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jamminvroomvroom · 6 months

Text

777.

ln x fem!reader

in which lando has a wild week in vegas

on a bit of a roll whoops! had to write something slutty for vegas week/lando’s birthday so here it is! enjoy my loves and please please pleeeeease tell me what you think! 🎲💘 have literally been thinking about this since vegas was announced and i couldn’t stop listening to silk sonic lol

posting this with the @lavenderlando seal of approval 🫡🤍

inspired loosely by 777 by silk sonic

warnings: 18+ minors dni i am so serious!! listen it’s smut. it’s a lot lot lot of smut. alcohol, swearing, fuckboy!lando, one night stand vibes, choking, unprotected sex, general sex acts, some kinky shit, fluff, minor angst bc lando is a moody little shit

5k words

lando had gotten used to the taste of champagne.

the golden bubbles had grown on him over the course of the season, they tasted like success. so, he didn’t protest when several magnums showed up at the round table, some ridiculous happy birthday remix being blasted over the casino speakers.

it was the night of his 24th birthday, and the drinks hadn’t stopped flowing. he was surrounded by his friends, max and ash joining him, as well as the drivers that had arrived in vegas. the crisp white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows by now, midnight fast approaching, the material half unbuttoned.

they’d started the night in a bar, drowning in a river of alcohol, and now they were in a casino, one of many on the strip. it was all a bit predictable, kitschy decor everywhere he looked since he’d arrived in las vegas, but that’s what made it iconic. the tackiness seemed to mesh well with the old money vibe, and lando knew this would be a birthday to remember.  

everything was mahogany, gold or red. nothing didn’t twinkle in the lights. his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, curls messy already from the light breeze of november in the desert. his cheeks were champagne rosy, the alcohol going straight to his head and he felt so fucking good.

everyone toasted to the birthday boy, slot machines rattling in the background. lando didn’t usually enjoy this sort of environment, but he was too drunk to care, deciding to embrace the insanity of his life and live on the edge for one night.

he found himself hunched over a gaming table, fingers drumming against the green felt. his eyes scanned the embroidery, taking in the game that was being played. blackjack, he assumed. this really wasn’t his type of place.

by then, as if by some sort of divine intervention, it was.

a flash of red. a swish of hair. manicured nails on a martini glass.

suddenly blackjack seemed like the best fucking game in the world.

lando couldn’t look away from you.

you were stood right opposite him, drink in hand, red satin draping over every curve of your frame. the dress seemed to cover everything, and nothing at all, perfect for the environment you were in. it was daring, enticing, and lando sure liked being enticed.

from the very second he laid eyes on you, he was picturing what you’d look like against a clean, white bedspread, how his name would sound rolling off your tongue in the form of a desperate whimper. it was a crude thought, but he’d become a crude man.

things had changed a lot since his last breakup. he was messy, leaving a trail of clothes and kisses across every country he stepped foot in. he didn’t get off on the number of people he’d slept with, he got off on the rush of someone new, and he knew before he’d even touched down in vegas, a week earlier than he needed to, that this would probably be the messiest week of his life.

but then he saw you, and it felt weird. he didn’t just want to learn your name and bend you over the nearest surface, gone from your bed before the sun was even in the sky. he was addicted at first sight; he had to take you home, at the very least.

his fixation on you was broken by the dealers voice; it seemed like you were up to play next and you needed at least another player. lando’s eyes flitted back to you, wondering if he even knew how to play blackjack before he offered himself up to you on a glaring shiny platter. you took the decision away from him, because this time, you were staring right back at him.

internally, he was choking on air. externally, he was mentally undressing you with a filthy smirk on his face.

“wanna play, birthday boy?” you smiled coyly, an eyebrow quirked seductively. he could have fallen right to his knees at just the sound of your voice. sweet and spicy.

lando realised that you’d seen the embarrassing display the boys had put on for him. maybe you even knew who he was. he definitely wanted to know who you were, and that’s why he decided to give in to your electric stare.

“you’re on.”

he lost.

every. single. game.

numbers were never lando’s thing.

it was hard to care, though, when he had you sprawled out on the desk of his hotel room, his lips all over your neck.

the walk from the casino up to his room had been short, a bottle of champagne in his left hand and the curve of your ass in his right. there’d been very little small talk, very little convincing needed to seduce you, not with the way you’d been eye-fucking from opposite sides of the table, cards laid bare before you both.

he’d kissed you in the elevator, sloppy and desperate, pressed you against the door to his suite, and quickly pinned you to the other side of it once you were finally inside. you tasted like fruit liquor and cigarettes, your dress slowly bunching at your hips as his hands roamed the silky material. lando was restless, craving everything you had to offer, so he picked you up effortlessly, spreading his palms across the back of your thighs.

it had been a short walk to the desk from the door, and he placed you down carefully. lando slid the dress up your thighs, his finger grazing your calf as he did. you were arching into him, pushing his jacket off his frame and frantically tugging at the buttons of his dress shirt until it was hanging undone off his shoulders.

the look in your eyes sent his blood rushing, frenzied and desperate for him as much as he was for you. taking your jaw in his hand, he tilted your chin towards him until you were looking up at him through your lashes. lando tucked your hair behind your ear, continuing to graze down your neck until he reached the flimsy strap of your dress.

“are you gonna let me have you?” his grip on your jaw tightened and he studied your face.

he gulped when your lips twisted into a smile, conniving, dangerous, red lipstick smudged deliciously. you hadn’t caved into his touch, fallen into submission, and suddenly lando was swimming way out of his depth.

it seemed he’d finally met his match.

you pushed him away, giggling as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, and stood from your place on the desk. slowly, you made your way towards him, until you’d backed him up all the way to the foot of the bed, at which point he collapsed. he scrambled up onto his elbows, smirking up at you.

your eyes raked over his frame, swollen lip caught between your teeth. he looked disheveled in the best way, shirt framing lean sun kissed skin.

slowly, you unzipped your dress, letting it fall off your frame. the material pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it carefully, kicking it away. lando had moved up the bed so that he was sitting against the headboard, watching you hungrily. you were left bare, aside from a lacy thong and red stilettos. lando could have cried tears of joy.

happy fucking birthday.

lando’s eyes lit up like 777 had spun onto a slot machine. he may have lost at blackjack but he’d definitely hit the jackpot.

you crawled onto the bed towards him, not stopping until you were sat on his lap. his hands scaled your thighs, stroking up and down the soft skin. you rolled your hips, experimenting, toying with him, and he groaned, low and loud.

“does this answer your your question?” you whispered, leaning into him so that you could loop your arms around his neck.

lando kissed you, slow and sloppy, sitting up even further just to feel you closer. he could feel your nipples brushing against his bare chest, low whines breaking through the kiss your shared every time you felt too sensitive. your bodies were rolling together in unison, friction building nicely between your legs.

he was growing impatient, itching to get rid of the remaining barriers between you. lando held you still, tight, flipping you both over so that he was hovering over you. his lips worked your neck, hickeys littered down your neck and over your collarbone, while his hands moved down your body. he toyed with the band of your thong, snapping the material against your waist.

lando left you there, keening for his touch, while he peeled his shirt off. his trousers went next, along with his boxers, and then he was right back where he’d left off. your panties disappeared in a flash, his kisses punctuated by a splotchy purple mark sucked below your left breast.

and then he was buried between your legs, licking stripes into you like he was starving. he moaned into your pussy when he felt the first pull on his hair, spurring him on. he applied more pressure, taking it slow, revelling in the way you tugged harder and harder with every swipe. lando slid two fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick.

when he slid the digits inside of you, his mouth latched onto your clit, flicking against it relentlessly. he found the perfect rhythm, balance, everything he was doing made you see stars behind your eyelids. you were thrashing, helpless, and he was getting off on it.

you jaw went slack when you raised yourself onto your elbows just to find him grinding against the mattress, groaning into your cunt at the sensation, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. you couldn’t even hold yourself up then, dropping into the mattress as you fell apart beneath him.

lando resurfaced a few moments later, a glint in his eyes, his mouth glistening in the dim light. your vision was hazy, body shattered, but you ached for more of him. the feeling only intensified, your legs tightening around his waist, when he raised his coated fingers to his lips, lapping up every last drop of you. his tongue swirled around his digits lewdly, and you shuddered.

lando didn’t mind at all when you pushed him onto his back, clambering on top of him. you looked wild, animalistic even, as you guided the tip of his cock through your folds, and he folded his arms behind his head to enjoy the view. once you’d slicked him up, not that he really needed it, you sunk down on him.

fingerprints stained your hips; his grip on you increased tenfold as you adjusted around him, your walls throbbing around his swollen cock. lando sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, holding you down on him. your movements were stuttering, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the way he fit inside you so damn perfectly. you tested the waters, rolling your hips a few times, and his eyes rolled back in his skull.

you felt heavenly, like velvet and butterflies.

he lost all sense of control, every fibre keeping him from wrecking you. his grip didn’t loosen when he fucked up into you, bending his knees for any extra leverage he could get. your nails scraped down his chest, his abs, dripping at the way he tensed under your touch. you tried your best to keep up with him, to meet his thrusts, holding your own for longer than you thought you would.

and then you were folding, melting into his chest, one of his hands pulling both of your behind your back, holding you down as he fucked you into your orgasm. your whines were panted right into his ear, sending him hurtling towards his own high.

lando couldn’t help himself, spilling into you, your body pressed helplessly into his. you were exhausted, wrecked, grinning lazily against the thrumming of his heartbeat.

with your hands held behind your back, you couldn’t stop him from planting you on your back, snaking down your body, burying his tongue deep inside you. the room was filled with the sound of sex, his tongue dragging over you like you were the last meal on earth and he was ravenous. he cleaned up the mess he’d made quickly, sounds that would make the population of sin city blush bouncing off the walls.

your vision was white, maybe your were screaming, it was hard to know what was going on when he had you about ready to ascend. when you fell over the edge, you were boneless, at one with the bed. you watched as he licked his lips, flopping onto the bed beside you.

he stroked your hair and you hummed, content and satiated.

lando didn’t dare look away from you while you came down.

apparently, it was rare to wake up after a wild night in vegas and remember the events of the night before.

lando remembered everything.

the exact shade of your eyes, the feel of red satin and black lace, the way you tasted.

your lips on his skin, hips in his hands, the way you moulded pliantly to his touch.

the way you gave as good as you got.

he was smiling before he’d even opened his eyes, reaching blinding across the bed, ready to propose round… four? five? lando had lost count.

warm hands met cold sheets and suddenly he was wide awake.

lando sat up dead straight, searching for a sign of life in the room. there was none. no shoes on the floor, no dress to match, no thong hanging from the door handle. a pit formed in his stomach.

is this how he made people feel?

waking up alone after the best sex of his life and no trace of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was quite miserable.

he thudded back into the mattress, hands shielding his eyes from the burn of daylight. he felt like shit, that was undeniable. when he’d fallen asleep, naked and with you nestled into his side, he couldn’t wait to wake up, perhaps arrogantly thinking that you’d be waking up with him. what was that saying, again?

hope breeds eternal misery.

his brain was wracked with the image of you and him, champagne flowing right before he’d taken you again, bent over the desk. and then again in the shower, a harmless attempt to clean yourselves up ending up with you on your knees before your cheek was pressed against the shower screen.

lando tried to fathom why you’d leave after the night you’d shared. there was something about it, something more intimate in the desperation you’d shared, that left him senseless as to why you were gone before the sun was in the sky.

just like he usually was.

it dawned on him, quite quickly, that the habits he’d made of quick fucks and fast getaways was not good form. it was reckless and casually cruel, and he felt guilt for the first time since his string of one night stands had begun. perspective was a crazy thing.

when he sluggishly made his way out of bed, he felt even worse.

“where’d you get to last night? we lost you after that terrible game of blackjack.” max teased, sipping his coffee.

lando found himself at the breakfast table, head rested on his hand and hoodie pulled tight. he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but max was like a dog with a bone; there was no avoiding this conversation.

“met a girl.” lando mumbled, aimlessly stirring the tea he knew he wasn’t going to drink.

“ah, understood.” max said, grinning knowingly. but then, as if lando’s bad mood finally clicked, he continued. “wait, why are you in a mood then?”

“tired.” lando replied, monotonously. he wasn’t quite sure how to unpack this one.

“bullshit.”

“woke up alone.”

“oh.”

“she was- i don’t know. just thought it would be different, that’s all.” lando couldn’t disguise the deflated tone of his voice.

“don’t tell me you caught feelings from a shag.” max rolled his eyes, chomping away at his toast. lando could barely stomach the sight of food.

“shut up, i’m not saying i fell in love. just liked something about her.”

“well, anything can happen in vegas. you never know, mate. she might find her way back to you.”

lando was getting ready for the netflix cup before he knew it. he’d managed to shake off max, escaping to the darkness of his room, the curtains drawn and the lights off.

he pretended it was the hangover that had him laying face down on his bed.

the last thing he wanted was to go and play corporate circus on the golfing green, but he figured some fresh air wouldn’t hurt. and so, he was in the backseat of a car well on his way to the tournament.

carlos couldn’t distract him, neither could alex or pierre. rickie fowler was much less interesting that he hoped, or maybe he wasn’t and lando just wasn’t interested enough. not even zak’s mclaren printed trousers could cheer him up.

lando was leaning into his golf club, starting mindlessly into the crowd, waiting for this garish event to begin when he caught a glimpse of someone he recognised. in a sea of influencers and obnoxious businessmen, there you were.

there you fucking were, in your knee high boots and a mini skirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, skintight top under an oversized blazer and hair shining under the warm sunlight. he lost his balance, the golf club slipping from underneath him, and the only thing that kept him upright was the burning urge to keep his eyes on you.

just who were you?

lando didn’t need to clarify whether or not you were looking at him, too. no, you made it abundantly clear by the way you winked at him, before pushing your sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose.

you fucking winked.

he took a step in your direction, shaky legs ready to carry him all the way over to you. he only had your first name and he craved your second, your phone number, anything really. he’d just take the small talk, to be completely honest.

but then the klaxon screeched, knocking him out of his trance and he whipped round to discover that they were ready to tee off. lando cursed under his breath, rapidly turning to search for your face but you were nowhere to be seen.

had he imagined you? had he imagined all of it?

every golf ball hit was hit with frustrated vengeance.

the week disappeared in a bittersweet blur.

lando had achieved multiple hangovers and about zero dollars in winnings, but he’d successfully managed to take his mind off of you.

okay, so that was a bare faced lie, but if lando didn’t lie to himself, he wouldn’t be able to lie to anyone else.

he wouldn’t be able to lie to max that he was no longer moping. he wouldn’t be able to lie to the media when they asked him if he was oh so excited about the race. he wouldn’t be able to lie to his team when they asked him if he was still suffering the consequences of his week long hangover.

lando had been rushing around all day, after a solid p4 in qualifying the night before. the entire day had been horrendous, sequins and bright lights being shone in his eyes. all he wanted to do was hide, get in the car and then go to bed.

fate had other plans.

lando was rushing to the front of the grid for the national anthem, certain that whatever display that was about to occur would make him nauseous. he was derailed on his journey, caught by rachel brookes in the pitlane, and then accosted by martin brundle once he’d made his was onto the grid.

“good qualifying yesterday and good luck today!” martin called to lando, turning to wrestle another insufferable celebrity.

as lando was making his getaway, ready to jog through the masses of people to his place at the front, he went barrelling into another body, putting his hands out to steady himself and the poor person that had become his collateral damage. as he regained his balance, he must have looked like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his head.

“are you stalking me?” was all he could choke out when his eyes met yours.

what the actual fuck were you doing here?

lando had given up on the possibility of ever seeing you again, and yet, here you were, stood under the bright floodlights on the grid, his office. this was the last place he’d expected you to show up, paddock pass swinging from your neck. again, what the actual fuck were you doing here?

“might as well be, at this point.” you teased. “hopefully you’ll do better today than you did at golf on tuesday.” you smiled coyly up at him, tucking your hair behind your ear.

lando was on quite the time crunch, glancing at the time on the clock at the front of the grid. he had a minute to spare, if he was lucky, but he had to talk to you, before you inevitably disappeared again.

“thought i’d get at least your phone number before you left.”

“from what i hear, you don’t usually stick around long enough for those.” you smirked.

well, his reputation certainly proceeded him. he couldn’t really argue with that.

“maybe i’m trying to change that.” lando attempted to flirt but really, he sounded desperate. you didn’t seem to mind.

“i’ll make you a deal,” you proposed, leaning in just a little bit closer. lando’s breath hitched in his throat. “get on that podium, and i’ll be waiting in your hotel lobby.”

“and if i don’t?” lando’s mouth was dry.

“maybe i’ll see you next year.”

lando watched you walk away, your hips swaying tantalisingly, wondering if the hefty fine he would be bollocked with would be worth it if he didn’t move his ass for the national anthem.

this would be the drive of his fucking life.

lando couldn’t recall a time he’d left a track faster in his life.

media duties were rushed, so was the shower he had before he fled. it was lucky he was already on the strip, so the walk to his hotel was blissfully short.

he entered the lobby with a shit eating grin and a comically large bottle of champagne in hand.

a string of second places had gotten rather frustrating, but this one felt particularly good. a podium was a podium, fair and square, and assuming you’d kept to your end of the bargain, he was in for the best celebration of his life.

sitting pretty at the bar that stretched through the lobby, you were waiting for him, heels swinging from the stool you rested on. denim clung to your hips, a dark corset style top moulding to your curves. he wondered if love at first sight was real; lust at first sight certainly was.

lando’s eyes beckoned to towards him, and you slipped inconspicuously into the elevator together, not wanting to draw too much attention to your rendezvous. it was a futile attempt, frankly, because he had you backed into the mirror before the doors had even fully shut.

kisses on your neck had your eyes fluttering closed, one of his knees slotting comfortably between your thighs. one of his hands was clasped tight around the neck of the neck of the bottle, giving lando the fantastic idea to find your neck with his free one. he held you firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“i’m gonna make you wish you never left.”

hours on the mattress pulling countless orgasms from one another left you both weak, exhausted, a little bit clingy.

lando felt electric. no other person had ever left him so feral, so euphoric.

he’d had you first against the door, pulling your jeans off and pinning you against it, your thighs in his firm grasp as he fucked you into the wooden panel. then, he’d taken you to bed, your knuckles turning white from your brutal grip on the headboard when he’d planted you down on his mouth. two orgasms later, you were face down in the sheets, ass in the air for him while he slammed into you like his life depended on it, pulling you into his chest by your hair when you reached your climaxes.

all that hard work called for a bath, where you both found yourselves now. it had started off quite innocently, sat at opposite ends of the extravagantly large bathtub amongst the bubbles. but then you’d given him those eyes, and then your back was pressed against his chest, your body draped over his. his head was nestled into the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. his other hand brought the bottle of champagne to his lips, the liquid going down smoothly. lando pressed the bottle to your pursed lips too, trading backwards and forwards while your bodies relaxed into the hot water.

lando’s hand on your waist was getting restless, fingers drumming over your abdomen, up, up, up, until he found your breast. he circled your nipple with his finger, not quite touching the bud yet, but he could feel it hardening from his scarce touch. your hips rolled backwards into his, feeling him hardening once again against your lower back. lando cupped your breast, massaging it in his hands before he switched, flitting between your tits.

you slumped somehow even further into him, not a millimetre of space between your bodies. he was winding you up beautifully, heat burning between your legs once more. you didn’t know how you did it, how you could be so ready for each other after the eventful evening you’d already shared.

lando was flicking your nipples between his finger, switching back and fourth until you were moaning quietly. you took charge, the sensitivity building too quickly, and so you rolled over in his arms, clambering into his lap.

the bath water splashed around you, moving in small waves across the tub as you situated yourself on top of him, grinding down on him until he was buried deep within your walls. he found that spot, rolling your hips against his, and then you were rocking up and down on him, nice and slow. he touched parts of you that never had been before, the pace and the angle intensifying every little sensation. your head was thrown back, hands clawing at his shoulders for something to hold onto, just for the feel of him.

lando reached over the edge of the bathtub, blindly searching for the bottle he’d discarded while you’d been switching positions. he felt the green glass grazing his fingertips and brought it back to his lips, eyes trailing over your body in sheer awe.

he couldn’t help himself, taking a sip before tilting it towards you, pouring the golden bubbles over your clavicle, jaw tightening - just like your cunt did at the sensation - as he watched the sticky alcohol drip down over the curve of your bouncing breasts.

you quivered when you felt his tongue lap over your nipple, then the other, dragging over your sodden flesh until he reached the junction between your neck and your shoulder. he bit down, hard, eyes rolling back at the taste in his mouth and the way you clamped down around him, whimpering out between breathless pants.

lando felt you let go, stuttering on his cock and sinking down on top of him, the water - now lukewarm - soothing your tired limbs. he held you close, basking in the intimacy of the moment, his hearing honing in on the dull hum of ecstasy you expelled.

the bath grew colder and colder as you sat there, comfortable silence filling the air along with the quiet rush of water that came with any movements made. when the time came, lando held you up as you got off of him and stepped onto the plush rug, quickly following suit. you were eyeing the shower when he turned to hand you a towel.

“i think i need a shower, as much as i enjoyed the bath.” you spoke, opening the screen and stepping in to adjust the knobs.

lando weighed up his options, agonising over joining you or doing his back in. he couldn’t exactly tell his trainer that his back gave out from too much sex.

“am i invited?” lando asked, stepping in behind you, hands on your waist.

“seems like you’ve already invited yourself.” you teased, looking at him over your shoulder.

“no funny business, you.” lando rested his head on your shoulder.

“from me? you’re just as bad.” you quipped, letting the hot warm stream all over your flushed bodies.

lando stayed as he was for a second, but then you turned your head again, looking at him from the corner of your eye and he needed to kiss you. he couldn’t help but, and so he twisted you round to face him and leaned in. you were more than receptive, fingers raking through his wet curls.

the hot water rained down on you while you stood there, holding each other close. lando couldn’t put his finger on it, why he didn’t want to let you go. he couldn’t even begin to process the idea of having anyone else in his arms like this. it was absurd, really, but he was too caught up in the moment to care.

when you were both clean and dry, you laid down in bed, gazing mindlessly at one another. his eyes followed the lines of your face, the curve of your lips. he learned a lot about you, a formula 1 fan with who ran her own business and took herself on holiday to vegas. the conversation flowed like the champagne had and you were laughing at all his stupid jokes. in turn he grinned like a fool at your quick wit, the sound of your laughter.

“so what are you doing next? back to work?” lando asked, an idea forming in his mind like a tornado.

“nope,” you popped the p. “giving myself some well deserved time off.”

“have you ever been to abu dhabi?” lando asked, lips quirking mischievously.

inbox me your thoughts bc aaaaaaaa 😨😨

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lissomeingenuestuff · 1 month

Text

CLARA BOW // charles leclerc

charles leclerc x figureskater!reader

part 2 part 3 part 4

summary: you're an aspiring olympic gold medalist who just wants to compete and have fun. on the way there, a handsome monegasque f1 driver slides into your dms and changes the trajectory of your life.

note: my first time doing a smau! i've seen and read so many of these that i thought i may as well add one to the pile. there's one tiny error here, and that's the date on some of the tweets: they're in march. winter olympics takes places in february, but i've just decided to ignore it for the sake of the story and pretend that it's in march.

the fc here is mariah bell, but feel free to imagine yourself or whoever you want. comment, like, and reblog if you enjoyed this and want a pt. 2 (maybe with some actual writing in it??)

y/n l/n

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y/n l/n Arms up! Ready for the ride of a lifetime!

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nat_.nug y/n looks like a princess!

sk8tergurl95 ok but the way you literally float off the ice!?

graciegold95 good luck! rooting for you! ❤️ by author

y/n l/n hello?? my literal inspiration 🥹

cyannnnna the olympic gold medal for ladies' figure skating is coming back to the u.s.! i just know it! ❤️ by author

sportsillustrated

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sportsillustrated Meet Y/N L/N and her Olympic bronze medalist coach Adam Rippon (right), in this snapshot taken outside of the Wagon Wheel Figure Skating Club in Crystal Lake, Illinois, just a month before the winter Olympics commence! L/N, 23 years of age, is the U.S. favorite to win a title in Beijing. In an interview with Sports Illustrated Magazine (link in the bio), L/N talks of her hopes, fears, strengths and weaknesses going into the competition.

