad or boyfriend helping?” The mention of both your dad and a boyfriend makes your smile fall and your body stiffen a little.
“No, it’ll just be me.” He gives you a shallow nod, his smile falling slightly too. He quickly recovers, though, keeping his cheerful mood. “If you need any help, please just ask. I don’t mind helping at all.” You smile and tell him that you will definitely keep that in mind.
Mason runs up to San, telling him that someone has come into the store asking for him. San bends down and thanks his son with a kiss on the cheek and stands to take his hand. “If you need help with anything, just let me know.” You tell that you will and he gives you a wink as he heads to the front of the store.
You look at paint swatches for a while longer, lost in thought. Your stomach eventually begins to rumble and you make the decision to finally brave the diner. You make you way back to the door, throwing San and Mason a smile and a wave before leaving.
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You walk to the diner, stopping to take a deep breath before making you way in front of the windows and to the door.
Pulling the door open, you’re hit with the smell of greasy burgers and fries and you sigh, suddenly overcome with a homey feeling. The diner holds many memories, both good and bad, and you figure it’s time to face them head on.
You slide into the booth in the back, it was always your favorite. You glances down, seeing the menu on the table, knowing that you don’t even have to look at it to know what you want.
A middle aged woman comes up to you and asks if you’re ready and you nod. You go with your favorite, a bacon cheese burger with extra pickles and a tea. Lou makes the best burgers. Before the waitress can leave, you ask her to tell Lou that it’s Y/N. The lady gives you a confused look before nodding and walking off to the kitchen.
You can hear the waitress yell Lou’s name before her voice lowers. You smirk slightly, counting down in you head. Only a second later, a tall man with a big belly comes barreling out of the kitchen area, throwing his apron on the counter.
You stand up from the booth, waiting beside it as the man makes his way to you. Lou greets you with a hug, telling you that he’s missed his best waitress. You laugh at his antics.
“Lou, I never actually worked for you.”
He brushes you off with a wave of his hand and asks how you’ve been. You tell him that you’ve been better, but you’ve also been worse. He gives you a sigh and a nod.
“You’ve always been so quiet about how you actually feel. Come on and tell Big Lou what’s going on.” You sit down, motioning for him to sit across from you. He holds his finger up in a hold on signal and walks back to the kitchen. You smile as he walks away, thinking back on your time knowing the gentle giant.
Lou has owned the diner for as long as you can remember, though you knows that it can’t be as long as it feels since the man is in his late 40s. He’s a man that looks gruff and unfriendly, but once you really get to know him, he’s a great person to have in your life.
Lou has always been your group of friends’ confidant in a sense, always listening, never talking unless asked. With you in particular, he always dragged what was wrong out of you. When you first boyfriend broke up with you, you went to the diner, obviously upset but refusing to talk about it. Lou told you that if you were going to sit and mope, could you at least take an order to a customer since he was short staffed.
You remember that you had looked at him like he was a crazy man and he just gave you a toothy grin. That had made you smile as well and you grabbed the plate and took it to the customer. That had started the tradition of you coming to the diner when you were sad and Lou giving you things to do to take your mind off of it. He always paid you out of the money out of the register, even though you told him that he didn’t have to. You always ended up telling him what was wrong and he always gave the best advice. It was an unusual friendship, but one you greatly treasured.
You’re shaken out of your thoughts by Lou sliding into the booth, your burger on a plate in one hand and a plate full of cheese fries in the other. “Lou, I didn’t order cheese fries,” your voice is teasing. He just tells you to hush and eat you food. You laugh a big laugh and start to dig in.
“Alright Peanut, spill the beans.”
You take a breath and repeat the story of your relationship with Joshua. You vent about your mother’s health and how you’re worried about her. You talk about the kitchen remodel. For the first time since your father’s death, you talk about it and how you handled it when it happened and how you’re handling it now. You mention your thoughts of going into his study, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it.
By the time you’ve finished spilling your guts to Lou, you’ve finished your burger and are starting to work on the fries. You flick your eyes up to Lou’s face, trying to gauge his reaction to the spew of information you’ve given him. His eyebrows are furrowed, obviously deep in thought. You stare at him for a moment, waiting patiently. He takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He looks at you with a serious expression before opening his mouth.
“So, you looking for a job?”
The question makes you burst out laughing, the first whole hearted laugh you’ve had since finding out Joshua was cheating on you, probably since you lost your father. You laugh until your stomach hurts and you have tears gathering in her eyes. Lou reaches across the table to pat you on the hand.
“You’re a strong woman and you’re gonna get through all of this and come out stronger on the other side. Now, what is this boy’s name and where does he live. It’s for science.”
You give his hand a slight slap and tell him to get back to work. He stands and gives you another hug and you move to go pay for you food. Lou moves in front of the register, shaking his head and pointing to the door. You giggle and shake your head, knowing this is a fight you won’t win and leave. As you reach the door, you hear Lou call your name. You turn back to face him, an eyebrow raised.
“Go into the room, Peanut.”
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Deciding to head back home, it’s been hours since you left that morning and it’s well after lunch time, you make you way back to the hardware store to grab your mother’s car, noticing San’s car is gone.
You wonder if he is only open a few hours a day, but quickly dismiss the thought, deciding that it’s none of your business and continue on your way back home.
Turning into the driveway, you hear laughing from next door again, thinking that you’re glad your new neighbors are so cheerful. You hear a small voice calling your name and you turn to see Mason smiling wide and frantically waving.
You says his name with as much enthusiasm as he had said yours and start waving just as frantically. San stands in the background smiling at the two of you just standing in the middle of your yards just waving like crazy people. He steps forward with a “howdy neighbor” and you laugh and say hello.
San gives you a wink, saying that it looks like you’ll will be seeing each other a lot and you laugh and agree. Mason cuts in and asks if he and San can go have their lunch now, and San agrees, picking him up and saying goodbye to you before heading inside. You watch as they walk through their door, thinking that this man and his flirtatious nature are going to be problem.
Not entirely an unwelcome problem, but a problem regardless.
You step through you own door, calling out to your mother. You hear her voice coming from the back porch and you slip your shoes off and walk toward the back of the house. Your mother asks how your day has been, and you tell her about your time at the hardware store and lunch with Lou. She gives you a smile, telling you that she’s glad that you met with Lou, and saying that he always asks about you.
“I met the new neighbor, he also owns the hardware store.”
Your mother huffs out a laugh. “Yes, I know, dear. It is a small town after all.” You roll her eyes with a laugh. You mention San telling you that he would see if he could find a catalog with cabinets for you to look at, and your mother hums and nods, asking if you have figured out what you want to do with the kitchen. You shake your head. “San brought that up too, but I need to think about it for a bit. I’m gonna go look at the kitchen and see if something comes to me.”
You walk into the kitchen, glancing around while in thought. You do your best to envision what you want the kitchen to look like. After standing around just looking at the cabinets, it hits you. You look around, picturing what you want. You wanted dark gray cabinets with silver handles.
As you look around, the thought of making a little nook comes to your mind. Cabinets and drawers on the bottom, a counter, the area is boxed in, like a little alcove. On the very top, you envision putting potted plants. Your vision is sort of a forest-y vibe.
Smiling to yourself, you turn around and makes you way back to your mother. Before you leave the room, you make yourself a cup of coffee.
When you get back to your mother, you tell her about your idea for the kitchen and she gives you a smile and tells you that she loves it. You notice your mother getting tired and you offer her your arm and tell her she should take a nap.
She immediately disagrees, but you insist and tell her that you will make dinner and wake her up when it’s ready. Huffing, your mother relents and grabs your arm and pulls herself up. You helps her to her room and tell her to have a good nap and leave her room.
You stand outside of the door, looking at the door to your father’s study. Lou’s words float through your mind and you take a hesitant step forward. You step until you have your hand on the knob, but you quickly let go and turn around and head to your room to grab your laptop before going back downstairs.
Feeling like it’s a bit early to start on dinner, also knowing that your mother needs a nice nap, you grab yourself another cup of coffee, deciding to sit on the front porch this time. You tell yourself that it definitely isn’t with the hopes of seeing San, you just want a change.
You grab one of the wicker bucket chairs on the front porch, sitting in it with your laptop on your lap and your coffee on the small table to your left.
Opening your email, you find two more emails from Joshua. Taking a deep breath, you open the first one. You know that this is the first step in healing and moving on. The email is exactly what you expected it to be. Josh says he’s sorry and that he does love you and he wishes you would email him back.
You close out of the email, still feeling hurt, but not as bad as you had expected. Before you can open the second email, a voice calls out to you making you look up to see San.
“You’re drinking coffee this late in the afternoon?” he asks. You let a little giggle follow. “It’s never too late for coffee.” You have a teasing glint in your eye as you respond. “I think that I have to respectfully disagree.”
The two of you talk for a while, before you remember your vision for the kitchen. You tell San that you have an idea and he tilts his head and motions for you to continue.
You tell him about how you wants everything to look and he nods as you talks. After you finish, he tells you that it sounds like a really neat idea and he will look around for that catalog. You thank him and ask where Mason is. He tells you that he’s down for a nap.
“I know it’s a bit late for a nap, but I never let him sleep too long or he’ll be up all night.” You laugh and tell that him you couldn’t even imagine what it’s like to deal with a toddler that’s wide awake at three am and San laughs with you. You bite you lip and ask if his mother is watching him while he’s down. San stiffens a little, shakes his head. “No. It’s just me and Mason.” You remember you mother mentioning that he was a single father so you aren’t sure why you even asked.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. That was none of my business.” San assures you that it’s fine and that he and Mason are doing well on their own.
“It looks like it. From what little I’ve seen, you seem like a great dad.” He blushes a little and thanks you. You giggle at his sudden shyness and tell him that it’s not a problem. He checks the time on his phone.
“I better wake the little guy up.” You nod and he gives you a smile and turns to head back to his yard. You stop his movement with a call of his name and he turns to face you.
“Would you two want to join my mom and I for dinner? Think of it as a belated welcome to the neighborhood celebration.” San gives you a large smile. “I’ll ask Mason, though I’m positive he will agree. It would seem that he has already taken a liking to you.”
You giggle and tell him that you’ve taken a liking to Mason too. “If you guys decided to come, just knock on the door. It should be ready in a couple of hours.” He nods back at you and you end the conversation by telling him that you’ll make sure there’s more than coffee to drink and you open the door and step inside, San’s beautiful laughter ringing out behind you. You gently wake your mother, telling her that you have invited San and his son for dinner.
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By the time dinner is ready and you take a shower, there’s a knock at the door. Since you’re already right by the door, you open it to find San and Mason smiling at you. Your eyes wander over San. 'Damn he looks good.' He's dressed casually in some jeans and a black tee while Mason is wearing sweatpants and a dinosaur shirt.
You squat down to the child's level. “Wow,” you say looking at the dinosaur on his shirt. “I love your shirt!” Mason smiles up at his dad before looking back at you. “What's your favoritest dinosaur?” you ask.
“Raptor!” he enthusiastically answers, even going as far to try to make a raptor noise. You give him a laugh. “Well, my favorite dinosaur is a Spinosaurus, but I don’t even know what they sound like!” you said, sounding impressed. “You sound like you know more about dinosaurs that I do.” Mason nods.
“I’m a dinosaur expert!”
His enthusiasm warms your heart and you stand, inviting them to come inside.
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You show them the way to the kitchen. “Ma, this is San,” you say, formally introducing them. San smiles, stepping forward to shake her hand. “It's nice to officially meet you,” he says as Mason steps forward to proudly introduce himself before you could.
“And I'm Mason!”
Your mother smiles at him. “That's a lovely name, Mason. It's nice to meet you.” Mason thanks her with a smile which she returns before offering San two plates and asks him what they would like to drink.
“Just water is fine.” He makes Mason’s plate and gets him set up at the table before making his own. “Mom go ahead and sit down,” you say as you make her plate and place it front of her before you make your own.
You take the seat next to your mother, San is sitting to your other side. You all chat idly, talking about nothing in particular. San brings up the kitchen remodels and you perk up and start pointing and showing San where you wants the little alcove to go, not noticing your mother watching on fondly.
San listens before offering once again to help you, telling you that he can even draw up your idea for you to see before you starts on it. You give him a nod as your mother asks if he’s an artist and he laughs while shaking his head.
“No ma’am. Before having Mason I was in school studying to be an architect.” Your mother tells him that that is a good field. “If Y/N won’t accept your offer to help, I certainly will. If I left everything to her, this kitchen would be torn apart for months.”
Your cheeks burn, again with the blushing, telling you mother to hush with a slight slap to her shoulder. You all finish dinner, San offering to help clean up but you tell him absolutely not and that he should get Mason home since he’s falling asleep on your mother’s shoulder.
“You have a good point there,” he says while looking fondly at his son.
“I'll walk you out,” you announce before walking them to the door, San holding Mason. “Have a good night,” you say softly as San crossed the threshold. "You, too,” he says just as quietly.
“And thank you for dinner.”
“I'll have that drawing for your kitchen done soon,” he adds with a smile. You thank him and watch as they walk next door.
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A few days later, you wake to your mother knocking on you door. You tell her to come in, rolling on to your side to face the door. Your mother smiles before coming to sit on the edge of your bed, running a hand through your hair. You hum in content, asking her mother what’s up.
“The rest of your things are here. The van is waiting outside. You also got a package this morning. I sat it on the table by the couch,” she says fondly as she smiles down at you.
She leaves and you quickly get dressed and brush your teeth, not wanting to keep the moving van waiting any longer. You step out of the door, greeting the man waiting by the van. He greets you back, opening the back of the van revealing a few boxes. You thank him and you start to help him unload the van.
“You need any help?”
You turn to see San standing not too far away, arms crossed as he leans on Mason’s swing set. “Yes please!”
Once all of the boxes are out of the van, you pay the driver his tip and the man leaves. San lifts a box and asks you where to take it. You momentarily get lost in admiring the way his arms flex as he grips the box before shaking you head and giving him directions to your bedroom. You take a box and follow him.
“You can just set it on the floor at the end of the bed,” you instruct and he does as you ask before you both move to get more boxes.
Once all of the boxes have been put in you room, you offer him some water and he accepts. As you makes her way to the kitchen, he tells you that he will be right back. You watch as he walks out the front door, not being able to stop yourself for look at his ass as he walks away and continue into the kitchen to get his glass of water ready.
San returns soon with a baby monitor and a piece of paper in his hands. “Mason is asleep and I should still be in range to hear him if he wakes up.” He lifts the monitor as he speaks. He hands you the piece of paper and you take it, looking a little confused.
Looking at it, it’s the design of the kitchen. You're happy that it looks exactly like what you pictured. You smile at him. “San it’s perfect! You’re really talented!” The tips of his ears turn slightly red, causing you to giggle softly.
You suddenly remember the package you mother told you about and perk up, telling San that you’ll be right back as you go to get it. You bring it back into the kitchen, setting it on the table and telling San he can sit if he wants. He joins you at the table, making sure to set his glass on a coaster.
You grab a knife and open the package carefully. Once you gets it open, you pull out her new phone. You sigh in relief, going as far as to kiss the box. San laughs from across from you.
“I haven’t had a phone for a while and I’m so glad to have one again.” He asks if you broke your or something, and you go quiet for a moment. “No, I didn’t break it. I left it with my ex boyfriend when I left him.”
“I'm so sorry,” San immediately apologizes. “I didn't mean to pry.”
You brush his apology off, telling him that it’s ok and that it’s been a little rough, but you’ll be ok.
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?” he asks and you nod.
“Joshua and I were together for two years when my dad died. I didn’t handle his death well and closed myself off,” you start to explain, San listening patiently. “And then when my mother’s health got worse, I went to his office to tell him that I would be coming back home for a little while to help get her situated,” you continue, hesitating as you reach the catalyst for your leaving.
“I found him and his assistant... together,” you continue, not noticing the way San's expression shifted. “Apparently, Josh couldn’t handle me being so down and unavailable so he found someone who was,” the last part comes out a little bitterly but you are beyond caring.
You had been fiddling with your phone the entire time you talk, trying to get it up and running. After you finish talking, you look up to see San’s jaw clenched and a serious look on his face. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. You don’t deserve that shit. You deserve a hell of a lot better than that.” You tell him that it’s ok and thank him, ending in a small cheer when you get your phone ready to go.
You sit in silence for a moment before you look up at San.
“Could I ask you something?” San looks up at you and nods.
“Where's Mason’s mom?”
You notice how San stiffens a little but he relaxes. “So, I moved from Korea to study abroad. I told you already, but I was majoring in architecture and I was very excited to start my new life here,” he starts to explain.
“I met Anora in one of my classes and we really hit it off and started dating. After a year and a half, we found out she was pregnant.” You could hear it in his voice, the way he spoke about his son with such adoration.
“I was thrilled, but Anora was far from happy. Even though she really didn’t want to have Mason, but she stayed.” You can hear the sadness in his voice. “She decided after four years that being a mother wasn’t the life she wanted and she left right before his fourth birthday, almost a year ago.”
You felt your heart break for them. San sighs and continues. “I just felt like we needed a new start so I bought the store and the house and here we are,” he finishes his story to your stunned silence.
You stay silent for a moment before apologizing. “So, how is Mason handling all of this?” Your voice is soft and a little hesitant. San makes a face before answering. “He’s handling it well. Even when Anora was around, it was still pretty much the two of us. I stayed with her, hoping I could get her to fully accept Mason, but that was useless.”
You apologize again and San tells you that it’s ok. “Honestly, I feel like we're better off.” You nod in agreement. “I think can agree with that. I said it before, but you’re doing an amazing job at being a dad. Mason is a very lucky kid.” San smiles, looking down at his hands resting on the table. “Thank you,” he says. “I really appreciates that.”
“You're welcome,” you reply and without thinking, you reach across the table to give his hand a squeeze. There’s a beat of silence before you take your hand back and San clears his throat and nods his head toward your phone.
“So, do I get to be the first person to get your new number?” You laugh and nod, taking his phone to type your number into his phone. After you exchange numbers, San pockets his device and looks up.
“I should probably get back to Mason, even though I haven’t heard a peep from the baby monitor.” You walk him to the door, thanking him for helping with the boxes.
“Really,” he starts. “It's no trouble. We're neighbors after all. And isn't that are neighbors for?” he adds with a wink.
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Over the next month or so, San helps you get what's needed for the remodel, at a discount even though yourefused, and on weekends thetwo of get to work in the kitchen while Mason plays around with your mother. Mason's presence in your lives seems to brighten her mother's days and you have become very fond of the boy yourself.
San is a complicated story. You’re also very fond of him, perhaps too fond you think sometimes, and he seems to be equally fond of you. When you aren't talking in person, you’re texting. You’ve spent every weekend for a month working on the kitchen, often times working close together.
San teaches you the basics, even though you already know them but he doesn't need to know that. He's even taught you about how to get the grooves you want in the wood on the side of the arch way of the alcove. The fact that he stood behind you, chest to you back, to show you flustered you a bit. (But we don’t really need to talk about that. Nope. No need to talk about how you could feel the hard planes of his chest against your back. Not at all.)
By the time the kitchen is finished, it's the middle December with Christmas just around the corner. You stand in the entrance of the kitchen with San, looking around at the space the two of you have created. You’re absolutely in love with it.
“San I love it. Thank you so much!” You wrap your arms around his neck in a hug, surprising him. He just stands there for a few seconds before wrapping his arms around you in return, giving you a squeeze. He slightly buries his face in your neck. “There’s no need to thank me. I really enjoyed doing this with you.” His breath on you neck makes a shiver run down your spine, but you try your best not to let it show.
You separate, slowly, and look at each other for a moment before a squeal interrupts your moment. Mason comes running into the kitchen, crashing into you and hugging your legs. You laugh as you stumble a bit and bend down to give the boy a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
You don’t see the way San's eyes shine as he watches you with his son, happy you’ve clicked so well. Mason directs his attention to San “Daddy did you ask her yet?” . San shakes his head, a slight blush on his cheeks as you quirks an eyebrow up. “So the Christmas festival is next Saturday. Would you like to come with us?” You eagerly nod your head, gaining a smile from San and a giddy squeal from his son.
Your week is filled with emails for work. Joshua still sends you emails, but you rarely open them, more often than not, completely ignoring their existence. Not because you’re still hurt, you’ve moved on, but because you genuinely do not care to know what he has to say.
Though, a particular subject line draws your attention.
An email sent the day before. “See you soon” and you quickly click the email, reading it in a slight panic. Joshua goes on about he misses you and he just wants you to talk to him and that he’ll be coming to see you that upcoming weekend, the same weekend as a date you'd set up with San.
Your first thought is to go to the diner to talk to Lou.
You quickly put your shoes on, opting to drive to get there faster. You pull in to the diner parking, rushing to get inside.
“Lou!” Your voice is louder than you meant for it to be, but you don’t pay any mind to it. You notice how they diners enjoying their food look at you, but at this moment you really don’t care. Lou comes out of the kitchen, looking a little annoyed at someone yelling in the diner. His face changes as soon as he sees you and the panicked look on your face. He quickly discards his apron, yelling into the kitchen that he'll be back soon and ushers you to your booth in the back.
He asks you what's wrong, trying to keep the worry in his voice unnoticeable. “I got an email from Joshua,” you rush to explain. “It said that he was coming here this weekend. Before you even ask, I’m not worried I’m going to go back to him. I’m over that part of my life and I have moved on from him, it's just...” You pause and Lou takes the opportunity to finish for you.
“You really like San and don’t want Joshua to ruin anything before it can really start.” You nod, knowing that coming to Lou was the right choice. “I’m going to the festival with San and Mason on Saturday.” You know that you’re wearing a massive smile, but you have no embarrassment about it. Lou smiles back and you.
“Have you told him about Joshua yet?” His question throw you off a little, even though you should have known he’d ask. “I’ve told him that Joshua is my ex and how things ended between.” Lou nods for a moment.
“And the email?”
You shake your head. “I saw the email and came straight to you.” He smiles widely and you can tell that your confession has made him happy. “Peanut, you’re a smart woman. You know what you need to do.” You nod, knowing that he’s right. He usually is, it’s why you come to him. You thank him with a hug and leave, deciding to walk to the hardware store to talk to San.
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The bell dings as you walk in, and Mason yells your name and runs up to you. You smile down at him, picking him up and giving him a kiss on the cheek before asking where his dad is. He wraps one arm around your neck and points with the other, telling you that San is on the paint aisle.
You thank him with another kiss on the cheek as you set him down. You make your way to San, feeling a little nervous as you watch him look through paint swatches. “San.” You try to keep your voice from wavering, but you aren’t sure you succeed.
He turns to face you, his face breaking out in a wide smile. “I was looking at swatches, trying to decide what color would go best with the kitchen.” You can feel yourself smile, despite the anxiety flowing through your body.
“We need to talk,” you start, internally cursing yourself as you see a flash of panic cross San's face. “It's not like that!” you continue quickly. “But it is important.” San nods, searching your face, no doubt noticing how serious you look. “Okay,” he nods slowly as he leads you to his office while he calls out to Mason to tell him to go into the break room and play so he knows where he is.
“You can sit there if you want.” He points to the chair in front of his desk as he moves behind the desk, grabbing the chair there and bringing it to sit beside you, facing you. “What’s wrong?”
You take a deep breathe before speaking, trying to calm your nerves. “I was looking at my email today and when I noticed an email from Joshua.” You can see his jaw tense, but he says nothing, letting you continue. “He’s coming here this weekend.” Your voice drops in volume, almost sounding small.