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heyitslena thanks for clarifying which one of them adam is, @sportsillustrated 😭

y/n l/n thanks for having me, guys! an absolute honor to be featured!

lecfosigirlie came here to like a post about my fave figure skater, only to see charles lurking in the likes 😮

sharleclair thank god i'm not hallucinating 😭 what is he doing here?

annaisstoopid sometimes i start feeling good about myself, then i remember y/n l/n started casually figure skating at 16, won her first world championship at 20, and is now officially an olympic athlete 😭

y/n l/n

liked by cassievilleneuve, charles_leclerc, and 27,461 others

y/n l/n Hey look it’s me on Instagram again!! 😂 Just popped on to share some photos of the most amazing experience of my life!! Can’t wait for my turn on the ice next week!! GO USA❤️ thank you all so much for your support, I can feel it all the way over here in China 🥰🥰

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cassievilleneuve go bestie go! win this one so i can beat your ass in milano-cortina '26 😉 ❤️ by author

y/n l/n still so sad you couldn't come 😢 but i know 2026 is gonna be your year! ❤️ by cassievilleneuve

cassievilleneuve the friends that skate together stay together 🫡

charles_leclerc that's a nice color jacket 😉❤️

y/n l/n it is, isn't it? 😄

adiforza omg!?

f1wagfr are ya'll seeing this or am i still drunk 😳

danielricciardo 👀 👀

f1wagfr DANIEL WHAT DO YOU KNOW

avtrusova ❤️

y/n l/n ❤️

charles_leclerc

liked by y/n l/n, f1, and 1,003,224 others

charles_leclerc Smiiiiiiiiiile, P1!! All about that last lap in Q3 and I’m very happy with the job done today. Can’t wait for tomorrow 🇦🇺

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y/n l/n congrats 🎉 those were some epic moves you pulled off today! i may be an f1 convert ❤️ by author

cassievilleneuve muahahahaha mission success!

lenalenalena girl your competition is literally 3 days away how are you finding time to watch a race 😭

charles_leclerc thank you so much 😊 although it does not compare to skating and jumping on ice

y/n l/n i'm sure that's not true! there must be so much training that goes into driving like that if you lose weight every time you compete!

charles_leclerc the training can be pretty intense 😄 would you like to come and see?

lecfosigirlie asdfhergerkfje!!!

amylovescharlie ladies and gentlemen we've lost him 😭

ferrarifurlyfe charles rizzclerc!?!?

#charles leclerc #ferrari #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc social media au #formula 1 #formula one #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader

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aemondsbabe · 6 months

Text

Praise | Taunt Part 2

summary: michael has been tutoring you for weeks and the closer you get to him, the stronger your feelings seem to grow but does he feel the same way about you?

pairing: michael gavey x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, profanity, dirty talk, breast/nipple play, teasing, degradation/dumbification, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv sex, unprotected sex (technically the reader is on birth control but it's not mentioned in this part), angst (michael is in his sad boy hours for a lil bit), creampie, light cum play, light choking, daddy kink, dom/sub vibes, discussions of mathematics, michael being a lil clueless (aw, bless) -- let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 9.8k i will not apologize, i am not sorry

a/n: i have to say, i've grown so attached to this little pairing and i hope y'all love them as much as i do! i want to say a huge, huge, huge thank you to the loml @officerbrowneyes ❤️ for giving me the excitement and inspiration needed to even make me want to write a second part to taunt, for helping me through my writers block, for betaing this fic, and for generally being an amazing person and fantastic friend! i love you bby!!

TAUNT | Part 1

MAKING AMENDS | Bonus

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Fuck this,” you mutter, jaw clenched as you yank over the next page of your statistics textbook, practically ripping the page as you flip it over. You can’t help but grumble, each page of notes you flip through only adding to your foul mood as you hunch over your desk, numbers and letters swimming together in your vision. “Ugh!” You toss your pencil down, rubbing your temples as it clatters across the desk before falling to the floor.

“Oi!” Louise sits up against the pillows on your bed across the room, tugging off a headphone as she looks at you, resting her own textbook on her lap, “You doin’ alright, babe?”

“I’m gonna fail the final,” You groan, head in your hands, “I’m gonna fail it, and then fail out of Oxford, and then I’ll have to go back home and then my parents will kill me.”

“You’re not gonna fail,” she sighs, pushing herself up so her legs dangle over the bed, “You’ll be fine. You were so worried about that last quiz and you nearly got a perfect score, remember?”

You let out a petulant whine, one you’d be embarrassed about if your head wasn’t pounding, and lean back on your wooden desk chair, bleary eyes staring up at the ceiling. “That was before we started consumer mathematics,” you lament, chest heaving with a sigh, “I have no hope now.”

You can feel Louise jokingly roll her eyes behind you when she huffs out a laugh as she slips off your bed, coming to stand behind you, her face upside down as she looks down at you, a hand on her hip. “Why don’t you just text Michael? I thought he’s been helping you.”

Just hearing his name makes your heart feel funny in your chest and you sigh, sitting back up before turning to look at your friend, “It’s…complicated.” Inwardly, you can’t help but cringe at yourself; the situation is anything but complicated and yet it somehow feels impossible.

“Explain,” Louise commands, leaning back against your desk with her arms crossed across her chest. She laughs when you groan, pushing your shoulders back from where you’ve curled in on yourself, forcing you to look at her, “Babe, I love you, but it’s Michael Gavey. How on Earth is that man ‘complicated?’” She asks, cocking her hip as she does air quotes with her hands.

“Because I like him!” You blurt out after a second, hiding your face in your hands, “I like him and I don’t think he likes me and every damn time we study, we just end up fucking and I can’t keep fucking him because I like him!” The words rush out of you before you have time to think about them, your whole body deflating like a balloon as you release weeks worth of tension.

Your head snaps up in shock when Louise giggles, your mouth hanging open even as the corners of your lips threaten to quirk up into a smile. “How dare you!” You admonish, playfully slapping at her hip, “I’m pouring my heart out to you and you laugh!”

“Sorry, sorry!” She shakes her head, breathily laughing as she tries to get herself under control, “I’m sorry! I just…what do you mean he doesn’t like you? That man is in love.”

“What?” Your eyes narrow as you stare up at her, “How do you know? I’ve tried flirting with him and he doesn’t ever seem to respond to it.”

At this, Louise shakes her head and shoots you a concerned look, “I don’t think he’s the type to get flirting, hon.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you honestly think anyone has ever flirted with him?” Louise asks, giving you a pointed look, “I don’t have anything against the guy, but come on. You’re gonna have to hit him over the head with it.”

“Yeah, okay,” you acquiesce; in your weeks of getting to know Michael, you’d learned that while he wasn’t clueless, he was definitely not as experienced as he had first appeared, “That still doesn’t mean he likes me, though.” You point out, raising an eyebrow at your friend.

“Do you really not see the way he looks at you?” She smirks, “I’ve said two words to the man but, trust me, he is smitten, babe.”

You look away, biting at your bottom lip as you think over what she had to say. Your eyes scan over the surface of your desk, unfocused, as thoughts bounce around your head. Louise simply pats your shoulder before going back to your bed, resting on her stomach as she resumes reading through her book.

You’re quiet for a moment before your eyes land on your phone, sitting temptingly on the corner of your desk. You glance back and forth between it and the still-opened textbook in front of you, frustration rising in your chest once again at the mere sight of the various formulas on the pages. Finally, with a sigh, you grab your phone and flip it open, quickly scrolling to Michael’s contact.

“U busy now?” You text quickly, pressing send before you have a chance to second guess yourself before setting the phone down quickly, practically dropping it on the desk as if it were burning you.

Not even a minute later, although it feels like an eternity, it vibrates. You hesitate for a second, tempted to just slog your way through this chapter on your own. Finally, you sigh and reach for your phone, not wanting to sacrifice your newly-improved grade or your situationship with Michael.

“In my room. Why?” He replies, always concise and to the point.

“Need help w the new chap,” you type, biting your lip as you shuffle through letters on the small keyboard, “Can I come over?”

“Sure, see you soon.” His reply comes quickly, making your heart race.

With a nervous sigh, you push yourself up from your chair, groaning as you take a second to stretch before striding over to your small dresser. “I’m going to his,” you say, glancing over at Louise, “I’m officially waving the white flag on this chapter.”

“Wear lingerie!” She says quickly, practically skipping over to you and leaning against the wall next to you.

“What?” You laugh, shooting her a questioning look, “Why would I do that?”

“Duh!” She huffs with an eye roll, “Put in some effort to fuck him and it might help get the message across.”

“How do you know we’ve been–”

“Your room is right next to mine,” she points out, looking at you tiredly, “And the walls in this ancient building are thin as paper. Come on.”

“Okay, okay,” you put your hands up in surrender with a laugh before pulling open your underwear drawer; as convoluted as Louise’s plan was, you couldn’t exactly see a downside to fancying up a little, “Any suggestions?”

“Hmm,” she hums, shuffling through the small pile of fancy lace you had shoved in the corner of the drawer, “Ooh, these!” She chimes victoriously, holding up a lacy bra, “This color always looks so good on you, you’ll make his head explode.”

With a nod, you grab the bra and matching underwear from her, “If this doesn’t help, I will be holding you personally accountable.” You laugh, seeing her politely turn away from you in the corner of your eye as you begin pulling your clothes off.

“I mean, it is still on you to actually say something,” she chuckles, peering out the window as she waits for you to change, “Honestly, if it was me, I would’a locked that shit down ages ago. The sounds I hear coming from this room…” She jokes, shaking her head.

“Sounds?” You ask, your face flushing as you hurriedly clasp the thin bra behind your back, “You can hear us?”

“You two are not nearly as sneaky as you think,” she laughs, “I mean, who would’ve thought that little nerd had it in him?”

“He has hooked up with people,” you defend, pulling on a t-shirt and skirt, short enough that you knew it would make the blond’s head spin, “He’s not totally helpless.”

“Hookups are different than boyfriend dick,” Louise points out, shuffling back on your bed until her back was resting against the wall next to it, “And based on all the screams I hear from you, Michael has boyfriend dick.”

With a laugh, you roll your eyes, not even bothering to question her as you shove your things into your backpack. Sitting down at your desk chair, you pull your small mirror over and give your hair and makeup one last look over, glancing back at Louise as she continues, “I mean, come off it, babes. You don’t even make those noises by yourself.”

“You can hear me?!” You squeak out, whipping your head around.

“The walls are paper thin!” She laughs, “I’m sure you can hear me too, and everyone else. You honestly think that doesn’t go both ways?”

“Ha ha,” you say dryly, slipping on your shoes before standing and grabbing your keys from the small hook next to the door of your room, “I’m going, can you lock my door when you leave?”

“Yup!” Louise chirps, not bothering to look up from her phone as she waves you off, “Go get that nerd dick!”

With a sigh and an eye roll, you pull your door closed.

You make it to Michael’s in record time and pause in front of his door, giving yourself a minute to calm down before you nervously knock.

Almost instantly, the door swings open. The thought that he might’ve been perched next to it, waiting for you to show up, makes your chest squeeze as you murmur a hello.

“Hiya, pretty.” He says lowly as you move past him, closing the door and watching as you dump your backpack by his bed. His room wasn’t much different than most other guy’s dorms you’d been in – sparsely decorated with only the essentials, although you did appreciate the posters and pictures Michael had hanging up. There were all sorts of different ones pinned to the dark wooden walls, from bands he liked to small polaroids of his pets from home. Every time you were here, though, your heart couldn’t help but hurt a little as you never saw pictures similar to some of the ones you had up – ones with friends.

“Needed some help from little old me?” He teases.

“Yes, oh my God!” You sigh, your dramatics making him crack a smile as he takes a seat at his desk, “This new chapter is doing my head in!”

“Alright, alright love,” he murmurs, signature smirk poised on his lips as his blue eyes peer at you from behind his glasses, “Get your things, I’ll see if I can help.”

With a nod, you pull your notebook from your backpack as he turns to the chapter in his own textbook. As you move, you can’t help but glance at him from the corner of your eye, taking in everything from the dark red t-shirt he wore, complete with a cheesy maths pun on the front, to how ruffled his golden hair was, like he’d just woken up from a nap. Maybe the light was playing tricks on you, but you swore you saw him glance over at you a time or two too.

“Haven’t heard much from you this week,” you start, pulling up the extra chair he kept in a corner of his dorm room, “How’ve you been? Oh! And how did that paper for your calculus class turn out?” You ask, glancing at him as you flip through the pages of your notebook, looking for where you’d left off.

“Oh, yeah,” he clears his throat, leaning an elbow on his desk, “The paper was great, actually. Thank you for your help by the way,” his lips curve up in a sheepish grin, “I’ve always been a bit shit at writing.”

“Yeah, no problem,” try to ignore the way your stomach twists at his gratitude, “I’ve always been shit at maths so it works out.” You joke, pride filling your chest when he chuckles. The longer you’d spent working with Michael, the more comfortable the two of you became, and slowly but surely he’d let his guard down. He was still the same cocky, downright arrogant prick in class but when it was just the two of you, you couldn’t help but notice that he’d grown…softer. Those sharp, taunting edges of his had been smoothed a little, sanded down by jokes he shared with you rather than sarcastic jabs directed at you.

“Mmm,” he hummed, those blue eyes you’d grown so enamored with sparkling with mirth, like he was always just one step ahead of you, “Don’t sell yourself short, baby. You’ve improved a lot,” your cheeks flush and the butterflies in your stomach roar to life, whirling around wildly at the simple compliment, “Not nearly as much of a dummy as you were a few weeks ago, yeah?” He finishes, lips tugged up in a viciously smug smile as he watches the way your eyes grow wide, the way the pink hues making their home on the apples of your cheeks bloom ever brighter, extending almost all the way to your neck.

“Michael,” your voice is hoarse as you croak his name, desperately willing your mind to stay on track, “C-Can we focus on the notes, please? I really do need help, I mean maybe later we can–”

“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy,” he says, blessedly cutting off your nervous babbling, “What’s giving you problems, pretty?”

“Uhh,” you fumble, kicking yourself internally as you scramble to reset your brain, “The stuff we went over last week,” you flip through your notes, finally pointing your pen at the hastily scribbled notes you’d taken in class, “The monthly investment stuff; I guess the formula Professor Davies went over just seems really complicated to me. Like, I was having a really hard time following it in class with the way he was explaining it.”

Michael nods his head as he listens, his eyes quickly scanning over your notes before flitting to the accompanying pages in his nextbook as he lets out a sigh. “Ahh, okay,” his fingers brush over yours as he takes your pen, once again sending your mind into a flurry as you blink, desperately trying to clear the fog that seemed so determined to invade your brain, “So, remember the compound interest formula we went over earlier?”

You nod as he peers over at you, admittedly only halfway listening as your heart hammers in your chest. “Uhm, y-yeah,” you nearly whisper before clearing your throat, “Yeah.” You nod once more, trying to keep your voice steady as you watch him scrawl notes on your paper; your eyes glaze over as you observe the way his long fingers hold your pen, making it all too easy to imagine those same fingers sliding into your mouth and holding your tongue down as he whispers filthy things into your ear, skirting their way into your underwear and curling just right against –

“It works similarly,” Michael continues, hunched over the textbook as he copies down a sample problem, “So, the monthly investment formula is basically just the yearly salary over twelve months. I think the formula is getting to you, but it’s not really that complicated in practice.”

You nod your head dutifully, his voice sounding muffled to your ears as your thoughts continue spiraling, lewd thoughts of his fingers and cock playing like a video on the backs of your eyes. He hands the pen back to you as he finishes copying down the question, gazing at you expectantly as you look over the problem.

“Okay, so, uhm,” you stammer, eyes desperately scanning over the page as if the answer will magically reveal itself to you, “So…you’d divide these…?” You ask timidly, already knowing you’re wrong.

“You aren’t paying attention at all, love,” he says, not even needing to question it as he shakes his head in mock disappointment, “What’s going on in that pretty head, hm? What got you so distracted?” He rasps, one hand moving up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, even that simple action damn near causing you to whimper.

“I don't,” you swallow, mouth dry as your eyes flutter shut for a half second before reluctantly meeting his, heart pounding wildly in your chest as the smirk on his face makes a graceful reappearance when he sees the glazed over, near empty look on your face, “I don’t know.” You finish finally, voice breathy despite your best efforts.

“Hmm,” he hums again, trailing that hand down your neck and the side of your arm before finally letting it rest atop the thigh closest to him, his touch practically burning your skin, “I think I have a pretty good idea of what’s taken over that empty fuckin’ head.”

Before you even have a chance to reply, his hands are on your hips. He firmly pulls you into his lap, lithe frame disguising his true strength as he settles you atop his thighs.

“Michael, I–”

“Hush,” he commands softly, warm hands skirting over your waist as he tugs you back into him, your back pressing into the familiar expanse of his chest once again, “I know exactly how to help, pretty girl.” He whispers, his breath fanning over your cheek before he presses a light kiss there, trailing them down over the side of your neck as his hands slip under the bottom of your t-shirt. His touch makes shivers cascade down your spine as you feel his hands ghost over your stomach before they cup your breasts; he lets out a pleased hum when he feels the delicate lace of your bra, which does nothing to hide your already pebbled nipples as they press against the palms of his hands.

“I think,” he continues, chuckling darkly when he already hears small whines escaping past your lips as he continues massaging your breasts, “You need that wet little cunt played with, hm? I know she’s already dripping, pretty.” His voice is rough as he speaks, his hips grinding up into you, making you mewl on his lap as you feel his cock already poking against you even through the jeans he wears.

“P-Please,” you whine brokenly, embarrassed to already be reduced to such a state, “Please, Michael, I need…fuck, I need something, anything, please!” You’re used to begging for him by now, the two of you have hooked up enough over the past few weeks that you know he loves how whimpery and desperate you get, loves to hear the little hitch in your voice when you beg and plead with him so.

“Not Michael,” he grunts, roughly pinching at your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, just enough to make you cry out and squirm on his lap, “Try again.”

“Oh–,” you gasp, unable to stop the way your hips desperately wriggle on his lap, tantalized by the feel of him, even through all the layers of clothing between you, “Sir! Sir, please!”

He huffs out a laugh, low and raspy in your ear as he trails one hand up, poking it through the collar of your shirt to wrap it lightly around your throat – not enough to choke you, but just enough to remind you of your place. “Someone must be feeling extra stupid today, hm? Haven’t been sir in weeks, love, you know that.”

A hungry whine claws its way past your lips as your head tilts back onto his shoulder, your eyes squeezing shut as your cheeks heat up, trembling in his lap. This has been his favorite part, experimenting with that one little name it takes so much for you to say. It’s funny really, eventually he’d admitted to only hearing it in a porno, not something he could attribute to his string of experiences with one night stands. You’d just been the first person he’d been intrigued about enough to try it on; he was hooked the moment he saw your reaction and had slowly worked it into your little routine, requiring you to day it, to beg him so prettily with it, before he’d ever give you what you wanted.

“Come on now,” he groans, the movements of your hips finally getting to him, “Tell me what I want to hear and I’ll keep this precious cunt occupied so that that little head can work properly.” His hand abandons your breast, a laugh rumbling through him at your cries as he trails it up one thigh, slipping it under the bottom of your skirt.

“Daddy!” You finally blurt out, the ache in your core finally growing too big for you to keep denying, “Please, daddy, please, just… fuck, just do something!”

“Shh, shh, babygirl,” he coos, half laughing as he slips his hand up under your skirt, cupping your throbbing center over the thin lace of your panties, groaning when he feels how hot and wet you are under his touch, “No wonder you can’t think straight, hm? So messy.”

You whimper helplessly in his lap, hands scrabbling before they tightly cling to the forearm he has halfway under your skirt. “Oh, fuck,” you breathe heavily, head swimming as his fingers press down on your aching clit before circling the bud slowly, the lace of your underwear only adding to the fire building within you, “Oh, my God!”

Michael grunts lowly into your ear as he twirls his fingers against you, nipping at your neck as he rocks against you from below. “Here’s how this is gonna go, love,” he whispers lowly, speeding up the movements of his long fingers against you, “If you can get the formula right, you can come…”

“Wha–!” You splutter, your chest already heaving as you struggle to catch your breath, nails digging into his forearm as you feel the knot in your stomach already beginning to tighten; Michael had made it his mission over the last few weeks to learn every little thing that made you tick, and Christ, if he wasn’t a fast learner, “T-That’s not–”

“If you can’t get it right,” he continues, smirking against your cheek as he presses his fingers ever tighter into the column of your throat, “Then I’ll just keep edging and edging you until I’ve gotten my fill of those precious fucking noises you make, hm?”

You struggle in his hold, not getting very far as his touch has already reduced your muscles to jelly. Your hips keep rutting up into his fingers despite your feeble attempts to stop yourself, knowing he absolutely means to make good on his threats. With a defeated whine, you let your head loll to the side on his shoulder, burying your face against the pale expanse of his neck. Squeezing your eyes shut, you breathe in his now-familiar scent, although that only serves to put you more on edge.

Michael suddenly moves, sitting up straighter in his desk chair and bringing you with him, causing you to yelp a bit. He keeps a steady hold on you as he leans forward, his fingers never ceasing their circular movements on your aching clit as he tilts you forward, angling your head so you’re once again face-to-face with the textbook and notes still laid out on the desk.

“Now,” he starts, resting his chin on your shoulder as his eyes scan over the pages in front of you both, seemingly wholly unbothered with your current state, “What’s the first step?”

You can feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears as you blearily look over the paper, your eyes not really focusing on anything as you feel the knot in your stomach pull tighter and tighter with each movement of his hands against you.

“M-Michael, I–” Your voice sticks in your throat, your hips moving entirely of their own accord in his lap as your walls clench desperately around nothing, that familiar growing ache nearly taking over your entire center as your breath hitches.

“Ooh,” he murmurs with saccharine sympathy, quickly pulling his fingers from you just before you fall over the edge; you can feel him smirking wickedly against your cheek as you twitch against him, letting out mournful little whines, “That was a close one, wasn’t it, pretty girl?”

The room feels as if it’s spinning as you come down from your almost-high, your walls throbbing as low cries slip past your lips. “F-Fuck…” you sigh hoarsly, hips still pathetically twitching against his jean-clad lap.

“I know you know this,” his breath is warm against your cheek as he angles his head toward yours, blond hair tickling the side of your face as he peers at you from behind his glasses, “Be a good fucking girl and tell me which step is first and I’ll touch you again.”

Your eyes frantically scan over the problem as you will yourself to remember something, anything, from one of Professor Davies’s lectures last week, your hands abandoning Michael’s forearm to white-knuckle the edge of his desk instead as you try to steady yourself.

“Y-You, uhm, you multiply,” you start, swallowing heavily as something finally seems to click together in your brain, “You multiply the exponents, daddy.”

You practically preen under his touch as you feel more so than hear the pleased hum he lets out. “Very good,” he drawls slowly, pressing soft kisses against your cheek, “See? I knew there was something going on in that head of yours.” You know he’s taunting you on purpose, pulling out every trick he knows will make you blush, though you can’t bring yourself to care as you feel your heart soar with his praises.

A loud moan tumbles past your lips as he resumes touching you, his fingers once again teasing your clit through the thin fabric of your panties, the aching bud now all the more sensitive to his touches after you were denied an orgasm. You nearly double over on his lap as pleasure immediately zings up your spine, your muscles tensing in his hold.

His hand abandons your throat and pulls out from under your shirt completely as he reaches for your pen and quickly scribbles down the first step of the formula, easily multiplying the numbers in his head before setting your pen back down.

“Now then, what’s next, love?” He chuckles meanly against your cheek as you whine. He groans appreciatively as he feels your arousal leaking into your panties, soaking the fabric against his fingers while his other hand comes up to cup your breast over your shirt, feeling your aching nipple pressing against his hand even through the fabric.

This game continues for what feels like an eternity, his fingers delicately teasing you right up to your breaking point before he cruelly yanks his hand away as he quizzes you again and again until you slowly but surely work your way through each step of the problem.

You’re a sweaty mess on his lap now, skin damp and flushed as he pulls his hand away for what must be the hundredth time, although in reality it’s only the fifth. You let out a feeble whine, long past begging and pleading as you know it won’t do any good.

“You’re so close,” he teases, chuckling to himself at the double meaning of his words, “Just need to solve it now, pretty baby. The sooner you do, the sooner I’ll make you come.” He promises, patting his fingers over the soaked patch on your panties just enough to make you jump.

“D-Daddy, please!” You sniffle, no longer trying to reign in the tears streaming down your cheeks as your center aches and clenches, empty, “Please, I need–”

“You need to answer the fucking question,” he grunts through clenched teeth, one hand still cupping your spasming center while the other shoots up to your neck, angling your head toward the paper once more, “You asked me for help, love. And I’d say this is helping; looks like that empty little brain is able to recall information after all.” He teases, smirking cruelly as he ruts against your ass, taunting you with his hard length yet again. “Come on,” he continues, urging you on, “You’re doing so, so well for daddy. Just need the last little bit.”

Your head spins as you look at the paper and you halfway wonder if your fingers have made intents in the wood of his desk yet, “It’s, it’s the yearly salary,” you say quickly, voice high-pitched and breathy, “T-The yearly salary over twelve, fuck, m-months.” You rush out, squeezing your eyes shut.

Somehow, more blood seems to rush to your cheeks as he gasps in fake surprise, really laying it on thick for you. “Oh, what a good girl!” He praises, arms wrapping around you tightly as you squirm in his hold, his warm body pressing against yours only making your need greater, “I knew you could do it, that’s right, love!”

Quickly, he multiplies the numbers you indicated, mumbling under his breath as he quickly thinks through the equation. A few seconds later, you hear your pen moving against the paper as he scribbles down your answer, circling it with an over-done flourish.

“You’ve done it!” He coos happily, pressing kiss after kiss to the side of your cheek, trailing them down your jaw and neck, “You want your prize now?” He asks lowly, trailing his hand back up your thigh slowly, fingers just barely skimming over your throbbing center.

All at once, you seem to come back to yourself as the fog lifts momentarily behind your eyes as your desperation drives you. You nod your head frantically as you turn on his lap, finally facing him and relishing the sweet, proud smile spread across his lps.

“Please, Michael, daddy,” you ramble, pressing kisses against his cheeks and neck before he finally angles his head and catches your lips with his; the two of you sigh into the kiss, yours morphing into a desperate whine as you press your chest against his, shivering as your nipples peak from the warmth of his body alone. His tongue licks along your lower lip before he gently nips at it, chuckling as you mewl into his mouth as his tongue meets yours. You kiss him frantically, sighing happily when he delicately sucks your tongue into his mouth before you pull away with a whimper. “Please, please, I need it,” you murmur against his lips, clinging to his shoulders, “I can’t wait any longer, please!”

He shushes you with a soft laugh, hands skimming over your waist. “D’you want my mouth or my fingers, pretty girl?” He mutters softly, holding you steady on his lap.

“Mouth!” You answer instantly, making him chuckle at your desperation, “Please, please!”

“On the bed,” he commands, giving you one last kiss before pushing you up, helping to steady your shaky legs, “Good girl.” He praises again, patting your ass teasingly when you finally steady yourself enough to cross the room, stopping to kick off your shoes quickly before sitting yourself down on the bed.

Michael follows after you, smirking as he kneels on the bed, one foot still on the floor. He smiles and cups both of your cheeks, kissing you once more like he can’t get enough. “You, pretty girl, are very overdressed,” He drawls, waiting for your subtle nod before pulling your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor by the bed. “Holy…” his eyes are wide as he stares at your chest, taking in the way the delicate lace perfectly cups your breasts, nipples visible through the thin material, already hardened from his earlier ministrations.

Upon seeing his reaction, you get bold. Smirking, you pull up your skirt, spreading your legs as you draw your knees up to your chest, giving him a perfect view of your matching panties; the lace, long since soaked through with your arousal, practically glimmers in the low lamp-light of his room.

“Fuck,” he whispers, one hand adjusting his hard length, straining against his jeans as his blue eyes sweep over you, taking in every flawless inch, “To what do I owe the honor, hm?” He finally collects himself, smirking again as he reaches out to lightly skim a finger over the soft silk of one strap of your bra. He’s never seen you in something this nice, and certainly never a matching set, the sight of the soft lace against your skin would be enough to make him finish in his jeans if he weren’t careful.

“Wanted to wear something special for you…” You say with a small shrug, heat rising to your cheeks once again as you look up at him shyly through your lashes.

He tilts his head to the side, clearly not picking up on the deeper meaning behind your words as he squints his eyes at you, confused. “Why…why would you wanna wear something special for me, love?” He questions softly, his voice coming out more as a breath than words.

“Michael,” you sigh, squirming under his affectionate gaze as you gather every ounce of confidence in your body. You swallow as your eyes dart between his, your heart quickly speeding up in your chest; you take a deep breath, Louise’s words echoing in your head, “I…I really like you.” You say simply, carefully watching his reaction.

“You…do?” He asks slowly, eyebrows shooting up in surprise, his eyes widening as he watches you nod with a shy smile. “Why me?” His voice is smaller this time, his whole body seeming to deflate as he sits back on the edge of his bed, shoulders slumped as one foot still rests against the wooden floor.

“Why wouldn’t I like you?” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, head cocking to the side as you move closer to him, placing a hand on his knee.

He sighs heavily, glancing up at you before looking down to where your hand rests on his leg, “No one really does.” He finally sighs, his eyes downcast.

Without thinking, you move closer to him, pressing yourself against him as you practically climb into his lap. This time, it’s your turn to gently cup his cheeks, your thumbs resting just under the gold rims of his glasses as you angle his head toward you. “I do,” you say softly before frowning a bit, pulling away just an inch, “Do…do you not feel the same way?”

“No!” He says quickly, shaking his head as he grabs at you, pulling you back toward him, “I mean yes! I mean,” he sighs frustratedly, running a hand through his hair as he swallows heavily, “I do like you, I– Fuck, I don’t know who I’m kidding, I’ve never liked anyone this much,” he says softly, smiling as he watches your eyes grow wide, “I just…never thought a girl like you would want much to do with me.”

“What does that mean?” You whisper, heart hammering so hard in your chest you’re sure he can hear it with as little distance as there is between the two of you.

“I…,” he pauses, chuckling bitterly, “I guess I always assumed you’d wind up with Catton or…or one of his little minions. Everyone does.”

“Everyone?”

He tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling for a second, like he’s willing himself to tell you some deep, dark secret. Finally, he fixes his gaze on you again, one hand fiddling with the seam at the bottom of your skirt. “He was my friend once,” he begins, his voice soft and uncertain, “I don’t think I ever meant much to him, he just took me in as some charity case. To help the weirdo loner boy, I guess.”

You stay silent as he pauses, watching him carefully as he speaks. The corners of his mouth twitch before finally dropping into a frown, his eyebrows pulling together as if he were in pain.

“I don’t know what happened in the end, to be honest,” he continues, blinking his eyes as he shuffles through memories, “I think maybe I wasn’t falling in line enough – I didn’t just blindly follow him like the others. He must’ve gotten tired of it cause one day I got to school and everyone just acted as if I wasn’t there, even mates I’d had before. They all just got pulled into his orbit and left me.”

“Michael…” you coo softly, thumbs lightly brushing over his cheeks.

“And then, one night I went to the pub with– with Oliver.” He practically spits his name, nose twitching with anger.

“Oliver?” You question, the name ringing a bell as your eyes narrow, trying to picture his face, “Oliver Quick, you mean?”

He nods, eyes flitting around his room before they settle on you again. “He was my friend…I thought he was anyway. Way back at the start of term,” he sighs, lips pulling up in a sardonic smile, “We went to the pub one evening to celebrate finally finishing some paper or whatever, and…you were there.”

“I was?” You pull back from him a fraction of an inch in shock, your eyes flitting over his face.

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding his head, “Sitting at a table with Catton and all the rest of the cunts.”

“Felix and I were never that close Mich–”

“And I got up to get another pint and when I got back…he was gone.” He continued, huffing out a bitter laugh.

“Oliver?”

“Yep,” he nods, hands gripping your waist more firmly as if he’s trying to anchor you to him, “He’d gone to sit with you lot and never so much as looked my way again. Then, once Professor Davies’s class started, I…Fuck, I liked you from the minute you walked through the door on the first day, love.”

“You did?” You smile at his confession, thinking back to all those months ago.

He hums again, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he buries his face in your neck, glasses smushed against his cheek, “‘N then I realized where I knew you from and I…lost hope. Got jealous. Doesn’t matter I just…I was so determined not to like you.”

“But…you do?”

He hums again, nodding against your cheek, “I remember kicking myself when I agreed to tutor you,” he laughs, breath fanning over your neck and collarbone, “But you’re really not like them, hm?”

You shake your head emphatically, holding him tighter to you as if that will somehow better prove your point, “I’m not.” You say simply, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

The two of you stay silent for a moment before Michael’s shoulders start shaking a little; you pull back a bit, worried that he’s upset until you see he’s laughing, gazing at you as if you were some ethereal being. “I cannot believe you fucking like me,” he laughs, damn near giggling, “No one bloody likes me.”

You can’t help but laugh with him, leaning your forehead against his. “Well, fuck them,” you say firmly with a cheeky grin, “I like you enough for every damn idiot in this school.”

The two of you laugh together for another moment before you feel that familiar heat building in your belly again, never able to stave it off very long when you’re in his presence. Michael must feel it too, one second you’re laughing with him and the next his fingers are threading through the hair at the back of your head and pulling you in for a hard kiss, pressing his lips desperately against yours as if he’s trying to prove to himself you won’t disappear. You whimper softly as his tongue licks into your mouth, swallowing his groans as you move your lips fluidly against his before he pulls away quickly.

“Gotta fucking taste you, love,” he whispers roughly, hands blindly searching for the clasp of your bra. You feel it pop open a moment later, a low, victorious hum sounding from his chest as he finally pulls it off, tossing it off the bed to land next to your shirt, “Fuck, I love these tits.” He groans hotly, quickly kissing down your shoulder and chest before taking a pert nipple into his mouth, making you gasp loudly.

“Oh, fuck!” You moan, eyes squeezing shut as you finally feel his mouth on you, head spinning at the way his tongue teases over your sensitive nipple before he sucks it into his hot mouth, “Michael, please, need it!” You whine pitifully, rutting yourself down on his thigh.

He guides you back gently, coaxing you to lay down on his bed as his hands push up under your short skirt once more to quickly pull your panties down, tossing them over his shoulder. “Not Michael, baby, remember?” He asks teasingly, pushing your thighs up and hooking his hands behind your knees.

He guides your knees up and up until your knees are pressed against your chest, all the while pressing soft kisses to the backs of your thighs as he peers up at you over his gold-rimmed glasses, strands of blond hair resting against his forehead.

“Please, daddy!” You correct yourself quickly, not wanting to take any chances of him teasing you further. You wiggle your hips in his grasp, making him chuckle lowly as he presses kisses closer and closer to where you want him. Giggling, damn near giddy with the excitement of having his mouth on you, you reach down and gently pull his glasses off and reach up to set them on the small table beside his bed.

“Shh, you’ll get it,” he promises, breath hot against your slick folds as he uses his thumbs to spread you apart, groaning appreciatively when he sees how wet you are, how your pussy clenches tightly around nothing, “You earned it, my love.”

The pet name sends you into a tailspin almost as much as the feeling of his warm tongue pressing against your clit does. You let out a long, satisfied moan at the feeling of it, arching your hips up into his mouth.

His groan of satisfaction vibrates through you, only adding to the sensations of his lips and tongue on your aching center. “Fucking hell,” he mumbles, releasing his hold on one thigh to run two long fingers through your slick, gathering it as he teases your entrance, “It’s been far too long.” He groans, speaking more to your throbbing core than you, the thought sending another zap of pleasure swirling up your spine.

“It’s been, like, a week!” Your giggle turns into a breathy moan as he kisses your clit, gently suckling it between his lips as he carefully slips two fingers into you, immediately crooking them up against the spot that he knows will drive you wild.

“Too long,” he grunts into your folds, tongue sweeping over the length of you before he teases it at your clit. “Fuck, if I could eat this sweet little cunt every day, I would.”

Your eyes roll back in your head and your back arches as he feasts on you, shaking his head back and forth to bury his face further into your heat. He growls into you as he licks into your entrance, removing his fingers for a moment to fuck his tongue into you, savoring your sweet taste while the tip of his nose rubs perfectly over your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, oh, fuck,” you gasp, body jerking and twitching as pleasure floods through you, the knot in your stomach growing dangerously tight at just a few touches, “D-Daddy, I’m— oh, fuck!” You cry, arching your back as he slips his fingers into you, expertly fucking and curling them against that rough patch within you, making stars dance behind your eyelids.

“Y’getting close?” Michael murmurs around your clit, sucking it into his mouth and laving his tongue over it before letting it slip from his lips with a wet pop, “S’okay, my love, come on. You don’t need to ask for it, baby girl, you’ve earned it, just come.” He coaxes, slipping a third finger in beside the first two and grinning when he hears you cry out at the added stretch.

You breathe heavily, chest heaving as you pant, wanton whimpers and whines spilling past your lips as your fingers weave into his golden hair. Michael’s eyes roll back in his head at the feeling, so pleased with himself that he can make you feel this good, that he can pull these sounds from you that he groans, long and low, into your cunt as he licks and sucks at your folds, flicking his tongue over your swollen bud.

“Can feel you getting tight, pretty girl,” his lips move against your clit as he speaks, “This sweet cunt wants to milk daddy’s fingers, doesn’t she? Fucking let her, baby, come on.”

The knot inside your belly implodes on itself as your body loses all sense of rhythm, every muscle contracting and relaxing as waves of pleasure finally wash over you. You can feel your walls pulsing around Michael’s fingers as your high consumes you, a garbled moan of his name leaving your lips as you shake against him.

He doesn’t let up, digits pressing tightly against the spot inside you as he lewdly spits onto your cunt, loudly slurping it up as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, sucking your still-pulsing bud into his mouth as he does.

“T-Too much!” You whimper, squirming in his hold as you feel yet another high quickly building within you, “Michael, d-daddy, please!”

“Hush,” he huffs, speeding up his movements enough to make you squeal as tears spring to your eyes, “You know what I want, baby girl, give it to me, let yourself have it.”

You grunt loudly as another wave consumes you, your eyes tightly squeezing shut when you feel yourself contracting around his thick fingers yet again. You’re so lost within yourself, you barely hear the slick, sloshing sounds emanating from your heat, but you certainly hear the deep, proud moan that Michael lets out, eyes widening as he watches your cunt squirt around his fingers, droplets wetting his wrist and the sheets on his bed.

You’re practically sobbing by the time he slows his fingers to a stop and gingerly pulls his fingers from you, shushing you gently when you whimper. “What a good girl,” he says softly, noisily licking his fingers clean of the evidence of your release, “Did so good for me, baby.”

The soft praises help you come back to yourself, brain returning to your body in just enough time to get a glimpse of Michael’s face before he buries it in your neck, a blush creeping across your cheeks from the shine of your release on his lips and chin.

“Thank you.” You whisper tiredly, eyes slipping shut as he presses kisses to your neck and jaw.

He laughs softly, leaning on his side next to you, one hand tracing up and down your body as he looks you over. “You wanna keep going or did I wear you out?”

You keep your eyes shut even as a playful smile slinks across your lips, a small giggle slipping past your lips as you wiggle your hips enticingly, making him chuckle with you.

The bed shifts suddenly, causing you to peek one eye open. “There she is,” Michael laughs when you open both eyes fully, watching as he quickly pulls his t-shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor to join yours. He stays on his knees as he unbuttons his jeans, giving you plenty of time to take in his pale chest and stomach, covered in a light wash of blond hair that tapers off to a trail, disappearing beneath the denim around his slender waist, “Want my cock, baby?” He asks, leaning back down beside you as he kicks off his jeans and boxers, cock springing out and resting hotly against your thigh.

Biting your lip, you can’t help but reach down and stroke him gently, a soft sigh leaving you at the sight of his perfect length. Michael grunts next to you, his head tilting back ever so slightly as he finally feels some stimulation on his cock. The delicate sound makes your heart race, knowing you could bring him such pleasure from such a simple touch. A blush blooms on your cheeks as you gaze up at him through your lashes, eyes wide as you smirk and wiggle your hips enticingly.

He smiles at you, eyes sweeping over your form admiringly, before finally meeting your eyes, slightly squinting as he looks at you without his glasses.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” He teases, chuckling as you nod eagerly and tuck your behind your knees, holding your legs up to your chest as your skirt looks around your middle. He leans in and kisses you softly, a certain emotion behind his movements that hasn’t ever been there before. He keeps you close as he moves, never taking his lips off of yours while he maneuvers himself on top of you, slotting himself between your thighs with a pleased exhale.

Your back arches as you feel him slide his cock between your folds, the head slipping perfectly against your clit. You grasp onto his shoulders to anchor yourself, mewling into his mouth as his hands grab onto the backs of your knees once more, holding you open for him. His lips trail down your jaw and neck, stopping to nip lightly at your skin, before continuing downward to your breasts. He licks and kisses over each one, paying special attention to your nipples and laughing softly at the cacophony of whimpers and whines you make as he teases them with his tongue.

“I’ve got you,” he sighs, pulling back just enough to grasp his cock, notching the head inside your opening, just enough to make you gasp and squirm, “Y’wanna go dumb on my cock, babygirl?” He says lowly, resting his forehead against yours as he bends down enough to make the muscle in the back of your thigh ache with the stretch.

“Oh, please!” You breathe, canting your hips up in an attempt to get even just a bit more of his cock into you, “Please, daddy!”

With a growl, Michael slowly slips inside you, humming deep in his chest as he does, his eyes slipping closed as he savors your tight, wet heat.

“F-Fuck,” you squeak out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fills you completely, his girth stretching you to the brim, leaving no part of you untouched, “You feel so good!” You whine, eyes fluttering as you try desperately to remain focused on him, never tiring of the expressions he makes when he’s inside you.

Slowly, he begins thrusting into you, groaning lowly as your fingers grip tighter at his shoulders. His blue eyes roll back in his head, brows furrowing as he slowly speeds up, rocking into you in a perfect motion.

“Feels so good,” he gasps out, ardently biting and sucking at your neck as he does, angling his hips to make sure the tip of his cock presses against that sensitive spot inside you, “So fucking tight, shit.”

The two of you move together, his hips smacking against the backs of your thighs as he plunges in and out of you. You can’t help but blush when the wet, squelching sound of your cunt begins drowning out the sharp gasps leaving your lips every time he thrusts back in, the tip of his cock brushing deliciously against the very back of your heat.

A rumbling laugh sounds in his chest as he hears it too, making you flush somehow deeper as he fixes you with a filthy grin. “Little pussy loves me, huh?” He rasps, groaning at the sight of you trying frantically to answer, your mouth hanging open as useless whines and moans warble past your lips. “She does, hm? Pretty cunt loves daddy’s cock.”

“Yeah, yeah— fuck!” You mumble, nodding your foggy head as best as you can as you gaze up at him longingly, breasts bouncing along with his thrusts, “L-Love it, daddy, fuck!”

He moans softly and grinds himself against you, driving you nearly insane as the small thatch of hair above his cock rubs against your clit deliciously. Your arms shoot out, wrapping around his neck tightly and dragging him down to you, needing something to hold onto as your walls clench down hard on his length, every thrust into you making you see stars.

His hands drop from your knees, arms locking around your neck in turn, pulling you up to him. Your legs lock tightly around his waist, the two of you as pressed together as you can get, your breasts pressed tightly against his chest. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers hoarsely as his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your face back just enough to meet your eyes, “So pretty, so good.” He chokes out, eyes frantically darting between the two of yours, chest heaving as he pants.

You mewl harshly as his thrusts speed up even more, eyes nearly crossing as the head of his cock pounds perfectly against each sensitive spot inside you at the same time his abdomen grinds against your sensitive, swollen clit. You claw desperately at his back as you feel your walls clench and pulse around his length, well aware you won’t be able to hold on much longer but unable to warn him.

Fortunately for you, Michael has committed your tells to memory, even in the few short weeks the two of you have been intimate. “Come,” he commands harshly, gasping out the word just as you feel his length beginning to twitch inside you, “Fuck, come love, come.”

You nod your head wildly, rutting your hips against his as you shiver, your walls growing ever tighter on his length as you hang helplessly over the edge of your high.

“I fucking love you,” he grunts suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in your neck, mouthing uncontrollably at your neck as he keeps mumbling, “I love you, I love you, I love you so—shit, so fucking much! Fucking come, babygirl, come!”

Your head spins at his confession, heart hammering wildly in your chest as your high slams into you. You seize under him, shaking and crying as you pulse around his length, tears leaking into your hairline while you moan loudly, hips rutting wildly against him as you pull him somehow closer with your legs around his waist.

In the back of your mind, you hear him grunting harshly into your ear, squeezing the life out of you while he trembles, thrusting harshly into you one, two, three more times before stilling, hard cock pulsing wildly as he empties into you, flooding your walls with his warm spend.

Both of you pant harshly, a shiny sheen of sweat covering you. After a moment, you finally relax and your legs slip from around his waist, flopping lazily onto his bed.

You let out a breathy laugh as you look over him, his head still resting against your chest. His blond hair is messy, sticking up in all sorts of ways from where you’d run your fingers through it. Slowly, he relaxes against you too, slumping against you as he sighs tiredly, eventually matching your own spent laugh. Yours eyes slip closed after a moment and you let out a relaxed hum when you feel him tracing shapes onto your shoulder.

“I love you too.”

You giggle when his head instantly shoots up, tired eyes immediately meeting yours as he squints, “Y-You do?” The shock on his face is clear and he blushes so heavily the pink color extends all the way to the tops of his ears.

“For someone so smart you can be really dense,” you laugh, grinning as he sheepishly smiles at you, “How could I not?”

“Say it again,” he asks softly, a clear need in his eyes, “Please.”

“I love you, Michael Gavey.” You murmur, pushing a strand of hair off of his forehead.

He preens momentarily, shoulders seeming to square off with a newfound confidence before a familiar smirk lights upon his face. “No need to be so formal about it, love,” he quips, slowly pulling his softening length from your soaked core, shushing you sweetly as he does, “Daddy will do just fine.”

You roll your eyes with a laugh, playfully smacking his shoulder. “I’m trying to be sweet and you’re being an ass as usual!”

He snickers softly, biting his lip with a groan when he leans back to watch his cum slowly leak from you. “Well, lucky I’m your ass.” He smirks, laying beside you as he rests his head on his pillow.

“Oh, so you’re mine now?” You ask blithely, skimming a finger down one of his long arms.

“Mhm,” he hums, surprising you by lifting one of your thighs; you whine when his fingers connect with your center once again, gingerly gathering his cum leaking from you before pressing it back in slowly, working it into you with a smirk, “And you’re all mine, gotta make sure to claim you properly.”

You shudder at his words, biting your lip as you feel a familiar fog invading your mind once again. You don’t bother protesting, not even attempting to make a quick quip as you lean in and kiss him softly. A hot hand against your cheek makes you pull back, smirking when your eyes finally focus on his fingers, still shining with your combined juices.

“Jesus,” he breathes as he watches you take his fingers into your mouth, your own hands holding him steady at his forearm as you greedily suck at his fingers, “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” you giggle, finally pulling off his fingers with a soft pop, letting his hand rest against your waist as the two of you lie contently together on his bed, facing each other.

You see his eyelids begin to droop tiredly, a small sigh leaving his lips as he relaxes, “You know, you do have to actually help me study later.” You point out, laughing as he groans sleepily.

“Only if it ends with you on my cock.” He mumbles, pulling him closer to you as his breathing begins to even out.

“Like it hasn’t ended that way every time before?” You jokingly question as you let your eyes trace over his features, taking in his strong nose and jaw, smiling at the way his lips are still quirked up at the edges. Eventually, your eyes begin to droop too and you snuggle into him, breathing in his familiar scent as you drift off, something woodsy yet bookish, mixed with something that’s entirely Michael.

Your Michael.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenswife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @officerbrowneyes

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brighteyedbushybrowed · 2 years

Text

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 (Perv!Eddie x Perv!Reader) Eddie is such a perv, constantly wanting to fuck you and do things to you that friends definitely didn’t do. Who knew that a storm was all it would take to change that?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 Absolute filth (18+ only, MINORS DNI or I will fuck your dad into oblivion), pillow fucking, humping but no penetration, dirty talk, unprotected sexual activity (use protection please!!), squirting, mommy kink, voyeurism kink if you squint, Eddie and reader being pervs.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 I have no excuse or explanation other than I am a stupidly horny fella and couldn’t stop thinking about this for a while. Perv!Eddie can do whatever he wants to me at this point, I don’t care. Might write more of perv!Eddie if enough people like this and I don’t get shadowbanned. I should really post my stuff on AO3 just to be safe lmao.

If asked about it, Eddie would say that he definitely wasn’t a pervert thank you very much. That he’d never once thought about you as anything more than a friend.

However, that was as far from the truth as he could get.

It had started six months into your friendship. Up until that point, his dirty thoughts and filthy fantasies had never been related to you. The adult films and magazines he kept hidden under his bed had been inspiration for his perverted thoughts, the men and women in them his sole focus as he thought about every single thing he wanted them to do to him and vice versa, fisting his cock desperately to the over exaggerated sounds the actors in the videos made.

But then the focal point of these thoughts and fantasies and even his wet dreams changed when he accidentally walked in on you getting changed into some clean clothes. He hadn’t seen much, just the curve of your ass in your white cotton panties and a sliver of boob as you’d pulled on one of his shirts over your bare chest. He was out of the room just as quickly as he’d stepped in, embarrassed about walking in on you like that, but the image of your barely clothed body was tattooed permanently onto his brain.

From that point on, his fantasies had morphed so that you were all he was thinking about. His cock sliding leisurely in and out of you beneath your panties until he came on the fabric and made you continue to wear them so that his seed was pressed against your skin and cunt. You riding him on the teacher’s desk inside a locked classroom, your moans and cries loud and needy and alerting everyone outside to what you were doing and who was eliciting those sounds from you. Sliding his rock hard dick between your tits, your tongue flicking out against the tip before he came all over your chest and face. Pushing your head down into a pillow and making you cry from overstimulation as he thrusted in and out of you at a punishing pace, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room as his headboard banged against the wall.