San is quiet for a moment, seemingly in deep thought. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, matching the feel of your small voice. “Do you still love him? Are you planning to leave and go back with him?”
You feel sad that the thought even crosses his mind. You obviously haven’t been as clear showing your feelings as you thought you were. “No. I really like you, San and I don’t plan to leave. There was a time in my life when I wanted to escape this town, but I don’t want to do that anymore.”
You can see him visibly relax as he breathes put a sigh of relief and telling you that he feels the same and that you can deal with Joshua’s visit together if you wants or he can let you handle it. You don’t say anything, only thanking him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, telling him that you should head back home.
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The closer it gets to Christmas, the stronger the urge to go into your father’s study gets. You talk to San about it as you text and he tells you that it's ok to still need time, but it's also ok to want to go into your father’s favorite place. He once again offers his help, telling you can be there for moral support if you needs and though you don’t tell him, you think that San is a great man and thank him.
Saturday comes quick and even though you’re anxious about Joshua’s arrival, you’re also excited about spending the evening with San and Mason. By dusk, Joshua still hasn't arrived and you hope that maybe he has changed his mind. You gets ready for the festival, deciding to wear jeans and a sweater.
A knock on the door has you almost sprinting down the stairs your thoughts swirling. You feel like a teenager waiting for her prom date. Opening the door to find San and Mason both giving you big smiles, you smile back and give them both hugs, unintentionally hugging San a little harder. “You ready?” San’s voice is light and cheerful and it makes your heart flutter. You give a nod and call out to your mother, letting her know that you’re leaving.
The festival is simple, a few decorations and booths with games and food trucks. Of course Lou has a stand with all of his best dishes and hot cocoa and coffee. The three of you stop by and you give Lou a hug, thanking him again in a whisper. He squeezes you in return, his way of telling you that you don’t need to thank him.
You grab a cup of coffee as San grabs both him and Mason a cup of cocoa each. As you reach into your wallet, preparing to pay, you notice San moving quickly to hand Lou money. Lou scoffs and tells him that there’s no way he’s letting them pay. You both try to argue, but Lou shuts you both down with his trademark eyebrow raise.
After getting your drinks, you walk around the festival a bit, stopping to play games when Mason finds one he wants to try out. By try out, he means that San has to play and try to win the toy Mason wants.
You hear your phone going off and you’re quick to grab it in case your mother needs you. You do find a text from you mom.
Mama: Honey, Joshua just came by looking for you. I didn't tell him where you were but just be on the lookout for him
Your breath catches, drawing San’s attention and you show him the message instead of speaking, not wanting to clue Mason in that there is a problem. All San does is grab your hand and gives it a tight squeeze before he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer with a kiss on the top of your head.
You walk around a bit more, stopping to get Mason a corn dog when you hear your name being called. You stiffen. You knew that voice and would recognize it anywhere.
You're brought back to reality by San giving your shoulder a squeeze, silently letting you know that he’s there if you need him. The two of you turn around while Mason is preoccupied with his food and find Joshua standing and glaring at San.
San looks unfazed, other than the tightness in his jaw. Joshua steps forward, eye San before turning to look at you.
"Y/N, can we talk?” You notice how his eyes flicker over to San once more. "In private?” he adds.
You lean further into San's side, taking a deep breath and filling your nostrils with the scent of San’s cologne, which calms you a little.
“Whatever it is, you can say it say right here.”
Joshua narrows his eyes, heaving out a sigh before speaking.
“Fine,” he says softly. “You left me no choice. Since you refuse to answer my messages, I came here to see you.” You say nothing, letting him get it all out.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I’ll say it a million times if that’s what you want. I miss you so much. You’re all I can think about. Please let me make it up to you. I know I can do it if you’ll just let me.”
You stare at him for a moment, not saying anything. “No.” He looks taken aback and you take the opportunity to continue. “I don’t love you. I don’t hate you either. I don’t really feel anything for you. I’m happy where I am. I’m happy having San by my side.” San acknowledges you statement with a long kiss to you temple.
Joshua goes to take a step forward, only to be cut off by Lou. “I think the lady has said what she needs to say. It’s time for you to leave.” Joshua looks at you one more time, searching your face for any change of your mind before he begrudgingly leaves.
After the confrontation with Joshua, San decides that it's time for you to leave and he gathers Mason, who throws a tiny tantrum before listening to his father and taking his hand. You walk in silence for a moment, hands intertwined until San breaks the silence. “You ok?” You smile and squeezes his hand, looking into his eyes. “I’m great.”
When you get back to your house, you’ve accepted it as your home now and you’re proud to call it that, you ask San if he can help you with one more thing and he immediately agrees. You all enter the house, Mason immediately calling out to your mother.
“Nana! Where are you?” Both you and San freeze, eyes wide. This is the first time Mason has called your mother that. Your mother steps out of the kitchen, equally surprised, but she quickly schools her expression and opens her arms catching Mason in her arms as he jumps to her. You look at San, tying to gauge his reaction, only to find a soft smile on his face and he watches your mother with his son. You squeeze his hand and tilt you head toward the staircase and he follows you up the stairs.
You walk to the end of the hall, standing in front of the door of you father’s study. San kisses your temple before speaking. “Take your time, love. There’s no rush.” With one last deep breath, you turn the knob and open the door and you step inside while San waits in the opening of the door.
The room looks the same as it always has. Books are tucked neatly on the bookcase, your father’s large desk in the center of the room. You walks over to the desk, running your fingers over the top of the desk slowly.
There’s a thin layer of dust and it’s the first time you have every seen dust on the desk. Your father always kept his study perfectly clean. You look around at all of the pictures on the wall. There are pictures of your parents on their wedding day. A picture of your dad with his parents.
You notice a single frame on the desk and you carefully pick it up. It's a picture from the day you were born, your father holding you with a bright smile and tears in his eyes. Your own eyes start to teat up and you feel arms wrap around your waist from behind, San moving to prop his chin on her shoulder.
“It’s ok to cry if that’s what you need to do. I’m so proud of you for coming in here. That took a lot of strength. My strong girl.” Your stomach flips at him calling you his and you turn to kiss his check, San turning to face you at the same time and your lips meet The kiss is sweet and gentle, just barely there.
San turns to to face you completely, his hand coming up to cup you check before giving you another slow kiss as your arms wrap around him. The kiss only last a moment, Mason’s footsteps coming up the stairs making you pull apart.
He stops at the door of the study, quickly asking San if he can stay the night with Nana and San looks at you with a lustful glint in his eye. “If it’s ok with your Nana, I don’t mind.” The sound of San calling your mother Mason’s nana makes your heart skip a beat.
You follow Mason down the stairs, listening as he asks if he can stay the night. Your mother doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course you can, my little monster.” Mason laughs and hugs her legs with a squeal. She turns to you and San, immediately noticing your intertwined hands. She smiles at the two you and gives you a slight nod of her head.
San tugs on your hand gently, looking at you with both lust and care as he leads you out of the door and across the lawn to his front door. He quickly unlocks it, letting you go in first. As soon as he steps through the door, his lips are on yours and his arms are around you.
You fist his shirt, pulling him as close as you can get him. It feels like the two of you are kissing forever, like the only oxygen you need is each other’s breath. San’s hands slide down to your hips, pulling your further against him, moaning slightly when you bump into his already hardening cock.
He pulls away, eyes flickering between yours. “Do you want to go to my room?” You aren’t sure you’ve ever nodding so fast as you take his hand and follow him.
You're able to take a brief look around San’s room before his lips are back on yours. His kisses are soft, gentle as his hands slowly find your waist. He tugs you closer to him, it's obvious he can't seem to get you close enough. His hands slide down, firmly kneading your ass.
You moan against his mouth, giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth. He takes the chance he's been given, immediately deepening the kiss. His wet muscle dances with yours, slow and passionate. He steps forward, softly pushing you backwards until the backs of you legs hit his mattress, pushing you further back to lie flat.
He separates from you long enough for you to scoot until you're fully on his bed, him immediately climbing on top of you and connecting your lips again. One hand rests on your hip as his other cups your face. He pulls back, just far enough to speak against your lips.
“You're so pretty.” His voice is a whisper, but you still manage to hear him, and you give him a smile and peck his nose. “So are you.” He smiles, rubbing his nose against yours as his hands fall to the hem of your sweater.
“Can I?” You murder a soft ‘yes’ and he doesn't hesitate to lift it over your head. He stares at you in silence and you feel like you should be self conscious, but you aren't. You just let him admire you.
“Gorgeous.”
You aren't sure he meant for you to hear his words, so you don't say anything in return, just let out a whine, prompting him to snap out of his daze. He brings his hands up to cup your breasts over your bra, his touch firm but still soft. He looks up to your face, quirking an eyebrow up and you nod and sit up, allowing him to reach behind you and unclasp what's between him and your bare skin.
He flings the fabric over his shoulder, not even bothering to see where it lands. His hands come back to your chest, gripping you once more. San gives your nipples attention, pinching them in between his thumb and forefinger, causing you to arch your back with a soft moan. The sound of your pleasure makes him let out a moan himself, obviously enjoying that you're enjoying his actions.
Leaning down, he wraps his lips around one of your perked buds, his tongue immediately making its presence known with a flick. His hand continues to massage your other breast.
After a moment, he switches sides. “San. Please. Need you.” Your voice is in a quiet whine, as much as you enjoy what he's doing, your core throbs with need. He pulls back, releasing your nipple with a pop. His eyes are blown out with last, but his gaze is still soft and caring.
He slides his hands down your body, finding the button of your pants and flicking it open. He backs off the bed, immediately falling to his knees as he grabs your pants by the hem, slowly pulling them down.
The tension in the air is thick and you can tell that he's enjoying the teasing nature in which he undresses you. Your pants find the floor like your sweater and bra. His lips are on your ankle before you realize what is happening, slowly kissing up your leg.
He places a barely there kiss on your clothed core before kissing down your other leg, only to stick the tip of his tongue to your skin and lick his way back up to your hip. The unexpected action causes you to shiver with want, and you look down at San only to find him staring back at you with a smirk.
He grabs at your panties, continuing his slow pace in pulling them down. Part of you wishes he would hurry, but the greater part is enjoying the build up. Once your panties are off, he once again takes a moment to just look at you.
Slowly, he brings a finger to your core, sliding it from your hole up to your clit. You let out a soft moan, his groan coming not long after. “Look at that, baby. You're soaking. I've barely done anything, love. Is this all for me?” His words shoot a jolt through your body, causing your core to throb even harder.
“All for you, San. All yours.” Your words seem to spur him into action as he leans forward, his tongue making the same movement his finger had. Your moan is louder this time, his own moan right against your pussy has you bucking up into his face.
His hands find your thighs, wrapping around them to speak you open for him. He brings the tip of his tongue to circle your throbbing bud while your hand finds its way into his hair. He hums against you, his way of telling you that he approves of what you're doing and you give a slight tug. You can see his hips buck against the mattress, prompting you to give one more tug.
He dives into you, sliding his tongue up and down your pussy a few times before coming back to your clip for a brief moment before repeating. Your moans echo throughout the room as brings his finger to your entrance, sliding on in slowly. Your hips buck on their own as he pulls back out, a second finger joining as he slides back in.
His mouth is working hard against you and his fingers search for a moment before they find what he's looking for. A loud moan rips from your throat as he pushes against the spongy part inside of you. “Right there, baby?” You only manage a nod and he goes back to eating your can't, doubling his efforts as his fingers speed up. Your mind is swirling as your orgasm builds. No one has ever been able to work you up this quickly.
You're babbling now, vaguely aware of what you're saying. “Feels s'good. Please. Please.” He pulls back just enough to mumble against your core. “Come on, angel. Let go. Cum for me.” The vibrations against you coupled with his already fucked out voice causes the dam inside you to burst as you coat his fingers. He works you through your orgasm, fingers slowing down as your high fades. You look down to find him staring at you in awe. You mumble for him to climb back onto the bed and he immediately grants your wish.
Your hands move with purpose as you pull him to you, grabbing his shirt and ripping it from his body. Your breath catches as you look at the ridges and planes of his chest. He's well built, looking like a man cut from marble. “Fuck.” The words come out breathy and as you look back to his face, you can see a slight blush.
You place a soft kiss on his lips as you push him gently to lie on his back. He offers no resistance, letting you move him as you please. You spread his legs enough for you to fit in between his thighs as you bend down to kiss down his throat. He lets out a soft whine when your lips find his chest and you take the opportunity to give him a slight bite and his hips buck upwards. You can feel his hardened length against you and your core gushes with a fresh wave of wetness.
Your hands find his jeans, making quick work of getting them off of him, pulling his underdogs down with them. His cock hits his stomach and for a moment you're in awe. He's above average, but not huge. Long and thick, but you can't help but think that's it's the prettiest dick you've ever seen. His voice draws you out of your thoughts. “Baby. Please do something. I'm dying here.” You give him a slight chuckle, cupping his election with a gentle squeeze. His moan is load and oh so beautiful.
You scoot yourself down until your face meets his cock, your tongue peeking out to give his tip a kitten lick. This time he whines, obviously not able to take the slow treatment he had given you. You lick from his balls to his tip slowly, circling your tongue around the mushroom head of his cock.
Without missing a beat, your mouth engulfs his length, sliding down as far as you can take. Your hand wraps around what your mouth can't fit and you slowly start to bob your head. Just as yours had done, his hand finds your hair, giving a slight pull and you moan around him.
His hips buck again, causing his tip to hit the back of your throat and you hold back a gag. You let him slowly buck into your mouth as words tumble from his mouth. “Oh god. Fuck. So warm. Feels so good.” You pull off of his length as his thrusts get faster and he whines at the loss of contact.
You sit back up on your heels, watching the way his chest rises and falls heavily. You make eye contact as you speak, wanting to see his every reaction to your words.
“Condom?” He scrambles to his knees, reaching into the drawer of his bedside table and pull out a foil packet. He rips it open with his teeth, moving to place the rubber around himself. You stop him before he can, taking it from him and sliding it slowly down his length yourself. His groan comes from the back of his throat.
Once the condom is snug around his cock, you push him back down, climbing on top of him. You slide his cock up and down your pussy, getting him slick with your juices. On the slide back down, you push his tip into you.
Your moans come simultaneously, making a beautiful song of pleasure. His hands find your hips as you rotate them, letting your walls adjust. “Wait. Baby, give me a minute.” His eyebrows are furrowed as he pants. After a moment, he gives your hips a squeeze, letting you know that you can move.
Lifting your hips, you rise and fall back down slowly, enjoying the way he feels inside of you. You keep your pace slow, wanting to savor every moment of pleasure. The more you move the more San whines. His hands are clawing at your hips, his nails leaving little marks on your skin. He's babbling again and you clench around him.
“So fucking good. Fit me perfectly. Like you were made for me.” You lean forward, placing your lips on his as your pace increases slightly. At this angle, the tip of his cock nudges the place you need. It isn't long before your hurling towards your second orgasm, San's name repeatedly falling from your lips. With one thrust from San, your falling over the edge with a moan.
San makes quick work of flipping you over, his length never leaving your core. His pace is faster than you had expected, but his strokes hit deep. You've had no time to recover from your orgasm, but the sensitivity you're feeling only improves the way you feel. San is letting out of string of grunts as his balls hit against your ass. Your nails are digging into his back as you hold on to him.
“You're so perfect. So glad I get to have you like this. Wanted this for a while. Dreamt about it.” It's like he can't stop talking and you can't say that it bothers you. His hips start to stutter as the tension builds in your belly.
“San. I'm gonna come again. Cum with me. Please, baby. Please.”
Your words seems to have the desired effect as he delivers one last hard thrust, your name leaving his mouth in a groan as he fills the condom. Your high hits you at the perfect time, syncing with his. He falls on your body for a moment, panting heavily as you both come down.
He slowly pulls out of you with a wince, looking down to see your cunt still slightly pulsing. He gives a sweet kiss to your clit, giggling and apologizing as you whine and try to back away from him. You watch as he walks to his bathroom, coming back with a warm cloth to clean you up. He takes great care to get you well cleaned. “You want to take a shower?” You nod and make grabby hands at him and he lets a loud laugh and connects your hands to pull you up gently.
The shower is filled with soft touches and even softer kisses as you clean yourselves. Once the water is turned off and you've dried yourselves off, San offers you one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers, which you eagerly accept.
You crawl into bed, finding yourself in his arms immediately. It's quiet, but comfortable. “So. You're mine now, right?” The fact that he even has to asks makes you giggle a little. Tilting your head up to face him, you place a kiss to his jaw.
“Yeah. I'm yours.”
Christmas the next morning is spent in your mother’s house, the four of you enjoying dinner and opening presents. And finally in your life, everything feels right.
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[ONE YEAR LATER]
A year flies by, bringing new challenges and experiences and you're beyond happy. You watch as Mason plays on the floor by the tree with your mother, who's helping him unwrap his presents.
“Mommy, look!”
Your heart soars at the boy calling you mom. You can feel San smiling as he stands behind you, arms around your waist. As you talk to Mason about his new toy, you don't notice the look your mother gives your boyfriend. Behind you, he smiles, slowly reaching into his pocket, trying not to draw your attention. Your mother smiles wide as she watches San pull the ring box out of his pocket slightly.
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lovers-rck · 1 month
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little secret | abby anderson x reader.
summary abby anderson likes to read, and you like abby anderson. | friends to lovers, +18.
okay.... this is the longest fic i ever written (i think)
enjoy
but before, help palestine with one click.
You met her in winter. The immensity of the stadium they called home impressed you, a reconstructed civilization within an abnormality hard to ignore.
Even though she was the most respected soldier in the place, your memory ranks her welcome as the warmest. Between fluffy sweaters and worn leather jackets, Abby showed you a warmth that made Seattle's monstrous winter seem like a light summer breeze.
In addition to showing you the place where you would now live, immense and so functional it was frightening, Abby showed you more than the visible. As time passed, shyly, Abby took her time to show you her jokes, her favorite books, (of which there were many, you decided) her strange ways of combining food to kill hunger longer, her wounds; the internal and the external.
The personal library that Abby had begun to assemble when she arrived at W.L.F. was now familiar to you. When responsibilities left and the moon was present in the atmosphere, the two of you spent the night in that place. The bookshelves acted like skyscrapers over your bodies sitting on the floor, filled with books and comics that the W.L.F. soldiers encountered on their daily patrols.
"I think they're going to end up together" Abby mutters, her nose buried between the pages of an old red-covered book.
"You said the same thing about the other book last night" You replied. Youdidn't share the same passion for reading as Abby, but you enjoyed listening to her tell you about her new readings and her theories about what might or might not happen in those pages.
You liked that contrast with the soldier Abby, the one everyone knew, and the Abby you knew. During the day her posture was steady, stone-eyed and scrutinizing every movement nature had to offer, attentive and ready to pull the trigger at any danger, but when night fell, her posture changed completely; usually hunched over, her features softer, more relaxed.
"It's not my fault that everyone writes the same thing" Abby rolled her eyes, putting the book aside but not before folding a corner of the page, marking where it was left "I guess it was a popular idea back in the day"
"You should write a book."
Abby let out a groan, leaning back against the bookshelf behind her. The two of you were sitting on the floor, facing each other, separated by a pile of books scattered on the library's newest acquisition: a worn purple carpet.
"I'm not in the mood for jokes" Abby blurted out.
"Why?" you asked "It wasn't a joke anyway"
"Because of Manny. He was out of control today during patrol. He almost got us killed"
You rolled your eyes "You know what he's like" Abby massaged her shoulder absently, you could see her muscles twitch "I'm sure it was nothing, you just can't stand it when people don't follow your orders"
she looked at you, her eyebrows raised "Excuse me?"
Ypu laughed lightly "It's true. You're a serial controller."
"I'm not a serial controller, for your information" Abby said "It's just not a place for jokes"
"If you say..." you mumbled, pulling your knees up to your chest and dropping the conversation; knowing Abby, she would never admit it.
"What?"
You shrugged, smiling graciously at Abby's accusatory look "I didn't say anything."
"You don't believe me" Abby scrutinized you with her gaze.
You shook your head "I didn't say that".
"But you thought it"
You rolled your eyes "Now you're a mind reader? I can see why you're considered the best soldier ever"
"There's nothing wrong with being controlling, Abs. That's the way you get everything you want. Everything you have" you continued.
Abby let out a sigh, her chest heaving, "Yeah, whatever"
The room fell into a deep silence for a couple of minutes. You decided to grab a book, trying to read it and make some sense of the words, but Abby's gaze on you prevented your brain from synapses.
"What?" you said in an accusatory tone, resting the book in your lap and looking at that blonde girl.
Now it was Abby's turn to shrug, a slight smirk planted on her face "I didn't say anything"
"Whatever."
Abby considered picking up her book as well, but saw no point in seeing the very predictable ending that the last few pages held. Your words were still echoing in her head; everything she wanted.
She, in fact, didn't have everything she wanted. Abby thought she lacked a handful of essentials; a reasonable sleep schedule, a meal that with all the proteins, a partner who wasn't a complete idiot on patrol.
But hey, those were luxuries given the circumstances.
To no one's surprise, you caught Abby's attention from the very first moment. She remembers with tenderness the first time she saw you, wet and covered with blood, hidden among the large leaves of a strange plant that had been born thanks to the combination of vegetation and fungus, with a look that Abby would never forget.
She felt the need to protect you, not because she considered you weak, but because a strange feeling led her to position herself in front of you when in the patrols you heard some infected too close, or that time when a Seraphite appeared unexpectedly and hurted you, and Abby kept chasing Mel through the corridors to remind her to be extremely careful with you.
"I know what I'm doing, Abby" she remembered how Mel told her one night "She's going to be fine"
Abby tried to convince herself that it was just that she had grown too attached to you, but something inside her told her it was something more than that, something deeper, more intense.
Abby thought she lacked a handful of things that were essential to her life, like you.
"You know, you read too many romance books" you said, snapping Abby out of her thoughts "Are you in love, Anderson?"
"Oh my god" Abby muttered "You should go to sleep, the lack of it is affecting your reasoning."
"So, is that a yes?"
"I don't choose what to read" Abby replied "I don't know if you noticed, but we're in an apocalypse. I don't have too many genres to choose from."
"You still haven't answered my question!"
Abby's muscles tensed as she could see how you moved from your position and sat closer to her, next to her. Abby could feel your arm brush against hers.
"So..." You murmured, your breath hitting Abby's lips "Tell me your little secret."
"My little secret?" Abby murmured, forcing herself to look only into your eyes.
"Who do you like?" And Abby snorted, rolling her eyes "Is it Nora? I've seen you two together a lot recently."
"No, wait, i know. It's mel, isn't it?" You continued. Your knee bumped into Abby's thigh.
"I'm not in love with Nora, or Mel, dumbass. They're my friends."
You emitted silence for a few seconds, and then:
"Is it Manny?"
"Are you kidding me?" Abby replied with a tone that made you burst out laughing, combined with all those laughs written on worn pages
"I'm sorry. I had to say it" you said with a chuckle.
Abby shook her head slowly, a smile planting itself on her face. Fucking Manny, she thought.
"So?" You said after a few minutes. Abby looked at you, her blue sapphires piercing your gaze. "Who is it?" You muttered, your voice coming out weaker than intended.
Siddenly the library became the quietest place in that giant structure. Every whisper, every sigh felt too aggressive, too loud; something that threatened to break the intimacy that the proximity of your bodies had created.
Abby slowly denied with her head, closing her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, something had changed in her gaze.