Eddie had often excused himself when you hung out with him, desperate to find the nearest bathroom or rest room so that he could quickly rub one out, but it was never enough. The thoughts still remained, and he had to do it at least twice to satiate him until he was able to take care of himself properly in the privacy of his room when nobody else was around.

And then there were the times when he was at your house. He’d lost count of the number of times since that day that he’d stolen a pair of your panties and taken it home with him to wrap around his aching cock and fuck into a pillow while picturing it was your wet heat that he was burying himself into. He always made sure to wash them after he used them and snuck them back into your panty drawer whenever he was next in your bedroom. He thought he was being very discreet about it; you’d never confronted him about it after all. However, stealing panties just wasn’t enough for him after a couple of months. He wanted to touch you – to fuck you – so bad and no pair of panties in the world would ever feel as amazing as he knew your pussy would.

Then the storm hit.

You’d been hanging out with him for the day now that he’d finally graduated, watching movies with Wayne and eating takeout to celebrate. About an hour after Eddie’s uncle had gone to work, the rain had started falling a lot harder and faster until there were reports of flooding throughout Hawkins all over the news. There was no way you were going to get home until the storm stopped and flooding subsided, so Eddie insisted that you stay the night and sleep in his bed while he took the sofa. It had taken a lot of arguing and a game of rock paper scissors to convince you to take his bed, but now you were sound asleep in his room wearing nothing but one of Eddie’s Hellfire shirts and a pair of his boxers. The fact you were asleep and not doing anything that could be interpreted as even remotely sexual didn’t stop him from getting hard as he lay under a thin blanket on the sofa. He was picturing the way your chest was rising and falling as you rested, your nipples hard and showing through his shirt with an arm tossed back over your face while your other rested on your stomach with your legs slightly parted. And you were wearing his clothes, which made him even more hard. He couldn’t help but palm his crotch over his pyjama pants, the friction good but not enough. It was never enough.

Knowing he could get into a lot of trouble and probably permanently ruin his friendship with you, he threw the blanket aside and crept into his bedroom to grab one of his pillows. His eyes raked over your unconscious form as he did so, biting his lip at the thought of waking you up so he could fuck you into the mattress until you were screaming his name. If he didn’t leave now, he’d never stop thinking about it and that would lead to him feeling far too tempted to go through with it for his liking.

As he turned to make his way back to the living room, his bare foot got caught in some fabric and he bent down to move it, freezing when he saw the familiar white cotton of your panties. The same panties you’d worn when he’d walked in on you changing clothes. He knew he shouldn’t, but he picked them up and held the crotch up to his nose, inhaling the scent and having to bite back a moan at the smell while his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He was addicted to it, the scent never failing to make his cock even harder. He made sure you were still asleep then licked at the crotch of your panties, whimpering softly at the faint taste you’d left behind. It was at that point he realised that there was no turning back now. Even if he wanted to, he was never going to be able to think of anyone other than you when he touched himself. You were going to haunt him until the day he died.

Eddie quickly bent down again to pick up your discarded t-shirt and took both items and the pillow back to the living room with him. Wayne had called earlier to say he wouldn’t be back until noon the next day because of the flooding, meaning he had the living room to himself to do whatever he needed to in order to get his release. He listened out to make sure you were still sound asleep as he pulled your t-shirt over the pillow, his mouth dry. He could say that he couldn’t believe what he was about to do, but that was a lie. This was exactly the sort of thing a dirty pervert like him would do.

And he fucking loved every minute.

Pulling down his pyjama pants to his knees, he hissed when the air hit his leaking dick. The head was an angry red with a bead of pearlescent precum dripping out of it. He pulled up the sides of the pillow as he rested his cock on it, biting his lip as he began to rock his hips a little. The perfect friction against his sensitive cock made him toss his head back, gripping both sides of the pillow with one hand so that it encompassed him. It was nowhere near what he imagined your walls squeezing and milking him would feel like, but it was as close as he was going to get.

“Fuck, mm, yeah, you like that?” he murmured as he slid his cock in and out of the makeshift pussy he’d tried to create, thinking about you with your legs wrapped around his waist and your feet pushing against his ass to drive him deeper inside you. He brought your used panties up to his nose with his free hand and inhaled deeply. His moan was high pitched as he picked up his pace, already desperate to cum all over his pillow. He wondered if he came hard enough whether it would get on your t-shirt too. The image of you finding the clothing he’d soiled and putting it on, gathering some of his cum on your finger and sucking it into your mouth with a groan, made his hips stutter as he began to fuck the makeshift pillow pussy harder. He licked the crotch of your panties again, desperate to have your taste on his tongue as he got himself off.

“Somebody’s being a dirty boy, aren’t they?”

Your voice had him panicking, immediately stopping his movements as he tossed your panties away from his blushing face. He knew that being caught in the act was supposed to make him feel embarrassed and ashamed, but the thought of you seeing him fuck himself on a pillow clad in your shirt while he breathed in your panties made him want to keep going and show you just what a fucking mess you made him.

He watched as you moved closer to the sofa he was kneeling on, your hands making him drop the sides of the pillow. He almost came there and then when you bit your lip and moaned, his cock twitching as you gazed down at it. A shiver ran through his body when you teasingly trailed a finger from the base to the tip, dipping it into the slit to collect some of his precum. You stared into his eyes as you licked the digit agonisingly slowly.

“What’s wrong, Eds? Aren’t you gonna fuck that pillow for me? Or would you prefer something a little different?” you asked.

He shuddered and groaned quietly. “I didn’t –”

“Didn’t what?” you cooed, slowly pulling his boxers off your body and kicking them aside. “Didn’t think I’d catch you? Didn’t think I knew what you did with my panties every time you came over to my house? Didn’t think I’ve heard you getting off in the bathroom thinking about me?”

Whimpering, Eddie nodded his head and watched as you moved your hand to between your legs and pulled it back to show him your wet, sticky arousal all over your fingers. He obediently opened his mouth when your prodded them against his lips, sucking them and licking them as he fisted the pillow beneath him. He loved the way you’d tasted in your panties, but this? This was far better than he ever could have imagined.

“I’ve been waiting for months now for you to just take me,” you told him. “Wanted you to just grab me and fuck me until I’m cock-drunk and can’t think of anything other than how good you make me feel. Been touching myself every single night thinking about you. Had to buy a dildo and hide it in my closet so I could fuck myself on it thinking about you and that dick of yours, but it’s never enough. I’m constantly craving the real thing and I’m tired of waiting for you to bend me over and fuck me against the kitchen counter.”

He mewled and started to rock his hips against the pillow once more as you spoke. Never in a million years did he think that you were just as desperate for him as he was for you, nor that you were just as perverted as he was.

“Please,” he begged, your fingers dropping from his mouth. “Please touch me. Want you to make me cum so bad. Need you.”

You smirked as you took his chin between your thumb and forefinger. “Seeing as you asked so nicely…”

He could’ve climaxed there and then when you moved to straddle the pillow he was fucking, the lips of your cunt on top of his cock. You both sighed out a moan as he slid between your folds and the pillow slowly, your slick coating him. Eddie glanced down at where your bodies met and watched him move in and out of your slit. His focus was quickly torn away from the sight when your grabbed his hair and yanked it so that he was looking at the lust-filled expression on your face.

“Look at me when I’m helping you to cum. I could’ve just left you like this and made you watch me get off, rubbing my clit at the sight of you so desperate you’d fuck a pillow just to get some relief,” you demanded, making him release a choked out gasp.

“I’m sorry, mommy. You’re such a good mommy, letting me cum like this,” he replied, almost sobbing.

As you smashed your lips into his, tongues meeting as you pulled his head in the direction you wanted it to go, he began to roll his hips a little faster. His fingers flicked against your clothed nipples as he leaked more precum onto the pillow and he relished the way your hips bucked against him. He allowed one of his hands to stop playing with your nipples and started to rub your clit in hurried circles.

“Good boy.” You praised him while you pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva remaining between your mouths. “You gonna make me cum, baby? Gonna make me soak your cock and pillow while you desperately fuck the pillow? Such a dirty boy.”

His hand that had been pinching your nipple moved to grab your waist as his movements became sloppy, his climax quickly approaching at the combination of your pussy on top of his dick, the friction of the pillow beneath you both, and your sinful words. You grabbed the hand that was touching your clit and guided his movements, moaning as he touched you exactly how you liked it. You were jerking into his touch and gliding back and forth over his hard cock as he started to whine and whimper. The moment he felt you clench on top of him as you cried out, squirting over his cock and hand, he threw his head back and groaned while he came. His hips continued to jolt forward as you kept grinding down on him until he finished cumming. Both of you panted and clung to one another as you slowly came down from your highs.

When you were ready, you climbed off the pillow and admired the mess the two of you had made. Your shirt was covered in your cum and his and the bottom of Eddie’s tank top was soaked, his cock glistening as he shakily stood up and pulled his pyjama pants back up. Your lips descended upon his before he could say anything, your hands cupping his face while he rested his on your hips.

“Mm,” you murmured as you backed away from his lips. “You were such a good boy for me, Eddie. Next time don’t make me wait six months. If you want to touch me, kiss me, fuck me, whatever, do it.”

He searched your face for any hint of teasing or joking. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You laughed. “And say what? Oh Eddie, I want you balls deep inside of me while I bounce on your cock in the back of your van where anyone could catch us by looking through the windows?”

He groaned and felt his cock twitch in his pants. “Please tell me we get to keep fucking like this. I don’t think I can go back and pretend this never happened.”

“Sure. But on one condition.”

He nodded frantically. “Anything.”

You felt him shiver as you ran a finger down his chest. “Take me on a date next Friday. Pick me up at 8:30pm and take me out for a burger and milkshake. Then you can take me home and fuck me silly while you tell me all the dirty little things you wanna do to me. How’s that sound?”

He grinned excitedly and lightly pressed his lips against yours. “Yes, mommy.”

#spicy content #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie #perv!eddie munson x perv!reader #eddie munson smut #smut #fanfic #mine #my fanfic

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golbrocklovely · 1 year

Text

privacy please // colby brock

A/N: me, posting more than once a month??? INCREDIBLE. i was midway thru writing "let's fall in love for tonight" when this idea popped into my head and i just had to write it down. part of this is inspired by a tiktok i saw of a girl talking about a time she was hooking up with a guy. i wish i could find the tiktok and share it with you all bc the moment she said what she said.... i just knew i had to include it in a fic at some point lol so shoutout to that girl. this is a short fic/blurb bc i have some other fics lined up that are gonna be full blown smut so i don't want to tucker myself out writing smut only. and if you see me using what happens in this fic in other fics.... say nothing sksks lmk what you think and i'll see you guys next time <3

prompt: you and colby just want some privacy, but the only place you can get it is in his car. || fem!reader x colby brock

trigger warning: light smut (no actual sex), cursing, making out in a car, fluff, already established relationship