"You're not going to tell me?" You whispered. Your hand rested close to Abby's. At some point, you doubted whether your bones had turned to magnet and Abby's to metal because of the way a supernatural force was compelling you to be close to her.
She denied again, but the way her eyes flicked to your mouth for a microsecond gave her away.
"It's okay" you whispered "I think I have an idea."
The first time you saw her, that winter, you noticed that Abby had a tendency to lick her lips constantly. It didn't seem odd to you, as the winter in Seattle was very dry and lip balm was not something they were equipped with at the W.L.F, but as time went on you noticed that Abby had a tendency to lick her lips only when she was with you; when you pretended you didn't know she was looking at you, when you got close to her face to apply a lipstick you found in one of the patrolling days, when you gave her a kiss on the cheek on the morning of her birthday.
And now, just before your lips meet hers.
For the first few seconds neither of you move. Your lips linger on hers shyly, too terrified to move but refusing to pull away. Abby has to muster all her strength to move her hand to your jaw, holding you, and suddenly every shred of fear leaves her.
Your lips instantly reciprocate, too hungry, too thirsty for her taste. Abby thinks that now that she finally knows what it feels like to kiss you, she fears not being able to stop.
Her hand, which initially started on your cheek, travels down your body to your waist squeezing the flesh viciously. Her fingerprints savor every touch your body provides, skin that has been reserved for so long just for her enjoyment.
When Abby's hand makes contact with the exposed portion of skin, the air circulating through the stadium feels insufficient. Your body takes on an inhuman heat, a heat worthy of the iron emanating from the gates to hell, a heat that only she can cease.
"Abby" your lips release, a strangled moan.
"I know" She replies.
Your body was now a mass that Abby could mold as she wished. She is overcome with a sweeping euphoria as she becomes aware of the control your body offers her, and thinks maybe you were right; she likes to be in control.
You try to keep up with her movements. You touch her skin, her arms, afraid to ruin the pattern of freckles that rest perfectly on her rosy shoulders.
In a matter of seconds you end up on her lap, your legs hugging her thighs, clinging to the new sensation that Abby's shyness deprived you of for so long. Between kisses, you can hear the moans the blonde's mouth emits, weak but guttural moans.
"Can I..." Abby murmurs, her mouth on top of yours "Can I touch you?"
Your throat fails to find the strength to elicit a sound, so you just nod, eager for anything that comes from her. Instantly you feel Abby's fingers undoing your belt and unbuttoning the button of your pants, but just as you're ready for the next thing, Abby's fingers linger in place.
"What's wrong?" you ask, strands of hair interrupting your vision. Your hair feels so tousled "You don't have to if you don't want to Abs."
Abby shakes her head, her eyes drift to her hands lying in your lap, fiddling with the button "It's nothing" she murmurs "It's just.... It's been a while, you know?"
And you understand. Your fingers stroke the backs of Abby's arms.
"I understand. You don't have to be nervous" you say, trying to get her to look at you "It's just us."
Abby nods. She looks at your abdomen, the way your t-shirt hugs your waist.
"If it makes you feel any better, I never did this" you whisper, and that's all it takes for Abby to look at you.
"Never?"
you deny "Never"
"What about the redheaded girl last month? You told me things happened."
You stifle a laugh, embarrassed. Now it's your turn to look away from Abby and focus on the pattern on her shirt.
"It was stupid. We didn't do anything, it scared me" you can feel her tuck an unruly lock behind your ear, her fingertips caressing your face "It was just a silly kiss."
Abby nods slowly, her gaze still on you "Okay. Okay."
Behind the library doors, women and children walk the halls, leaders give orders and soldiers disappear behind the massive doors while others return from adventures. The world is functional again.
"Do you think it's stupid?" you mutter.
"What? No" Abby denies "It's not stupid. It's fine. Besides, it's not like we have a lot of time for that kind of thing around here"
Your lips let out a chuckle. "Yeah, that's true."
Your eyes match Abby's gaze, who smiles slightly. Her smile is sweet, friendly, you can feel the warmth that is so characteristic of her, nestling between the corners of her mouth
This time she starts the kiss. This time it is calmer, less desperate, but just as passionate. Her fingers return to what concerns them, and navigate between your pants and the elastic of your underwear.
Her fingers are cold, so you stir in her lap at the sensation and Abby laughs, apologizing softly. You quickly forget about the sharp change in temperature because you have Abby where you want her most.
Even though it's been a long time since the last time, Abby is quick to pull your panties to the side and find a rhythm that has you moaning in seconds. Your lips break the kiss several times, moans seeking air and space to make themselves present.
"Is this okay?" Abby murmurs into your neck, wet kisses planting themselves on your skin.
Your hips move against her hand, desperate "Yes Abs" the hot air of your breath hits against her ear, and Abby almost lets out the most obscene sound ever uttered "Please, keep going."
Abby's free hand massages your breasts, squeezes and fondles them. Her tongue plays with the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking and marking every inch.
The euphoria and pleasure of the moment makes you feel invincible, and your hand darts toward Abby's pants, unzipping them and finding her black boxers.
"What are you doing?" Abby says, choked words.
You ignore her and continue your task, reaching inside her underwear and trying to mimic the move you do to yourself on nights where your body lies too warm on the sheets of some room at the W.L.F. Your movements are clumsy, but they work wonders for Abby, who stifles her moans into your neck.
As her nature defines her, Abby is a competitive girl in every way, so when she feels an immense heat who tries to collapse her under your effects, her fingers pick up the pace and pull desperate moans from your throat.
There was no way Abby would finish before you.
"Abby" you moan, your fingers losing rhythm "Abby"
"I know."
It doesn't take too many seconds before your body shudders under Abby's control and moans and groans come out of your mouth, which you choke on her shoulder.
Pleasure blurs your vision and senses, so you can't anticipate when a trembling, whimpering Abby pulls your hand from her intimacy and her muscles contract accompanied by a long, shuddering moan.
You and her breathing evens out, both of your breasts moving to the rhythm of the beat that is their hearts tuned to the same station.
You look at her. She looks at you.
Abby thinks this ending is better than any book she's ever read.
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My Sweet Girl (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)
This is by far-- I repeat, by far-- the longest reader insert I've ever written. It's my submission for @wyattjohnston 's Winter Fic Exchange, a gift for @matthewtkachuk ! Excellent URL, by the way.
The creative process here went as follows: Shelbs shows me her On Repeat Spotify playlist -> I see The Band Camino on it and remember that I love that band -> I listen to nothing but them for two weeks -> I hear the song Know It All and am struck with inspiration -> I write this and inflict it on everyone else.
I jumped around a bit while writing, so please let me know if there's anything I screwed up! This is also the type of fic that has had 20+ tabs of Wikipedia pages, ESPN articles, and stats pages open on my computer for two months, but there was still information I couldn't find, so please be gentle with any inconsistencies.
Anyway, I truly hope that you enjoy this one! I apologize for being a day late posting, my job sucks.
Rating: M
Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/fem!Reader
Words: 26, 028
Warnings: a lot of angst
Contains: best friend's brother, friends to ??? to strangers to lovers, situationship, idiots in love, everyone knows but them, Matthew being kind of a dick, guest appearances by the Weinberg-Hughes family and Jane Gaudreau
Summary: As Brady's best friend, it was your duty to love and support him. You're pretty sure falling in love with his brother does not count as "support", but here you are.
-----
You weren’t expecting this to be as hard as it is.
Luckily, you’d been given a little warning beforehand, but apparently a week wasn’t enough to prepare yourself. Was it kind of fucked up that the news had to come from Brady, because Matthew hadn’t bothered to tell you himself? Yeah, kind of. Sure, Brady and you have been best friends for years, but it’s not like you’re not close with Matthew, too.
You hadn’t realized what was going on at first, convincing yourself not to be upset when Matthew’s texts slowed and his calls stopped outright. It had been the beginning of the playoffs, you reasoned, of course he was going to be too busy to talk to you as much. Despite the fact that communication between the two of you had never waned because of the season before. It was his first year on a new team, you’d told yourself, a team with a great shot at the Cup, at that. You could deal with missing him a little more than usual if that’s what he needed.
When you’d called him to congratulate him on passing the first round, he’d thanked you and wrapped the call up as quickly as he could. Seeing the 3:24:41 call duration on your phone afterward had felt wrong. It was one of the shortest calls the two of you had ever had.
You’d brushed it off, chalked it up to him being tired or busy. Then they’d won the second round, and the process repeated itself. A quick phone call, a few scant minutes. It had sounded like other people were there that time, so you’d convinced yourself that he would call you back when he was alone. He never did.
You got to watch Game 4 of the third series, got to watch them sweep Carolina to win the Eastern Conference. Your friend Terri had laughed and clapped as you cheered, jumping up and down like a child. She was a Carolina fan herself, but was good enough of a loser to hug and congratulate you despite it. She’d offered to leave so that you could talk to Matthew, but you’d waved it off. You knew he’d be celebrating with the boys that night, so there was no real reason to try calling. You’d shot him a congratulations text and spent the night smiling so much your cheeks hurt.
When you’d tried to call Matthew the next day, his voice had been hushed when he answered. You’d given him your congratulations, bubbling over about how well they’d played. It’s not the first time you’d had a phone call exactly like that, him letting you gush about his team’s play and basking in the attention. This time, he interrupted you before you even got a chance to really get going. His voice was still quiet, almost a whisper as he said he had to go. The wind was immediately taken out of your sails and you’d barely had time to say goodbye before he hung up.
At that point, you’d given up convincing yourself that everything was okay. Something was very clearly wrong, and you’d spent the next nine days trying to figure out what it was. You’d reached out to Brady, and he’d told you that he hadn’t noticed anything weird from Matthew at all. Knowing that, you’d tried to downplay what was going on between the two of you, lest Brady go bother Matthew about it. You don’t do well with embarrassment, so you’d preferred that whatever was going on stayed away from any third parties.
The finals started, ending rather anticlimactically ten days later in a 4-1 loss for the Panthers. Knowing Matthew, he was going to go straight back to his hotel room and beat himself up. For the last three, almost four, years, you’d called Matthew after every big win or loss, and this was his biggest loss to date. Yet your finger hesitated at his contact name, hovered over the picture of him with bedhead and a lazy smile. With how things had been going, you knew he probably wouldn’t want to talk to you, even if you hadn’t figured out why yet. But part of you hoped that he would, that everything to that point had been stress, and there, at his lowest, he would talk to you again, and everything would go back to normal.
That, of course, is not what happened.
He hadn’t answered at all. And when you’d tried a second time an hour later, it rang once before going to voicemail. That meant that he’d declined your call, but you didn’t know what that meant.
Two more days passed without you hearing anything from him, so you’d called Brady. All of this had been concerning, but that had been too much. Miraculously, you’d managed to stay calm when you spoke with Brady, sounding impressively level-headed when you relayed what happened and asked him if he’d heard from Matthew. Brady had seemed shocked at the situation, immediately calling Matthew after he’d hung up with you.
Thirty minutes later, when you’d received a text from Brady, your heart had sunk to the pit of your stomach, and it’s stayed there ever since.
Because what the text had informed you of is that Matthew hadn’t lost or broken his phone, hadn’t been sick or depressed or, god, lost in the fucking desert or some shit. It told you that he’d been with his girlfriend, and hadn’t wanted her to see him call or text another girl. Because, apparently, Matthew has a girlfriend now. And just hadn’t deigned to tell you.
When Brady had told you that she would be spending the offseason in St. Louis with Matthew, you’d tried to hide your shock. You’d cleared your throat and told Brady how great that was, even as you wanted to throw up. They’d gotten into town a few days ago, and you’d done your best to keep your distance. But Brady asked you to come to dinner at his parents’ house tonight, citing the limited time you have to see him before he goes back to Ottawa, and you couldn’t refuse.
So now here you are, curled up in a chair in the Tkachuks’ den, across from said girlfriend. Her name is Tessa, she’s 26, and she does remote work for a marketing firm. That explains how she’s able to pick up and go to St. Louis for three months, at least. She’s already recounted the story of how they’d met, a romcom story of spilling his drink on her dress at a party and getting to know each other from there. She talks about the instant connection, the way they clicked so quickly that she knew they were meant for each other. That part of the story was when you’d excused yourself to get a glass of water, just so you could stick your head in the fridge and take a few deep breaths.
Matthew and Tessa are on one of the couches, the older, comfier one. Matthew is propped up against one of the armrests, Tessa curled into his side, his arm around her shoulders. You’ve spent the night pretending not to notice the way Matthew keeps glancing at you.
Brady and Emma are posted up on the other couch, one on either side, Emma’s feet in Brady’s lap as she lounges. Emma is great, and does a great job at keeping the conversation going, despite how little you and the boys are participating. Tessa either doesn’t notice your silence or doesn’t mind, chatting happily about some film she and Emma have both recently seen. You’re pretending not to notice the looks Brady’s giving you, either.
You should really be trying harder. You know Brady wasn’t expecting you to curl up under a blanket and mope when he invited you, and he really is right about time being limited. You should be engaging, enjoying the time you get with the boys while you have it. You would, if you could open your mouth without feeling like you’re going to scream.
Eventually, Chantal calls you all to dinner. It’s easier once you’re all gathered around the table, somehow, and you’re able to talk a little. Chantal has always put you at ease, has always made you feel like just another of her children. If you had it your way, Taryn would be here too. She has a way of lovingly bullying you that always makes you feel better. Unfortunately, she’s visiting some college friends out of state. But you’re doing okay, you think, at acting normal.
Then you lock eyes with Keith, and any sense of ease you’ve gained flies out the window. You wouldn’t be inclined to say that Keith is the most observant person in the world, so the way he’s looking at you– like he knows something is very, very wrong– makes it clear that you’re doing an absolutely dogshit job at hiding your feelings. You look away from him quickly, swallowing hard and forcing yourself to talk even more. 
Maybe if you can just act normal, if you can push down the emotions and act like everything is okay, it will be. There’s nothing else you can really do about the situation anyway. Matthew has made it clear that he’s not interested in talking about it, so you’ll have to suck it up and deal with it on your own.
Dinner goes by a little quicker once you’re actually actively involved in the conversation. Typically, you help Chantal with the dishes after meals, but when you reach for the sponge at the sink, she shoos you away. She sends the girls back to the den, insisting that it’s the boys’ turn to help.
You curl back up in your chair, mind wandering as you operate on autopilot. You’re saying things, contributing to the conversation with Emma and Tessa, but you have no idea what you’re actually saying. Mercifully, they either don’t notice or don’t care.
This entire situation is fucked. What’s really getting to you, though, is how you’d been introduced. You’d walked in, giving out hugs to everyone except Matthew and Tessa. She’d approached you, shaking your hand enthusiastically.
“Matthew said you’re Brady’s best friend, right?” she’d asked. It was simple, innocuous, and true. Brady and you have been best friends for years, and that would be an adequate title in any other scenario. But it felt like a punch to the gut, knowing that after everything, Matthew had told her that you were just his little brother’s best friend. You’d glanced at him as she said it, and the intentionally cool, unaffected expression Matthew had in place still couldn’t hide the guilt in his eyes.
In that moment, you knew that he hadn’t told her anything about you, about whatever the two of you have been to each other for the past few years, and that he never intends to. There was a second where he’d made a decision, a second that you weren’t present for, that had cut off everything you’ve been to him and relegated you back to Brady’s Best Friend.
You want to pull Tessa aside, spill out everything. You want her to know that you’re Matthew’s friend too, that you’ve been more than that. More than that, you want Matthew to do it. You want him to tell her, to acknowledge whatever the hell you’ve been doing for all this time. You want him to admit that you’re something, anything to him.
Instead, you keep it all to yourself. The knowledge of everything between you and Matthew will live and die where it is now, in the minds of the two of you, and nowhere else.
June, 2018
You’re wiping down the counters when the man enters. You force a bright smile at him, still annoyed from the previous customer but doing your best not to show it. He returns the smile, approaching the register. You move to settle across from him, greeting him politely. The shop has a lot of regulars, but you don’t recognize this guy.
“I’ll be honest,” he says, giving a single nervous laugh, “I’m not really a coffee guy. Do you have any recommendations?” It’s not an uncommon question, and there aren’t any other customers right now, so you don’t mind.
“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He shakes his head. That eliminates about half of the menu, so it’s progress.
“How much caffeine are you going for?” you ask next.
“As much as possible,” he replies. The dark circles under his eyes could have hinted you to that conclusion. He has a laptop and notebook in one hand, down by his side. It’s normal for people to bring work along with them, and he’s definitely young, so you guess it’s probably school work.
“You could always do a triple shot latte with a flavor,” you suggest, your own go-to drink, “The caramel is the strongest. I can put in an extra pump if you want.” Technically, you should charge extra for that, but the kid looks kind of pathetic, and you feel bad. He can have a pity pump this once.
“That sounds good,” he agrees. You do the math in your head and punch in the price manually on the vintage register. The whole cafe is supposed to have a vintage vibe, a real hipster magnet. Math was always your weakest subject, but having to calculate totals in your head has made you a lot better with it.
Once he pays on the very not-vintage card reader, you direct him to the far side of the bar. You start on his drink, pulling shots with practiced ease. You’ve been working  here since high school, so you’ve gotten pretty good at making coffee. He doesn’t try to talk to you while you work, which is nice. There’s something oddly calming about his presence, though, and it’s helping your annoyance fade.
You hand off his drink, and he retreats to a booth in the back corner after thanking you. You go back to wiping things down, bobbing your head along with the music playing quietly over the speakers. It’s later in the evening, so you only get a few customers over the next hour. It’s one thing you like about working the night shift. Not many customers, and most of the people getting coffee around this time are tired enough to not give you much trouble, and are usually extremely grateful for the caffeine.
It’s quiet for long enough that you pull your stool up to the counter, pulling your textbook and notes out from under the counter. You start working on the homework for your summer semester, singing quietly to yourself as you read.
“You have a nice voice,” the guy from earlier says, suddenly standing in front of you. You jump, hand flying to your chest as if you’re a damsel in a period piece. You’d forgotten he was here.
“Thank you,” you say, once the surprise fades. You laugh a little, shaking your head. He laughs too, apologizing for startling you.
“Could I have another?” he asks, holding up his now-empty cup.
“Of course,” you reply, “Same cup okay?” You do your best to be environmentally friendly, so you don’t want to use another cup if you don’t have to. He says that’s okay, so you take the cup and start pulling another shot.
“Y/N,” he says absently as he leans on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” You thank him again, dumping the first shot into the cup. It’s odd, because people are usually flirting when they say something like that, but his tone isn’t suggestive at all.
“What’s your name?” you ask, feeling like you should say something. You start pulling the second shot.
“Brady,” he says, extending a hand toward you. You look between his hand and your own, feeling rude but needing both hands to pull the shot.
“Oh, um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I’m–” He seems to realize what’s going on and retracts his hand, using it to rub at the base of his skull.
“My bad,” he says, shaking his head at himself, “I’m tired, sorry.” You smile at him, much more genuine than the first time.
“What’s got you so tired anyway, Brady?” you ask, dumping the second shot and starting on the third. His face twists at what you’d thought was an innocuous question. He’s clearly debating something in his head, so you stay silent.
“I’ve got something big coming up in a couple weeks,” he explains, tapping his fingers against the counter, “I’m just trying to be prepared.” You nod, not minding how vague he’s being. You don’t actually need to know every detail of a random customer’s life. There’s a moment of quiet as you dump in the third shot and pour some milk into a metal container.
“And I might be a little nervous,” he says, looking at his hands instead of you. You smile again, beginning to steam the milk.
“Just a little,” you repeat, slightly teasing in a way you usually aren’t with customers.
“Yeah,” he chuckles, looking up at you, “Just a little.” You smile at each other for a second, both knowing he’s seriously downplaying his feelings. You wonder what it is that has him so anxious, sure that it must be something serious. He doesn’t seem to be the neurotic type.
“What are you working on?” he asks as you pour the milk, gesturing toward your books spread out next to the register. You shrug.
“Organic chemistry,” you reply, pumping in the flavoring, “The worst class ever.” He cringes at the mention of it, which you feel in your bones.
“I’ve heard it’s awful,” he says.
“It is,” you confirm. You snap the lid back onto the cup, sliding it over the counter to him. He cradles it between his hands, but doesn’t move to leave. He’s looking up at you from where he’s hunched over, and you can’t help but stare back.
“Do you want to come sit with me?” he asks, “We could be miserable together.” The smile that overtakes your face mirrors itself on his own.
August, 2018
When Brady walks in, right at his usual time, you give him a smile and lean over the counter to hug him. You’ve become fast friends, sitting together a few nights a week, probably talking more than studying. His Big Thing is long past, and he still hasn’t told you what it was, but you don’t really mind. You get to know about his family and his girlfriend and his upcoming move to Ottawa, of all places, but you don’t need to know everything if he doesn’t want to share.
You make two of the usual latte, one for each of you. You grab your books from the shelf, meeting him at the corner booth. You get through some small talk as you both set up, going back and forth with an ease that you were surprised to find has been there since the beginning.
“Matthew’s going to come hang out tonight,” he says as he logs into his computer. He’s spoken about his brother before, so you’re somewhat intrigued.
“Any particular reason?” you ask. To your knowledge, Matthew has never been to the shop, so you’re not sure if something special is going on to spur him into coming.
“He thinks it sounds cool,” Brady shrugs, flipping his notebook open. Maybe you’d know what he’s always working on if you could read his tiny chicken scratch. As it is, you don’t mind letting him have his secrets.
You get four pages into your chapter before another customer enters, laying your pen in the divot between the pages while you go make them their drink. Luckily, they don’t stick around. It’s not awful when other people are around, but you always feel like someone is going to complain about you sitting in the dining room and studying while you should be working. But if there’s no work to be done, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees. So you prefer if it’s just you and Brady.
Another four pages drag by, reading interspersed with breaks to talk. Honestly, the breaks are also a way to keep yourself sane as you read unnecessarily complicated science.
When the next customer enters, you spring up from your chair, shooting them a smile as you make your way behind the counter. You give your standard greeting, asking what you can get them.
“What do you recommend?” the man asks. You were kind of hoping he’d have something in mind so that this interaction could go quickly, because he may be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen and it’s making you flustered.
“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He nods, looking you up and down with a critical eye. It feels personal, feels like he’s searching for something, and you’re not sure if you like it.
“How much caffeine are you looking for?” you ask next. You do your best to maintain eye contact, ignoring the way you have to look up to do so.
“How much you got?” he asks in return. The crooked smile he gives you makes your stomach flip. You grasp for a drink to suggest, all knowledge having fled your mind in order to focus on the curl of his hair over his forehead, the glint of his bright eyes.
“A Lazy Eye would probably be the most,” you say, clearing your throat, “But if you don’t want to have a heart attack, you could do a regular Red Eye.” He tilts his head, smile turning smug, as if he’s noticed your distraction. Something about it snaps you out of your daze, slightly indignant. You’ve seen plenty of hot guys in your day, and you’re not about to look like a fool in front of him just because he’s pretty.
“Red Eye, Black Eye, Dripped Eye, Lazy Eye,” you list off with as much confidence as you can muster, “Each with one more shot than the last. Pick your poison.” Your attitude change only makes him smile wider. Your hand is poised over the buttons of the register, ready to ring up whatever he decides.
“Let’s go with a Black Eye,” he says, bearing a surprisingly sharp canine, “I’ve had a few of those in my time.” That doesn’t surprise you, with his smug face and oozing self-confidence. Something about it feels so disingenuous that it makes your teeth itch. It’s clearly an act, but you can’t exactly call him on it.
You give him his total, he pays, you get to work. You empty the last dregs of coffee in the pot into the sink and set the machine to brew a new batch. No matter how annoying a customer seems, you’re not about to serve them shitty coffee.
“Y/N,” he says, leaning on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” It’s exactly what Brady had said when you’d met him, which makes you eye the man a little suspiciously. Whereas Brady had clearly not been flirting when he’d said it, this man’s tone is ambiguous enough that you’re not entirely sure what his intentions are.
“Thank you,” you say, dumping the first shot of espresso into the cup. Normally, you would ask for his name in return, but you’re not sure if you want to encourage him talking to you.
“How long have you worked here?” he asks anyway.
“Almost three years,” you reply. You’re not sure you want to tell him anything about your life, but you’re trying to be polite.
“Experienced,” he says, smiling like he’s a lion closing in on its prey, “I like that.” It’s cheesy and kind of sleazy, and you can’t help but scoff in disbelief. He’s watching you like a hawk, studying your reactions to everything he says and does. You dump the second shot, wishing the coffee would brew faster so this interaction could be over.
“I don’t think I want to know what else you like,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You used to get embarrassed and rattled by customers making comments like this, but at some point something had changed inside you. Now you just get annoyed, no matter how hot the person may be.
“Feisty,” he says, smile changing slightly in a way you can’t parse, “I like that too.” You roll your eyes, making a quiet noise of disgust. It’s not great for business to react to customers this way, but you can’t help it.
“I like it when men are silent,” you reply, able to feel how withering your gaze is. His expression changes yet again, smile getting smaller but more genuine, scrunching the bottom of his eyes up a little. That feels more natural to you, looks more right on his face. Something about the new softness in his eyes soothes something inside of you.
The coffee machine beeps to signal that it’s ready, and you waste no time in grabbing the pot and filling the cup. You hand it off to him, giving your biggest, most obviously fake smile.
“Have a fantastic night,” you say, immediately rounding the counter and heading back to the booth. When you settle back into your seat, Brady is smiling at you like you’ve told the funniest joke in the world.
“What?” you ask, picking up your pen. Brady’s eyes flick up above your head, slightly to the left, staying there, prompting you to turn around. The man is standing behind you, small smile still in place.
“Brady’s told me so much about you,” he says, and it dawns on you, “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Matthew.” Your jaw falls open and you turn back to Brady, kicking him in the shin under the table. He yelps; Matthew laughs.
“You’re both the worst,” you spit, trying to hold onto your irritation and failing. You laugh alongside the brothers, begrudgingly amused by the ridiculousness of the situation.
“Sorry about that back there,” Matthew apologizes, seemingly genuine, “I couldn’t help myself.” You shake your head at him as he bullies Brady further into the booth so he can sit. Brady shoves him back, but moves his things over anyway.
“It’s okay,” you say, pointing at him, “But if you ever pull that shit again, I’m banning you from the shop.” That startles a laugh out of him.
“I didn’t know you had the power to do that,” he replies, using his crossed arms to lean on the table.
“I do now,” you say, tilting your chin up, “Gonna put a picture up of you with a big X on it and everything.” You stare at each other for a second, and he breaks first, ducking his head as he laughs.
“Fair enough,” he concedes, looking up at you through his lashes. Your heart skips a beat, but you do your best to seem unaffected. This is your friend’s brother, for Christ’s sake. You can’t be all aflutter over him. You’re not sure you have a choice in the matter.
June, 2023
You might actually kill your coworker one day. He’s such a smug rat bastard, and every meeting including both of you makes you think you’re going to grind your teeth into dust. It’s just lucky that the job is remote, so you don’t have to be around him physically. Probably best for both your sanity and his safety.
“I mean, at least you were right in the end?” Terri says, sounding uncertain through your headphones. You’re sauteeing some onions and peppers, moving them around more than you should be just for something to do with your hands.
“Yeah, I guess,” you sigh, “I just don’t understand why he wants to make me look bad.” Ian– the coworker– seems to always have some kind of comment on your work, some type of criticism. Constructive criticism is part of the game, but his is never constructive. It doesn’t help that you’re the only two in the graphics department, so he’s always there when you present work. And really, being the only two should mean that you work together and support each other, honestly.
“Because he’s an insecure man-child,” Terri replies easily. You shake your head down at the vegetables, startling as the oven timer goes off. You jab at the button to turn it off, opening the door to remove the chicken.
“I think I’ve had enough of insecure man-children,” you grumble. You cut open one of the chicken breasts with more force than is strictly necessary, grateful that it seems to be done.
“You finally wanna talk about that?” Terri asks, and honestly? No, you don’t. Ideally, you’ll never talk about it, just push it down into the darkest recesses of your mind and bury it there. Unfortunately, you possess some level of emotional maturity, which means you know that you have to talk about it eventually.
It’s hard, because despite Brady being your best friend, you can’t exactly talk to him about this. If he knew any part of what’s been going on, he’d probably go physically fight Matthew on your behalf. Part of you thinks that might actually make you feel a little better. But he’d also probably be mad that you’ve had a not-thing with his brother, and that would make you feel worse.
“She seems like a nice woman,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. Terri sighs, and you take your plate of food to the living room to eat.
“She’s not the problem, here,” she says. She’s right, and you know it. You really don’t have anything against Tessa, and obviously you can’t blame her for any of this. Clearly, she had no idea about your not-thing with Matthew, and genuinely fell for him. There’s no point in being mad at her.
“Yeah, well,” you push some food around your plate, “He’s a fuckface and she can have him.” The mention of Matthew has ruined your appetite, the meal now looking completely unappealing. You push the plate to the other side of the coffee table with a huff. You’ll try eating again later, you tell yourself, knowing that you haven’t been eating nearly enough lately. You can’t help it, your inner turmoil chasing away your hunger most of the time.
“He is a fuckface,” Terri agrees, adding, “But don’t pretend you don’t still want him.” Ugh. Friends are the worst, actually, and you should just become a hermit in a cave somewhere. There’s no point even trying to deny the claim, both of you knowing that she’s right.
“I’m not allowed to want him anymore,” you say, voice coming out weaker than you want to admit, “I never should have let myself want him in the first place.” In the beginning, despite being attracted to Matthew, it was easy to maintain distance. He was in Calgary most of the year, and reminding yourself that he was your new friend’s brother actually worked as a deterrent back then.
You can’t pinpoint exactly when you started letting yourself get caught up, but you’d ended up completely entangled with him. Now he’s put that distance back between you, ripping away the strings you’d been tied up in, leaving you with all these empty spaces where he used to be. And it’s making you hate yourself, knowing that if you’d just kept things cordial, restricted your attention and connection to Brady like you should have, you wouldn’t be feeling any of this right now.
“You can’t help who you love,” Terri says, so gently that it only hurts more. You’re not fragile, okay? You don’t need the softness, the careful handling. You’re not fragile. You’re not.
“I gotta go eat,” you say, not wanting to lie, but needing a way out of the conversation, “Bye, Ter.” She says your name, but you just repeat the goodbye. She sighs, says goodbye, and you hang up. What you should do is eat something and go to sleep. Instead, you eye the easel in the corner of the living room. You sigh, heaving yourself up off of the couch to go grab a glass of water to rinse your brushes with.
April, 2019
It’s probably going to become your new favorite day of the year: the day Brady comes home from Ottawa. His plane had landed yesterday, and his parents had even brought you to the airport with them to pick him up. As quickly as you’d bonded last summer, you’d only gotten closer through the season. It feels like you can talk to each other about anything, like you were meant to meet, like he’s the platonic version of a soulmate. You had patiently waited your turn to hug him after his parents, squeezing him as tightly as you could manage. He’d only squeezed back harder.
With their seasons ending right around the same time this year, Matthew had landed the same night. Knowing they’d have to go back to the airport, the Tkachuks had decided to just spend the day out instead of going home. They’d invited you to come with them, an invitation you’d eagerly accepted. They’re quickly starting to feel like family to you, and you love spending time with them. For the first time in your life, it feels like you fit somewhere.
Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to come along to pick up Matthew. You’d had to work last night, so the Tkachuks had dropped you off at home to get changed and get going. You’d still gotten to spend most of the day with them, which would have to be enough.
You’re going over to their place today, and you decided to bake and bring along cookies. All of their local family and friends are going to be there to welcome the boys home, and you haven’t met most of them yet, so you want to make a good first impression. Besides, it’s just polite to bring something along to someone’s house.
Though Brady still tries to hug you when you arrive, despite your hands being full, the plates need to be deposited on the dining room table before he can get a real one. There are a few people chatting in the room, so Brady introduces you to them.
Most of the next hour goes much the same, Brady introducing you to family and friends, having small conversations with all of them. You know that Brady isn’t trying to embarrass you, but he has a habit of hyping you up to people. He’s more outgoing than you are, and he uses that social ease to brag about how smart you are, how talented. It feels a little like he’s trying to justify being your friend to them, but you know better than to think that Brady cares what anyone thinks of him and his choices.
The kitchen exits onto a large cherry wood deck, scattered with chairs, some of them already occupied. The back yard is sprawling, green grass lined with lush bushes. There’s a pool to the right, not opened for the summer yet, a jacuzzi positioned between it and the house. You’re still not really used to all of this, the casual wealth of the family. It’s so far from what you’d grown up with, something that had astonished you when you’d realized just how far above you the Tkachuks are.
There are a few yard games set up in the grass, cornhole and ladders and something you don’t recognize. And there, in the center of the yard, Matthew is teaching a child how to play ladders. The kid is probably a cousin, of which they have many. Matthew is barefoot, wearing a bright red Flames hoodie and black shorts that only come to mid-thigh. You’ve narrowed your staring down to a minimum, so your eyes only linger for a second or two before you turn back to Brady.
He guides you around to meet the few people braving the chilly spring weather, much as he had done inside. Everyone is so nice, saying how pleased they are to meet you, and seeming to mean it.
Your last stop is Matthew, who interrupts his lesson to hug you. It’s only the second time the two of you have done so, the first having been the last time you saw him before he left for the season. Despite that fact, he squeezes you almost as hard as Brady had, as if you’re his best friend too. Not that you’d presume to be Brady’s best friend, but. Still.
“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says when you pull apart, and the expression on his face tells you how genuine it is. Your smile is almost involuntary, turning up the corners of your mouth and baring just a hint of teeth.
“Welcome home, Matthew,” you reply, “We missed you.” You’re not sure what “we” you’re referring to, but it feels less incriminating than saying “I missed you”. You get the feeling that he understands anyway, beaming at you.
The three of you chat for a few minutes, Matthew introducing you to his little cousin. With there being four of you, you decide to play a game of ladders, to test the little one’s skills. He’s pretty good, for a kid, and you and Brady make sure to throw well enough to convince him that you’re trying, but still let him win. Throughout, Matthew gives him tips and instruction, so kind and gentle that it makes your heart ache. They cheer when they win, high fiving and teasing you and Brady.
You go inside to spend some time with Keith and Chantal. Chantal gives you a big hug, as if she hadn’t just seen you yesterday. Keith gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder. Taryn appears at some point, sneaking up behind you and poking your sides to make you jump. You laugh along with her, enfolding her into the conversation easily.
Time flies by, the sun setting around you, the house lights turning on one by one as darkness descends. Eventually, you end up lounging in the den with the other adult kids. From your visits last year, the chair in the corner has become yours. You’re settled in, legs folded up under you as something that no one is watching plays on the TV. Brady and Taryn get into a heated debate about something or another, and Matthew gives you a long-suffering look as his younger siblings bicker. You just smile back at him, finding the family’s passion entirely endearing.
“Seventeen years of this,” Matthew gripes, clearly not as annoyed as he’s trying to seem.
“And sixty more to go,” you reply. Matthew chuckles at that, looking to Brady and Taryn with such fondness that you almost can’t stand it. It’s the kind of relationship you’d wanted with your own brothers, but that’s best not to think about.
“Hopefully,” Matthew says, turning that fond look toward you. Your heart skips a beat, and you’ve gotten good at ignoring that.
May, 2019
You shouldn’t be this nervous, but you are. Terri is on speaker phone, telling you about her new job. You’re half-listening, staring at the clothing laid out on your bed. You’ve been agonizing all morning about what you’re going to wear, how you’re going to do your makeup, if you should wear makeup at all.
“I’m glad that your boss defended you,” you say to Terri, still tuned in enough to follow her story, “She seems cool.”
“She’s so cool,” Terri gushes, “She’s my favorite now.” You’re so happy that Terri has finally found a good job, especially with how hellish her previous one had been. This one pays almost double what she was getting before, too, which definitely doesn’t hurt. She expounds a little more about the things she loves about her boss, and you decide to hang back up the dresses you’ve laid out. It’s still a little too chilly to wear them, especially after sundown.
“You’re still staring at those damn clothes, aren’t you?” Terri asks, switching the topic suddenly. Your face gets warm as you make a plaintive hand gesture, despite her not being able to see you.
“Clothes are stupid and I can’t decide,” you complain, trying to imagine how each of the final two options will come across. If you try too hard, Matthew might think that you think this is a date, but you still want to look good. You know it’s not a date, but you’re still kind of acting like it is, and it’s embarrassing.
“Definitely wear jeans,” Terri advises, “That’ll make it more casual.” You agree, putting away the skirt you’d paired with the one shirt, trying to picture how it would look with jeans. You move the pants between each shirt, before giving up and just putting them on. You’ll just try on both outfits and see which one you like better.
Once dressed in the first option, you take a picture to send to Terri. You look at yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that. After a minute or two of consideration, you switch tops. You take another picture and send both to Terri for her opinion.
“Oh, definitely the second one,” she says, “The first one makes you look like you’re going to a job interview.” You look at the picture again, and can’t deny that she’s right. You put that one away, settled in your decision. You’re not sure if Matthew has ever seen you in anything but jeans and a t-shirt, so you hope the red tank top layered with a tucked-in sheer pink printed blouse isn’t too much of a change.
When Matthew had invited you to take a walk around the park yesterday, just the two of you. You’ve never spent more than a few minutes alone with him, always having Brady or Taryn or Emma to provide distraction and distance. This time you’ll have nothing to focus on but him.
The time comes soon enough, and you gather your things, not wanting to make Matthew wait for you when he arrives. You’d offered to drive yourself and meet him there, but he’d waved off the idea immediately, saying that he’d pick you up.
A knock comes at your door right on time. You take a deep breath before you open it, settling your frenzied heart. Matthew smiles as soon as he sees you.
“Oh wow,” he says, almost absentmindedly, “You look great.” Your blush is immediate, and you hope he can’t see it. It seems that anything that comes out of his mouth makes you blush, sometimes.
The drive to the park isn’t too long. When you arrive, you gather your bag from the floor of the passenger seat, and by time you move to get a hand on the door handle, Matthew is already opening the door from the outside. It’s a sweet surprise, and you thank him as you climb out of the car.
It’s a nice day, not too cold or windy for once. The two of you walk, talking about this and that, moving from topic to topic as they arise. You point out a few birds as you go, and Matthew listens to the little fun facts you give about them. He seems genuinely interested, but even if he’s not, at least he’s polite enough to pretend.
“I guess we should have left a little earlier,” Matthew remarks as the sun goes down, the light fading around you. The sun sets quickly this time of year, so you’re still a few minutes out from the car by time it’s completely dark. The lights along the pathway bathe Matthew in yellow light, casting warm shadows in the dips and hollows of his face.
“At least I have a big, strong man to protect me,” you joke, elbowing him.
“Oh no, if we get jumped I’m running,” he replies, shooting a shit-eating grin down at you. You gasp and press a hand to your heart, as if you’re truly scandalized.
“You would really abandon me like that?” you ask. His smile softens at the edges.
“Never,” he says, looking so genuine that it makes your heart flutter, pausing before he adds, “Unless we’re getting robbed.” Your combined laughter rings out through the trees.
June, 2023
You’ve managed to avoid any questions about your odd behavior, and it’s getting easier to act normal over time. A couple weeks have passed since your first meeting with Tessa, and you still feel like ripping your skin off when you see her touching Matthew, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it. It’s not your place to be upset, anyway.
The diner is bustling at this time of day, the tail end of lunch rush. You had to wait a little bit to get seated, but now you’re sitting at the end of a booth in a chair they’d pulled up to the edge to make up for all five of you not fitting into the booth. It makes you feel a little left out, the only one not paired off, a fifth wheel to the two couples on either side of the table. You block that out, a skill you’ve had for years, but have had to strengthen rapidly over the past few weeks.
Brady has an arm around Emma’s shoulders, and you can tell by the angle of Matthew’s arm that he has a hand on Tessa’s thigh. You remember when that was you, Matthew touching you so casually, so naturally. Sitting across from Matthew as he nudges your foot under the table, sitting next to him with your shoulders pressed together, fingers tangled together on the seat, where no one could see.
Emma is telling a story about a night out with some of her girlfriends, and you’re laughing along at the antics with everyone else. When she asks you about work, you try to clear the perpetual lump in your throat before answering, succeeding in sounding happy, though the tightness remains.
When your food arrives, you spend most of the time pushing it around your plate to make it look like you’re eating. You never have an appetite around Matthew anymore, weirdly embarrassed about being seen eating in a way you haven’t been since you were a teenager. You’ll take it home and eat it later, if you can stop thinking about Matthew for two fucking seconds.
You’re not sure how long that’s going to be impossible, but you hope it’s not much longer.
January, 2020
You’ve been to a few games when the boys have played the Blues, but you’ve never made the trip up to Canada to see them play each other before. Ottawa is nice, Brady and Emma having shown you around a little when you’d arrived. Your nerves had been shot from the anxiety of traveling abroad for the first time, even though it was just to Canada. The couple seemed to understand, only taking you around for a few hours before bringing you home.
Brady’s apartment is nice, really nice. He’s offered you the guest room for a few days, and you appreciate not having to pay for a hotel. He’ll be home for six days before he has to go to St. Louis for the All Star game, so you’d arranged to stay in Ottawa and fly back home with them.
Luckily, the cafe is pretty cool about rearranging your schedule, so you’ll just have to work some extra days when you go back to make up for what you’re missing. You’d asked for the days of the skills competition and game off as well, Brady having managed to get you a ticket. Your manager has always thought it was cool that you were friends with the Tkachuks, so she had agreed to give you the time off if you brought her a souvenir. Matthew and Brady had offered to sign a jersey for her without you even having to ask, and you’ll owe them for a while, though they insist you don’t.
Matthew gets in that first night, the three of you meeting him at his hotel. You’re not sure how he managed it, but he’ll be staying a few days instead of returning to Calgary with the team after the game. Maybe he got a special exception because this game is the last before All Star week, and he has to go to St. Louis anyway. No matter the reason, you’re glad he gets to stay.
The game the next night is exciting, and definitely worth the trip. With the Senators’ performance in recent years, it’s mostly the diehard fans left, so the atmosphere is electric. You get swept up in the passion and joy, especially when the game ends with a 5-2 win for Ottawa.
The boys have to debrief and get changed, which you know will take a while. Emma and you wait with the WAGs, Emma excited to introduce you to them. Some of them think you’re a new WAG at first, which is honestly kind of flattering. All of the ladies are surprisingly kind and welcoming, and you enjoy interacting with them as you all wait.
Matthew emerges first, guided down the hallway by one of the arena staff. His steps pick up pace when he sees you and Emma, and he shoots a quick thanks to the staff member before jogging over to the two of you. He immediately enfolds you in his arms, squeezing tight and holding longer than usual. You know it’s difficult for him to lose at all, let alone to his brother, so you let him hold you as long as he wants.
Once he lets you go, he meets your eyes. His smile is soft, tinged with a slight sadness that you want to wipe away.
“Hey there, sweet girl,” he greets, and your breath catches at the term of endearment. He’d started using it a few months ago, and it still makes your chest tight. You know that it doesn’t mean anything, but you still imagine sometimes that it does.
He turns his attention to Emma, giving her a hug as well, just one quick squeeze before releasing. The three of you start talking, waiting patiently for Brady. It doesn’t shock you that he takes so long to come out, knowing his unofficial position of leadership in the team. The guys come out one by one, hugging and kissing their wives and girlfriends, the number of ladies dwindling as they leave with their men.
When Brady finally emerges, he heads straight over to give Emma a hug and kiss. He hugs you next, before punching Matthew’s shoulder. They have a little back-and-forth as you all exit the arena, taking harmless jabs at each other all the way to the car.
The main issue with the living arrangements for the trip had been that Brady and Emma were going to have two guests and only one spare room. Matthew had offered to sleep on the couch, but he’s too tall for that, and you don’t want him to end up sore or hurting his neck during the season. You’d insisted that you’d sleep on the couch, but both Matthew and Brady had immediately vetoed that idea. Then you’d found out that the guest room has two twin beds instead of one bigger one, and the answer was simple.
Matthew sets his suitcase and backpack next to the door when you get home. You’ve already claimed the bed on the far side, so he gets set up on the one closer to the door. Emma and Brady are in the kitchen, making a post-game snack for everyone, so it’s just you and Matthew.
“You excited to be roomies for a week?” he asks, unzipping his suitcase. Yours is already open under the window, so you grab some pajamas out of it.
“Depends how loud you snore,” you tease. He shoots you a toothy smile.
“Oh, it’s gonna be loud,” he says. You chuckle a bit, knowing he’s joking. Emma calls for you, then, and you leave your clothes on the bed to go to her. The four of you converse as you eat, seated in a row at the kitchen island. You’ve got Matthew to one side and Brady to the other, and they take turns kicking your ankles. You kick back, grinning at Emma when she kicks Brady’s other side.
Brady and Matthew had already showered at the rink, so they sit in the living room while you and Emma get ready for bed. She uses the master suite, and you use the bathroom in the hall. It’s nice, if small, with a simple stall shower instead of a tub. You go through your routine on autopilot, only realizing when you’re done that you’d left your clothes in the bedroom. You wrap yourself in a towel, doing your best to sneak past the door to the living room.
When you look to make sure your stealth is working, you meet Matthew’s eyes. It stops you in your tracks. You can’t discern the look on his face, and you’re not sure that you care to. He shoots you an easy smile, and you wave at him like an idiot, acting on instinct. It only makes him smile wider, and you scurry off to the room.
After you’re dressed, there’s a knock on the door. Brady asks if you’re decent, and you confirm that you are, so he peeks his head in. Once he sees that you truly are dressed, he opens the door the rest of the way. He and Emma bid you good night, telling you to just ask if you need anything. You thank them and say good night in return, Matthew entering the room as soon as the other two retreat to their own room. He’s barely two steps into the room before he’s pulling off his shirt.
“Woah there, cowboy,” you say, holding up a hand in front of you. He just shrugs at you.
“Gotta get ready for bed,” he says, bending over and lifting his foot to remove his socks. You’d figured that he would wear a t-shirt and shorts to bed like you, but you should’ve guessed he’d be the type to sleep shirtless, no matter who’s around. He’s naked in front of thirty people every day, who cares about being shirtless?
You do your best to brush it off, turning down the covers of your bed so that you can crawl in. Normally, you would read for a bit before bed, but you’re tired enough tonight that you don’t think you need to. You pull the blankets up to your chin, turning on your side. Unfortunately, you sleep on your right, so you end up facing Matthew’s bed. Is that weird? Should you try sleeping the opposite direction?
Matthew doesn’t say anything, flicking the lights off and crawling into bed. He sleeps on his left, apparently, so he’s facing you too. That’s a little awkward, right? As your eyes adjust to the dark, you’re able to see the glint of his teeth as he smiles over at you.