word count: 1363

~~~~~~~~

"This is so ridiculous." Colby groaned, pulling away from our kiss.

I giggled, staring up at his annoyed face. "No it's not, it's kinda fun."

"How is this fun? I feel like I'm gonna pull a hamstring." He scoffed.

I sassed him, rolling my eyes. "Well, it's your fault you don't have a car big enough for your five foot eleven ass."

"I don't think I was meant to lay out horizontally in my car." He replied back, just as snarky.

"Well, blame Toyota," I sat up on my elbows, huffing. Does he think I'm comfortable in this cramped back seat? "Or better yet, Sam and Kat for wanting to have their friends over when all we want to do is fuck."

"Maybe if you weren't so loud, we could have sex in my room without everyone knowing." Colby raised an eyebrow at me daringly. I could see his bottom lip quiver as he tried to hold back a laugh.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You never seemed to have a problem with my screaming before. I'll gladly remember next time you're begging me to say your name to be quiet."

He gasped, legitimately upset. "Begging?! I don't beg."

"'C'mon baby, say my name.'" I mocked in a deep voice. "What's that sound like to you?"

"Commanding!" He barked.

"Not when you're breathy it ain't!" I jeered sarcastically.

Colby sat up quickly, pouting jokingly. He kept my legs on his lap, his hands cupping my ankles. I sighed deeply, smiling up at the ceiling of the car. "Are you really not enjoying this?"

He chuckled, the 'tension' in the car defusing. "I enjoy any time I get to be alone with you."

I hummed, "Good to know. I think this is kinda exciting. It feels like I'm a teenager again, sneaking around with a boyfriend my mom doesn't know about."

"Am I, like, your edgy boyfriend?" He questioned, side eyeing me.

"Oh yeah. You have tattoos, wear all black, curse, drink..." I gasped, "Oh my God, you're, like, so cool."

Colby bit his lip, staring at me intensely. "Get over here."

He grabbed my wrists lightly, pulling me up. I straddled him, a soft grunt falling from his lips as a I settled onto his lap. "Much better." He murmured.

I studied his face for a moment, taking in all the little details I could. The way his hair fell, covering his forehead. The lovely shape of his eyebrows, manicured without him trying - which was honestly the most annoying thing about him. He also had surprisingly long eyelashes for a man, something I was jealous about as well. His eyes - which of course were to die for. So blue and deep. I had stared into them so many times I had lost count. I never saw the end of them, never studied them long enough to know every intricate detail about them. I don't think there would ever be enough time to do that.

"Hi." Colby whispered, softly smiling.

A light blush came to my cheeks, "Hi."

My hands cupped his face sweetly, his eyes closing at the feeling. I gazed at his cheeks; how adorable they were. I would try my best to remind him that even though he didn't like them himself, I enjoyed his "chubby" cheeks. His dimples. Oh my GOD, his dimples. If I could, I would take a picture of every time I was able to make his dimples appear. I would fill a whole photo album of just his face smiling. And I can't forget his nose. His nose was so... masculine, in an interesting way. It fit his face perfectly. Angular with a slight point.

And then of course his lips. I've had dreams of just kissing him. Of just staring at his mouth. Sometimes it's hard to pay attention to him when he talks because all I can think about is his lips and what they've done to me, and what they plan to do.

He laced his fingers through mine, finally breaking the silence in the car. "What's going on in that head of yours? You look so lost in thought."

"I'm just... looking at you." I confessed.

"You like what you see?" He mumbled.

"Love." I emphasized.

He nodded his head, his eyes filled with adoration. He rested his forehead against mine, our lips brushing. His hand slid out of mine, meeting his other on the small of my back. "You are one of the best things that has ever happened to me."

"The feeling is completely mutual." I agreed.

"Good to know...." He leaned in and pecked my lips gently, almost taking my breath away. He pushed my body into his, pressing me as closely as he could. I deepened the kiss, my fingers tugging on his hair. His tongue slid into my mouth, a moan leaving my lips. My hips naturally grinded down onto him, his hands gripping my waist a little harder from the friction.

He moved his mouth from mine, kissing down my neck and finding the perfect spot in seconds. I lulled my head back, allowing him to attack my neck with his lips and tongue and teeth. I whimpered, my hips bucking against his. He pushed his up, grinding just against the right spot to make my breath hitch. I could feel him getting harder under me, pressing against me in the most sinful way. His hands drifted to my thighs, rubbing up and down them.

"You know..." Colby chimed in, breathlessly. "I really love these fishnets."

I uttered, in a daze. "Wha-?"

He continued his motions, causing goosebumps to form on my skin, "I really like that you wear fishnets. They look so sexy on you."

I cleared my throat, finally able to think again. "Um, thank you."

"It's too bad they just take forever to get off." He somewhat grumbled, dropping his head.

I shrugged halfheartedly. "Yeah, I guess."

"How many pairs do you have?" He asked, looking back up at me.

"Of fishnets? Like five or so." I guessed.

Colby nodded. "And how much was this pair?

"What?" I squinted at him, confused. He blinked, wanting me to continue. "Uh, they were like $25."

"Okay...." He paused, his hands resting on top of my thighs. "Remind me to pay you back."

Before I could say anything, Colby's grip tightened on the fishnets. His fingers laced through the holes in the material. He pulled his arms back, ripping the fishnets with ease. I shuttered at his action, gasping in awe, anger, and lust at seeing him tear them without any problems. Feeling them rip from my body, my skin now exposed, caused heat to rush to my sex. My underwear grew even more wet as my eyes met his dark ones.

"Colby! What the fuck?!" I yelled.

"Don't tell me you didn't like that." He grew close to my face, his voice lowering, "Don't lie to me, baby."

I stammered, trying to form words under his lustful gaze. "T-That's not the point. What are you, an animal?"

"Only with you, darling." He whispered harshly.

My breath raced as I glared into Colby's eye. He had such a devilish look to him, and while I was pissed he would rip my favorite tights, it was also extremely hot.

"Fuck, I hate you." I yanked his face forward, forcing his lips onto mine deeply. He smirked against the kiss, humming a response playfully. I snaked my tongue into his mouth, needing to taste him.

He pulled away, catching his breath at my expense. "Are you sure you want to do this? I can't exactly get on top of you."

"If you have to fuck me in the trunk, then so be it. I just need you to do it now." I gripped his shirt, wanting it off his body.

He laughed darkly. "I don't know... you're demanding a lot for someone that's very breathy."

"Colby, don't fucking tease me." I grabbed his hand, sliding it into my underwear and putting his fingers against my heat. I breathed, "I'm so wet for you."

He swallowed hard, his pupils dilating. "Okay... I think we can manage something."

#colby brock #colby brock x reader #colby brock blurb #colby brock smut #colby brock fluff #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock one shot #colby brock oneshot

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syneilesis · 5 months

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[fic] Coffee Break

Coffee Break

Love and Deepspace | Xavier (Shen Xinghui) x Main-Character!Reader | G | 1.2k words ao3 link

You buy Xavier a new coffee machine.

A/N: I am so in love with this man. Day 2 of the closed beta test and here I am writing fic lmao. God, I love Shen Xinghui so much. This fic is inspired by his Shimmering Sunlight story. Some spoilers about the main storyline and character-exclusive stories, though nothing too significant. Though I frequently refer to his CN name in my other posts, in this fic I use his EN version -- Xavier.

The box is light in your hands, but the salesperson assured you that weight does not equate to quality. Price, too—because although the Hunters Association is generous with their pay, you don't want to raise flags by taking missions incessantly. Tara's nose for intrigue, of course, is well-known among your circles.

It would be all the worse if Xavier gets in on the gossip too. (You'd have to thank the stars for the man's indifference to workplace drama—and to most in general. Xavier may be airheaded at times but when he's focused on something he is monstrously focused on it. It's impressive, and—well—cute.)

The recommended beans are secured inside your messenger bag. You don't call Xavier this time to give him a heads up. He had, a few days ago, granted you the privilege to enter his home whenever you like, his hand tracing the book spines on the shelf, all the while saying it. He wasn't looking at you, but his tone remained light, playful even, that it prompted you to tease him by pointing out that if he merely wanted an efficient alarm clock, he could just buy one of those state-of-the-art ones sold in major stores. That's when Xavier whirled around to look at you, mirth in his eyes but with a secretive, scheming tilt on his lips.

“I'm coming in,” you announce, regardless, by the door, pushing it in with one hand, and Xavier's voice floats across the hall.

“You're really taking advantage of this, huh.”

“Well, a wise man once said that one must seize every opportunity given their way.”

Xavier emerges from a room in all his cardigan-and-sweatpantsed glory, hair mussed enough to indicate that he's just risen from his bed.

“Good morning!” you chirp.

He glances at the clock—two in the afternoon—and eyes the box in your hands. The caution—and curiosity—is obvious in the lilt of his question. “What's that?”

“For you.”

He takes the proffered item and inspects like it'll explode at any moment. You sigh and retrieve it again, and he follows you when you make your way to the kitchen.

“I already have a coffee machine,” he says, confused, as you begin to clean the gift.

“And it brews bitter coffee.” You spare a glance at him to find that he's watching you. You tap the lid of the machine. “This is a more recent and an undeniably better model.”

“I don't recall asking you to buy one for me.”

“That's because you didn't.” There's a pause where you deliberate telling him your next sentence and facing him directly as you say it. You go for it, in the end. “It's a gift. This is a gift from me to you.”

It doesn't register to him at first—it's as if he's waiting for an explanation that requires the mention of Captain Jenna's orders. But after a blink and a shuffle, it clicks, his eyes widening and he's fully awake all of a sudden.

And when he responds, it seems urgent: “What's the occasion?”

You shake your head. “Nothing—or rather, it's the occasion for drinking good coffee.” The coffee beans make their appearance. “Go sit on the sofa or something while I work this thing out.”

Xavier chuckles. “What—now you're ordering me in my own home?”

“And making you good coffee!”

“You're a guest—even I know that it's rude to have the guest make food or drinks for the owner of the house.”

“It's fine! And besides, I'd like to test this out as soon as possible. Refund and exchange policy only lasts for seven days from the date of purchase. I'd want to know if this works just fine.”

Xavier attempts to protest a little more, but you hold firm. Once he trudges back to the living room, you concentrate on the coffee. The salesperson seemed trustworthy enough when pitching the product, and you really can't forget the time Xavier served you a cup of bitter coffee. Not even three sugar cubes could salvage that unholy concoction.

When it's done, the heavenly aroma wafting along your nose, you test a sip from your own mug. It's a success. Placing the mugs on a tray, you head to where Xavier is.

He's reading a book. Though 'reading' seems to be a stretch because his head bobs twice, his eyelids drooping, the edge of a nap threatening his posture.

“Xavier,” you call him, and his head snaps back to attention. You bite your lip to stave off a laugh. Sitting next to him on the sofa, you put the tray on the table and hand him his own cup. “Try this one.”

A sniff and a tentative sip. And then he hums in approval, now drinking it normally. You smile around the rim of your mug, your eyes falling on his book.

“This is good,” he comments, wearing a smile of his own when he turns to you. “Did you use another kind of coffee beans?”

“Yep. The salesman recommended me another one, and it was the right decision. By the way, why are you reading an instruction manual on building a claw machine?”

“It's nothing,” he says, swiping the item away. There's another book on the table—a collection of short stories—and he snatches that up instead. You recognize the title.

“Oh! I've read that before.”

“Is it good? I haven't read it yet.”

“Yes. I particularly loved the titular story. The suspense buildup was done skillfully and the payoff was perfect.”

“I see, then I look forward to starting it.”

Surprisingly, Xavier begins reading it then and there, occasionally sipping his coffee and turning the page. You, beside him, are minding your own cup, thoughts drifting here and there. Your next mission. New strategies in battle. Your next appointment with Dr. Zayne.

It's when a weight has plopped down your shoulder that you jolt out of your musings: Xavier falling asleep on your shoulder, mug empty, the coffee residues pooling at the bottom, book opened in the chapter of your favorite story.

“Xavier?” you murmur, careful not to startle him if he's truly asleep.

He doesn't stir—only burrows further into the crevice between your neck and shoulder, the puffs of his breath close and warm against your skin.

It would've been cruel to push him away, not when he looks comfortable. And besides, you're afforded an opportunity to study him—so you let him as he is.

From your angle, staring down at his sleeping face, you note of his eyelashes, long and thick and seemingly soft, slightly curved upwards, hovering over his smooth cheeks. They frame the blueness of his eyes very well. They make him even prettier under daylight. You're reminded of the time you and he strolled under the blooming peach blossoms, the pink backdrop highlighting the radiance of his presence, statuesque. He as sublime art itself, rivaling that of Rafayel's paintings—or better yet, surpassing them. And when he smiles—

Unbidden, heat crawls across your cheeks and settles there. Oh no. Oh, no no no.

Oh dear, this won't do.

You swallow, and turn away. Against your neck, Xavier sleeps on, unaware of your unfurling realizations. By the window, a familiar bird perches, twittering under the afternoon sun, a small but melodious background song.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace shen xinghui #love and deepspace xavier #fic #my fic #shen xinghui #shen xinghui my beloved #i'm obsessed with this man #this won't be the only fic i'll write for him and for this game

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su8arandspite · 5 months

Text

Show Me

Summary: When Steve and Robin bail on you, you’re left alone with Eddie for the first time and you want him to teach you how to play the guitar. But you find it hard to focus. Or, alternatively, the one in which you find out why Eddie Munson keeps handcuffs in his bedroom and what those stains on his mattress really are.

eddie munson x afab!reader, steve harrington x afab!reader (implied)

Warnings and content: 18+ mdni, smut, mentions of the ud, canon-compliant brief gore, eddie lives!post st4, alcohol and drug use, use of restraints, squirting, limited physical descriptions of reader (though I think I inferred long hair), no use of y/n, reader loves journey bc me too

A/N: i was absolutely drunk when i wrote this ngl. it’s shameless filth, and i am not sorry. this is my first good faith effort to write in second person, so y/n is used only sparingly. inspired by the fun, spicy lil details in eddie’s room. this was originally a steve x reader x eddie threesome piece but it was simply too long, so who knows, part 2??

Word count: 9.6k

divider cr: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

It was a Saturday night tradition. After a particularly mind-numbing shift at Family Video, you, Steve, and Robin were always in desperate need of some fun. Really, it was a miracle that Keith even let the three of you work the same shift, given the especially sloppy work you produced when presented with the distractions of your best friends. As much as you loathed Keith, you supposed you might as well use his apparent –albeit inappropriate– fondness for you to your advantage. After the first time Eddie called the store during your combined shifts, the routine formed easily: the second that the last customer left and the door was locked, the three of you piled into Steve’s BMW to meet Eddie at his trailer for a well-deserved joint or some shots of tequila, maybe a bit of both if the day was particularly unbearable.

Tonight, though, your friends seemed to have other ideas. It was Robin who first broke the routine. She burst into the store with a guilty grin and a rushed explanation about the maybe-date she had with Vicki. And, okay, you could admit that you were happy for her. The excited rush in her voice and dusting of pink in her cheeks made it hard to be too mad at Robin. Beaming, she nudged you in the arm:

“Besides, who wouldn’t want a night alone with Eddie and this dingus?”

You turned to glance at Steve, hiding the flush this brought to your cheeks. A sinking feeling settled deep within your belly as you caught sight of the giggly girl leaning her torso against the checkout counter. She batted her eyelashes at Steve, twirling her hair around her finger. You hadn’t needed to hear them to know that Steve was asking her out on another date that you were uncertain he even actually wanted to go on. For someone who claimed to hate it, Steve sure did seem to have quite a bit of mindless sex. Not that you wanted to think about Steve’s sex life, or him with his shirt off or– No. You pushed away the image before it could fully form in your mind.

“Whatever,” Turning back to Robin, you rolled your eyes. “Now, are you gonna help me restock the shelves, or should we risk leaving it for Steve?”

Chuckling, she nodded and followed you to the stockroom to grab the carts filled with the new arrivals. Both of you took one and wheeled it off to different parts of the store. You hummed to yourself as you lugged the heavy container towards the next genre. It was in the middle of your whispered rendition of “Lights” that Steve finally made his way over to help you.

He shot you a grin as he gripped the cart, taking it from you. You eyed him skeptically, raising an eyebrow:

“Someone looks happy,” you teased. “Did my tip to recommend Pretty in Pink get you a date again?”

Steve’s warm laughter filled the store over the radio playing through the loudspeakers. “That obvious, huh?”

You shrugged. Casually, you tell him: “There’s this little quirk to your lips that gives you away.”

Steve stared at you for a brief moment, surprised, but averted his gaze before you turned your torso back to him and grabbed another VHS. Shifting his weight, Steve rubbed his hand over his chin.

“Don’t worry, kid,” said Steve, unable to avoid a grin at the nickname. He gave you The Karate Kid Part II to put in the new release section. “I promise I’ll still drive you to Munson’s, okay?”

“Wait,” You paused, whirring back to gape at him. “What do you mean, ‘drive’ me? Steve, please tell me you’re not bailing, too!”

Steve broke out into a sheepish grin. You tossed your hands up in exasperation. While you busied herself with visibly pouting, you missed the knowing smirk that Steve gave in response.

You blinked at him. Robin, you understood; she’d been dancing around taking this plunge with Vicki for ages, but Steve…? Well, you didn’t know why that bothered you, but you suddenly found yourself filled with jealousy towards the stranger with her forced Valley Girl accent and ugly purple top. Unwilling to admit that, you instead focused on the other idea stirring your nerves. Robin wasn’t coming to smoke that night, nor was Steve. That just left you... And Eddie. It would be the first Saturday Smoke Nights without all four of you there.

The thought made your tummy flip. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Eddie– in fact, he had quickly become one of your closest friends. Still, something about the idea of spending time truly alone with him for the first time since, well, since the Upside Down, sent your heart aflutter.

You thought about canceling the whole thing until everyone was free. Except, when you floated the idea to him, Steve wasn’t having any of it.

“Maybe I should just call it a night, then,” you shrugged.

“No,” he shook his head firmly. “I’m driving you.”

Steve shot an odd look your way as he pushed the cart of tapes to be reshelved towards the Action section. You followed closely behind him, holding two tapes at a time and replacing them on the shelves.

That was how you found yourself sitting on Eddie’s bed while he deliberated over the two movies you had swiped from Family Video to watch that night— Airplane! or Teen Wolf. Not that you could care less; it was only a matter of time before you and Eddie weren’t sober enough to really care.

After a moment, Eddie looked up from the VHS cases with a brow quirked. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “How do you expect me to choose between two such riveting pieces of cinema?”

You shrugged. “Sorry, we had to pick something that Keith wouldn’t notice went missing.”

Eddie shrugged. “Werewolves it is, then.”

While Eddie held up the selected tape and carried it over to the VCR player, you rose to your feet. You adjusted your skirt as you stood, pulling the plaid material a little further down over your thighs. The white tank top that you had put on before work looked more see-through than you remembered it being without the oversized green vest of your employee uniform over it. With that shedded in the passenger seat of Steve’s car, the lacy black bra which you threw on that morning popped against the white.

“Hey, Eds,” you called out. ”You got any popcorn?”

Eddie spared you a glance, a finger suspended in the air over the play button. His breath hitched at the sight of you. He wondered if you knew how good you looked or if you meant to waste it on the renters at work. Or him, for that matter. Swallowing thickly, he told you about the Jiffy Pop he had waiting for you on the stove, and stared after you once your figure disappeared from sight.

When you returned to Eddie’s bedroom, snacks and drinks in hand, he was oddly quiet. You paused for a moment, your eyes scanning his face for signs of what was going on in that head of his. You bent to set the popcorn bowl on the floor by his feet and handed Eddie a beer. The tension in the room was palpable. It pushed you to plop yourself down in the space next to him. You watched the opening credits rolling on Eddie’s shitty TV as you settled into this new position, criss-crossing your legs.

Your palms slapped against your thighs as you rallied his attention. “Okay,” you said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get wasted.”

Eddie snickered. “Okay, princess,” he cooed. “As you wish.”

A delicious calm washed over your body as your high set in. The beer was shitty and slightly warm from not being in the trailer’s refrigerator long enough, but it was the best you two could scrounge up in Hawkins. It warmed you up and, more to the point, got the job done anyways. By the time you had a couple beers and half a joint in your system, the movie was over, and you felt more comfortable being alone with Eddie.

Your fingers ghosted over the tops of the cases as you sifted through Eddie’s cassette collection. It took a while for you to find something familiar. You waited until Eddie was in the bathroom to switch the stereo to Journey so that he couldn’t protest the change.

You spun around the room, strumming your fingers in the air against an invisible guitar. It was in the midst of this little solo act that Eddie returned. He leaned against the doorframe so as not to disturb you, a small grin overtaking him. Eddie’s eyes flickered to your hips subconsciously as the movement swished your mini skirt upwards; the sight gave him just enough of a show to stir up tantalizing thoughts about the soft skin of your upper thighs and up until they disappeared under your panties. His impure thoughts brought a dopey smile to his face. It was then that you noticed his presence.

Upon realizing that you had been caught, your cheeks heated. A small squeak passed your lips. You stopped dancing abruptly, hair falling like a curtain over your face.

“Please,” said Eddie. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Suddenly shy, you shrugged. “Shit, you scared me! But,” Your lips curled into a demure smile, “I thought you were the rockstar, Eds. Wouldn’t wanna steal your limelight”

He shrugged, “I don’t mind sharing, angel.”

You hummed. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you blurted out unfiltered thoughts:

“You know, your hair’s almost as awesome as Steve Perry’s.”

Not this again. Eddie cocked an eyebrow, “Almost?”

You shrugged, a coy smile playing over your lips. “Just a little less silky.”

Pushing your hair away from your face, you narrowed your eyes at him. You sauntered over to the bed and collapsed yourself down onto it. Your eyes flickered from his hands to his tongue as he pushed it out to wet his lips. Getting comfortable, you shifted on the bed, tucking your legs up further underneath yourself. Your hands rested patiently over your thighs as you tilted your head.

“Hey, Eddie,” you said. “Will you teach me how to play guitar? I mean, how else am I gonna become a rockstar?”

His lips quirked up at this. “Sure,” Eddie nodded. “Most songs are three simple chords, anyways.” He lifted his hands to strum at an invisible guitar of his own. You couldn’t quite focus on his explanation with his hands moving like that.

“Okay, teach. I’m all ears,” you looked up at him with wide eyes, leaning forward with your elbows against your thighs and chin resting in your palms.

Eddie marched over to the wall where his guitar hung in its place of honor. He slung the strap over his shoulder, grabbed a stray guitar pick from the desk and placed it between his lips, before taking center stage in the middle of the room.

“Now,” Eddie began. “First, you’ve just gotta learn three simple chords: D, C, and G.”

He positioned his fingers, one at a time, over the strings in the correct position. The tip of his tongue poked out between his teeth in concentration. Even as crossfaded as you both were, Eddie wanted to impress you. After all, it wasn’t every day that he had a beautiful girl sitting on his bed, and he planned to milk the moment for all it was worth. So, he did his best to look cool and, if he was lucky, maybe you would ask him to teach you again. Eddie slowed the chord down to illustrate the correct posture. He played each of the three a few times then in succession.

“Then, when you put them all together, eventually, you get a little something like this–” Eddie strummed the iconic guitar solo of “Don’t Stop Believin’.” He thanked God for the liquid courage that allowed him to play Journey for you, like he hadn’t memorized the song just because he knew you were into them. Thank Ozzy for alcohol and weed or whatever it was that kept you from pointing out that Journey wasn’t exactly metal enough for Eddie’s usual taste.

And you meant to pay attention, you really did, but your brain turned into mush at the sight of Eddie truly in his element. You could think of nothing but the quick pace of his fingers. The thick rings he wore just on the cusp of his knuckles demanded attention. You bet they would feel cool against your skin, flushed and chest heaving, while he— pay attention. You swallowed around your cottony throat. White heat snaked up your spine as your mind wandered to thoughts of what else those skilled fingers of his could do. You shifted slightly in your seat. The room suddenly felt stuffy enough to run your mouth dry.

The sound of Eddie’s voice calling your name pulled you from her reverie. “Hmm?” Your eyes drifted slowly up to his face. “Are you even listening to me?”

You blinked your eyelashes up at him. WIth a faint smile, you tilted your cheek to rest against your shoulder. “Sorry,” you muttered. “Uh, can you show me that last one again? D, wasn’t it?”

“C, actually,” he corrected. “‘S something on your mind?”

“Oh, uh, I–“

You failed to think of an excuse, but you certainly couldn’t tell him what you were really thinking. Instead, you opened and closed your jaw, unsure.

Eddie let his hands fall to his sides. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “What’s a matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

The burst of warmth this brought to your cheeks gave him confidence. Eddie gently shrugged his guitar from around his shoulders and set it aside. You could only watch, eyes wide, as he strode your way.

He moved to sit beside you with his hands laid flat against the bed to support him, one on each side of you like a lanky cage, and his tall stature leaning over you. Eddie’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips. As he leaned forward, the guitar pick which he wore around his neck swung forwards to tap against the exposed skin of your shoulder.

When you didn’t respond, Eddie continued: “You wanna know what I think?”

With Eddie so close, you struggled to think of anything at all. The weed mixed with Eddie’s cologne— since when did he wear that?— and made your head swim even faster. You barely registered the words as they left your lips, “What’s that?”

Eddie sucked his teeth, a low rumble of a chuckle rippling through his chest as he leaned in to drop his lips to your ear. His hair tickled the skin of your neck. Gooseflesh rippled over you as his hot breath met your ear, “I think you’d rather watch”

You swallowed thickly. There was little time to compose yourself, though you tried, as Eddie leaned back against his palms, flattening them to give himself a better view. The expectant way in which he looked at you made you melt like putty under his hot, hungry gaze. Eddie reveled in the way you averted your eyes, embarrassed, and knowing you’d been caught. His big brown eyes gleamed.

Lamely, you shoved at his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I–“

You went to call him an asshole but lost your train of thought entirely. The quip died in your throat as a flash of something shiny in your peripheral vision caught your eye. It was your turn to smile devilishly at him as you realized what it was.

Eddie frowned at the dip of the bed as you rose to your feet and stepped away from him. His gaze followed your saunter as you tiptoed over a copy of Heavy Metal magazine and a pile of cassette tapes to stop before the wall.

You lifted up the silver object with one finger. Turning to the boy, your lip curled devilishly into a knowing smirk. Eddie knew he should have been embarrassed or something, probably needed to come up with some plausible excuse for why he kept handcuffs in his bedroom. Maybe you would buy it if he said he was trying a hand at being an amateur magician? No, that was lame. He wanted to be a cop? Yeah, right! He certainly couldn’t tell you that he liked to use his hands in bed and, sometimes, he wanted to be the only one doing that. Could he?

“You know,” you lifted your eyes from the cuffs to meet Eddie’s. “My big brother’s a cop.”

The way that you twirled them around in circles stirred up something within Eddie. This, along with the plump pout of your lips, left Eddie suddenly very turned on. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah,” he said lamely.

“Well, then, Eddie, baby, you should know that he also taught me a little trick about how to get out of them.” You pulled at each loop of the cuffs until the chain was taut. “Do you want me to show you how?”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to stare and squirm. The suggestive tone to your voice rendered him speechless. He nodded dumbly. Your lips curved upwards devilishly. Mimicking his tone from earlier, you teased: “Cat got your tongue?

“Put ‘em on for me?”

Eddie swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so. He rose to his feet at your command. Your hands brushed as he took the restraints from the end of your finger. You blinked up at him expectantly as you pushed your wrists together in front of yourself. The cuffs bound your wrists as one with a resounding click. Eddie took a step back to admire his work. You looked so damn pretty with your hands all bound up for him, your wide eyes the icing on the cake.

“Wait,” Eddie shook his head. He gripped your wrists in one hand, stilling them before you had a chance to show him your trick. “Keep them on”

The mere sight of you in his cuffs made Eddie’s cock stir within his jeans.

“Perfect,” he muttered. The remark was more to himself than anything. It made you dizzy nonetheless.

Eddie didn’t know where his newfound confidence came from–the weed, maybe, or the shine in your eyes as you looked at him– but it was welcomed either way. Playful banter and a flair for the dramatics were his bread and butter, sure, but this? Flirting with you and unabashedly ogling you in his cuffs was something Eddie never saw happening outside of his perverted fantasies. Whatever pushed him to do it, he was chuffed that he had the courage to say what he did next.

His thumb and forefinger pinched your chin, lifting it upwards to force your gaze upon him. “You didn’t really want me to show you how to play the guitar, did you?” he clicked his tongue. “No, you wanted me to teach you what my fingers can do to you”

Then his thumb pushed at your mouth, tapping against your pillowy lower lip. He applied gentle pressure to it, just enough not to push its way inside. “Is that what you want, angel?” A whine rumbled deep within you. You could only nod dumbly in response. Eddie clicked his tongue, head shaking. “Sorry, what was that? Can’t hear you”

“Yes.” That was all the confirmation Eddie needed. He pressed his thumb firmly so that it opened your mouth for him. Your tongue lapped at the intruder, teasingly, as you sucked him in. Eddie all but melted at the sensation and his cock responded similarly, his dirty thoughts racing with desire for that mouth of yours.