“Sleep well, sweet girl,” he says quietly. You return the sentiment, grateful that the darkness means he probably can’t fully see the embarrassment on your face. You’re backlit by the window, so you convince yourself that he can’t.
The next morning, you wake to Matthew already out of bed, stretching. Your eyes roam his back, taking in the dips and ridges of his muscles. Only at the last second do you realize that his head is turned to the side, and he’s staring at you through the corner of his eye. You quickly avert your gaze, turning to sit bolt upright on the other side of the bed, facing the window.
The four of you spend the day exploring the city, Brady and Emma seeming to have planned what they want to show you. It’s nice, peaceful and fun. You make them take pictures with you in front of landmarks or cool art pieces, all of you squished together to fit in the selfie.
It isn’t until the fourth night that anything out of the ordinary happens. You’re lying in bed, having turned on your back to stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep. You probably shouldn’t have had that affogato after dinner, though usually they don’t bother you this much. No matter how long you toss and turn, how many sleeping positions you try, you can’t even make yourself tired, let alone actually fall asleep.
“What are you, a rotisserie chicken?” Matthew asks rhetorically, breaking the silence. His voice is hushed, but it still startles you. You turn your head to stare at him, finding him staring right back.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize, sheepish, “I can’t sleep.” Matthew’s lips quirk up at one end.
“Me either,” he says, sitting up. You mimic his posture, then scoot back to lean against the headboard. He slings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, and you think for a second that he’s going to turn on the light. Instead, he takes the two steps to your bed, motioning to the mattress. You nod, prompting him to start shoving your shoulder, bullying you into making space for him. You giggle, trying to keep quiet to respect the late hour.
“So,” he leads, taking a long moment to just stare at you before continuing, “Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You’re taken off guard by the request, not sure how to respond.
“I was an Aaron Carter girl growing up,” you pull out of thin air. Matthew’s face breaks into a wide smile, sunshine in the middle of the night.
“Really?” he asks. You nod, mumbling “yeah” in confirmation. That’s all it takes to get you both talking. You trade off back and forth, telling each other small things about yourself that may not come up otherwise, launching into short discussions about some of the statements.
“My favorite color is red,” he says at one point, when you’re starting to think you may fall asleep.
“I thought it was blue?” you reply, remembering Chantal mention that at some point. Matthew starts fiddling with his hands.
“I tell people it’s blue, but it’s really red,” he says. You tilt your head an inch or two, furrowing your brow at him.
“Why?” you ask. He ducks his head.
“Red is an angry color,” he explains, voice quieter than before, “With my reputation, I don’t want people to associate me with an aggressive color. I don’t want to play into the stereotype.” You hum, looking forward. It feels like this isn’t the best time to look at him, like he’ll clam up if you witness his vulnerability.
“It’s also the color of vitality, excitement, love,” you counter, leaving just a breath of a pause, “It’s a good color for you.” The entire room is still for a dragging moment, before Matthew gently knocks your shoulders together.
“What about you?” he asks when you look back to him. There’s a fraction of a change in his face, but you don’t comment on it.
When you wake up in the morning, you’re still sitting up, head resting on Matthew’s shoulder, his head laying on top of yours. You suppress the instinct to startle, not wanting to disrupt him, lest he wake up and move. His skin is warm under your cheek, your arms lined up from shoulder to the knuckles of your fingers. You close your eyes again, trying to keep your breathing steady, as if you’re still sleeping. You’ve been trying so hard to keep distance between Matthew and yourself, but you’ll allow yourself to enjoy this, just for a moment longer.
There’s a shift in Matthew’s breathing, his fingers twitching against yours. It settles after a second, into a different pattern, intentionally deep and even. You’re sure that he’s awake, that he’s doing the same thing that you are. You’re not sure what to do with that information.
The rest of the trip goes by smoothly, Brady and Emma showing you both the touristy things and the better local spots around the city. If the same thing happens the next night, and the night after that, you and Matthew talking in low voices until you fall asleep against each other, neither of you mention it.
April, 2020
While the initial prediction for lockdown was that it would only last a month, it’s clear that it’s going to last much, much longer.
It’s probably lucky that you’d just started a new job, one that can be done remotely, rather than either working at the coffee shop or being laid off. It’s not exactly what you want to do, but it’s at least in the artistic field, so you try to be grateful anyway. It’s difficult being locked away in your apartment, but you’re grateful that you’re luckier than essential workers and people who are losing their jobs altogether.
The thing that keeps you sane in all of this is your phone. More specifically, it’s your friends. You’ve developed almost a schedule with it, calling Terri in the morning for an hour or so before work. At lunch, you facetime Brady and Emma for another hour, not envying them being stuck so far from home. It must be hard to be in an entirely different country than your family.
The highlight of each day is the evening, when you facetime Matthew. Though he spends most of the day sending you videos and memes and updates about whatever little thing he’s doing at the moment, it’s still nice to talk to him out loud. Seeing his face helps your growing loneliness a little bit.
You’re in your living room, your phone propped up against the arm of the couch as you show off the few things you’ve made since picking up crochet a couple weeks ago. Matthew compliments each of them, commending you for your improvement. He’s the only one you’ve shown, too embarrassed to let anyone else see the wonky scarves with uneven stitches.
“You have time to work on any paintings lately?” he asks, once you’re done your little show and tell. The truth is that you’ve got three new canvases drying in the kitchen. The truth is also that the man asking about them is the inspiration for their creation. There’s nothing incriminating about them; it’s not like they’re portraits of him or something. But you’re still hesitant to show him, because even if he doesn’t know, you do.
You show him anyway. The painting of the park is his favorite, and you wonder if he knows that it’s the one you went to for your first time alone together. It’s mostly dark, greens and blues so deep they look black, yellow triangles of light splitting the canvas into section. If you look closely enough, the brush strokes fill in the details of the trees, the grass, the pavement. Your phone camera isn’t good enough for Matthew to see that, but he compliments it anyway.
“You should paint me something for my apartment,” he says after you show him all three. You’re not opposed to the idea, actually enjoy the thought of something you made being showcased in his home.
“What do you want?” you ask, a hundred ideas already flitting through your mind. The only way you’ve seen his apartment is through the background of pictures he sends you sometimes, or little glimpses you catch as he walks around while you facetime. You’re not entirely sure of the vibe, but you’re sure you can figure something out.
“What makes you think of me?” he asks in return. You stop in your tracks in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. The hand holding your phone lowers a couple inches unintentionally, your gaze drifting above the screen, staring into the middle distance. What makes you think of him? Hockey, obviously. Family. Curling up under a blanket on a cold night. Laying on the couch with your feet up on the armrest, your head propped up on a pillow, a sad replacement for his lap. Spruce trees, gold, pitbulls, mushroom pizza, black eyes– both the drink and the wound.
Everything. Everything makes you think of him.
You can’t say that, obviously. You search your brain for something personal but innocuous, something sentimental but still acceptable. You think of all the time that you two have spent together over the past few years, memories springing up, some that you’d even forgotten about. Some that you’ll never be able to forget about.
“Can I surprise you?” you ask. You’re given that familiar smile in response, any iteration of which makes your heart stutter in your chest.
“Yeah,” he says, propping his face up with one hand on his jaw, “I trust you.”
July, 2023
Some people may say that Terri’s apartment is cluttered, but you just find it cozy. She has decorations and knick-knacks on every surface, but the comfiest couch you’ve ever sat on. That’s where you are now, stretched out with your back against the side, Terri mimicking your posture at the other end, your legs tangled together in the middle.
“We should see the Barbie movie when it comes out,” she says, unprompted. You look up from the hook and yarn in your hands, tipping your head to the side for a second and shrugging.
“It looks good,” you say, an indirect agreement. You haven’t been to the movies since before lockdown, so it might be nice to go back.
“D’you think Gabe would want to come?” she asks cautiously, “He could bring the kids.” The mention of your brother still makes ice crawl in your chest, but it’s not as bad as it once was. He’d reached out last year, trying to reconnect with you, and apparently your other brother too. You’ve only seen him a few times since, but it’s more than you’d seen him in the four years prior, combined.
“It’s worth a shot, right?” Terri asks, eyes flicking toward your phone sitting on the coffee table. You look toward it as well, debating for a second. It would be nice to see your nieces and nephews, but it also hurts that they barely know who you are.
“Yeah,” you agree after a second, “Worth a shot.” You grab your phone, feeling as if it’s going to explode in your hands if you move too quickly. There are a few notifications when you wake the screen, which you ignore to unlock it. You open your texts, backing out of your thread with Terri from earlier. You have a picture message from Brady, just a selfie of him and Emma smiling, which you send a heart in response to. Backing out of that thread, you see another new message, underneath the contact name you haven’t had the heart to change. The red and purple hearts next to his name– each of your favorite colors– having been there so long that getting rid of them feels wrong, no matter how it makes your chest hurt to see them.
Can we talk?
You tap the back button as quickly as you can. You can’t respond. You should, to be polite, but you can’t. If you do, you’ll say something you regret. It’ll probably be agreement or the words “eat shit”, and either option will get you into trouble. You can’t respond. You want so badly to talk to him. You want so desperately to go back in time and never meet him.
Your fingers tremble as you draft a text to your brother, typing and deleting and re-typing a few times before you settle on the wording. You have more important things to worry about than Matthew.
August, 2020
The bubble was an interesting idea. It may not be the best idea in the world, despite the safety precautions, but you know Matthew is just happy to be back on the ice. He’s already sent you a dozen pictures of the hotel, of him with his teammates and friends, masked up together in the lobby. You tell him to tell the boys that you say hello, and he texts you each of their responses.
The first round goes well, the Flames only losing one game to the Jets. You know Matthew had been worried about going through all the rules and protocols just to be eliminated immediately, so you’re glad that that isn’t the case.
The series against the Stars starts out with an exciting back-and-forth, the teams trading off wins. Then the Stars win game 5, breaking the pattern. You’re not expecting the last game to actually be the last, convinced that the Flames would at least make it to a game seven. But the Stars pull a decisive 7-3 win, the Flames falling apart in the second period and unable to get themselves back together.
Matthew has called you as soon as he got back to his hotel room after every game, so you’re expecting your phone to ring some time in the next hour or two. You putter around the apartment a little, putting away some dishes and wiping down the kitchen counters. You’d been painting during the game, a commission from a friend of a friend of a friend. You return to that, losing yourself in the meticulous movements of your brush.
It feels like it’s been too long. You try to focus on the canvas in front of you, but there’s a nagging sense in the back of your mind that something is wrong. It sits heavy at the base of your skull as you try to ignore it.
Eventually, it becomes too much. You check your phone to make sure that you haven’t missed his call, but there are no notifications. It’s been a little over two hours. You unlock your phone and pull up his contact in a second, pressing the video icon. Typically, he’ll pick up after one or two rings, but you hear the third ring, the fourth. The call disconnects, shock shooting up your spine. It only lasts a second, your phone ringing with a voice call almost immediately.
“Hey sweet girl,” Matthew greets you in his typical fashion as soon as you accept the call. There’s something off about his voice, and it takes you a second to realize what it is.
“Hey there, darling,” you respond, voice as gentle as you can manage. It’s not the first time you’ve heard Matthew cry, but it breaks your heart every time. As much as he tries to seem tough and aloof, you know how deeply losses like this affect him. Now it makes sense that he didn’t want video involved.
“How are you?” he asks, clearly moving his face away from the receiver as he sniffles, but you can still hear it. You move to the couch, sinking into the cushions, as if you’re as crushed as he is.
“I’m okay,” you reply, “You holding up okay?” You know he’ll say that he’s fine, but you also know that he’s not. He may not be for a while. There’s a pause, a long stretch of silence, only interrupted by his deep, labored breaths.
“I wish you were here,” he says. He sounds absolutely miserable, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. The urge to hold him is overwhelming, your arms buzzing with the desire to wrap around him. You want to pull him down into your lap, let him tuck his head into the crook of your neck, let him cry on you as you scratch his scalp and kiss his head. Lockdown isn’t the only reason that can’t happen.
“I’m going to hug you so hard,” you insist, “As soon as I can see you again.”
July, 2023
While you’re still a third wheel with Brady and Emma, it’s better than being a fifth wheel with the entire group. You’d asked Taryn if she wanted to tag along, but she has training to do. Brady had already done his that morning, so he’s free for the rest of the day, and had invited you to spend some time together.
You’re certain that he doesn’t know how you feel about this place, how much it hurts to be here. As far as he’s aware, this is your favorite park, the one you visit with Matthew at least a few times a month every summer. He probably thinks it’s a great choice, something to cheer you up from the slump you know he’s noticed.
Despite the memories tugging at you from every direction, you’re mostly in a good mood. You’d gotten excellent news the day before yesterday, an opportunity you’ve dreamed of for a long time. You wanted to text Brady right after the meeting to tell him, but you’d decided it was better to share it with him and Emma in person. You’re debating something that absolutely doesn’t matter, all of you talking over each other. You’re waiting for the right moment to change the conversation. It doesn’t come until almost an hour into your walk, but you jump on it as soon as it does.
“I have some cool news,” you say, breaking the silent pause that had fallen over the group.
“Well?” Emma replies, “Go on.” The excitement is bubbling up inside of you again at the thought of it, your stomach turning, your chest too full.
“You know that gallery downtown that I love?” you ask, continuing after they agree, “I’m going to do a show there.” They stop in their tracks, Emma immediately enfolding you in her arms. You hug her back, squeezing tight as she bounces on her toes. When she pulls back, she holds your face in her hands, voice high and thrilled as she congratulates you. The smile on your face is unavoidable, happiness from the news mingling with the happiness of your friends being proud of you.
“Cool news, huh?” Brady asks, lightly smacking your shoulder as he says, “What an understatement.” The circle of his arms feels safe, his chest warm against your cheek as he holds you tight. The look on his face when he releases you is the best reaction you’ve gotten so far, his pride meaning more than anyone else’s.
“When is it?” he asks, taking Emma’s hand in his own once again and resuming the walk. You follow along, too excited to be self-conscious of the visible skip in your step.
“August 20th,” you say. There’s an unspoken question there, a silent invitation. You don’t want him to feel pressured to come, knowing that despite how supportive he is of your artistic endeavors, he’s not big on things like art shows. In the end, you don’t have to ask.
“You know we’re coming, right?” he asks, aiming a crooked smile at you, “You can’t stop us.” Though the smile hasn’t left your face since you brought up the topic, it gets brighter in return.
“I’d never dream of trying to,” you reply, and you mean it.
October, 2020
It’s odd to have the boys around at this time of year, the season usually taking them away at the end of August. You’re grateful for it, though. It means that you get to spend time with them, lockdown finally over, freeing you from the confines of your apartment. Your job has stayed remote, so you’re able to be around even more, saving time on what used to be an hour long commute each way.
Right now, it’s you and the boys, Emma, and Terri. You’d introduced her to them less than a month ago, but they already love her, just as you knew they would. She doesn’t always come around with you, considering how you spend nearly every day at the Tkachuks’, but she has some time today.
After twenty minutes of debating what you should watch, you all agree on a true crime documentary. You’ve given up your chair for Terri, squishing yourself onto the couch with Brady and Emma, pressing your cold feet against her leg and laughing when she yelps. She kicks you, only serving to make you laugh harder. Brady playfully threatens to fight you to defend his woman’s honor, and you put your fists up in front of you, jabbing out into the air as if you’re going to take him up on the offer. He chuckles, reaching out to fist bump you instead of punch. You drop your hands, looking past his big ass head.
Matthew is lounging in the second chair, the leg rest of the recliner up despite his legs being crossed under him. It’s the only way the chair will lean back, he’d told you once, and he doesn’t like sitting upright.
The smile on his face isn’t the wide grin you’d expected. It’s small, a gentle turn of the lips. Combined with the look he’s giving you– something unfocused, something unbearably soft– it implies an emotion that you know can’t be the correct interpretation. You swallow hard, turning your eyes back to Brady.
“Press play already, nerd,” you demand, tone playful enough to show that you don’t mean it. He sticks his tongue out at you, but does as he’s told.
Five minutes in, you glance over at Matthew, finding him already looking at you. You look away, slightly embarrassed to be caught. Another five minutes later, you can’t help but peek back at him again, as if your eyes are magnetized to him. It’s almost disappointing that he’s actually looking at the screen. It only takes a second for his eyes to move to the side, peering at you in his peripheral. The corner of his lips quirks up the tiniest bit, almost unnoticeable. But you notice.
You only make it maybe half an hour into the film before Matthew leans forward and snatches the remote from its place next to Brady. The plaintive sound Brady lets out is kind of funny, but you seem to think everything is funny today. Matthew pauses the show, declaring that the group needs snacks.
“Y/N, come give me a hand,” he says, beckoning you to follow him. You grumble a bit, but stand and follow him up the stairs and out of the den. He leads the way through the living room and into the kitchen. They’re fancy, so they have a walk-in pantry, of course. The two of you enter one after another. You start looking at the snack section, deciding what to grab. The good thing about being the one to retrieve the food is that you get to choose whatever you want and there’s nothing the others can say about it.
You’re rifling through the chips and pretzels when you feel a presence close behind you. It’s obviously Matthew, but he’s so close that you can feel the heat of his body radiating into your back. His left hand comes into your field of vision, pressing to the shelves next to your head. You twist your neck to look back at him, confused as to what he’s doing.
You’re not expecting the look he’s giving you. His eyes dark, completely focused in on your face. Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mouth without your permission. He’s not smiling, his lips parted just a fraction of an inch.
He rests his right hand on your shoulder, using it to turn your entire body around to face him. You can feel how dumbfounded your expression is as you stare up at him, your brow furrowed, your mouth slightly agape. He returns the gesture of looking at your mouth, his tongue quickly flicking out to wet his lips. He looks like he’s about to eat you alive. You would let him.
There’s a long, unbearable stretch of silence as the two of you just stare at each other, faces only a scant few inches apart. If this were anyone else, you would know exactly what’s going on, exactly what they want. But this is Matthew, your insanely wonderful, insanely hot, insanely out of your league friend. There’s no chance that he’s about to do what it feels like he is. No matter how many times you steal glances at each other, how closely he holds you, how many times he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, there’s no chance he’d ever want you. And just as you tell yourself that, he speaks.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his breath brushing across your lips from the proximity. Your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open wider in shock. You’ve spent the last two years valiantly suppressing any type of attraction you have to him, trying to respect his station as your best friend’s brother. And now, in just four words, he’s let it all loose. It floods you inside, so overwhelming, so much to take all at once that it triggers a full system reset. You swear your heart stops, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to tear the words from your lagging brain.
The words won’t come. The look on Matthew’s face is changing, something embarrassed, something guilty. He moves back an inch and you reach out, unwilling to let him go. You cup his face in your hands, pulling him in to press your lips together.
It’s lingering, almost chaste, and entirely sensational. Your lips are tingling, sparks shooting down your spine. Your chest feels cracked open, your innards exposed for his inspection, your true self exposed for his judgment.
When you pull back and open your eyes, his are still closed. He looks like he’s in heaven, like he’s trying to imprint this moment in his mind the same way that you are. After a moment, his eyelids slide up and he looks at you again. His eyes are hazy, unfocused, his blown pupils leaving only a thin ring of blue around the edge of his iris.
“Again,” he says, breathless, “Please.”
Who are you to deny him?
The second kiss is as good as the first, your breath abandoning your body to pant out against his lips. You meet again, his tongue flicking out for half a second to touch your top lip. It makes you breath hitch, makes you kiss him again, makes you gently bite his full bottom lip. The sound he lets out is barely audible, but it only feeds the fire inside of you, an inferno that blazes up from your hips to your throat. You cradle his face in your hands, hold just strong enough to move his head how you want, to slot your mouths together perfectly each time.
“Hurry up, asshole!”
Brady’s shout violently snaps you out of your haze. You jerk backward, trying to step away, but already pressed against the shelves. Matthew doesn’t seem as put off as you, smiling as if nothing happened. You relinquish your hold on his face, dropping your hands to your sides. His hands had wandered as you kissed, one on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. He squeezes once at the base of your skull, dipping in to give you one last quick kiss.
After frantically grabbing random snacks, you return to the den. You can feel how hot your face is, and you can only hope that it’s not too obvious how flustered you are. You and Matthew deposit the snacks on the coffee table, everyone immediately selecting one. You curl back up in your chair, legs pulled up to your chest as you lay sideways, head on the armrest.
Every time your eyes drift to Matthew for the rest of the evening, he’s looking back.
January, 2021
Just as the day the boys come home is the best day of the year, the day they leave for the season is the worst. Sometimes you wish you were Emma, that you could follow them back and forth and never be without them. But St. Louis is your home, is where you have a job and friends and more recently, family.
You’d helped both boys pack for the past few days, but you won’t be able to go along to drop them off at the airport. When Matthew had left for the playoffs, Emma had offered you her spot in the car. You’d told her that she didn’t have to, but she’d assured you she wanted it that way. She has to go along this time, so the car is already overpacked. Besides, you have to work that morning anyway.
You still show up at the Tkachuks’ beforehand, so early that the sun hasn’t made an appearance yet. Matthew had forgotten to pack his favorite sweater, of course. You fish it out from where it had fallen under his bed, straightening up to hold it out to him. He thanks you, deciding to wear it for the flight instead of shoving it into one of his bags. It looks good on him. Cozy.
Brady and Emma are double checking their room as well, one door down from you. Keith, Chantal, and Taryn are down in the living room, waiting as patiently as they’re capable of, which isn’t very much.
Being alone with Matthew used to be exciting, used to make your heart change its rhythm, used to start up a buzz under your skin. Now, it’s just… comfortable. Safe. Right.
When Matthew approaches you, crowding up into your space, you know exactly what he wants. The first time you’d kissed should have been the last. You’re too drawn to him, feel too much toward him, more than you should. More than he will ever return. The two of you haven’t discussed exactly what you’re doing here, but it’s clearly meant to be casual. Matthew isn’t typically the kind to shy away from voicing what he wants, and he hasn’t spoken up to define anything.
Is that what you want? You’re not sure. Making out like teenagers for months has been nice, has satisfied a part of you. But only a part.
You’re avoiding thinking about what you want, too afraid of what you’ll find. Some part of you, buried deep inside, hidden behind a recently built wall, already knows. If you allow yourself to acknowledge it, this will end badly. If you allow yourself to want, you’ll destroy yourself in the process.
The kisses he lays on your lips stay sweet, gentle presses, just a tease of tongue here and there. His arms are wrapped around you, resting on your shoulders, while your hands rest on his hips. You haven’t progressed past kissing, and you’re not sure if he wants anything beyond this. You’ll take what you can get.
Keith calls up the stairs for you to hurry up, lest the boys miss their flights. Matthew leaves one last peck on your lips, just as he always does before you part. You glance around his room a final time, making sure everything is packed. You help him bring his bags downstairs, help him and Emma get their things outside and into the car. You’ll have to go home as soon as they depart, and you’re actually a little grateful that you have work to distract you from the first hours of missing them.
As per usual, Emma is the first to hug you. You squeeze tight so that you can lift her off of her feet for a second, just to make her laugh. Brady grabs you next, as if both of them know that Matthew wants to be last. Brady wiggles you side to side, planting a kiss on the top of your head. You headbutt his shoulder, then kiss the same spot you’d hit. He says how much he’ll miss you, something he always reiterates for a few days before he leaves. You return the sentiment honestly, earnestly. When he pulls back, you punch his chest lightly, and he returns the gesture.
Matthew steps up and opens his arms, and you step into them easily. He doesn’t squeeze too hard, just holds you close, hand cupping the back of your neck, calming your anxiety and dulling the sharp edge of your pain.
“Gonna miss you so much, sweet girl,” he whispers into your hair, just loud enough for you to hear. You try to swallow the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat.
“Miss you already,” you reply, a little uneven, a little raw, “Can’t wait to see you again.” He places a kiss on your head as Brady had, but his lips linger, hesitant to let go. But he does let go.
They all wave as they drive off, Brady, Emma, Matthew, and Taryn all crammed into the back seat. You wave back, watching the car go, staring down the street even after the car turns and disappears.
Time to work, you suppose.
July, 2023
Art has never frustrated you so much in your life.
When you were young, the struggle and annoyance came from trying to get things just right, though they were above your skill level. As a teenager, it was due to the struggle of developing your own unique style. In college, it was not having the energy to paint most days, falling asleep at the easel others.
For the past month, the art has been flowing. You’ve been painting most every day, the ideas coming easily, creating almost a compulsion that you can’t resist. It’s only satisfied when the painting is complete. There are a couple dozen or so canvases scattered around your apartment to dry, the most you’ve ever produced in a single month. But the frustration– the frustration comes from the fact that all of your ideas are about him. All of your paintings are moments with him, things he’d said, how you’d felt, how you’d hoped he felt.
There’s a feeling inside of you, as if you’re right on the edge of catharsis, as if you paint just one more thing, you’ll be able to let it all go. That’s your motivation for everything you’ve been making, just desperately searching for the release that will save you from the pain. At this point, you’re not sure it will ever come.
You’re working on a bigger canvas, the biggest you’ve used in years. You’re glad your current job allowed you to move into a bigger apartment, because you surely wouldn’t have been able to fit something like this in your old shoebox, packed so full of your things that you’d barely had space for an 11x14. You have to stand to reach the upper portion, swiping a brighter red over the dark red base. You don’t want it to be about him. It is anyway.
The show at the gallery is rapidly approaching, only a month away. You’ve been working with the curator to decide which pieces to use, filing through years of work. So far, everything that she’s found compelling has been about him. Things you’ve made recently, things you made years ago when things were still good. One day, you’ll get over this. But not today. Today still just hurts.
June, 2021
With neither of the boys making the playoffs, they’d come home earlier than usual this year. Sadly, Brady is pretty used to it by now, usually coming home around this time anyway. You’re used to getting a few weeks with Brady and Emma before Matthew comes home, but you don’t have that this year.
While Brady sulks for about two days when he gets home, Matthew is far more upset. The Flames had made the playoffs for the last couple years, and he was getting used to being a contender. So not even getting a chance at it this year clearly stung. He moped around for a week or two, face tight and arms crossed over his chest most of the time. The only time he let his arms down, let his guard down, is when the two of you were alone.
You’d comforted him through the couple weeks of upset, even staying the night a few times. It wasn’t intentional, you’d just stayed so late that you fell asleep, and Matthew didn’t have the heart to wake you. You have to get up early to get home for work, so you’d snuck your way out of the house before anyone else had woken. You’re not sure how Keith and Chantal would have felt about you staying the night in Matthew’s bed, but you know what they would have thought was going on, and you didn’t want to put yourself or Matthew in that position.
Once he’d relaxed, taken a deep breath and accepted defeat, he went back to being his regular happy, seemingly aloof self. You’re grateful for it, not a fan of seeing him upset and always wanting to help him through and cheer him up.
June had come kindly, bringing along more sun and nicer weather. You and Matthew had resumed your walks in the park, and the whole group of you spend about as much time outside as you do in the den. Things with Matthew had picked up where they left off in January, him pulling you into a secluded area any time he could get you alone, kissing you senseless. You’d missed the feeling of his lips, of his body pressed to yours.
Tonight is one of the more rare nights where Matthew comes to your apartment, instead of you going to his parents’ house. You’ve offered to make dinner and follow it up with movies. You’re already on the couch, your dirty dishes abandoned on the coffee table. You’re laying on your side, Matthew spooned up against your back, your knees hanging off of the couch with the way they’re bent to accommodate Matthew’s too-long legs. You’re warm and comfortable, enjoying the feeling of safety that he brings, something you’ve very rarely felt in your life before.
The movie is good, but you’ve found that being in Matthew’s arms makes you sleepy, so you’re having a hard time focusing. You manage to mostly follow it, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn when the credits start to roll.
You feel Matthew place a kiss on the back of your neck without comment. Then he’s moving you, rearranging your bodies carefully until you’re on your back, Matthew staring down at you from his position straddling your thigh. The way he’s looking at you is intense, somehow simultaneously fond and hungry. It wakes you up almost instantly, and you reach out to rest your hands on his thighs.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, reverently. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it feels different now. Maybe it’s the position you’re in, maybe the way he’s looking down at you as if he wants you, as if he–
He takes your hands in his own, bending down as he brings them up to cradle his cheeks. You run your thumbs across his high cheekbones, tilt his head up a little by the jaw as his eyes slide shut. You press your fingers into the soft spot behind his jaw, under his ears, pull him down, down, down.
Kissing him feels as easy as breathing. Guiding his head this way and that to get a better angle, pressing your lips together over and over, longer each time, deeper. Matthew has one hand on the arm of the couch to hold himself up, the other wrapped loosely around your wrist. He’s not trying to move you or take control, just holding on as if he needs something to ground him. You press your thumbs into the hollows of his cheeks, feeling the solid wall of his teeth under the skin. His mouth drops open and he lets out a soft sound. You press your thumbs in harder, between the new gap between his upper and lower teeth, testing how far you can push from the outside.
He squeezes your wrist once and you release the pressure. His mouth stays open, lips wet and shining. He opens his eyes halfway, as if his eyelids are too heavy to get all the way up, eyes hazy and unfocused.
Again, he squeezes your wrist. He’s suddenly standing, using his grip to guide you up as well. He immediately crowds up against you, as if being more than an inch away will kill him. His eyes have managed to refocus, but there’s still a dreamy look in them.
He takes a step backward, using the hand that had instinctively gone to the back of your neck to bring you with him. He kisses you, lingering. He takes another step back, gives you another kiss. He rounds the end of the couch and you realize where he’s leading you, kind of impressed that he can find his way to the bedroom without even looking.
Of course, your heart is a frantic mouse scurrying around your chest, thumping hard like you’re a prey animal facing down a predator. But as much as it freaks out in the cage of your chest, there’s no panic in your head. Being with Matthew calms your mind, keeps your hands from trembling, feels so right that you can’t find a reason for the anxiety that used to plague you around him.
He stops you halfway between the door and the bed, pulling back a couple inches to stare down at you. You’re hesitant to put a name to the look on his face, not sure if reverent is being dramatic.
You flatten your palms against the front of his shoulders, shoving him gently, bullying him toward the bed. He allows it for a moment, but stops after a few steps. He takes your hands in his own, brings them to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. You try to swallow down the desire that grows inside of you, threatening to spill out. He holds your hands close to his face, enough that you can feel his lips move when he speaks.
“You don’t have to be in control, sweet girl,” he says, lays another kiss on the bump of your right middle finger, looks deep into your eyes with such adoration you feel ready to split at the seams.
“Let me take care of you,” he says. The part of you that’s spent your entire life with a fist clenched desperately around any sense of control that it could find, for the first time, relinquishes its hold. And Matthew does, indeed, take care of you.
February, 2022
It’s your first time in Vegas, and the atmosphere is electric. There are hockey fans everywhere, plenty of people wearing jerseys as they explore the strip. Everything is so big, so bright, so fancy. As exciting as it is to be here, it makes you feel a little off, a little like you don’t belong. It reminds you of the first time you’d been to the Tkachuks’ house, amazed at how different everything is from the way you grew up.
Each player was supposed to be allotted two tickets, but they had allowed Brady to take additional tickets for his family, considering Matthew is his brother, in addition to how well-known and beloved Keith is. He’d managed to get Emma included as well, luckily.
You weren’t sure how he did it, but Brady had gotten another player to give one of his tickets so that you could come. Apparently the guy’s family couldn’t make the trip, and he only had one friend that he really wanted to bring. He won’t tell you who it was, but the way that Timo Meier winks at you as he passes the stands gives you an idea. You weren’t aware that the two talked, but there’s always the possibility that he had just gone around and asked everyone. The idea makes something bloom in your chest, as if you could love Brady more than you already do. You’ll have to find a way to thank Timo some time.
The skills competitions are fun, though Brady doesn’t win anything. It’s nice to see the players relaxing and having fun, a well-deserved break from the stress of the season.
You all go out to an early meal before the games the next day. You don’t realize until you arrive that Jack Hughes and his family were joining you, and you trip over your own feet when you see them waiting for you. You’re a huge fan of Jack’s, but more than that, Ellen Weinberg-Hughes is an icon. You stumble with your words when you greet her, shaking her hand and screaming silently in your head. With how the boys are looking at you as you do so, they obviously anticipated your reaction and are incredibly satisfied with themselves.
For the meal, you’re sat between Matthew and Jack. You’re grateful that Matthew is next to you, needing his calming presence as you meet some of your favorite players. The families are friendly with each other, the parents catching up on the news of each others’ lives, the children doing the same in separate conversations.
You spend most of the dinner talking to Jack, Quinn, and Matthew. They tell you all sorts of things, including embarrassing stories about Matthew that you weren’t privy to. You grin at Matthew every time they share one, absolutely intending to tease him about it later. This seems to be what the Hughes boys want, eager to give you more ammunition. Matthew buries his face in his hands at one particularly humiliating story, even as he shakes gently with quiet laughter. When he emerges and sits back up, you take a chance, placing your hand on his thigh. You squeeze once, trying to reassure him. He does his best to not react, but he also rests his hand on top of yours under the table.
“So you’re a painter, right?” Quinn asks at one point, curiosity evident in his perpetually sleepy eyes.
“Yeah,” you confirm, asking “How did you know?” You’d told them about your official job, but you hadn’t mentioned being a traditional artist in addition to a graphic designer. Jack turns a smug smile on you.
“Matthew talks about you a lot,” he says, pleased with himself. You look to Matthew just in time to see his face flush.
“Shut up,” he says to Jack, which only makes him smile wider. Jack’s attitude rubs off on you a little, and you give Matthew a delighted smile.
“How much is a lot?” you ask Jack, feeling Matthew dig his fingertips into your knuckles.
“Like, a lot,” Jack replies, Quinn nodding from his other side. You look back to Matthew, who looks like he wants to crawl under the table and hide.
“I talk about him a lot, too,” you say. That makes Matthew look at you again, bright eyes nearly sparkling in the restaurant’s dim lighting. His expression shifts, a small, grateful smile scrunching his eyes up the slightest bit.
After dinner, you all make your way to the arena. Brady and Jack left a while before the rest of you, needing to arrive in time to get dressed and likely do some more media. Before he’d left, Jack had requested your phone, creating a contact for himself and inputting his number. As he dud, you turned your face away, toward Matthew, opening your mouth wide as if you’re screaming. He looked amused at it, but there’s a sharp edge there. Quinn took the phone next, doing the same thing. You squeezed Matthew’s thigh again, and his expression softened. You’ve been following the Hughes brothers since they were in Juniors, and having them like you enough to want to keep in touch– you can only describe the feeling as elation.
The lines are out the door at the arena, and a few people catch the boys to request photos before you can get to the special entrance for players’ guests. They’re all very kind and courteous about it, taking a few pictures with people, finding a way to move through the crowd even as they do so. You probably should have come a different way, or maybe gotten there earlier, but as long as the boys don’t mind, you don’t either.
The seats are good, the second row of the first balcony. It seems to be the section that they put all of the family and friends, people milling around and chatting with each other. You spot Johnny’s parents a couple rows away, the only people around that you’ve met before. You wave to them and they return the gesture. They make their way down to your seats, greeting each of you in turn. They start chatting with Keith and Chantal, so you continue talking to Taryn and Emma.
The games are great, surprisingly fast. The Atlantic division plays a great game again Central, despite losing by 3. You still can’t help being proud of Brady. You’ve been next to him since his first season, and you’ve loved getting to watch him grow and improve. As long as he’s in the world, you’re going to be proud of him.
The final is awesome too, and you jump up to cheer when Jack scores in the first. When the Metropolitan wins, you high-five Taryn, glad that Jack could win when Brady couldn’t. Not a bad consolation prize.
The group hangs around for a while after, and you get to meet a bunch of new people. Everyone is so nice, making you feel welcome, feel like you belong. When you finally start up the stairs to leave, Johnny’s mom Jane stops you for a second. She pinches your jersey and gives you a sly smile.
“Just a family friend?” she asks, not a question but a suggestion. A few years back, Matthew had given you one of his jerseys to wear to a game, and you’ve worn it tonight, despite him not playing. You realize now how it could be interpreted, ducking your head for a second to smile at the floor, before looking back up to Jane.
“Just a family friend,” you say, firm and definitive. She holds your gaze for a moment, looks behind her at Matthew, who’s waiting patiently a few steps up. He’s looking at you, that soft look he gives you sometimes. After a second, he smiles brightly at Jane. She waves and turns back to you.
“We’ll see,” she says. She pats your shoulder twice before making her own way up the stairs with Guy. Once you process the statement, you shake your head and make your way up to Matthew.
“What was that?” he asks as you enter the corridor. There’s no way you can tell him the truth, and honestly, you’re not sure what the fuck that was either. You just shrug at him, continuing your way out of the arena.
The comment sticks with you, no matter how you try to brush it off. Johnny is Matthew’s best friend, and you’ve met Jane a few times before. If it had been a stranger, you would’ve dismissed it outright. But to hear it from someone who actually knows the two of you? That’s harder to let go.
July, 2023
Laurel, the curator for the gallery hosting your show, is a lovely woman. She’s also very, very good at her job. You’ve been to countless shows at this gallery, and they’re always perfectly compiled, excellently arranged. You’ve brought her your most recent paintings today, which makes you glad that you have a car, because hauling them through the city would be a nightmare.
The only problem you have with Laurel is that she seems to see straight through you. You’re not used to someone looking past the professional figure you present, let alone someone seeing every part of you that you put into your art.
She’s staring at your offerings, examining every last detail. She’s already chosen about half of the pieces that will be displayed, creating a theme with your relatively impressionist style. She moves one canvas to the side, away from the others. She takes an extra few minutes to consider one of them, the largest one. It just finished drying yesterday. Having to see it every day as you passed it in the living room has been torture.
“Everything except that one,” she says, gesturing to the one she’d set aside. If she wants all of these, that’s likely going to be everything for the show. With everything else she’s chosen, this is all they have the wall space for, considering the way that you’ve seen Laurel arrange the art in previous shows you’d attended.
“That one is the centerpiece,” she adds, hand against her cheek as she continues staring at the large canvas. You swallow hard. Of course. Of course every painting she likes is about him. Of course the centerpiece will be him. No matter what you do, you’ll never escape him.
She asks a bit about your inspiration and motivation for the piece, and you give her vague answers that sound more philosophical than the real thing. The two of you discuss some of the minutiae of the show, trying to get everything finalized ahead of time. There’s less than a month left, and your excitement is starting to pair itself with dread.
When you get home, you go straight to your bedroom and throw yourself face first onto your mattress. You bury your face in a pillow, finally letting out the scream that’s been stuck in your throat since you learned of Tessa’s existence. It helps.
You make and have dinner, barely aware of what you’re eating. At least you can eat without getting nauseous now. You don’t feel like watching TV, probably wouldn’t be able to pay attention to a real show right now. Instead, you sit on your bed, leaning back against the headboard. You scroll social media mindlessly for a while, the ghost of Matthew next to you, his invisible arm pressed against yours.
February, 2022
Despite your better judgment, the first time you and Matthew had slept together wasn’t the last, either. It had continued through last summer, then again when he’d come to play the Blues. Now you’re in Calgary, in Matthew’s apartment for the first time, in his bed again.
A lot of people idolize the first time they sleep with someone, comparing every subsequent time to the first and often coming out disappointed. You had no reason to do so, because the sex only got better over time. As you and Matthew learned each other’s bodies, figured out what got the best reactions, the sex kept improving. Even if you wanted to fall back on your morals and resist him out of respect for Brady, you know you couldn’t stay away for long. It’s irresistible.
And it’s not just the sex. It’s the way he holds you after, lays on his back so that you can rest your head on his chest. It’s the way his breath ruffles your hair as you fall asleep together. It’s the things he says to you.
It’s the nights like this.
You’re in Matthew’s bedroom, the dark dead of night offering only the moon to light the room. Your head is on Matthew’s chest, his arm around you to keep you close, as if you would ever willingly leave. Your breathing had returned to normal a while ago, your body cooling off and beginning to recover from the rush of feeling. Matthew kisses the top of your head every so often, and you return the sentiment by tilting your head to lay kisses against his sternum.
“I wish I could keep you here forever,” he says, so hushed that you almost miss it. He’s always so quiet when he talks like this, as if he’s afraid to say it. He says these kinds of things anyway, but never above a whisper, not willing to share the vulnerability with anyone but you. Again, you press your lips into his skin.
“I wish I could stay here forever,” you reply. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To stay here, with him. No need to be quiet so as not to wake his family, no having to sneak out in the morning, no work to keep you away. Just laying here, together.
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he says. There’s desire in his voice, of course, but also earnesty, like he really means it. Part of you would like to believe that he does, but another part knows how important it is to not get caught up in the fantasy. It’s easier said than done.
“Not any of the other girls you’ve had?” you ask. You’d meant for it to come out teasing, but your honest curiosity wins out. Then there’s a hand on your chin, fingers gently guiding your head up until you’re looking Matthew in the eye. It’s not exactly comfortable to crane your neck like this, so you prop yourself up on one forearm, resting the other hand where your head had been as you stare down at him.
“Never,” he replies, insistent. He looks so serious, sounds so sincere. You don’t say anything, can’t think of anything. There’s something in the wide roundness of his eyes that speaks to you, pulls you in, encourages you to search deeper. It takes a second to figure out what it is that’s hiding in there, but… it’s fear.
“I never want this with anyone else,” he says, tangling his fingers with yours over his racing heart. There’s a question you want to ask, something you’ve been wanting to ask for a while, but the fear in him has mirrored itself within you. You should just shut up, keep it to yourself. The words come out before you can convince yourself to stay quiet.
“What is this?” you ask. You’re not sure what answer you’re expecting, but you know which one you’re hoping for. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and for the first time, you don’t divert your gaze to admire the sheen of them, unable to look away from his eyes.
“I don’t know,” he says, pauses, presses your entwined hands harder to his chest, “But I never want to give it up.”
May, 2022
Again, Matthew is the second to come home. Brady returned almost a month before in April, the Senators not in the playoffs, as usual. You feel bad sometimes, because Brady is genuinely a great player, but his team has just struggled to gel together. Even through all of their trials, Brady insists on keeping hope. He loves his teammates, and that’s what really matters to him.
Matthew, on the other hand, isn’t so great at dealing with failure. The Flames make it to the second round, which is an achievement all on its own. But after winning Game 1, they’d lost four in a row and been knocked out. It feels to Matthew almost like they got swept, he explains over the phone after the final loss.
When he gets home, he once again spends a week sulking. You mimic what you’d done last year, though staying the night is intentional this time. So long as you sneak out before anyone wakes up, you’ll be fine.
On the eighth day, you tell Matthew for the hundredth time how proud of him you are. He shoots you a bittersweet smile and says that he’s proud of himself too, and you know he’s bouncing back. It doesn’t help that he’s been debating for months whether to re-sign with the Flames, an agonizing choice for him. He loves his boys, but he’s not sure he belongs there anymore. You’ve assured him that you’ll support him no matter what decision he makes. Johnny hits free agency next month, and if he moves, you’re not sure that Matthew will have the motivation to stay.
The next couple of weeks go by the same way that they always do, with you spending as much time with the Tkachuks as possible. At least, you think you’re doing a good job of acting like everything is the same as years past. No one knows about you and Matthew, and it seems like he wants to keep it that way. You like having this little secret life with him, getting to have him all to yourself. You’re okay with the way it is, you convince yourself.
June came quickly, having begun only four days after he’d returned. The weather improves, you and Matthew once again resume your walks in the park. You play yard games and watch trash TV with Brady and Emma. You help Chantal cook dinners, help Keith clean up afterward. Everything is back to the summer standard.
The day had been nice, sunny and warm. The light had turned the leaves of the trees golden during your walk this afternoon. The sun is long gone now. Nighttime has become your favorite part of the day, the only time you get to indulge in whatever it is that you and Matthew have. The only time you get to touch his skin, to hear the low sounds he can’t help but make, to feel his warmth against you, inside you.
It’s been some time since you’d finished, but you can’t quite fall asleep. Matthew is spooned up against your back, face buried in the nape of your neck. You’re not sure if he’s asleep or not, too distracted to bother trying to figure it out. You’ve been thinking about it since your visit to Calgary. Any time Matthew called, or texted, or even crossed your mind, you thought of it. It made your heart leap into your throat, your breath catching as you choked on it.
He doesn’t know what you’re doing together, what you are. He didn’t give the response you’d been hoping for, but he didn’t outright deny it either. Sometimes you think it would have been better if he had, if he’d said that it was just sex. Then you could start working on moving on. You wouldn’t have to lie awake at night, wondering.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his groggy voice making you startle and snapping you out of your head. You take a deep breath, debating yourself for a couple seconds before you decide.
“Nothing,” you reply, patting his forearm where it’s snaked around your waist, “Go back to sleep.” He takes a quick, deep breath, the air rushing out over your skin. You’re helpless to resist when he starts moving you. If you did put up a fight, push back against his hands, you know he would stop. But you’re tired.
“What’s wrong?” he asks again once you’re flipped to face him. He looks tired too, the exhaustion of the season still lingering. The moonlight paints his face in silver. It makes his skin shine, almost glowing in the darkness.
“I’m afraid,” you say. You wish he hadn’t turned you around. It would be easier to speak it into the wall than it is to say to his face. You say it anyway, watching his brow furrow, admiring the way the silver light adds contrast to the wrinkles the expression creates.
“Of what?” he asks. You could make something up. Telling him that you’re afraid of monsters under the bed would be less embarrassing. You’ve never been very good at lying to him.
“The day you move on,” you whisper, invisible pressure on your throat making the words come out tight and unsteady. The surprise on his face surprises you in return. He’d refused to put words or labels to whatever this is, of course you would think that he’s going to leave eventually. You’d have to be an idiot to think that he means it when he says forever.
“I won’t,” he says, resolute. You can only manage a half-smile for him.
“You’re not the first man to say that,” you reply. He reaches up and cradles your cheek in his wide palm, warmth seeping into your skin.
“But I’m the first one to mean it,” he says. You close your eyes. They begin to prickle at the corners, but you refuse to cry about any of this. He’s so adamant, so steadfast in his insistence. You try to remind yourself of what this isn’t, what it will never be, but you’ve never trusted someone the way you trust him, and you can’t help believing him anyway.
August, 2023
You hadn’t anticipated this happening, let alone how hard it would be, but finally, finally it’s a little bit easier.
You’re not over Matthew, not by a long shot. It’s going to take months, years. It may never happen, who knows? As long as you can cope with it, can keep your friends around, that’s all that matters.
The first half of the day was spent with both boys and their girls. You didn’t have to curl up so tightly on your chair, didn’t have to force words out so they didn’t think anything was wrong. Conversation was relatively easy, topics changing and flowing naturally. You’d smiled, laughed, and a couple of times you actually meant it.