He jerked his head towards the bed. “Sit.” You obeyed readily and sat on the end of his mattress, legs dangling off the edge, and spread your knees wide for him.

Eddie bunched your skirt up with his fists and flipped it upwards on your hips. This gave him an eyeful of skimpy lacy panties that the skirt hardly covered to begin with. Christ. A whine escaped him at the filthy sight. He pushed your thighs as wide apart as he could by the knee. His hands ghosted over your skin from the knee up to the thickest parts of your thigh. He grabbed at the fleshy part of leg just below your ass.

He pushed aside your panties with his thumb to expose your wetness to him. A slow, shaky exhale escaped him as he dragged his finger through the slick and back up to rub sloppy circles against your clit. This made your breath hitch in your throat. Your mouth hung open with the silent whine threading to spill out.

Eddie’s Cheshire Cat grin only grew as he stretched his long fingers out to hook into the fabric of your underwear, keeping as much contact as he could with your clit, until he managed to yank them down your thighs and around the left ankle. Swiftly, and so smoothly that you didn’t even notice, he tucked the lacy material in the front pocket of his jeans. For later.

“Kiss me,” your voice sounded like a true angel whispering to him. His nickname for you had never felt more apt.

Eddie’s fingers never ceased on your clit as he dipped his head down to press his lips against your cheek. He mumbled a slew of praises and compliments against your skin as he mapped a trail along your jawbone to your neck, pausing to suckle a deep hickey on the jugular and ghost against your clavicle. Only when his name passed your saccharine lips did he give you what you wanted and press his mouth hungrily to yours.

As you melted into his touch, you breathed a happy sigh against him. You kissed every last inch of nerves and desire away into his waiting mouth. Eddie swallowed it readily. His mind buzzed with the hazy static of lust and illicit substances until he could no longer hear Steve Perry’s voice thrumming in the background. He thought maybe his heart was going to take flight. Deep unfiltered want drove Eddie as he added a second and third finger to your clit and increased the pace. He blinked through heavy lids as you twitched involuntarily at the sheer pleasure.

From the moment he laid eyes on you, Eddie was a hopeless fool for you. You were exactly the beautiful, smart, warm breath of air that he needed. His heart ached for you with each brush of your hands as you both reached for a kernel of popcorn from the same bowl during movie nights with your friends. That had been enough for him up until now; Eddie would take as much or as little of you as you wanted to offer him. Even if tonight turned out to be just another one of his elaborate fantasies, he’d die a happy man—he seemed to have more and more vivid images of you in all your sunny glory as of late, the filthy thoughts flooding his mind in the quiet moments when he was truly alone and his hand wandered on its own accord towards the waistband of his underwear. He had it bad for you, and Eddie didn’t want it any other way.

Though you couldn’t reach your hands up to card through his hair as you so desperately wanted to, you caught his attention just the same with nothing but those sweet lips of yours. He chased after your touch as you pulled away from the kiss, head shaking just faintly. The buck of your hips against him spoke for you.

Only, instead of taking your lead, his touch left you altogether. Eddie stared at you with heavy-lidded eyes, awestruck. His fingers drew shapes over your clavicle, inching over to your shoulder. The band of your bra strap snapped as he lifted it and let it flick back into place. Eddie hooked his finger under it once more but made no further moves.

“Can I?”

“Please,” you nodded.

Eddie pushed the straps off your shoulders, taking the tank top down with them. Gently, he propped you up enough to get the fabric up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. With the dip of his head, Eddie leaned down to kiss the swell of your breasts just above the lace of the bra you wore, as he reached behind you to unclasp it once and for all. Before you knew it, that too was long forgotten. You laid bare on Eddie’s mattress, covered only with your skirt that was still bunched up around your hips.

He cupped your face in his hands. Your stomach flipped at the thrill of feeling your own arousal against your cheek. His voice and his grip forced your eyes on his.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he marveled. “A goddamn vision.”

There was an unmistakable fondness in his voice that made you feel warm inside with an emotion you couldn’t name. It only grew as he snaked one hand down your stomach and towards your core again, the other kneading your breast.

Ripples of pleasure rolled through you as he returned his thumb to its rightful place against your clit and pinched your nipples, rolling each between his fingers one at a time. You whimpered, hips bucking, and craving more and more of him.

The grin on his lips only grew at your silent begging. He lifted his hand, spitting on his fingertips, before bringing it back down to your dripping sex. It made an obscene sound as he gathered some of your arousal for good measure, toying with your entrance.

Slowly, Eddie pushed the very tip of his middle finger inside of you. His ring finger soon followed, and he twisted his wrist so that his palm now faced the ceiling. You writhed under him, craving more, but were unable to find it; his other hand gripped harshly at your hip to keep you in place. Only once he had you good and still did he push his fingers deeper. The thick rings he wore were cool against the fluttering heat of your body. He curled his fingers deliciously upwards. They only just brushed against your most pleasurable spot at first, leaving you just out of reach, teased.

You babbled at him. The sound of your own voice begging sounded far away, “Eddie, Eds, please”

Who was he to refuse you? “Well,” Eddie tutted. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Eddie knelt with his thighs pushed up against the mattress. He was close enough that your Achilles’ tendon brushed over the tattered denim of his jeans. But you wanted him closer yet. He still felt so very far away. Just as you mustered the core strength to pull yourself up without the aid of your hands, he moved his free hand from your hips to splay over your lower stomach, just above the pubic bone. It forced you back against the mattress, dumbfounded. You were fully at his mercy as he worked to fuck his fingers into you. They pushed slowly inside of you, down to the base and out again at a snail’s pace. He pushed them in faster, this time, only to the knuckle and curling them.

The added pressure of his hand on your stomach coupled with the speed of his movements ensured that every move hit you in a way that left you breathless. Eddie seemed to know your body like it was his, quickly finding the spongy area inside you that made your mind empty save the pleasure he was giving you. It was an electric spark that spread from your very core and threatened to burn you to pieces. You gasped at the sensation– a weak little sound that faded out into silent cries of pleasure.

And oh was that just the thing Eddie had been needing to hear all night. His own breath quickened as he doubled his efforts. The pace at which he thrusted his fingers was brutal and delicious. You mewled, unable to form a coherent thought that didn’t include Eddie and his magic fingers.

Each curl of his fingers caused the exposed skin under his tattoos to flex, and it looked so hot. Your eyes were drawn to the way his veins popped with the movement, and the sight nearly had you drooling. Every one of your senses was overwhelmed with him: his touch was unlike anything you could have anticipated, the shaky, aroused breaths that escaped him and the pornographic squelching sound of his fingertips each time he thrusted them into you made you dizzy, and you turned your head to whine into the mattress and breathed in his scent like it was pure oxygen. Eddie was everything.

Your toes curled and your legs began to shake. “Eddie, ‘m gonna– fuckk, I–“

“Yeah?” He tutted. “Let go, sweetheart.”

His soothing voice and unrelenting cadence made it difficult for you to focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. The tugging warmth of your orgasm that had been building surged until it was all-encompassing; intense pleasure slammed you all at once. Every ounce of tension left your body as you came around his fingers.

Eddie kept his fingers tapped against just the right spot as you rode out your orgasm. He lazily rubbed the heel of his hand against your very sensitive clit. Unable to help himself, he palmed at his erection with the other as he watched you come undone.

You’d had orgasms before, but never anything remotely like what Eddie was doing to you. The familiar knot in your stomach was there as it built, but it was accompanied by something else— another type of pressure that was foreign to you. He left you no time to dwell on it, because you were coming before you could even really process it. When you finally did, it was a release unlike any other.

You hardly noticed it at first, but once you started to return to your senses, you felt something wet between your thighs that hadn’t been there before. Leaning up, you tried to get a glance at it. Your cheeks burned, slightly embarrassed, as you saw what a mess you’d made. The bedsheets and—oh, God— Eddie’s forearm and parts of his pants were soaked.

When you managed to look at him again, locking eyes, he was smug. There was no sign of disgust or surprise anywhere. He looked proud, almost.

“Eddie,” you said, at a loss for words. “I don’t know what… I’ve never done that before.”

Only you weren’t entirely sure what it was that Eddie had done to you, just that it was the most intense euphoria in the world.

He smiled at you in a way that made it hard for you to feel insecure. Like you were a work of art; his masterpiece, even. Eddie rubbed his clean hand against your cheek, gently stroking your skin with his thumb.

“It’s okay, angel,” he reassured you. “You’ve never squirted before?“

You hesitated. The term sounded vaguely familiar to you, like maybe you’d once heard your girlfriends whispering about it, but you didn’t think it was real. Hell, no other boy you’d ever been with had even come close to making you orgasm at all, so this was entirely uncharted territory. It left you wondering where the hell Eddie fucking Munson had been hiding those skills all this time.

“No,” you shook your head. “But it felt really good.”

“I’m glad,” he pressed a gentle kiss to the blooming hickey he sucked on your neck earlier. “Just wanna make you feel so good. Such a good girl.”

He breathed in your scent like he was trying to commit it to memory. Eddie stayed with his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck for only a moment. He was leaning back up all too soon.

Finally, Eddie pulled his fingers from you and held them up to the light. His lips curved as he admired the way your slick glistened, thick as he separated his index and middle fingers. A deep hum left him as he lifted his hand to his waiting mouth and licked them clean.

“You taste so fuckin’ amazing,” he groaned.

“Yeah?” You asked, though your head still swam with the haze of your orgasm.

“Think it might be my new favorite dessert,” he confirmed.

Your heart flipped. Though you assumed he was only teasing, Eddie knew just what to say to render you speechless. You couldn’t get enough.

Eddie lowered himself onto the mattress next to you. As he propped himself up by the elbow, he brushed some hair from your face. His umber eyes were dark with lust-blown pupils.

Though your cheeks still burned, you grinned mischievously as a memory creeped up on you. It was probably something you should have forgotten, what with everything you had all been through since March of 1986, but you could still hear Eddie clear as day in your mind, see his doe eyes widen as he glanced nervously at you over Robin’s shoulder:

“Those stains are, uh… I don’t know what those stains are”

Gently, you nudged Eddie to get his attention, as if there were anywhere or anything else in the world that it would be.

“So,” you locked eyes with him. “That’s what those stains are, huh?”

Eddie chuckled. It was a full belly laugh that had his shoulders shaking in amusement. He shook his head fondly at you.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what the stains are.”

Well, that and bong water, —mostly the latter— but he thought it sounded more impressive if you thought of him as some sort of sex god.

You hummed in recognition.

Eddie smiled at you. He gripped the hem of his shirt in his fingers and toyed with it, chewing on his lower lip.

“You know,” he said. “I’m feelin’ a little overdressed here, don’t ya think?”

“You are entirely overdressed.”

You’re unable to fight off a smile. Eddie sat up again and reached to pull his shirt up and over his head. It fell in a heap beside the mattress. As he started on his belt, you let your eyes take in the marvelous sight of him.

His skin was pale and his long torso seemed to go on forever. The black ink of his tattoos and healed scars popped against his flesh, the largest of which spanned across his stomach, just over the naval, and blended into the beginnings of his happy trail.

Eddie and you had never discussed that fateful night in the Upside Down. It was easier that way than to admit your nightmares were still mostly plagued by the overwhelming fear you’d felt as you and Dustin carried his limp body back to the base camp in that stolen RV and in the weeks you spent nursing him back from the brink of death. Eddie’s heart slowed to a pace so imperceptible he swore it had stopped and, for the briefest of moments, he was on the other side. He knew he should have died that day and that, really, he supposed a part of him had.

Perhaps for the first time since then, Eddie didn’t feel nervous or hesitant to reveal himself, scars and all, to someone else. Because it was you, after all. You, who had cursed at him through teary eyes for his monumentally stupid need to play hero and had somehow managed to remain calm enough to stem the bleeding, then scoured through the vehicle for something to sew him up with. It had been you who shooed Dustin out of the room, at least enough to shield the boy from the gruesome sight of your shaky hands as they crudely stitched him back together well enough to last until Steve and Robin and the others returned to regroup. He knew then, even in his weakest state, that he was in trouble because the flutter of your eyelashes made his sluggish heart ache. As he looked at you now, your eyes blinking up at him, Eddie realized he never stood a fighting chance when it came to you. He supposed it was impossible not to fall in love with you, the angel who had saved his life, as he drifted in and out of consciousness. And every moment since then. He had called you his angel ever since.

You kissed a trail from the scars by his chest, down his tummy, and the one that disappeared under his boxer briefs. His skin was warm but erupted into goosebumps at your touch. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat as you craned your neck further down to peck an open-mouthed kiss where the head of his aching cock strained against the fabric.

Suddenly, he’s stopping you. Eddie’s hands cupped your cheeks, gently pushing your face away from him. The flash of hurt in your eyes must have been clear because he immediately softened his gaze, stroking your face lovingly with his thumbs.

“What’s wrong?” Confused, you glanced from the tent in his groin back to his eyes. “Do you not want to?”

“No!” Eddie cut you off, maybe a little too quickly and too loudly. He cleared his throat to recover, playing it off as a cough. “No, believe me, I really do. Fuck, if I’m bein’ honest, angel, I’ve wanted you since the second I first saw you in that boathouse. But, right now, I just really want to taste you. It’s a need, actually”

Eddie wasn’t done with you yet. No, tonight, he wasn’t letting up until he made his sweet little angel come against his lips, clenching around his fingers, and, finally, around his cock. Only then, after he took everything you had to give, would Eddie allow himself to come.

This confession rendered you speechless. A meek oh was all you could make out. Though he smiled down at you, a hunger swirled in his eyes that had you feeling he wanted to swallow you whole, and God, you wished that he would.

Even so, he made no further moves to act on it. His hands itched as he slid them from your face, down your chest and waist, before gripping at your thighs. He tilted his head, blinking expectantly at you.

“So, uh, can I? Eat you out?”

“Fuck, yes,” you nodded. “I’d be offended if you didn’t, now.”

Eddie didn’t waste another second. He pressed himself down against the mattress, lowering his face closer to the apex of your thighs, and tightened his grip on your flesh, swiftly yanking you closer to his waiting lips. They were wet and warm as he peppered kiss after kiss up the insides of both your upper thighs, nipping at the soft skin there.

“Don’t be a tease,” you wiggled your hips to chase his touch.

His breath hit your sopping core as he let out a quiet chuckle. Eddie nudged his nose foreword, just barely brushing it against the hood of your clit, dragging it down to your wetness.

He hummed, “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

“Eddie, I swear to–“

Your empty threat dissolved as he relented. Eddie shifted his grip to spread your lips open for him, thighs now caged in the crooks of his elbows. It’s when he wrapped his lips around your clitoris that the shock of pleasure shot through your spine and took the words from you. He sighed into your core and let himself push closer to it, almost smothering himself.

Eddie intermittently flitted his tongue out as he suckled at your clit. His mouth worked at the perfect rhythm and if you’d had the presence of mind to listen past the hammering of your heart in your chest, you would have been able to make out the tune he was humming; ‘Open Arms’ was surely for your benefit.

With his arms wrapped tightly around your hips, you had no choice but to ignore the urge to buck your hips against him. You got only what Eddie gave you, and good God, would you take every last ounce of pleasure hungrily.

After what could have been minutes, hours, or mere seconds —you couldn’t tell— Eddie broke his lips’ seal from your clit and let his nose take their place against it as he breathed out. He’s only off of you long enough to let out a low rumbling chuckle, asking: “Hm, what was that, angel?”

But you’re unable to answer him, because Eddie’s reattaching his lips to you and sucking with more intention than before. You couldn’t remember what you were saying even if you wanted to. Your mind was wiped of everything outside of him. Eddie Eddie Eddie. Your thoughts were a chorus of his name and him only. Eddie!

You had little presence of mind left to be embarrassed about it, as your second orgasm snuck up faster than the first. You were already close, barely able to contain your whines and sweet sighs any longer. Eddie seemed to sense this, and shifted his right hand from his death grip on your thighs—which would surely bruise, you noted with a twinge of excitement—and prodded two of his fingers at your entrance.

He licked lazily at your clit between words, remarking, “Such a good fuckin’ girl.”

He plunged his fingers inside finally, curving them again to find the spot he’d discovered earlier. His lips had only just returned to their rightful spot around your clit when your release hit you.

Eddie didn't let up on his suckling until you were still again, a broken sound falling from your lips. You pushed at his head as best as your restraints allowed, trying to wriggle away from the overstimulation. “‘S too much, Eds,” you pleaded.

He pulled himself away with a wet smack of his lips. Eddie wiped your arousal from his face with the back of his hand, though not without sucking it clean off his fingers. The grin he gives you is a delicate mix of devilish and heavenly.

Eddie crawled up the bed, long, alabaster torso towering over you as he planted his knees at either side of you. His fingers fanned out over your face and cupped your cheeks.

“You okay?” His eyes softened.

“More than okay,” you assured with a breathy giggle.

“Good,” Eddie said.

You could barely think. Not with your body still humming from your earth-shattering orgasm and not with Eddie’s big Bambi eyes blinking at you with such softness and deep affection. It made you feel like you were being seen for the very first time.

He couldn’t help the smile on his lips as he dipped his head to press a kiss to your lips. It was gentler than before and he tasted of your slick, a fact that elicited a soft groan from your chest. Eddie swallowed it up. His guitar-calloused thumb stroked your cheek as he titled his head to deepen the kiss. It was passionate, sensual, and every brush of his tongue against yours stoked the butterflies in your tummy. There was a certain sweetness behind it, too, that you weren’t used to. The type of need that Eddie was oozing ran far deeper than lust alone.

It was Eddie who broke the kiss, panting to catch his breath and nuzzling his nose against your cheek. His cheeks swelled as he broke out into the fondest of smiles. You softened under the weight of his heady gaze.

Your entire body ached for him. Eddie may have been content to focus on your pleasure all night long, but you thought you might die if you didn’t get the privilege of returning that favor.

Growing impatient, you were desperate to make Eddie feel good. You straddled Eddie as smoothly as you could, settling yourself in his lap. You locked eyes with him and kept your gaze steady as you pressed your dripping core harder into his erection, slowly dragging it for friction as much as his grip would allow. A low growl came from him as he blinked up at you with his wide chocolate eyes. A greedy hand grabbed at your ass, as the other lifted your wrists to his face. Eddie pecked soft kisses to your knuckles, the heel of your palm, and just above the metal cuffs. He pulled back just enough to see you properly, still stroking your hands with his.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he told you. Eddie’s smile never wavered. It had been a joke, but he meant it; part of him wouldn’t mind if you ripped his lovesick little heart from his chest and never bothered to give it back. He would let you with a smile.

He was painfully hard; you could feel it with every rock of your hips against his. The deep ache within him felt like your own, like every throb of his cock was your heartbeat.

“Eddie,” you whined. “Baby, please, I wanna make you feel good now”

Something inside his head short-circuited at the filthy words leaving your sweet, vanilla-scented lips. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered to himself. With a heavy swallow, Eddie nodded. He gripped your hips tightly.

His thumb drew mindless shapes against your skin. “Think you can handle more?”

“Mhmm,” a breathy moan escaped you at the feeling of his cock twitching beneath you.

“Tell me if it’s too much, ‘kay?”

You gave a single nod, “Yes. I will– just, please, Eddie, I want you to fuck me.”

Eddie planted a searing kiss to your lips. He pulled you from his lap and set you down on the bed next to him. You watched with awe as he finally pulled his boxer briefs off and kicked them away. A rush of want swam around your head and in your core as you took in the heavenly sight of his nude form for the first time.

You truly weren’t prepared for just how perfect he was. The tip of his dick was a needy red, painfully erect, and dripping with pre-come; the length curved to the left and was just the right girth.

The kiss he pressed to your lips once he’d fully stepped out of his jeans was sweet and short. He kicked the fabric aside and leaned further into you, gently using the force of the kiss to guide you back against the mattress. Eddie’s left hand pushed your cuffed wrists over your head, where he wanted them, while he pumped himself a few times with his right.

“Ready, angel?” He asked.

This time, Eddie accepts the slow nod you give him. He tapped his tip against your swollen clit, lips curling devilishly at the whine that escaped you. Tease. Eddie gave you very little time to feel sorry for yourself before giving you what you needed.

With one slow, measured movement of his hips, Eddie thrusted fully forward. He planted his palms against the mattress to hold himself up and get better control. His breathing was shallow and ragged, eyes squeezing shut, at the feeling of your pussy adjusting and stretching to accommodate the curve of him. The stretch was a sweet ache, and you’d never felt so full. If you’d thought Eddie was everywhere before, he was the only thing now.

His hips pistoned into you at an unrelenting pace. After so long of ignoring his own need, Eddie chased any relief he could get. And this, burying himself balls-deep inside you, was better than any drug in existence; it made him feel like a virgin all over again. A string of expletives left his lips that would have confused you if you had enough presence of mind to pay attention.

Eddie lifted your hips further up, twisting just so to ensure every pump slammed into you at just the right spot. It knocked the breath out of you until your lungs burned with every gasp and whine. The curve of his cock was made for you, made to fit right against your g-spot with every pass.

You thought of running your fingers through his hair. But, of course, when you pulled at the handcuffs, you were unable to get at him. A deep chuckle rumbled in Eddie’s chest that stoked a fire within you and reminded you exactly why you had plucked them from their hook in the first place.

Your third orgasm loomed at a rate that must have been some sort of record. Eddie had you too cock drunk to care, though. It was like you were floating and a lucid part of your brain wondered if the heat of your pleasure had set you ablaze and you were watching yourself from above.

Eddie lifted himself away from you enough to get a good look at every inch of you— your plush lips parted in pleasure, brows furrowed, eyes glistening and pupils blown wide, the bounce of your breasts in time with his thrusts, the way his hand looked as he splayed it wide over your lower stomach, meeting just over where his cock hit your walls. He did his best to commit every last detail to memory.

His thrusts became sloppier, nearly stuttering, with the way your walls tightened.

“You close?” He managed, but it wasn’t much of a question. “Come on, good girl, come f’r me, just one more. That’s it”

As if your words summoned it, you spasmed and contracted around him with your third and final orgasm. Your back arched clear off the mattress like a woman possessed, weak and held up largely by Eddie’s tight grip and where he was still fucking into you. The squeeze of your cunt around him was too much, and Eddie let out a guttural groan of your name as he came. His come was warm and foreign inside you.

Eddie collapsed onto you, the last of his strength he had been using to keep both of you upright finally giving out. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, panting into your sweaty skin until he caught his breath again.

“Well,” he muttered. “Fuck. That was… fuck.” You chuckled in response and Eddie lifted his heavy head, not willing to miss a single second of it. “Yeah,” you agreed.

Eddie slowly leaned down to your bound wrists, pressing a kiss to the sore skin.

“Here,” he helped you slowly sit upright in the bed. He pressed one last peck to your temple, then finally peeled himself away from you and his damp bed sheets. Eddie glanced around his room, ready to retrieve the key and free you, when your sweet voice pulled him back to you.

“So,” a playful smile spreaded over your lips. “You still wanna see that trick?”

Eddie hummed. He turned back to you, pulling his boxers back up to rest lowly on his hips with his eyes locked on you. His heart skittered as you blinked up at him.

“Ta-da!” you lifted your now-empty wrist to show off.

Your trick was impressive. Sure enough, you had freed your wrists from the bounds and the second cuff dangled from the chain, tapping against your forearm. If anything, it only made Eddie’s heart swell with the knowledge that you could have gotten yourself out of it at any time but you hadn’t, for him.

“Color me impressed,” he said.

Chuckling, you leaned in to him. Eddie keened, melting against the gentle touch of your newly-freed fingers against his face. Slowly, you pressed your lips to Eddie’s. The kiss was lazy, slow, and heavy. Your lungs burned as she breathed him in.

The unmistakable glow of headlights shined through the curtains as someone pulled up to the new Munson trailer. It was enough to break the delicate bubble of you and Eddie’s post-coital bliss.

Eddie grumbled, lifting a hand to shield his eyes. You lifted yourself to pull the fabric aside, taking a peek at who had pulled up. Panic inched up your spine as you recognized the car.

“Shit,” you whispered. “Shit, Eds, it’s Steve.”

The headlights cut off, and you sprang to action. In your haste, you hadn’t paid any attention to where your clothing ended up. Your knees nearly buckled under your weight as you stood. With burning cheeks, you hushed Eddie’s cackle and could practically see his self-satisfied smirk without turning to look at him.

With Steve only moments away from catching you in far too compromising a position, you yanked your shirt as far down your hips as it would go and decided that would have to do; you couldn’t see your panties anywhere and you had no time to hunt them. Eddie, who seemed to have no trouble redressing himself, tossed your tank top to you. It was just over your head as you heard three telltale raps at the door to the trailer.

Eddie’s long legs allowed him to rush ahead of you and lead the way to answer the door. His grin didn’t dull one bit.

“Relax, angel,” he assured you. “It’s just Steve.”

You really weren’t sure if that made you feel any better or it was somehow worse. Eddie’s touch burned as he slung an arm around your shoulders and you weren’t able to think about it any longer.

“Harrington!” Eddie beamed at the younger man as he stepped inside the trailer.

Steve offered him an odd look at the uncharacteristically chipper tone but pushed past the pair of you and continued his beeline to the kitchen. He grumbled under his breath as he yanked open the fridge. Steve snatched the last cold beer and slammed it shut after himself.

You shared a brief glance with Eddie. Raising an eyebrow, you asked:

“I take it your date went well?”

Steve groaned again. Even his hair looked sad, drooping, as he shook his head. He opened the can and took a heavy swig. It told you everything you needed to know about his latest failed attempt at romance.

“That bad, huh?”

Eddie’s laugh is maybe a little louder than he meant for it to be, but there was no malice in his voice. Only then, as he set his beer down on the counter, did Steve properly look at you and Eddie for the first time since he arrived. It took him longer than it should have to notice something was off. When he eventually did, though, Steve’s jaw lowered. He blinked at his friends a few times as if he had somehow imagined it.

You were worse for wear. Where you had it neatly styled when he dropped you off, your hair was tousled and messy, tank top askew on your torso. The thin fabric did little to hide your pert nipples from his sight and, holy shit, was that a hickey? Your lips were kiss-bitten and swollen, a matching set to Eddie’s, complete with spit and the gloss of your vanilla lip sheen. But all of that was nothing compared to when his gaze lowered towards your thighs. Steve struggled to look away, though he knew he should, but he was mesmerized with the sight of Eddie’s cum dripping down your thigh.

Only then, when he could still clearly see the single handcuff clasped around your wrist with its counterpart dangling at your side, did Steve say anything.

“It smells like sex in here.”

When no one responded, Steve trudged on:

“Were you two just– oh!”

Steve’s chocolate eyes widened slowly with the realization.

You glanced over to lock eyes with Eddie. He barked out another laugh, his dimples popping with amusement.

“Sorry, Stevie,” he teased. “You just missed the show.”

Your fist didn’t even budge him as you smacked Eddie square in the chest for his lewd comment. He gently caught your wrist and snaked your fingers around his to hold your hand.

“Wait,” Steve flitted his eyes between you and Eddie. He called your name softly. “Is this why you didn’t want me to drive you here?”

“No!” You shook your head. “No, I just, uh, didn’t want you to feel like you had to or anything.”

Steve knit his eyebrows. “You’re never a burden, kid.”

Steve’s pretty face pinkened as he took in your disheveled appearance once more. You pulled uselessly at your skirt, as if it might grow longer. He hadn’t noticed he was staring until you squirmed under the heat of his gaze.

Eddie slung his arm around your shoulders easily, pulling you close. Cocking an eyebrow, he called, “Aw, Harrington, you’re just jealous I got to her first.”

“Wait, what?” You glanced between the two boys, brow furrowing.

The glances they shared conveyed some secret conversation you didn’t understand. You raised your brows, asking one of them to clue you in on their little secret.

Steve didn’t deny it when Eddie spoke for him:

“He thinks you’re pretty,” he batted his eyelashes at you, teasing.

“Fuck off, Eddie,” Steve whined. He turned to you, dipping his chin shyly. “But I, uh, yeah.”

It was just a fact. You were beautiful, and Steve didn’t see why he should have to pretend that was a secret.

Your stomach flipped.

“Okay, well,” you stepped out of Eddie’s grasp and towards Steve. You picked his beer up from the counter and drank from it. Gently, you squeezed his shoulder and grinned. “Thanks for the ride, Steve.”

Steve’s pretty face darkened to scarlet, sparkly eyes blinking rapidly. He swallowed thickly and muttered out a weak response. You had them both watching your every movement as you carried the beer towards the living room.

“Now,” you called over your shoulder. “Who wants to watch a movie?”

You smirked into the beer as the boys scrambled to race each other to the couch, arguing amongst themselves about who got to sit next to you. Mentally, you decided you needed to thank Robin for ditching you tonight.

#my writing #eddie munson brainrot #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie munson smut #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic

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cherryflavoured7777 · 7 months

Text

Do you miss me, dear? [h.c]

Summary: Stuck at a graduation party, surrounded by memories of your past relationship and your own loneliness, your night takes an unexpected turn when you find yourself dialing the number of the one person you vowed you wouldn't contact.

Pairing: College!Hazel x College!Fem!Reader

Contains: smut 18+ only, explicit language, drinking, smoking, mutual pining, slightly toxic reader I think, fingering (r! receiving), oral(r! receiving), break-up/make-up sex, idiots in love, this one gets straight-up MUSHY I’m not gonna lie

Word count: 4.1k

a/n: I just need to say I am deeply obsessed with all of you who interacted with either of my last two fics. reading your comments/ replies seriously makes me SO happy you have no idea. Got me giggling and shit fr! I don’t know why my writing always ends up including partying and drinking but maybe it’s because I just graduated college and am having an existential post-grad crisis. Anyway 💀I hope you enjoy and thank you again for reading!!!

Also, this is inspired by this song by one of my favourite bands:

“I don’t know what I’m still doing here.” You say out loud to yourself, standing up from the musty green couch you were sitting on. An empty beer bottle falls from the cushion onto the ground, shattering into pieces beside your foot.

This party sucked. Pushing your way through the crowded, stuffy kitchen, you couldn't shake off the feeling of suffocation. Tipsy couples entangled in each other's arms seemed to be everywhere, a painful reminder of what you once had and lost. The memories of being that annoying person in love at a party flooded back, amplifying the ache of your loneliness.

The thumping music in your ears only made your head pound harder. Desperate for a breath of fresh air, you stumbled toward the door, ignoring the intoxicated laughter and clinking glasses that filled the air. As you stepped outside, the cool night breeze hit your face, offering a momentary rescue from the overwhelming atmosphere inside.

The darkness of the night sky above seemed to swallow you whole, but it felt strangely comforting. Leaning against the porch railing, you closed your eyes, trying to regain your composure. In the silence outside, you could hear distant laughter and the faint sound of music, muffled by the walls of the house.

You settled into a seat around a glass table, next to a guy you recognized from one of your classes. You exchanged a quick nod of acknowledgment before reaching into your purse, retrieving a box of cigarettes. Smoking was not a regular habit for you, but you reserved it for moments like these—after a few drinks and a growing sense of irritation.

You lit the end of the cigarette, watching it crackle, and took a long drag. As you exhaled the smoke, you tilted your head back, noticing the full moon glowing brightly above.

"Full moon tonight," the boy beside you remarked, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. "They say some crazy shit can happen on full moons."

You chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, well, that could explain why I'm stuck at this party right now."

He leaned back, studying you intently.

“I wish I could be an astronaut and get the fuck out of here.” You mused, gaze fixed on the bright glow of the moon. "I only came to this party because she said she would be here." Another drag of the cigarette punctuated your words.

"Who's she?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"My ex," you replied, trying to seem nonchalant. His gaze was fixed on you, "Hazel."

Until today, you hadn't spoken to Hazel in over three months, choosing to cut off all contact in an attempt to speed up the process of moving on. You're both surprised that you managed to endure the silence for so long, and disappointed that she hasn't made any effort to reach out, not even once.

That was until about six hours ago when you were sitting at a coffee shop on campus with your roommate, Brittany, studying for your upcoming statistics exam.

"Don't look now, but Hazel just walked in," she whispers, her tone hushed, and her eyes widening. "And she's with another girl."

Your heart plummeted into your stomach. You were seated with your back to the door, and you watched as they both approached the corner, heading in your direction.

"Brittany!" the blonde girl accompanying Hazel exclaims, leaving the three of you momentarily stunned.

Hazel follows a few steps behind, clearly taken aback by the encounter. She looked annoyingly hot, her disheveled brown hair, baggy white t-shirt and black jeans, adorned with her signature silver chains and rings. It takes all your strength not to stare.

"Hey, Amanda," Brittany replied, forcing a polite smile. "Hazel."

Hazel offers a nod in greeting to Brittany and then to you. You feel like a middle-schooler again, awkward and unsure of how to act around your crush.

"Did you manage to finish that paper for Professor Sharpe's class?" the girl asked.

As Brittany carries on the conversation with Amanda, you can feel Hazel's gaze on you, catching her eyes occasionally.

You never anticipated the aftermath of your breakup with Hazel to be this awkward. All those nights spent tangled up together, where you both believed you could read each other's minds, now reduced to this.

"So, Hazel, are you going to Emma’s graduation party tonight? All of us are going," Brittany chimed in, attempting to steer the conversation away from the obvious tension.

Hazel smiled sheepishly, replying, "Yeah, I’m going."

"Cool," Brittany replied, her smile masking the underlying awkwardness in the air.

A beat of uncomfortable silence hung between you all.

"Will you be there?" Hazel asked breaking the silence, turning toward you, her voice almost hesitant.

"Yeah, I'll be there," you said, mustering a small smile. "Wouldn’t want to miss it."

Hazel smiled, "Cool," she said, her voice soft, "I'll see you there then."

Just as the atmosphere began to ease, Amanda abruptly intervened, her grip firm on Hazel's hand. "Hazel, let’s go, I forgot something in my car," Amanda said, her tone strangely possessive, and she dragged Hazel away before you could utter another word.

This breadcrumb of information has led you here. You spent the first fifteen minutes at the party searching for her like a lost puppy. When you couldn't find her, you contemplated leaving but opted to drown your thoughts with tequila shots instead. Now, you're clinging to any scrap of attention you can find, desperately trying to purge her from your mind.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the male voice beside you. "D’you have a light?" he asked, his cigarette aimed in your direction. You stare at him for a moment, deadpan, still frozen in your thoughts from the events that unfolded earlier today.

"Fuck it," you muttered under your breath, reaching for your phone. You’re calling her.

“You’re soaked,” Hazel says as you climb into the front seat of her car, her tone a mix of concern and annoyance. “Seriously, you’re getting mud all over the floor of my car.” While you were waiting for Hazel to pick you up from the party, It started raining, you thought enduring it outside would be better than being stuffed in that small house full of people you didn't even really know.

“You lied.” You retort back.

“What?”

“You said you were coming to the party.”

“Yeah well, my plans changed. Put your seatbelt on.” As she shifted the car into reverse, she placed her hand on your seat to steady herself. With a quick glance over your shoulder, she backed out of the driveway in one brisk movement.

You attempted to keep your composure, trying not to make it entirely obvious that you were basically drooling over how hot she looked doing that.

“I can tell that there’s someone else,” You say after a few moments of silence, trying to disguise your jealousy with innocent curiosity. “Come on, tell me,” You finally click your seatbelt into place. “I can take it well.”

"Oh, I know you can," she replied, shooting you a smug look, trying to divert this conversation from getting too deep right now.

“Hazel.” You groan at her dumb attempt at an innuendo, throwing your head backward and hitting the headrest. “Just be honest. Is it the girl from the coffee shop earlier? Or what about the girl Isabel saw you with last week at the library? Or both? Who am I kidding, there’s probably even more than that.”

“Do you have like, personal spies assigned to watch over me?”

You don’t respond right away, deciding to avoid her questions like she’s avoiding yours. You crank the window open and throw your head out. The spring wind cool on your face.

“God, you’re so annoying sometimes.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

Look, I know I wasn't where I said I'd be, but I was busy, doing stuff," she replied defensively.

"Yeah," you scoffed, your words tinged with a hint of anger. "I'm sure you were."

You sit the next few minutes in silence, wondering if this whole thing was a bad idea. You couldn't pinpoint why you had called her in the first place. The intensity of seeing her earlier mixed with the disappointment of the lackluster party had left you missing her, even though you weren't entirely sure why.

"So, where am I taking you?" Hazel asked, her gaze shifting from the road to you. Strands of her brown hair were tousled by the wind.

Your buzz had faded, and with it, your initial courage waned. Swallowing hard, you hesitated before speaking. "Can I sleep at yours? Not— not like that," you hurriedly clarified, feeling a sudden need to explain. "It's just that Brittany has her new boyfriend over, and I could go back there, but I don’t really want to."

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

After a moment, Hazel hesitantly rested her hand on your thigh, both of you aware of the significance of the touch, even if neither acknowledged it. Her fingers gave a gentle squeeze, the subtle pressure made your tummy flip. Beneath the surface, an unspoken understanding lingered, hinting that this night might entail more than just a ride home.

Hazel's apartment is full of brown moving boxes, an aching reminder of why you broke up in the first place.

“Wow, this place is pretty much all packed up.” You say, slowly walking through the place, eventually landing at the doorway into her bedroom.

She nods in response, her face reflecting a mixture of anticipation and sadness, settling down at the end of her bed.

"So, when do you leave?" The question weighed heavily on your heart as you voiced it. You wished you didn't have to ask these questions, yearning for a time when you were part of her plans, not just a spectator.

“Two weeks. My Aunt is gonna meet me at JFK and help me move into my new place.”

You sighed, feeling brave, "I wish I had the date circled on my calendar, helping you move, or going with you." You say the last part quiet, mostly to yourself.

The conversation lingered in the air, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

You walked over to her dresser, where a mirror was propped up, decorated with photos of you two from a photobooth, still clinging to the glass. Your heart swelled with mixed emotions.

Hazel says your name, breaking you from your trance.

“Come here,” she says.

You walk over slowly, standing between her legs. Your hands rest on her shoulders and you take a deep breath.

With both of your gazes locked, her hands came up behind your thighs, gently grabbing them and pulling them on either side of her one by one so you’re straddling her. Her hand comes up to brush a piece of hair from your face.

“You’re so beautiful, baby” Her voice is barely a whisper as she stares up at you, her eyes practically shimmering with your reflection, Her hands settle on your waist, the warmth of her touch sending a pang of guilt through you. This breakup was unlike any you'd experienced before, and the raw emotions lingered, making you hesitate for a moment.

Your hands move up to cradle her face, your thumb dragging on her bottom lip. Still maintaining intense eye contact, you slowly slip your finger into her mouth, watching her with a mix of awe and longing.

The silence as you stare at each other is anything but awkward. It was charged with the weight of shared mourning, each of you navigating the complexity of a relationship's end.

You removed your finger, and in response, she grabbed your head gently, guiding it down towards her face, her eyes locked onto yours. Your lips barely grazed each other, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear your rapid heartbeat. Hazel kissed you slowly at first, the touch of her lips sending a rush through your entire body. It quickly escalated, and there was a certain neediness to the way you both kissed, scared it could be the last time.

"Missed you," She whispered against your lips. Your mouths slid together, tongues pressing and exploring. The intensity of the kiss speaks volumes, like you were making up for lost time. Her lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, lingering kisses, setting your body on fire.

“Fuck, Hazel.” It was almost embarrassing how quickly you melted beneath her touch. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” You say, your voice strained, a soft moan escaping your lips. You very much wanted to be doing this, you just thought you should at least try to seem like you had stronger breakup morals than you did. Her hands found the curve of your ass, and you instinctively started to rock your hips slowly back and forth, seeking some much-needed friction.

"Do you want me to stop? Say the word, and I'll stop, pretty girl," she murmured against your neck, her open-mouthed kisses and gentle suction on your pulse point sending shivers down your spine. You didn't reply with words, but your fingers found her hair, silently urging her to continue. "I need an answer, babygirl,"

"Don't stop," you breathed, your voice catching in your throat. "Please, don't stop." Your hips still lazily moving on her. Her mouth was back on yours, deepening the kiss as she guided you both down, her hands roaming over the back of your legs and your ass. She tugged at the hem of your shirt, helping you out of it and leaving you in your black lace bra.

"So fucking perfect. Missed you so fucking much," she confessed,

"I missed you too, Haze, every day," you whined,

"You ever think about me? she asked, breathless. "About this?" she continued

You nodded, your breath hitching as you confessed, "All the time. Couldn't stop thinking about you, your hands, your mouth."

Her eyes darken as you sit up and effortlessly unhook your bra, leaning back down, your lips finding their way to her collarbone, marking a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin. Your hands slowly creep their way up under her shirt, seeking permission. She nods, a silent affirmation, and you gently peel her shirt off over her head. Your stomach flips as you feel her arms effortlessly turn both of you over, trading places, landing on your back as she hovers over you. Her silver chain dangling above your face. It felt like your first time all over again, you felt a sense of shyness creeping over you under her gaze. Anticipation and excitement blooming in your chest.

“Fuck, look at you.” She says. The way she’s studying you makes you feel like the most beautiful thing to ever exist, as if every curve of your body is a masterpiece deserving of praise. Unable to contain your impatience, you pull her head down to meet your lips, your hips instinctively bucking up, frustration showing in the heated moment. Her fingers start to trail downwards under your skirt, meeting your clothed cunt. “You want me to fuck you? Hm?” She whispers in your ear, “Is that what you want baby?” She taunts, her fingers slowly grazing over your underwear.

You nod vigorously, your enthusiasm evident. She responds by sucking on your neck again, sending shivers down your spine, your face flushed with heat. Your hands instinctively tug at her hair.

“Yes, Haze, please, fuck.” You arch your neck, pressing it firmly into the softness of the pillow beneath, a small gasp escaping your lips as you surrender to the moment. “Want your fingers inside of me.”

She makes a noise of desperation, her warm breath fanning over your face. “Gonna make you feel so good baby” She moves your underwear to the side, running her fingers through your slick folds. You gasp and she groans. “Wanna make it up to you.”

She tugs at the waistband of your skirt. You lift your hips as she guides it down along with your underwear. Hazel curses under her breath, “You’re so wet, it’s so fucking hot.” She plants kisses all over your chest, each one feeling like it could set you on fire.

She slowly fucks you with her middle finger, the touch leaving you reeling. She adds her ring finger, her free hand snaking under your neck. Her fingers gently grab the side of your face while she fucks you, slightly tugging and grazing them against your parted lips. It's an intimate gesture, conveying both tenderness and desire.

Your hips buck up to meet her fingers. “Holy fuck” you groan as she pumps them faster into you. “Like that,” your voice is completely shot. Your entire body fizzed from the contact. You gently bite down on her fingers near your mouth while she places kisses all over your cheeks and your lips. Your head spun with thoughts of her - her mouth, her hair, her scent, Hazel was everywhere, all-encompassing.

“Fuck, you’re so good” She half slurs, her voice wrecked, pupils blown and her lips parted. “So good for me.” She whispers, keeping her pace, dragging her digits through the wetness at your core.

Her mouth makes its way down your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses until she’s on her stomach between your thighs. Pumping faster, her lips suck at your clit. Her other hand presses down on your abdomen, holding you in place. You cup your aching tits, feeling them move with every motion she makes.

“Hazel,” you whine, “Haze, I-” Her fingers pick up the pace, curling inside of you. You tread your fingers through her hair, tugging slightly, the coil in your tummy growing tighter and tighter.

“I know, honey, I know,” She says in response to your moans. “You sound so pretty baby, missed those sounds so much.” She keeps babbling, telling you how good you are and how pretty you look for her.

“Fuck, don’t stop” you moan as she continues fucking you with her mouth and fingers, her pace alternating between teasing and fast, pushing you toward the edge. The contrast in her movements intensifies the pleasure, almost giving you want you want but flaking at the last moment, it’s torture.

“Shit, you’re almost there sweetheart” Hazel swears under her breath, voice laced with her own arousal. Her words drive you closer to the edge. You swear you can see stars as the overwhelming feeling shocks through your body. Your heart rate picks up immensley, pounding in your chest.

“Gonna come for me baby, yeah?” “Want you to come all over these fingers.”

And you did. Your body clenches around her fingers, trembling, moans and curses spilling from your lips. Your eyes form with tears from the overstimulation. Her face landed in the crook of your neck, planting sloppy kisses and whispering reassurances as she guides you through the climax.

“Good girl, that’s it, honey. That’s it,” she murmurs.

Her fingers still slowly pumping in and out of you, riding out your high.

“Holy shit," you say once you've caught your breath. "Haze, c'mere." She lifts her head back up and you yank her face down to yours, tasting yourself on her lips as she lets out a soft moan. When you eventually pull away, both breathless, you lock eyes before bursting into disbelieving laughter.

“I can’t believe that just happened.” You whisper.

"I can," she says smugly. You playfully shove her before she collapses beside you. Both of you lie face to face, studying each other's features, committing them to memory, afraid you might forget what they look like. Her hand rests on your waist, mindlessly grazing up and down.

"What's the real reason you didn't come to the party? You ask. Were you with someone else?" Hazel shakes her head.

She pauses before speaking, "I thought if there was any chance of you being there, that I was gonna walk in and maybe see you with someone else. There was no way I could've handled that. I've been distracting myself with other girls, yeah, but..." Her voice trails off. "You have no idea how in love with you I still am." Her voice cracking with emotion. You can see a tear forming in Hazel’s eye, glimmering in the low light of the room.

“Hazel..” Your own voice slightly breaking. You reach out and drag your thumb delicately against her cheek, wiping the stray tear away. Your heart is breaking with a mixture of guilt and longing for the girl lying beside you.

“I still play pretend, in my head.” She whispers.

You smile, your hand resting on her neck, giving it a gentle squeeze, a signal of encouragement for her to keep going.

“I picture us, living together in our apartment in the city.”

Hazel was moving to New York City to work for her aunt after graduation. The reason you broke up, neither of you wanting to do long distance.

“Waking up next to you everyday, cooking you breakfast, fucking you on the countertop for hours” You both laugh at that. “Ever since I met you, I’ve always pictured you just being there. And these past few months…”

“Absolute hell.” You finish for her.

“Absolute hell.” She agrees.

You take her hand and squeeze it, a silent form of reassurance.

She shifts slightly and hovers over you again, brushing your damp hair off your forehead with her hand, and scans your face. “I don’t want this to end” she whispers.

You wish you could capture this moment, tuck it away, and replay it whenever you wanted. You’ve been waiting for her to say these exact words for the past three months, you just never thought it would happen. The reason for your break-up still heavily taunts the back of your mind.

“I love you” you reply, your voice barely a whisper. Taking her face in your hand and capturing her in another kiss. She kisses you sweetly and desperately.

You pull away, gently coaxing her back towards you, and cuddle her into your chest, assuming the role of the big spoon.

She nestles into your arms, finding comfort in the warmth of your body. With a soft sigh, she murmurs, "I wish we had more time.”

You tighten your hold around her, "We'll figure something out, I promise," you whisper, though you aren’t even sure of the reality of your own words. You choose to let go of the uncertainties, preferring to revel in the present moment. She looks back at you, and you kiss her forehead, a silent promise to cherish what you have, even if time feels fleeting.

“God damn full moon.” You mutter to yourself, remembering your earlier conversation at the party.

“What?” She asks.

“Nothing.” You say. “Don’t worry about it.” You kiss her shoulder, settling into the softness of the moment.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

tagging @astroph1les @vster0769

#hazel callahan #bottoms 2023 #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x reader #bottoms movie #hazel bottoms #hazel callahan fanfic #ruby cruz #wlw #sapphic #Spotify

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selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 4 months

Text

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.

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #the winter fic exchange 2k24 #RI #andi's coping mechanism

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beybaldes · 6 months

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Karma is the guy on AFC Richmond, coming straight home to me!

summer sleepover masterlist

roy kent × gn!famous!reader (loosely inspired by Taylor swift and Travis Kelce)

summary: “kisses with a height difference” requested by two anons <33

an: okay you can actually thank the queen of my heart @onceuponaoneshotfanfic for my sudden (although potentially one night only we’ll see if I get my uni essay done lol) return because she reposted a celebrity prompt list and it got my mind whirring oops love you tally thank you for breaking my writers (and reading) block <33

“Hot.”

One simple word had sent your 68 million instagram followers into an absolute frenzy, and half of them, you were pretty sure, didn’t even know who Roy Kent was.

“‘So nice of them to put this football player on the map?’ They do know I was famous long before you ever were, right?” You only laughed as Roy grew more frustrated, allowing him to scroll through your Twitter account while you made the both of you some breakfast.

“Hey, maybe they have a point?” You tried to stifle your laughter, knowing Roy’s eyes would be sending daggers into your back, though only for a moment so he could continue winding himself up over the things people were tweeting. “I mean Richmond tickets have now sold out for the rest of the season.”

Roy knew you were only joking. Well, kind of. The two of you had been together for just over a year now, recently celebrating your one year anniversary, but besides the odd article about each of you potentially seeing someone, no one knew you were together - let alone that you even knew each other. Keeley had been blowing up Roy’s phone since she saw the comment demanding to meet you, her favourite superstar, and you’d woken up to 37 missed calls from your dad, furious you hadn’t told him you were dating Chelsea legend Roy Kent.

Above everything, you’re still in disbelief Roy tried to hard launch your relationship in the comment section if your most recent instagram post on a random Tuesday evening.

“Hmm, and I’m sure your next tour is going to sell out 10 times faster now the world knows you’re with the great Roy Kent.” Roy had given up on reading tweets speculating about what his comment meant and if the two of you were together, instead choosing to press his bare chest agains your back, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you finished up breakfast. Fortunately you knew, Roy Kent or not, your next tour was going to sellout. Though you’d rather have Roy be by your side for it.

“Maybe if I’m lucky.” Putting down your fork, you turned in Roy’s hold to face him, standing on the very tips of your toes to press a lovingly slow kiss to his lips. Since dating Roy, you were certain early mornings were for breakfasts that take too long to cook and kisses that end too soon for your liking. Roy’s grip on you tightened and he dipped his head slightly, making the kiss as easy on you as possible. When you began to pull away, he only ducked his head further to press his lips back against yours. “Mmm, although I’d already consider myself very lucky.”

“That you are.” Roy murmured against your lips, immediately pressing them flush against yours when he’d said his piece. “And so am I.”

an: okay short and sweet but I’m hoping to get back in to writing and get up to date with my requests now that I’m settled at uni and with my new job. Missed you guys hope you all are well <33

#beybaldes writes !!#beybaldes summer sleepover !!#ted lasso x reader #roy kent x reader #roy kent one shot #roy kent imagine #another banger another banger by onceuponaoneshotfanfic from tumblr.com

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vivalabunbun · 1 year

Text

Midnight Piano Interlude in D Minor, Op. 1

Summary: Growing pains don’t go away the moment you reach adulthood, instead it goes by a different name: Regret.

Word Count: 17.9k ( I have a problem, no I cannot fix it)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Pianist!Reader, Aspiring musician!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic (look at the word count), Heavy Angst, Smut(r18+), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, a lot of memories from the past, Fluff, Second chance romance, TW: Character death (Alhaitham’s grandma), TW: Themes about regret and low self-confidence, Heavy adult themes, gifted kid burn-out, toxic family, unhappy childhood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Service top! Alhaitham, mutual pining? kinda, unrequited love? sorta, slightly obsessive!Alhaitham, Soft!Alhaitham, Alhaitham is not faultless his current views have been formed through trial and painful error.

Authors Note: This is very experimental. I almost didn’t want to post it, but I just believe even the most stoic person isn’t without their past mistakes and regrets. Alhaitham doesn’t understand most forms of art... but he does value music. Enjoy.

There was something off about this stanza, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. A cup of now room-temperature coffee was on your dining table, next to the sheets of music you were currently editing. Tapping the end of the pencil on your lip as you shut your eyelids. You played the notes on the paper in your head.

It was an early Saturday afternoon, so you still had plenty of time before you had to go to your gig. It was a ritual on Saturdays that you would edit and write your compositions. A peaceful way to transition out of your lowly officer worker identity, and into the pianist you were. The thought of spreadsheets would be slowly replaced by lines of musical notes.

At this moment there were no emails to be answered. No shallow dry small talk from nosy cubical neighbors. No long meetings in uncomfortable chairs about irrelevant projects.

Just the low hum of your refrigerator accompanying your experimental melodies. It was your time to embrace your aspirations that were contained to only two days every week, but it was worth all forty-eight hours.

The fingers on your free hand tapped against the chipped lacquer table, envisioning the keys of your keyboard currently stationed in the crowded living room. Your fingers stilled as your eyes fluttered open. You found the error, crossing out the D major scale and changing it to D minor instead. Yes, D minor fits the somber tone of this piece much better.

Excitement bubbled up inside you, that small tweak had finally solved that bothersome feeling that had been vexing you the whole week. Oh, you felt it, you were in the zone now, inspiration and motivation were just flowing undisrupted through you. Quickly gathering up the sheet music, you sauntered to your keyboard, sitting down on the cheap pull-out bench.

There was no reason to worry about a noise complaint when it was in the middle of the day, but to follow social etiquette you made sure to lower the volume on the keyboard to just barely above mute. It was time to put everything together, you put your hands into position eager to press down on the smooth keys to finally hear the composition you had worked so hard on-

“Be careful with that! My unfinished models are in that box! Don’t just slam it down!” A voice boomed from the hall outside your door.

The sudden disturbance cut off the flow within you, fingers hovering over the keys. Of course, asking for peace and quiet in this dust heap apartment complex was a luxury the residents couldn’t afford. You inhaled deeply as you straighten your back.

It’s fine, it sounds as if a new neighbor is just moving in. You were used to this, just continue forward.

“Oi! Could you not just dump everything into the entranceway? How am I supposed to get through?!” You could hear the shuffling of boxes.

“Most people would be grateful for the help. Especially, when the help-seeker is someone who has yet to pay five months' worth of rent.” A box was dropped onto the floor.

“I just told you to be careful! It’s fragile! And I was busy saving up to move, I’m sure me moving out is well worth the rent money.”

“Brilliant rebuttal. Is this the same explanation you give the bank when they call inquiring about your debt, Kaveh?”

“And this is why I cannot stand people like you!-”

Your fingers were pressing down with force on the keys, yet you couldn’t hear any melody over the theatrical bickering taking place in the hall. The inside of your cheek is currently being abused by the grating of your teeth. It appears that social etiquette is dead, killed by narrow-minded individual interests.

The two voices continued to bounce off the wall, more accurately it was mostly one thunderous voice followed by a deep tone dripping with sarcasm. Your ears weren’t even processing the words being thrown around, their focus all on the impending tinnitus developing.

You needed to bring a stop to this now, lest it develops into a regular performance. Your thighs pushed back the flimsy seat, lips deep in a frown. The flow was ruined.

Unlocking the deadbolt that detained the door, you looked straight ahead as the rusting hinges sang their chaos, ready to bring a stop to this public disturbance.

“Can you please keep your voices d-” Your sentence died at the tip of your tongue.

The sight in front of you stopped you dead between your doorway. The blond-haired man’s head snapped towards you, eyes slightly apologetic. However, his face wasn’t what you had set your sights on, no, it was the familiar face of the ashen-haired man. A face you haven’t seen for seven years, Alhaitham.

Those same disinterested teal eyes shifted their focus onto you, and it paralyzed every muscle.

The silence was deafening now, not a single inch was budged by anyone. Like a frozen snapshot in time. His gaze was heavy, it was suffocating so your eyes switched over to meet with rudy irises instead.

The blond man’s attention flickered back and forth between the two of you, taking note of how his companion’s eyes never left your frame. His lips pressed into an awkward line as his head slowly turned towards the boxes behind him, finally reading the room.

“I’m going to start tidying up.” The blond didn’t perceive the desperation sent his way by you as his figure disappeared behind a closed door.

Now it was just you and Alhaitham. Finally reunited after seven long years apart in a decrepit hallway. The gurgling of the aging pipes and shuffling of feet from floors above accompanied the scene. Your body was still frozen in the midst of emerging from your apartment, and his tall figure was still stationed right across the narrow hall.

What were the last words you said to him that day many years ago again?

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.”

A hand hidden behind your back clenched into a fist as you recalled that embarrassing memory. Sharp words directed toward a younger version of the man in front of you. Words birthed from irrationality and wounded pride.

Now your brain had once again latched on to this core memory, you were certainly going to be kicking your blankets tonight. What a mortifying souvenir of the past.

The past anger and frustrations were all but lingering smoke in your hair, your heart couldn’t recall the heat of how they burned the bridge down. They say time heals, and it's true.