Matthew had apparently planned a date for Tessa and himself, so they excuse themselves in the late afternoon. Brady, Emma, and you stick around the den for a bit, continuing to talk. Eventually, Emma stands, stretching dramatically.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggests. You’ve spent too much time lately sitting at an easel or curled up in bed, and a walk sounds like a great idea.
You expect it this time when Brady takes the three of you to the same park. It’s easier when you’re not blindsided by it, and you have the lovely memory of the last time you were here with the two to focus on, instead of Matthew. You walk for a while, music playing softly from Emma’s phone, tucked in her back pocket. Once you’re deep into the wooded area of the park, she stops dead in her tracks. You follow suit, spinning around to shoot her an inquisitive look. She takes the two steps forward to close the space between you two, grabbing you by the shoulders and walking you backward. You stumble, trying to look behind yourself to keep from falling. She pushes until the backs of your knees hit a bench on the side of the pathway and you fall onto it. You gape up at her, befuddled by the behavior and the way her arms are crossed over her chest.
“What’s going on,” she demands, not a question. You furrow your brow, at a loss for words. You know what she’s talking about, and you know that she knows that you know. But why would she wait until the day that it starts to fade, the day that you can finally think of something else, to ask you about it?
“C’mon, Y/N,” Brady says, plopping down on the bench next to you, “We know something’s wrong.” You had accepted the possibility of this back in June, but you weren’t expecting it to take almost three months for it to happen.
Your first instinct is that you absolutely can’t tell them. You’ve been keeping this secret for years, and if Matthew has his way, you’ll keep it forever. If Matthew gets his way, you repeat in your head. That’s it, isn’t it? All this time, you’ve been so focused on what Matthew wants that you ignored your own wanting. What do you want?
You want to tell someone, to finally have this horrid pain out in the open instead of keeping it caged up around your heart. You want your best friend and his wife to hug you. You want them to understand.
“Matthew,” the name tumbles out, and you don’t want to stop it. Brady and Emma are still looking at you, waiting for anything you want to tell them. God, Brady is your goddamn best friend and you’d convinced yourself that you couldn’t tell him something? That there was anything on this earth that he would shun you for?
It all comes spilling out in a rush. Everything from the first time you’d met him. Hell, some information that isn’t strictly necessary, but they don’t interrupt you or complain, so you venture on. It takes long enough to recount that Emma sits on the metal armrest of the bench. Brady’s holding one of your hands in his lap, Emma taking the other to do the same.
You’d promised yourself more than once that you wouldn’t cry about this, but you don’t really care enough to stop yourself now. The tears come two-thirds of the way through, falling silently as you recount some of the things Matthew had told you, the things he’d promised you. You’re not outright sobbing, so you manage to power through the rest of the story. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut by the end, like closing them will block out the memories.
It takes a couple of minutes for the tears to stop. The three of you let the silence hang as you wait for it, nothing but the leaves rustling in the trees, something scurrying in the bushes. When you can safely open your eyes to face the world again, you look over to Brady. He looks devastated.
You watch his evolving emotions morph the expression on his face, from heartbreak to anger and back again. The anger makes your heart skip a beat, suddenly afraid that maybe the whole “I slept with your brother” thing will be a problem after all.
“Do you want me to kick his ass?” he asks, startling a laugh out of you. You know he’s dead serious, too. Part of you thinks it might be cathartic to see Matthew get beat up by his little brother, but your soft heart doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. After everything he’s done to you, you still don’t want him to have to feel even a fraction of the pain you do.
February, 2023
This year, the boys don’t have to bribe anyone else to get you to the All Star Game. Each of them is allotted two tickets as per usual, but Taryn is too busy with school to come. She’d aimed a satisfied smirk at Matthew through the camera of her phone, saying guess you’ll have to take that one along as her eyes darted slightly to the left, clearly looking at where you were on the screen.
Since your work is remote, you’ve brought along your laptop. You spend the morning of the skills competition working, still averse to using your PTO if it’s not completely necessary. The boys have to do media, so there’s no one around to bother or distract you. You kind of wish there were.
The special skills competitions are as fun this year as they were last. You especially love Sidney Crosby in the dunk tank, seemingly having the time of his life. You may not know him personally, only having met him once in passing, but after everything he’s been through, you think he deserves some carefree fun.
The sun has set by time you emerge from the arena after the regular skills competitions. The days are shorter at this time of year, even in Florida. It is warmer than St. Louis, though, which you’re grateful for.
Jack is in the competition again this year, so you meet up with the Weinberg-Hugheses again that night. You’ve gotten much closer with Jack and Quinn over the past year, building relationships on texts and calls and dinners when they play the Blues. Luke has tagged along this time, and you get on with him just as well as his brothers.
Matthew shoots Jack a look when he slings an arm around you on the way back to your hotels after dinner, but Jack just grins at him. You’re still not sure what that’s all about, but you’re just going to stay out of it.
The games the next day are fantastic. You’ve never gotten to watch both of your boys win at once, and you love it. When the Atlantic wins the whole thing, you cheer so loudly your voice cracks. Emma laughs at you, but you just laugh along with her.
You stick around for a bit after the game again, Keith and Chantal mingling while Emma shows you the decorations she’s planning for the wedding on her phone. After a while, someone taps you on the shoulder from behind. You turn your head, immediately recognizing Jane. Johnny had made it again this year with his new team, so it would make sense that she’s here too. You stand, reaching up to hug her in her elevated position.
“Matthew got you a new jersey?” she asks, referencing the All-Star jersey you’ve got on. You wish you could say that you bought it for yourself, but it had indeed been a gift from Matthew. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, so you act like it’s not, even though it is.
“Yeah, he’s a great friend,” you reply, shrugging, “He likes to take care of me.” The thing about Jane is that she’s not really a jerk. Sometimes the you-and-Matthew comments bother you, but she’s generally a very sweet woman.
“It’s good to have someone like that,” she says, smiling gently at you, “Matthew is a good boy.” Jane had been at enough Flames games for you to know her, and definitely enough for Matthew to become a pseudo-son to her. They don’t interact much anymore, save for when she pops up in the back of Johnny’s facetimes, but you know she still has a soft spot for him. You don’t blame her.
“He really is,” you agree, nodding. The two of you make some small talk, and you get some updates on Johnny’s new life on the Blue Jackets. You give her some updates on Matthew in return. After a bit, Guy shuffles up next to Jane, telling her that it’s time to go. She acknowledges him quickly, turning back to take one of your hands in her own.
“I know he takes care of you,” she says, patting the back of your hand with her second, “But you take care of that boy, too. Okay?” You just nod, smiling and bidding her goodbye. Her and Guy retreat up the steps and out of view. You’re not sure why she feels the need to say these things to you, and you’re not sure why you take them to heart.
You meet Matthew and Brady outside the player entrance, the boys immediately scooping up you and Emma, respectively. Matthew sweeps you off of your feet for a moment, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Once you’re free, you start to dip forward, realizing what you’re doing at the last second and changing track to make sure the kiss lands on his cheek.
He beams at you, and you’re absolutely certain that you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to make him smile.
April, 2023
The day Brady comes home is the best day of the year, you remind yourself for the thousandth time. You’re excited to see him, you are. The way your chest has felt rent open for days isn’t his fault in any way. You’re not going to make him pay for being the messenger.
Once you all get the couple home, you go upstairs with Brady and Emma to help them unpack. They don’t really need help, obviously, but it’s an excuse to spend time together. Brady talks a little about the season, but mostly focuses on his plans for the summer. He talks about wanting to go see G, maybe even take a trip out to visit Tim.
For the most part, you just fold clothes and listen. Eventually, they switch to the topic of the wedding, Emma showing you even more pictures. She’d asked you to be a bridesmaid forever ago, so you’ve already seen most of it, had even helped her pick half of it out, but you’re never going to squash her excitement.
Exhausted from their travel, the two make their way down to the den after everything is put away, collapsing onto the couch. You curl up in your chair, allowing the couple to choose what you watch. They pick something or another, nothing that you can pay attention to right now. Instead, you find yourself examining Brady, picking apart his features, finding all the things he shares with Matthew.
It’s the best day of the year, you remind yourself again. The light of the TV highlights Brady’s jawbone and your skin crawls.
August, 2023
The show is going exceptionally well, exceeding your expectations. The space is filled with strangers, friends, and even your brother and his family. There are critics and collectors, some that you’ve seen at other people’s shows, some that you don’t recognize. Everyone wants to talk to you, and you don’t get a spare moment to breathe for the first few hours.
When you do get a chance to exhale, the rich couple that had been occupying you finally walking away, you catch the color out of the corner of your eye. You’ve been all around the building all night, mingling and networking in equal measure. You hadn’t realized where you ended up until right this second. You turn to the piece, staring as if you’d never seen it before.
You don’t need to look over to see who steps up next to you a minute later.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Matthew says. It doesn’t feel like an accusation, though it is one. All you can do is sigh.
“What did you expect me to do?” you ask, not expecting an answer. You glance at his hands out of the corner of your eye, noticing the wine glass in one hand, water glass in the other. Without a word, Matthew holds the water out in your direction, still fixated on the painting. You take it, feeling odd that not only does Matthew know that you forget to drink enough water, but also that he’s still trying to take care of you.
“It’s me,” he says after a pause. You’re both facing the largest canvas, the centerpiece. Swirls of bright red spread across a crimson background, highlighted with orange, accented with a royal purple. There, in the center, are two comparatively small, even circles of icy blue.
“They’re all you. Or about you, at least,” you say, seeing no need to deny it any longer, “About us.” It’s obvious that Matthew hadn’t expected you to admit it outright, thrown off for a minute by the admission.
“Can we talk?” he asks as you take a sip of water.
“We’re talking right now,” you reply, feeling petty. It’s his turn to sigh. He sets his wine glass down on the nearest horizontal surface before returning to your side, facing you this time.
“Somewhere private,” he clarifies, pauses, “Please.” You may be mad at him, enraged, incensed, but you’ve never been able to deny him anything, and you still can’t, even now.
You shut the storage room door behind you, flicking on the light to chase away the darkness. Matthew has his hands shoved in his pockets, looking around as if there’s anything interesting in here. You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to nut up and look you in the face.
“Listen,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck but still not looking at you, “I know I should have gone about this better.” You snort. No shit. The sound finally brings Matthew’s gaze to meet your own.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Matthew says, motioning with his raised hand, “I didn’t think you’d care that much.” You can feel how incredulous your expression is, and you don’t even try to hide it.
“In what world would I not be upset?” you respond, “After everything?” You can hear yourself, know you sound like a bitter, jealous old ex, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and looks away again. When he looks back, there’s an almost pleading look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, more sincerely than the first time, “You shouldn’t have had to find out from Brady.” You avert your gaze, working your jaw for a second before you raise your chin and square your shoulders.
“No,” you agree, “I shouldn’t have.”
“I’m sorry I stopped talking to you,” he says, motioning helplessly with his hands, “You have to know how hard that was.” You shake your head, almost disgusted.
“Imagine how hard it was for me,” you reply. Your fingertips are digging into your own arm, fingernails biting into the skin. The fact that he would stand here and imply that this was a struggle for him– as if he expects you to offer sympathy– makes your stomach churn. The guilt in his expression makes you sickly satisfied.
“Listen,” he leads with that word again, as if he has any right to ask it of you, “I didn’t want to upset her. You know how some girls are.” You do know. And it’s still not an excuse.
“You didn’t tell her about me,” you say, anger and hurt straining your voice, “You said that I was just Brady’s best friend. You didn’t even tell her what we had.” You want to scream it at him, just want to scream in general. Maybe if you did, if you released your tight grip on control in a different way than you had with him, maybe it would make him understand.
“What did we have?” he asks. His voice is quiet, just as yours had been when you’d brought up the topic all those months ago.
“I don’t know,” you say, turning his own words back on him. It’s true, anyway. You’ve never known what any of this was. You’d only known what you wanted it to be, what you stupidly, fruitlessly hoped for.
“We never dated,” he replies, voice still low but seemingly not bothered by the uncertainty, “We never called it a relationship. You were never my girlfriend.” It’s a simple fact. It tears your heart out of your chest.
“Just because we didn’t name it doesn’t mean it was nothing,” you insist, squeezing your eyes shut for a second to push down the urge to cry before admitting, “I stopped dating.” He looks even guiltier at that, but it doesn’t soothe anything in you.
“I didn’t look at another man,” you continue, embarrassed and ashamed but unable to let him continue through life without knowing, “I didn’t even want to look at anyone else.” The shame makes the fiery anger burn brighter.
“I gave you three years of my fucking life,” you say, voice raising just enough to make Matthew flinch. You keep it reigned in enough that no one outside will hear, not interested in sharing this conversation with anyone else, especially not potential business contacts. The flames engulf your chest, lick up at your throat, threaten to consume you.
“I never asked you to do that,” Matthew replies, solemn. Your jaw drops, just half an inch, enough to part your lips as your breath hitches. He never asked. He never fucking–
“You–” you begin, breath catching in your throat as your eyes burn with tears you refuse to let escape, “Everything you said, everything you did, and you expected what? For me to just move on?” Your nails are digging so deeply into your biceps that you’re surprised they haven’t drawn blood. Matthew doesn’t respond right away, and you can’t tamp down the impulse to be petty.
“But I guess that’s what you did, huh?” you jab. Matthew shuts his eyes tightly, fists clenching like he wants to fight. It should be threatening, but you’ve always known that he would never dream of laying a finger on you in violence. But then again, you’d thought you knew a lot of things about him.
“Why do you care?” he asks, shoulders tense as he opens his eyes to stare you down, “You don’t even want me.” That shocks a laugh out of you, so completely ridiculous that you can’t help it.
“That’s the most fucked up part– I do want you,” you respond, simultaneously an answer and an admission. His brow furrows as he continues looking at you, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“Did you seriously think I didn’t?” you ask, more of a demand, slightly offended because, “Do you think I said all those things for fun? For shits and giggles?” You can’t read his expression, don’t even bother trying. He can feel whatever he wants. That’s not your concern anymore. All you care about is the cold spreading through you, crawling up from the tips of your fingers, freezing your arms, creeping into your chest and beginning to extinguish your rage.
“I loved you, dickhead,” you continue, the words spilling out of you starting to sound pathetic, no matter how hard you’re trying to hold on to the anger, putting the last grasp of it into the words, “Stupid fucking idiot asshole, I loved you.” Matthew gapes at you, hands going lax at his sides. His jaw moves as if to say something, but nothing comes out.
“I loved you and you threw me away like garbage, and didn’t even have the balls to tell me yourself,” you force the sentence out, feeling like you’re choking on every syllable. Matthew’s breathing stutters. You’re expecting annoyance, irritation, maybe even shame or guilt. You’re not expecting his wide eyes, his eyebrows turned up in the middle, his slack jaw.
“You loved me?” he finally asks after a few agonizingly long seconds of silence. There’s something in his voice that you tell yourself you don’t care to analyze.
“Of course I did. How could I not?” you say, huffing as you look upwards, needing a momentary break from this staring contest, “The pathetic part, the part that makes me hate myself, is that I still do.” It’s physically painful to say, no matter that the hurt is psychosomatic. You’ve spent the last few minutes breaking open your ribcage, one bone at a time, revealing to him the space you’d made for him inside of yourself.
“You love me?” he asks, so dumbfounded that he’s repeating himself.
“Yes, Matthew,” you say, facing up to the dread inside of you, the one fact you’ve been struggling with the most since you’d found out the news.
“And I’m terrified. Because I’ve always loved you,” you pour out, barely able to hold yourself together as you meet his eyes, “And I’m afraid that I always will.” There’s not even space for half of a breath before Matthew speaks.
“Please do,” he says. His hands are open, palms facing your direction, as if pleading.
“What?” you ask.
“I didn’t know,” he says, and apparently he’s decided it’s his turn to reveal himself, “I was surprised that you wanted anything to do with me at all. But then you kissed me, and I spent the next three years waiting for you to leave.” The confusion comes over you so quickly that it almost masks the hurt.
“Why would I leave?” you ask. There’s been nothing subtle about your feelings. You’ve told him that he’s the only one you want, that you want to spend the rest of your life by his side, that he’ll always be the only one. How could he hear all of that and think that you would ever leave?
“Because you’re smart and kind and funny and hardworking–” he starts listing off.
“Tessa is all of those things too,” you cut him off. It doesn’t come out as resentful as you would’ve expected a sentence like that to. As you’ve told Terri, you really have nothing against Tessa. Besides, she really is everything he’s saying.
“But she’s not you,” his response comes immediately, emphatically, “I don’t want just anyone like that; I want you, and you happen to be that way.” You’re stunned into silence.
“It’s not the traits, it’s you,” he says, insistent, like he’s trying to convince you of your own worth, “And I kept waiting for you to find someone else, someone who wasn’t hotheaded and self-centered and–” He stops himself, swallowing so hard you can see his throat stutter under the thin skin of his neck.
“Someone better,” he finishes. The thing is that Matthew doesn’t have low self-esteem. He knows he’s a catch, and yet… And yet, he’s standing here, admitting that he’d still thought of you as being so far above him that you could never want him. And it’s not that there isn’t probably someone out there better than him–
“I never wanted someone better,” you tell him, voice almost a whisper. Growing up, you’d created this picture of the perfect man, told yourself that you’d find him one day, would never settle for less. Then you’d met Matthew, and he was nothing like that imaginary ideal. He was flawed; he was real. And you couldn’t help but love him for it.
“And I never wanted anyone else,” he replies, his own voice hushed to match yours, but no less certain, “I still don’t.” Three months ago, you would’ve given anything to hear that. But things are different now.
“I thought that if I went and found someone like you, someone close enough, that I could fall for them too,” he confesses, shame making his face tense, “I thought that if I stopped talking to you, if I kept my distance, that I could get over you.” A fraction of the anger buds in your chest at the idea.
“So you’re using Tessa,” you accuse, instantly offended on her behalf.
“No!” Matthew denies emphatically, pauses, shakes his head, “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” If he is using her, at least he seems ashamed about it. Something in his posture makes you think he isn’t, that he really thought he could love her.
“Look, she’s great. She’s amazing. She’s too good for me, too,” his shoulders have been hunched up to his ears, but they fall now, defeated, “She talks about that spark she felt when we met, the way she feels about me now, and I want, I really want to feel that way too. It would be easier if I could.” Believing this entire time that he truly loves her has been hell for you, but it’s still somehow worse to know that he doesn’t. That he did all of this, hurt you so deeply, for someone he doesn’t even love.
“As much as I’ve tried, I don’t. And I can’t,” he says, turning his gaze to the floor, “And if I’d ever thought that I had the slightest chance with you, I never would have dated her to begin with.” All these years, all those words, all the touches you’ve shared, and he’d still never taken you seriously. It’s not your fault, you know. But you realize now that for every time you’d indirectly confessed your feelings to him, he’d said the same things back. He’d returned every sentiment readily, easily. And as much as he’d apparently had the same idea as you, that the other could never love you back, you hadn’t seen it either. You’ve been just as ignorant of his feelings as he was of yours, just as deep in denial. And now there’s this rift between you, a deep chasm that keeps you apart, all for no reason.
“So, what now?” you ask. There’s nothing else to ask.
“What?” he seems genuinely confused.
“What now?” you repeat, too tired to be upset anymore, “You break her heart? Or do you keep pretending? Fake your way into a wife and kids and a house in the suburbs?” His confusion persists, tongue darting out to wet his lip the way it always does when he’s anxious.
“I thought–” he shakes his head the tiniest bit, as if he can’t believe what’s happening, “I mean, I love you. I want to be with you.” There’s a sadness sitting heavy in your chest, only getting deeper at his words.
“I love you too,” you say, tipping your head an inch to the right, perfectly aware of how melancholy your smile must be, “But you hurt me, and now you have to hurt her too. I thought you were better than this.” You’d thought the world of him. You don’t hate him now, could never force yourself to. But you are disappointed in how everything has played out.
“I thought you didn’t want better?” he says, not really a question. Your lips turn up another centimeter at that.
“Listen,” you say, turning the word back on him. You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. He stays quiet.
“The opportunity of a lifetime is on the other side of that door,” you gesture vaguely over your shoulder, then let your arms relax, your hands fall to your sides, “I don’t know what to do with any of–” you give another vague gesture, “--This.” The devastation is writ clear on his face, telegraphed by his posture, bared in the forefront of his miserably beautiful eyes.
“Out there?” you say, smile still in place, “I know exactly what I want. So I’m going to go get it.” you pause, take another deep breath, “And maybe you’ll be there tomorrow, and maybe you won’t.”
“I will,” he jumps in. You huff an almost-laugh.
“We can figure this all out later,” you say, sure a definite, “For now, I have to focus on the things that I’m sure of.” He nods, looks at the floor, raises his head and looks back at you.
“Did you used to be sure of me?” he asks, an uneven, shaky whisper.
“Yeah,” you say, your entire being feeling so heavy that you can barely hold yourself upright, “I used to be.”
September, 2023
While Brady had departed yesterday, Matthew doesn’t leave until tomorrow. It took some internal debate, but you’ve decided not to go along to drop him off at the airport. His family will think it’s weird if he doesn’t hug you, and you’re not sure if you can handle him touching you yet.
You’re curled up on the couch with a book, letting yourself get lost in the story. A knock comes on the door and you startle. You mark your page and stand, rounding the couch to open the door. When you do, Matthew is standing there.
“Hey,” he greets, giving you the same bittersweet smile you’ve become accustomed to over the past few weeks. You’d given him a key to your apartment right after you’d moved, but you appreciate him not using it right now. You welcome him in with a gesture of your hand, turning to lead the way. You get four steps away before he speaks.
“I broke up with Tessa,” he blurts out. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but he doesn’t seem particularly sad either.
“Why?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, “You’re that sure that I’ll take you back?” The anger comes and goes as it pleases, and it’s starting to sneak through the space between your ribs.
“No,” Matthew says, looking so unbearably fond of you, “I think you’ll tell me to get fucked.” Some days you want to.
“Then why did you break up with her?” you ask. Part of you has been wondering if, despite everything he’d said, he would stay with her. You’re not sure you would have been able to keep the conversation to yourself if he had, but you would have at least tried.
“Because none of this is fair to her,” he answers, shrugging, “She deserves someone who feels the same way about her that she does them. Someone who’s obsessed with her. She doesn’t deserve to be settled for.” You examine his expression, his stance, and realize that he’s truly being honest. He genuinely wants the best for her.
“How’d she take it?” you can’t help but ask. It makes him grin down at the floor for a moment.
“Honestly?” he asks when he raises his head, “Not great. Could have been worse, though.” As much as you love Matthew, you would have been proud of Tessa if she had slapped him.
“Probably should’ve been worse,” you reply. He grins again, tilting his head as he admires your face.
“Probably,” he agrees. For long moments, you both stand still, eyes locked.
“What now?” you ask, the same question as a couple weeks ago. He shrugs again, but he doesn’t seem as miserable or desperate as he had at the gallery.
“I don’t know,” he replies, that same phrase that you’re still trying to make peace with, “I know what I want. Same thing I’ve wanted this entire time. So I guess it’s up to you.” After three years of him encouraging you to give up control, to let go and follow his lead, he’s handing you the reigns now. However this ends or continues is completely your decision.
“You leave tomorrow,” you say, though you’re both viscerally aware of the fact.
“Yeah,” he gives you the crooked smile that had captured you the first time you’d met, “Don’t suppose you want to come with me? The winter weather’s nicer in Florida.” You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head at him.
“If you’d asked me that last summer, I probably would’ve said yes,” you admit. You kind of expect him to react with sadness, but you prefer the hope that blooms on his face.
“Maybe I’ll ask you again next summer?” he suggests, offering you the option. At this point, you have no idea where your relationship will be at this time next year. You don’t know if you’ll even have a relationship, of any kind. But if he’s willing to try, so are you.
“Yeah,” you nod, smiling wider than you have in a long while, “Next summer.”
June, 2024
The Hughes brothers are a funny trio. Seeing Jack’s upbeat, outgoing energy bookended on each side by two reserved, perpetually exhausted brothers is always kind of funny. You’d run down the pavement from the Tkachuk’s door to the driveway when you’d seen Quinn climb out of the car’s driver seat, immediately sweeping him up in a hug. The boys had decided to road trip around this summer, so of course you’d strongly suggested that they visit you.
You help them haul their bags out of the trunk, taking Luke’s backpack in hand and insisting on carrying it in for him. The three of them had started teasing you the instant they saw that Matthew hadn’t come out with you.
“Come on, I heard him at the All Star game,” Jack pesters, voice taking a mocking edge as he croons, “Sweet girl.” You laugh brightly, stopping the careful steps you’re taking backwards up the pathway to the house.
“We weren’t dating, I swear,” you insist. Plenty of people over the years have accused you of dating Matthew, but at least he’s funny about it. He stops in front of you, lifting his chin and giving a shit-eating smile.
“Wait, weren’t?” he asks, “As in, past tense?” You feel heat begin to crawl up your face. You’d intended to tell them, of course, but not the second they got here.
“Yeah,” Matthew calls from behind you, and you twist around to watch him close the space between you, “Past tense.” Jack’s glee is overt, but you can see the little signs of happiness on the other two boys’ faces too. Matthew lines himself up against your back, wrapping his arms around you, the gaudy Cup ring on his finger glinting in the light.
“Hey, sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair. You can’t see him, but Jack’s smug face makes you sure that Matthew is staring straight at him. “My sweet girl,” Matthew says. It might be the best thing you’ve ever heard.
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dirtyvulture · 11 months
Text
Natasha Romanoff x GP!Beefy!Superpowered!Reader
18+ only, read at your own risk
Word count: 4408
Requested by 🍬 anon: I'm back indeed😌and I have a request to make, could you write R adopting a superdog and surprising Nat with it? Like the dog somehow saves R and they have no choice but to keep them and take care of it😌
*slides $20 under the table* could the dog be a corgi who is an absolute menace to all the avengers?
-🍬
AN: Corgis are very special to me, so of course I will write this. 🥺Also, I threw in a smut scene, because this is not a Dirty Vulture fic without it.
No pronouns used.
“I still don’t really know what the point of me being in one of these is,” you say, rapping your knuckles on the metal wall of the van currently transporting you and your team to the apartment complex you’ve been sent to overturn. SHIELD had spent the last three months scoping out HYDRA activities from the entire building and they now had enough intel to send in the strike team: you, Natasha, Steve, and Clint.  
“Because we go in together,” Steve says, the ever optimistic leader of the pack. 
“Right.” You nod, cracking your knuckles through the padding of your gloves, a nervous habit you have before any mission. While this one was relatively simple (and you got to do it with Natasha, which for the longest time had been strictly forbidden by Fury after what happened in Budapest), you were still aware of the risks and dangers that came with the job.
Natasha’s hand rests lightly on your thigh and you look at her. She smiles softly at you, not saying anything, but you know exactly what she’s trying to communicate. 
Both of you will be okay.
You put your hand over hers and squeeze it. The van finally comes to a stop and the four of you pile out, standing on the empty, dark street. It’s well past midnight so there are few cars or people out. This kind of peace is rare in New York, but you’re also in one of the rougher neighborhoods, where people try to honor curfew for their own safety.
“Everyone ready?” Steve asks, strapping his shield to his arm.
“Hold on,” Natasha says, stepping up to you and cupping her hand around the back of your neck to pull you down to her level, kissing you with a passion that is usually reserved for the bedroom. She slips her tongue into your mouth as her hold on your neck tightens so you can’t pull away.
Steve and Clint stand there blinking at the two of you, Steve shocked by the public display of affection (as if he’s never witnessed it before), and Clint annoyed that this is the kind of thing he has to deal with more than he cares to.
Natasha finally pulls away and looks up at you, smiling when she sees a smudge of her lipstick on your lower lip. 
“Be safe, babe. I’ll see you in a bit,” you say, stepping back from Natasha. You give Clint a bracing nod, and Steve a glare that can be interpreted as “You better watch my girl or else.” You close your eyes and picture the apartment on floor 2 that SHIELD showed you a model of ahead of time. By now, you’ve perfected your technique, but it’s still not the most enjoyable experience. There is a pressure around your entire body, almost like you’re surrounded by a tide of water, crushing you from every angle until you can’t take the pressure anymore and you explode.
Literally.
You disappear from your spot on the street in a cloud of white smoke, feeling like your body is being pushed through a tube before you expand to your full size again in the same empty apartment you had pictured. 
No matter how many times you teleported, it never seemed to get easier.
You shake out your limbs, feeling blood flow to your extremities once more, then start lumbering around the apartment to find the front door. It’s not even locked and you step out into the poorly lit hall, your ears straining for any movement behind any of the other apartment doors. SHIELD had warned you that the building was filled with a mix of actual HYDRA agents and legitimate residents, but it went without saying that none of them would take too kindly to an Avenger letting themselves in out of nowhere. 
“We’re entering the ground level now,” Steve’s voice crackles in your earpiece. “Y/N, where are you?”
“Exactly where I’m supposed to be,” you hiss back, stationing yourself outside door 1227. All you knew was that HYDRA had a lab cooking behind the door and that it was probably armed to the teeth. 
“Good. Wait for our signal.”
“Copy, Cap.”
You start counting down the seconds in your head as the rest of your team takes the old-fashioned route up the stairs to join you. Just as you reach 100, the door suddenly swings open and your mouth drops open.
“Wait–” This hadn’t been part of the plan; whoever was inside wasn’t supposed to know that you were here. A man with a shaved head stands in the doorway, holding what you think is a walking cane in his hands.
“What the hell?” he says. 
“Delivery?” you try, despite being empty-handed. You have to dodge backwards when he swings the cane at you with such force, the handle buries itself an inch-deep into the floor. “Relax, dude!” you say while retreating frantically. You notice he isn’t calling for backup (something you might be able to use to your advantage) as he yanks his cane out of the floor and advances on you. You’re pushed back down the hall, where the only escape is the window. Technically, you could teleport instantly to any place you could picture, but you know it would be a cop-out to leave like that while you were on official work.
“Where did you come from?” the man snarls, jabbing his cane at you and you lift your arms to protect your face (Natasha wouldn’t be very happy if that got damaged tonight). The cane stings where it makes contact even through your padded forearms and the pain irritates you more than anything. When the man swings the cane around for another strike aimed at your ribs, you grab onto the shaft and yank it towards yourself. The man stumbles, losing his grip on the cane and you take full control of it.
Without putting too much thought into it, you hold the cane in both heads and bring it down towards your knee, cleanly snapping the plastic in half. You toss the broken halves to the side, raising your arms in preparation of a legitimate fistfight, but the man seems to have other plans.
With a shout of rage, he charges at you like you personally hurt him by breaking his cane. You barely have time to react with the short distance between you before he collides with you like a cannonball. You tip backwards, not strong enough to slow his momentum, your back slamming into the window. The glass gives easily under your combined weight and all the blood rushes to your head as you fall headfirst down two stories.
As everything seems to process in slow motion, you wrap your arms around the man’s torso, twisting your bodies with lightning speed boosted by your superhuman abilities, so that you’re on top of him. Even in the dull moonlight, you see his eyes widen in shock when he realizes you’re going to land on him. 
You brace yourself for impact nonetheless, your jaw rattling and head whiplashing from the sudden stop as the man’s back bounces on the pavement. He goes limp beneath you and you push yourself off of him, standing and checking for any damage to your limbs. Fortunately, he took the brunt of the fall, and your enhanced physique along with your armor kept you in mint condition.
You take in your surroundings, finding yourself in a narrow alley adjacent to the apartment complex. It smells like sewage and garbage, almost strong enough to cause you to clap your hand over your nose to muffle the invasive scents. You glance up to see the glinting shards of remaining glass in the window you both had fallen out of. This hadn’t been part of the plan, but you hope the others won’t mind your detour. 
“Y/N, was that you?” Clint’s voice suddenly rings through your earpiece.
“What?” 
“We heard breaking glass.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it under control,” you lie, scratching your head and looking down at where the HYDRA agent fell. Except he’s not there anymore. “Oh, no–”
A considerable force slams into your side and you find yourself face-down on the pavement in the next second. Your cheek scrapes the asphalt as you roll onto your back, raising your arms defensively as the man points a gun at your head.
“How did you–” You know this is no time for small talk, but you can’t help your curiosity.
“Hail Hydra,” he interrupts, as if this is enough justification for how he managed to survive a two-story fall with you using him as a landing pad. You close your eyes and tense yourself for being torn apart by a piece of lead, but it doesn’t come. Instead of the thunder of a gunshot, there is a ferocious growl that can’t have possibly come from a human, and suddenly the HYDRA agent is screaming and swatting at a black blur attached to his ankle. He drops his gun and you kick it out of his reach, scrambling to get up.
“Down, down!” he yells. You’re not sure what kind of animal has latched onto him, but it has an unusually long body and stubby little legs that end in white paws. The man tries shaking the animal off violently, swinging his own leg towards the brick wall and you leap into action. You grab onto his shoulders and shove him back. He loses his balance and hits his head hard on the wall, slumping instantly and collapsing like a sack of potatoes.
“I hope that takes care of you,” you mutter, a little hesitant that a solid blow to his head would knock him out so easily. 
The animal, which you’ve now deciphered is a corgi, releases the man’s ankle and bounds up to you, opening its mouth in a goofy smile.
“Hi, little guy,” you say, kneeling and offering an open palm. “Thanks for your help.” The corgi’s entire body trembles in excitement as you pat his head. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” The corgi barks, but you can’t speak dog. “Well…I guess you can come with me for now.” You have no idea what you’re going to do with him in the long-term, but you don’t have time to think about that right now. You need to get back with the rest of your team.
The corgi’s stumpy tail wags and he grins adoringly at you. You’ve hardly known him for a minute, and you would already do anything for him. 
“What should I call you?” you ask, and he barks again. “Hmm…” Your eyes wander to the fallen HYDRA agent, for the first time you notice the badge hanging around his neck. It reads “M. Jacob.” You look back at the vibrating corgi. “How about Jacob? Does that sound okay?”
Jacob bounces on his paws and barks again, seemingly in agreement.
“Excellent. Come on, boy.” You click your tongue and he immediately falls in step beside you. The two of you exit the alley and walk around the apartment building, just in time to see the front doors burst open and Steve, Clint, and Natasha stumble out, all of them panting.
“Nice of you to join us,” Steve says. “Who’s your friend?”
“Jacob,” you answer, offering no further explanation.
“Y/N.” Natasha walks up to you, reaching up to brush your face and you cringe away when she rubs a bruise you didn’t know you had on your cheekbone. “What happened?”
“I’m fine.” You look down at Jacob, who stares at Natasha warily. “It’s okay, Jacob. She’s on our side.”
Jacob steps forward and sits down by Natasha’s feet, looking up at her expectantly for some attention. 
“And where exactly did you find him?” Natasha does not bend down to pet him. 
“He saved me back in the alley.”
“Why were you in the alley?”
“I…Uh…” You feel Steve and Clint’s judgmental eyes on you. You hadn’t done your part in the mission; in fact, the only thing you had done was almost gotten yourself killed and had now found possession of a stray dog. “I got a little distracted.”
“Because you saw the dog?” Clint asks, knowing your affinity for animals.
“No, it was a HYDRA agent actually,” you defend, frustrated.
“Sure, sure,” Clint says, but you can tell he’s not convinced.
“I was–” you start.
“Let’s get out of here,” Steve interrupts. “We got what we came here for anyway and we can debrief at the Tower.” The four of you (five including Jacob) start walking down the street towards the van again.
Natasha hangs back to walk alongside you, but she doesn’t reach for your hand the way she normally does. 
“Are you okay?” you ask, pausing outside the van as Steve and Clint climb into the back first. Jacob tries to join them, but the bumper is too high for him to reach, so his short back legs swing comically as he tries to heave his body up. You chuckle and bend down to scoop him up. He looks at you gratefully then scurries over to Clint, begging for attention from the archer.
“We can’t keep the dog, Y/N,” Natasha says, as you wait for her to get into the van first.
“Why not?”
“We have no idea where he came from. He could be one of HYDRA’s pets, or worse, an experiment by them.”
“He’s harmless, Nat,” you assure, and she sighs. Your willingness to trust had always been a point of contention in your relationship: Natasha always approached new situations, people, and things with a supremely guarded nature, while you practically threw all care to the wind if there was food or an animal involved. 
“How can you be so sure?” she asks.
You shrug. “I just know.”
“That’s not good enough, Y/N.”
“Please, Nat?” You give her your best puppy eyes (although Jacob could have easily beat you). “I’ll have Bruce run some tests to make sure Jacob’s not a HYDRA spy in disguise.”
Natasha stares at you, arms crossed over her chest. Her front zipper is drawn down just enough to reveal her cleavage, which is amplified when arms press her breasts up. You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until she clears her throat and you hastily make eye contact with her. She smirks and you’re slightly annoyed at the distraction.
“So, can we keep the dog?” you ask, trying to remember the topic of conversation. 
“Fine. But you owe me later.” 
You already know exactly what that will entail, and you can’t remember the last time you had a night this successful. “Yay, thanks babe!” You peck her cheek quickly before she has a chance to tease you further and climb into the van to give your new friend all your attention. Jacob’s entire butt wiggles as you sit on the bench opposite Steve and Clint. He paws at your calf to beg to be carried into your lap and you cuddle him against your chest, enjoying the warmth of his fur. “You’re a good boy, Jacob. You’re gonna love your new home.”
***********************************************************************
Even though Jacob has four perfectly functional (albeit short) legs, you insist on carrying him all the way inside the Tower. Clint wakes up Bruce with a 2 a.m. phone call to bring him down to the lab, where he runs a few tests that Jacob seems to pass all of. He ties a loose blue rope around Jacob’s neck to act as a collar for now, and Steve dismisses everyone back to their quarters once Bruce declares Jacob safe to stay in the Tower, and you go upstairs with Natasha. 
“I still don’t know if this is a good idea,” she says.
“He’s harmless and super cute, Nat. Aren’t those the only two reasons you’re dating me anyway?” you add in jest.
“There’s a few other reasons.” Her hand comes down and squeezes your butt. She winks at you. “You should probably leave Jacob with Yelena and Kate so we can have some interrupted alone time.”
“I hope they’re awake.”
“Yelena never sleeps until we come back from a mission.”
“Okay.” You practically rush down the hall, Jacob bouncing in your arms and he glares at you with big brown eyes. Yelena’s door is open just as Natasha predicted, and you can hear her and Kate talking inside. “Um, hi, guys,” you say, entering her room unannounced and setting your new corgi on the floor. Jacob toddles forward, observing the two women with some uncertainty. 
Yelena and Kate are sitting with their backs propped up against the footer of Yelena’s bed, surrounded by a sea of colorful comic books they’d been discussing. 
“We’re back, and this is Jacob. We found him at the HYDRA apartment complex on our mission,” you rush to explain, feeling your pants embarrassingly begin to tighten at the thought of your girlfriend sprawled out on your bed and waiting for you. You could never really figure out why she was so horny after missions; you were convinced it was the way you looked in your suit. “Can he stay overnight with you two? Natasha and I…have some things to do.”
Neither Yelena nor Kate have time to ask any questions or roll their eyes in disgust as you hurry back to your bedroom and slam the door shut. 
Jacob stands there, looking almost concerned to be left alone by the only person he trusts so far. 
“Jacob!” Kate calls, pushing aside some of the comic books and holding a hand out for the black corgi to sniff. “Hi, buddy. I’m Kate and this is Yelena.” She makes the introduction as if the dog can comprehend their names. Jacob licks her hand and pads forward to bump her arm. “Yelena also has a dog called Fanny. I think she’ll like you, you’re very cute.” Jacob’s stump of a tail wags happily as Kate scratches behind his pointy ears.
“Speaking of, where is Fanny?” Yelena asks, suddenly reminded of her own dog’s absence. 
“She wandered off earlier, I think. She’ll be back soon.”
“Hopefully she doesn’t get too jealous of him,” Yelena says.
“Because Jacob’s cuter than her?” Kate asks. 
Yelena narrows her eyes at her. “You did not just say that. Do not let Fanny hear you say that or she will have you for breakfast.”
“No, she won’t, because you’ll protect me, right? Right, Yelena?” Kate says, looking at her friend in concern.
Yelena shakes her head. “I will make no promises, Kate Bishop. Tread very carefully.”
***********************************************************************
“Oh, fuck, baby. Right there,” Natasha gasps, her fists clenching in the sheets as your hips slap against her butt with every thrust. You drive forward with barely restrained strength, feeling the whole bed move and the frame bump against the wall. The heat around your cock is tight and silky, Natasha clenching around you rhythmically as you pound into her.
“You’re taking me so well,” you say, squeezing her hips in time with your thrusts. “Such a good girl for me.”
Natasha keens at the praise, dropping her face down into the pillow. You tilt your hips to adjust your angle, the ridges of her pussy dragging against your cockhead in such a way that you almost lose control. And Natasha almost does too, pushing back so you can fill her deeper and moaning in pleasure. 
“I’m almost there,” she warns, but you’re barely able to hear her over your own grunts. Wetness gushes around you suddenly, but you don’t stop your relentless pace until Natasha is whimpering and begging you to pull out. You’re careful to collapse next to her so you don’t crush her, rolling onto your back and your still-hard cock bobs and glistens with Natasha’s cum.
“You didn’t finish?” Natasha asks when she comes down from her high. You shake your head, your thighs clenching when she suddenly wraps her hand around your cock. “Take me again,” she insists, rolling onto her side facing away from you. Your muscular arms slink around her waist, pulling her closer to you and your cock slips easily into her again. This time, you are much more gentle with your thrusts, almost lazy as your exhaustion from the earlier mission finally begins to show itself.
You bury your face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the vanilla scent from her shampoo. Natasha interlaces one of her hands with yours where you hold her just below her bellybutton, sighing in content at being wrapped up in your arms and filled at the same time. She can feel your abs flexing against her back as you try to maintain your pace, your breath hot on her neck as you near your release.
“Nat, can I–” you ask, and Natasha loves how you still ask for her permission before finishing inside her.
“Don’t let any drop go to waste,” she responds as you press your hips against the back of hers, cum spilling out of your cock in short, hard bursts. 
“Thank you, baby,” you murmur, your sweaty forehead nuzzling her neck. Natasha smiles.
***********************************************************************
Jacob wanders around Yelena’s room, sniffing in every nook and cranny and even walking all over Fanny’s bed. The girls watch him in amusement despite their growing exhaust at the early hour. 
“You’ll fit right in here, Jacob,” Kate says to Jacob, petting his back as he waddles by. “I’m not sure Tony will be happy to see another animal, though. He might start charging us fees.” She keeps her own dog, Lucky, at her apartment a few blocks down the street, but she visits the Tower so often that she might as well move over permanently. 
“If he does not let Jacob stay, I will cut his head off,” Yelena growls.
“Or, you can all just move in with me!” Kate says brightly, but Yelena doesn’t respond. Kate looks at Yelena and sees that she’s staring at the doorway, where Fanny has suddenly appeared. Fanny holds intense eye contact with the corgi perched on Yelena’s lap and for a few seconds, neither dog makes a move and everyone holds their breath.
With a vibrating growl that shakes her whole body, Fanny charges and Jacob leaps off Yelena’s lap to meet her, despite being barely a third of her size. Yelena lunges after Jacob, trying to wrap her body protectively around the small corgi, but he slips right through her arms and barks viciously at Fanny.
“Stop them!” she cries as Kate jumps into the fray, slipping her fingers under Jacob’s collar and pulling him back until he almost chokes. Yelena throws herself between the two dogs, hoping to break their eye contact and calm them down. Fanny snarls and snaps at Yelena, behavior Yelena has never before witnessed in her.
While Yelena yells at Fanny to back off, Kate struggles for her life to hold Jacob back. Despite the corgi’s diminutive size, he displays an extraordinary, almost supernatural, level of strength. In fact, it feels like her fingers are being crushed where they are wedged inside his collar, and upon closer inspection, Kate swears the corgi’s neck is thickening to the point where there is barely a millimeter of space left between her fingers and his fur.
“Yelena, are you seeing this?” she screeches, now trying to free her hand, but is only successful when the thin fabric snaps. Kate falls back, and now it is evident that Jacob is growing. Although he maintains the same long-backed, short-legged proportions, he is distinctly larger than Fanny now.
“Oh, God, what is happening?” Yelena says, crawling back from the giant corgi and shielding Fanny. Jacob barks, sounding deeper than before. He practically fills the room, the tops of his pointy ears brushing the ceiling and Kate screams in sheer fear as she presses herself against the wall to avoid being crushed on the floor. 
“Natasha! Y/N!” Yelena screams. “Get over here now!”
“Please!” Kate begs, before getting a mouthful of Jacob’s fur and coughing. Hopefully you and Natasha weren’t too busy to hear them…
***********************************************************************
“Natasha! Y/N!” 
You sit up instantly when you hear Yelena screaming both of your names, finally pulling out of Natasha and she whines at the loss of your cock, but doesn’t protest. She shares the same concerned expression as you as you jump out of bed, barely remembering to throw on a shirt and shorts before running down the hall. Natasha is right on your heels, wrapped in a blanket, and you get to Yelena’s room first.
Natasha’s sister is closest to the doorway, her body draped over Fanny. Kate is pressed up against the wall, her chest heaving like she’s run a marathon with something blue in her hands. Jacob is sitting in the center of the room, his ears pinned back against his head.
“What’s going on?” you gasp.
Yelena turns to you. “Did you…Did you see that?” she asks.
“See what?” Natasha crowds in from behind you.
“Your dog!” Kate says.
“Jacob, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” You pat your thigh and the corgi comes running over, brushing his head against your leg, his tail wagging a little bit now. 
“Why are you asking him if he’s okay? That’s what you should be asking us,” Yelena growls.
“Your dog almost suffocated us all in here!” Kate bursts out. “He grew to the size of the room!”
“Grew? He looks fine.” You pick up the corgi for closer inspection, his paws dangling as you shift him at different angles to check for any injuries. “What are you guys talking about?”
“He grew,” Kate insists. “Look, he even broke out of his collar!” She shows you that the fabric in her hand is actually Jacob’s collar.
You shrug and put Jacob back on the floor. “That flimsy thing Banner put on him? It could have snapped just by grabbing onto it.”
“You cannot keep that dog, Y/N,” Yelena says. “He’s some kind of monster!”
“Don’t say that about Jacob!” you defend. “If you didn’t want to watch him again, you could’ve just said that.” You look down at the corgi, unable to believe your friends would be so rude to him. “Come on, Jacob. Let’s go back to our room.” And you and Natasha stroll back down the hall with your new pet, completely oblivious to the danger he could be.
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AN: Click here for Part 2!
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