The years apart had gradually soothed over the tender wounds on your ego. With the pain subsided your brain was clear enough to review the moments that lead to that outburst, and it made you die internally.

Should you just apologize right now? To alleviate the creeping guilt traveling up your shoulder, and so your poor blanket won’t be kicked as hard tonight. Can a small apology really travel across the full length of the seven-year-wide rift that had formed? Your lips stayed firmly shut, there was your answer.

Alhaitham took a step towards you, instinctively your body shuffled three more steps away, widening the berth between your bodies. His movement paused, teal eyes peering down at you as you looked at the space behind his head. No words were said.

This awkward scene was very reminiscent of your introduction to the ashen-haired man many years ago.

–

Your parents, esteemed researchers working for a renowned corporation, had moved into a new neighborhood. The house was much larger than your old home, large enough to house a grand piano in the living room.

“It’s about time you start learning the piano.” Were the orders your parents had given you, sitting your six-year-old self at the intimidating instrument.

On the same day you were introduced to your new duty, you were also introduced to the neighbor’s kid. The only other kid on the block filled with prominent academic figures from the nation’s top university. A grey-haired boy was standing by the side of the older lady, while you clung to your father’s slacks. The boy’s bored teal-eyed stare made you advert your eyes to your pretty shoes.

“This is Alhaitham, he is the same age as you. Say hello.” The stern hands of your father broke your grasp on his slacks and pushed you towards the boy named ‘Alhaitham’.

“Alhaitham, won’t you greet our new neighbor?” The older woman’s wrinkled but kind eyes motioned to your nervous frame.

“Hello.” Greeted a flat voice.

Your tiny hand found its way back to your father’s slacks, grip wrinkling it even more. You were physically unable to utter a single noise. After what felt like an eternity of staring at your shiny sneakers, your father’s hand tug you away. The adults were now having a small conversation, mostly your parents apologizing for your shyness and the older professor laughing the matter off.

“There is no need to apologize, children are fickle sometimes. But I hope that she and Alhaitham will get along. You are always welcome to visit, little one.” Her eyes peered at your restless form. You liked her eyes, they were warm.

That night you sat through a long lecture from your parents about your rudeness toward the grandma. All you could do was bow your head, back perfectly straight on the plush new sofa. You were sent to bed with no dinner that night, told to think about how your actions would reflect upon your parents.

–

The invasive memory triggered by this sudden reunion left a bitter taste on your tongue. The taste that you’ve purposefully been fleeing from all these years. Now with his presence so burdensome, it was dragging your thoughts down deeper. You needed to put a stop to this before your head disappears under the water.

So just like all those years ago, you disappeared from teal eyes. Not uttering a single greeting as the resounding click of your door was heard.

Exiting the automated glass doors, you could finally relax your shoulders. The sun was hanging in the sky this Wednesday evening, you were grateful that you were actually able to clock off work on time.

Your eyes scanned the unfamiliar buildings that decorated the landscape, all large and reaching towards the sky, light bouncing off polished windows. You were free to explore.

Your job required you to attend a meeting about some closing of a deal between the two companies. Thus, the reason why you were currently in the midst of the upscale business district of Sumeru City. Opposing the rundown sector you called home, the sidewalks here were leveled and free of fissures. Many of the trendy shops that lined the streets beckoned you closer to their displays.

With one glance over the price tags attached to the chic items your body instantly turned away. Of course, the prices in the yuppie part of the city would be out of your budget.

Walking further down the road, you let yourself enjoy the warm breeze of Sumeru against your stuffy blouse and pencil skirt. Your skin has finally thawed out after being in that overly air-conditioned conference room. Turning onto a quieter side street you walked past the tantalizing smells wafting from the small cafes.

The gig from last Saturday compensated you quite handsomely. Perhaps you could splurge a little, a reward for yourself securing a returning performance later this month.

One particular cafe caught your interest, it was a combination of a bookstore and a coffee shop. The blackboard sign placed outside listed the daily specialties, and for once the prices of the drinks weren’t outrageous.

A small bell chimed above your head, welcoming you inside. After placing your order, you decided to peruse through the selection of novels the shop had on display.

Most of the titles were of the new best sellers or latest academic papers. Your fingers brushed across the smooth covers, observing the different arts and fonts. It seems that you’ve wonder quite a bit down the rows, somehow ending up in a section filled with the simple cover illustrations of children’s books. You were far too old to enjoy such books now.

Just as you turned on your heel to head back up the aisle, a brilliant verdant cover catches your eye. ‘Oh, so it’s still in print’, you thought. The Giving Tree, the title of the first book you ever learned to read.

–

“Alhaitham is the same age as you, yet he’s reading scientific journals. You should learn from him.” Your mother’s eyes examined your round eyes looking back up at hers.

Your small frame deflated even smaller, the bright aura that had been radiating off of you dissipated like morning dew under the harsh sun.

Just earlier you had your first piano lesson, the piano teacher was so excited to tell your parents how much potential you had, and how filled with talent you were. Their words made you perk up on the bench, the instrument no longer felt as frightening.

The praise had left you in a good mood, so much so that you agreed to accompany your mother to the neighbor’s house. A book clutched in the hand that wasn’t held in your mother’s clammy grasp. You weren’t sure if you were in a good mood anymore.

The kind grandma led you to a small library where her grandson was, Alhaitham was curled up on the rug with a thick journal in his small hands. The thin children’s book in your hand paled in comparison.

“Now, now. Alhaitham is just very passionate about reading. Your daughter is at the normal age where children begin reading, perhaps she’ll also gain a fondness if they read together. I think they’ll have fun together.” The kind woman gestured for you into the room.

Your mother releases your hand, a cold look ushered you toward the empty spot next to the boy. Settling down on the other side of the rug, you glanced up quickly. She seemed satisfied.

The grandma soon led your mother to another part of the house, continuing their conversation. You turned toward the boy next to you, he was too focused on the text in front of him to bother greeting you.

Spirits a bit dejected, you opened the cover to your own thin book. It was your father that placed the book in your hands, telling you to start reading. As your eyes glossed over the figures that took up only a fraction of the page, you came across the obvious hurdle.

You don’t know how to read. No one had ever sat you on their lap and gone through this book with you, or any book really.

The illustrations and script on the page taunted you, calling you to decypher their meanings and symbols. The pages were quickly flipped through until you hit the back cover, then flipped through once more until you were back to the front.

A foolish attempt for a miracle, that if you flipped through the book fast enough, somehow those scribbles on the pages will make sense.

“Are you even reading?” Spoke a slightly irritated voice.

Oh, your loud turning must have distracted the boy from his reading. The flipping stopped, as you glanced at him seeing the disinterested eyes staring back, you looked away. The embarrassment this time compelled your mouth to speak.

“N-no… I don’t know how…” Cheeks burned from shame, you could already feel that familiar sting in your eyes. Oh no, if you cried then mom might frown again.

A sigh resounded beside you, Alhaitham shifted his body out of his comfortable position against his pillow. Oh no, is he getting up to tell mom about the dark secret you just spilled to him? You didn’t get him to promise he won’t tell, will he get you in trouble?

“Give it here.” An expecting hand reached out, palms open.

You blinked at the hand slowly, did he want the book in exchange for not telling? Obediently, you placed the small book into his hold. His teal eyes glance over the title quickly, before he lays the book open in the space between your two bodies. Your head tilted in confusion at his actions. But as soon as his tranquil voice read the word out loud, that confusion stopped.

“Mmm… I don’t like the boy.” You crossed your arms in front of your small body, round cheeks pushed out in a pout.

Alhaitham just finished reading the story to you, he ran his small finger along with each word he spoke so you could follow along as well. His eyes connected with yours inquisitively, waiting for you to continue.

“The nice tree gave him so much, and he never said ‘thank you’. And he left the tree alone for so long, the tree must have been so sad. He’s mean, a big meanie and… and…”

“Ungrateful.” Alhaitham finished your sentence.

“Un-un..grateful?” You titled your head again, the unfamiliar word felt weird on your tongue.

“Ungrateful. U-n-g-r-a-t-e-f-u-l. It means having no feelings of thanks, you can also say he’s selfish.” The boy answered your question before you could even ask it.

You pressed a finger against your lips, turning the newly learned vocabulary in your head. Yeah, those words fit the boy in the story very well. Ungrateful and selfish. You looked back at the boy sitting next to you, a smile stretched your chubby cheeks. The grandma was right, reading with him was fun.

“You’re really smart.” You beamed at him.

“That means nothing to me.” He huffed, turning his face away.

You could spy with your little eyes the red tint on the tips of his ears that peeked out from his ash-colored hair.

“Hehe, and you’re funny too.” For the first time in a while, you giggled.

–

What a bittersweet memory, like the fragrance of the different brews traveling throughout the small shop. Yet, the nostalgia brought a small curl to your lips. You turned away from the book, only to flinch at what your eyes saw next.

The boy from your memories is now a man standing adjacently. You must’ve been too lost in thought to notice his towering stature.

After that tense reunion in the hallway, thankfully Alhaitham didn’t decide to knock on your door. Not that you would’ve answered anyways. He probably had already predicted your actions, and thus saved himself the time.

He was dressed in a suit and but the tie was loose around his neck, he must’ve just gotten off of work. The path back to the coffee bar was just slightly blocked by his wide frame, you had to get past him.

Teal-orange eyes converged with your stare, ah it’s too late to try and sneak past now. Alhaitham acknowledges your presence with a slight nod of his head, expression blank and unreadable. Once again you didn’t say a single greeting.

As if a merciful archon had been watching this pathetic interaction, an opportunity for escape was granted in the form of the barista calling out your name.

“Excuse me.” Was all you could muster, hastily striding past him, body pressed against the selves so as to not brush against him.

Before you the bell at the front chimed again to signal your departure, you made sure to leave some extra mora, more than the necessary amount. Done in silent gratitude towards the unsung hero of a barista.

It was now the last Saturday of the month, meaning it was time for your return performance. In your bathroom mirror, you smoothed out any stray hairs, straightening out your black performance garb.

A sacred ritual to slow the beating of your jumping heart. It’s a bit silly to admit, but no matter how many times you’ve performed, your nerves always went haywire. A terrible habit that made its way to adulthood.

The tavern you were performing at was quite a popular joint among the locals of Sumeru City. The nice wooden and homey interior gave many city dwellers their taste of nature in a progressing world. A grand piano was tucked away in a clear corner of the establishment, a ring of tables enclosed the area into a stage of sorts.

Pushing through the intricately carved doors, you entered Lambad’s Tavern eyes surveying the audience for this Saturday night. There were some tables still empty, awaiting the future stream of guests. Chatter quietly reverberated through the serene scene for now.

The atmosphere can get a bit rowdy as more and more alcohol ran through the systems of patrons. In a way, it was perfect for you, a perfect stepping stone in your slow climb.

Checking in with the manager at the front, you got the thumbs up to start setting up for your show. An agreement had been reached earlier this month that you would be playing the piano for three hours, three hours of having the privilege to play on a grand piano again. Not on the electronic imitation of your keyboard. Eager hands glided their soft touch along the smooth keys.

Yes, nothing can truly capture the beauty of the grand piano’s voice, not even the CDs you set up on a table nearby. Recordings with a mixed tracklist of classical pieces and original compositions, just like your setlist for tonight.

Lifting up the fallboard, you set the sheets against the music stand. Not that you needed them. Every note, every rest, and every change in tempo memorized in your fingers. Taking a deep breath, your eyes did one final scan around the room. Most tables were too emersed in their own conversations to take note of you.

Rubbing your fingers together to grind out the tremble of your nerves before you shut your eyes. In the darkness quiet darkness of your mind, your fingers moved into their positions over the keys. Erik Satie’s Je te veux resonated with the muddled conversations of the audience, adding to the serene air.

You’ve always closed your eyes when performing, a trait that has embedded itself from the start of your music career. The darkness of your mind offered a reprieve from the critical eyes of judges and parents during recitals and competitions.

You first stepped into this safe haven around the time of your first recital at the age of eight.

–

It’s been a few months since you first began your piano lessons, and your teacher was eager to announce your first recital. They had a sparkle in their eyes, keen to show off their most talented disciple.

They had discovered an unpolished diamond among the mediocre ruff, a young naturally blessed child. Your lips were kept sealed about the long hours your parents forced you to sit in front of the piano after each weekly lesson.

Before you only ever played under the watchful gaze of either your parents or teacher, not an audience of strangers. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified.

“I can’t do it.” You retracted your hands from the piano once again, as if the keys were scorching you.

“You said you wanted to play the piano for me.” The young boy beside you huffed out, annoyed at your actions. You had repeated these steps five times now.

“I know! But I’m… scared…” Your posture deflated.

“If you can’t play in front of one person, how can you play for a crowd?” Alhaitham’s disinterested eyes crept back to the book he had placed beside him, you had dragged him away from his reading for this.

“I don’t know…” A frown pulled at your face, eyes feeling the incoming burn. You didn’t want to cry in front of him.

There was a tense moment of nothingness between the two of you. The boy quietly observed the paper propped up against the music stand.

“Do you know how to play this piece?” His flat voice broke the suspense.

“Yes I do! I’ve been practicing this every day, I can even do it with my eyes closed.” You huffed in disbelief at his accusation.

“Then do that. Just play with your eyes closed.” He retorted as if it was the most obvious statement in the world.

Which in truth, it was the most obvious statement in the world. You’ve been practicing Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen since the beginning of the month every day for six hours a day. The rhythm and keys were ingrained into your fingers by the second week.

The solution was so plain and simple, why didn’t you think of it? Your parents were right, you are always a few steps behind the brilliant boy.

An embarrassed flush covered your round cheeks. Suddenly his stare was heavy, heavier than the ones from your parents and teacher. The muscles in your finger felt tense. Your young mind could tell that if this continued then the tune embedded in your hands wouldn’t come out at all.

“Can you not look?” A quiet plead.

“I thought you wanted me to watch.” A grey brow was raised.

“I know… But…” Around him, you couldn’t seem to finish your sentences.

“Fine.” Deciding that prying further would be a wasted effort, Alhaitham turned his short body around on the bench so that his back faced the piano instead. Cracking open his thick book back to the page he had left off on.

“I don’t need to look at you to hear you play anyways.” The young boy’s eyes returned back to their place among the text.

Sitting back up straight again, shoulder back and hands into position. You took a deep breath and entered the darkness behind your eyelids. This time your fingers guided you through the moment, and the piano sang out its melodies.

–

Coincidentally, Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen just so happened to be ending right now as the memory finished its course. You had transitioned into the piece some time ago, finishing five out of the many on your three-hour setlist. It was right about time for a small break.

As your eyelids lifted a few soft claps reached your ears, from the growing chatter it seems that more customers had funneled into the tavern.

The manager of the tavern was a very generous man, so much so that he offers you a complimentary drink you could claim during each of your breaks. You would be a fool to turn down such an offer, but you reminded yourself that you need to maintain a certain level of sobriety. For the sake of your performance.

The sweet wine felt divine running down your parched throat. The alcohol did wonders in mellowing out your racing thoughts as you returned back to your place at the piano. Just like before, you did a small survey of your surroundings. Big mistake, for your mind kicked into overdrive when locking gazes with teal eyes.

‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

A superstition you should really be more mindful of. Shifting your body towards the piano, you ended the impromptu staring contest. Ah, what song were you supposed to play now? Thoughts scrambled as you can still feel the heaviness of Alhaitham’s gaze on your back. ‘Just play’ you internally scolded.

Letting your fingers take over the piano, retreating back into the comforting blackness.

“Who was that?” Kaveh creaked open the door to his new apartment, inquiring his now former roommate about the scene that unraveled moments before.

Alhaitham observed the heavy metal frame that closed you off from him once more. This was certainly an unexpected surprise. It’s been seven years since he last hear your voice. Seven years since you marched forth on a path carved by your own grit and resoluteness.

Many things have changed these seven years.

Who are you?

Eyes still following the cracks of the paint running up your door, the ashen-haired man’s mind recounted a scene from long ago.

–

It’s been a few months since you first moved into this neighborhood, taking Alhaitham’s title of ‘only kid on the block’ away. During your first introduction, you wouldn’t even greet him constantly tugging on your father’s pant leg and staring at your feet.

Now you wouldn’t stop greeting him. After lunch, almost like clockwork, there would be a knock at his front door. Disrupting his precious reading time. You’d be there on the other side with a new book for him to read to you, or you’d bounce on the heels of your feet inviting him to hear your piano.

Today, it was the latter. Alhaitham had his back facing the piano, the position that made you the most comfortable. A book was open in his lap, but his mind was busy pondering a mystery to pay attention to it or to the tune you were playing. Grandma said it wasn’t good to hold in questions, lest they consume the curious mind. Best to get answers from the source of the mystery.

“Why do you seek me out?” His flat voice interfered with the sharp notes.

“Huh?” You turned to him perplexed, fingers now hovering over the keys.

“Are we friends?” He asked directly, it’s good to be straightforward.

“Of course we’re friends! Even if you’re a bookworm, you’re still a precious friend of mine.” Chest puffed up at your bold declaration.

“If I am a bookworm, it’s only appropriate to call you an earworm.”

“E-earworm? There are worms that live in the ear??”

“No, it’s just a figure of speech. Earworm refers to a tone or melody that repeats constantly in the mind.”

“Ooh. Earworm…” You pondered the term for a bit before another splitting smile spread across your face.

“Yes! You’re a bookworm and I’m an earworm.” A finger was directed at him then back at yourself, giggling.

Strangely, the young boy felt a tickle at the back of his throat, as if your laughter was contagious like a cold. He decided to hold it back in favor of observing your expression for a bit longer.

“Oh!” You jumped up from the bench, reaching into the shiny pencil case you kept close to the piano.

Pulling out a bold black marker you uncapped the tool before climbing onto the bench, the extra height allowing you to maneuver the top half of your body into the body of the piano.

Now it was his turn to be bewildered, quickly snapping his eyes towards the entrance of the living room, watching out for signs of your parents. Soon you reemerged from the instrument, capping the marker with a proud look in your eyes.

“There, now there’s solid proof of our friendship.”

Alhaitham peers into the piano, observing the words clumsily written along the wooden shell:

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

“Why am I before you? It’s your piano isn’t it?”

“Well ‘B’ comes before ‘E’.” You puffed out your cheek at his lackluster response to your heartfelt gesture.

For the first time ever in front of you, Alhaitham let an obvious smile appear on his face.

–

What a bittersweet term. Friends. Yes, the two of you were once friends long ago. Close friends who morphed into strangers. The catalyst for this change? With each new stage of life, branching paths will appear, the parting of ways is just a natural phenomenon.

He is Alhaitham and you are you. Separate individuals with separate lives on separate paths.

“Just someone I used to know.” Came his candid answer.

“Right.” Kaveh rolled his eyes, clearly displeased at how the ashen-haired man won’t give his question an actual response.

Alhaitham removed his eyes from your door, picking the cardboard box back off the tiled hallway. Kaveh didn’t need to know the specifics, the precious details shall forever make their home in a safe corner of his mind.

Alhaitham exited the ornate doors of the office building. Currently, it was the closing quarter, meaning the office has been more bothersome than usual. Even with his perfected front of acting busy, more and more troublesome characters have been strolling into his office. It’s irrelevant now, for the secretary is now off the clock.

The sun was still in the sky, perfect weather to grab a bit to eat from a local coffee shop. It’s been a week since he last picked up a new book as well, there was one place that came to mind that would allow the man to kill two birds with one stone. Long legs walked with swift strides towards his destination.

Even will his earphones in, Alhaitham could still hear the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. In Sumeru City this was expected, construction, traffic, and pedestrians, everything thing muddled together in noisy inference with his thoughts. He turns up the volume.

Opening the door to the cafe, the bell sounded his arrival. The usual barista was there at the counter. With a quick glance up the barista instinctively placed his order, a testament to just how often the ashen-haired man frequents this place. Good, this saves him the trouble.

Without pausing his music, Alhaitham began pursuing the nonfiction section of the small shop. There were a few new scientific journals that have been published, maybe he’ll give them a read.

Although his ears were currently occupied, that doesn’t mean his other senses were dulled. He could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon his back. Usually, the man would simply brush such occurrences off. But there was this small nag coming from a corner of his mind. This could be a result of a brain being bored by a day’s worth of paperwork. He’ll indulge his curiosity.

Returning the weight of the gaze back to the mysterious source he felt his jaw clench just a bit. There you were again, staring at him with your lips pressed together tensely. Your wide eyes were very reminiscent of a spooked songbird. Everything about your body language read startled and for flight.

This time, Alhaitham doesn’t encroach, he simply nodded his head in a small greeting. It seems even this small action sparked you to flee. You mouthed something before quickly strolling past him.

Shamelessly, his teal eyes followed your path as you paid for your coffee and disappeared out of sight from the shop windows. Yes, his statement that these seven years have brought about much change was correct. It wasn’t like this before.

–

“Alhaitham, why are you reading here?” His grandma inquired about the reason behind her grandson situating himself at the window nook instead of inside the library.

“I just wanted to enjoy the sunlight.” Came his crafted response.

From this small nook, the window gave a clear view of the front steps and the path that led to the house just across the street. The older woman took note of this, kind eyes giving the young boy a knowing look and smile. You had begun attending the local school.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham adamantly wanted to stay home and self-study instead. Stating that all the material the school covered he already knew. The old lady didn’t raise any objections to her grandson’s decision.

“If you go over to her house remember to be polite, and inform me before you do.” A wrinkled hand tussled through his soft ashen locks.

“There’s no need. I’m just sitting here to read.” He leaned into his grandma’s touch.

“Of course, of course. Then I shall make use of this afternoon to review some material. Remember what I said.”

“Yes, grandma.” Came his reply.

With that, Alhaitham was left to his own thoughts by the window. He didn’t really know why he felt the pull to sit by the window. Was it to get a glimpse of you? The neighbor’s daughter?

You and he were the only two kids on the block, so it wasn’t surprising you would often seek out his company. A friendship formed by virtue of close proximity. However, now you were attending classes filled with other kids your age. His company would sooner or later fade into obscurity.

Alhaitham has always been very attuned to the situation around him, displaying a level of maturity and insight way beyond his years. Perhaps he still retains some semblance of that childish essence. Demonstrated by his current position, the book in his lap only held half of his attention, the other wondering out the clear glass.

What is he hoping for realistically? Others can provide you much livelier company than he ever could, and yet he still-

The boy puts down the book, short legs pattering across the wooden floor swiftly carrying his body to the door. Small hands turned the cold brass before he channeled all his strength into prying the wooden mass from the frame.

Revealing your bewildered face, hand frozen in its position ready to knock on the now open door. Once your eyes met, it wasn’t long before a smile replaced your expression.

“Hi, Haitham! Wanna hear me play today?”

–

Yes, that was how things used to be. Even as your social circle grew, even as new families moved in, you’d still appear back in front of him. Beaming that smile he lost the privilege to see. Like a songbird that returned every day to sing in front of his window as the solitary child read.

Alhaitham’s eyes found themselves locked once more on a door, the one you had rushed out of not so long ago. There was a weight pulling down on the corners of his mouth. He entered Sumeru’s education system during high school. Missing the crucial formative years previously where cliques and social labels were formed, he stood alone as a loner.

But You always rushed towards him through crowded halls and rooms. Breaking away amidst your social circle from orchestra and band. Just to tap him on the shoulder and eat lunch together in the sanctuary of a private practice room that housed the school’s piano.

These repetitive memories plaguing him brought a bitter taste to his coffee. Perhaps it was the dreadful combination of sweet memory and awareness of the current state of affairs.

Finally, the end of the month has come. Meaning things at work have sorted themselves out, at least for another three months. In lieu of attending an actual company-sponsored dinner, Alhaitham decides to get a drink at the local tavern.

Company dinners were noisy, filled with black ties and white lies. Too troublesome. However, recently his mind has been filling the silence of his house with redundant thoughts.

A drink from time to time is a good way to destress and quell the mind, Alhaitham reasons as he enters the establishment. Lambad’s Tavern was a local joint that provides a small solace from the rambunctious city streets. A place the man likes to visit on occasion, usually when an invitation was extended.

From the moment he entered through the doors, he could hear a piano ending its cords. It seems that there was live music tonight. Usually, it was nice to have background music accompany the chatter of the other patrons. But why a piano of all choices tonight? Alhaitham takes a deep breath before letting out a small sigh, it’s as if a ghost of the past is haunting him.

Placing an order for a bottle of wine to be delivered to a secluded area, Alhaitham makes his way to the usual table. His body maneuvered through the sea of flushed face patrons, and the sight of the grand piano came into view.

The bench by the instrument was empty, perhaps his mind really is just conjuring up a ghost. Regardless, once the wine comes these thoughts will settle.

“Your wine.” The alcohol was set down.

“Thank you.” Alhaitham swirls the glass a bit before taking a sip.

His bored eyes began to wander once more, looking for anything to bide the time with, unsurprisingly they were beckoned towards the piano. Only this, time it was no longer empty. No, this time it was no ghost invented by a bored mind, it was you. He stiffly swallowed down the wine.

He wasn’t subtle nor careful with how obviously he was staring, thinking too occupied by astonishment. This must have tipped you off, as once again your wide-eyed gaze connected with his heavy one. You made that tense face again. You broke away, tightly shutting your eyes before your fingers hit the keys, making the piano sing.

‘Oh, so you still closed your eyes when you played’. Alhaitham found a strange satisfaction in this fact as if he found comfort in the one constant he still knew about you. Arms and fingers moved fluidly, a sight he used to not be able to see out of respect for you.

–

Your parents were busy with their research, and his grandmother had her hands full with academic responsibilities. It was only Alhaitham who had the time, a resource only abundant in youth, to attend your recitals and concerts.

As the crowd and the judges bored holes into your figure up on stage, the young man kept his eyes peeled on the book in front of him.

The young man didn’t mind attending these events, the audience was mostly silent save for the occasional applause. After so many years and lunches spent by your side at the piano, his ears have gotten used to the melodic accompaniment to his reading.

The final chords of your performance reverberated throughout the air, followed by the rolling clapping of hands.

He lifted his attention up to the stage. Although it’s ironic how the only time you wanted him to watch your performance was at the end, he’ll respect your wishes. From the brightly lit stage, you were finishing your bow, and as your head rises your eyes connected with his. A beaming smile was directed at him.

Was it you or the stage lights that stung his eyes?

“How’d you think I did, Haitham?” Was the first thing out of your lips after rejoining him.

The concert hall had emptied out some time ago, and Alhaitham had been waiting by the backstage door to walk home with you. You held a thick folder against the front of your formal black gown, a bounce in your ballet flat steps. Alhaitham pretended to contemplate his answer.

“I’m not well versed in acoustics nor how to judge music, so I don’t see how my opinion would matter.” Came his flat reply.

“Haitham, you listened to me play for years. How have you not learned a thing?” You pouted, just like how he predicted.

The young man gave you a simple shrug. Of course, he found your performance exceptional, he was there for the hours of practice you put in.

“Whatever, now that it’s over. I can start looking at the piece the conductor wanted me to accompany for the school’s orchestra. Ahh, I only have three weeks to practice.” You made a face as you dug through the thick folder as the two of you continued to walk.

He only hummed in response, shifting his focus back to his book. It was the sweet Sumeru Spring of your third year of high school, the perfect for a serene walk home.

Over the top of the pages, his teal eyes could see your lips press into a crooked line, desperately trying to suppress your snickers as you sightread the notes on the sheet.

“Is that a piece by Debussy?”

“Huh? How’d ya know, Haitham?”

You were easy to read. After knowing you for over a decade now, you were like an open book to him. The journal hides his small smile from your sight.

–

The memory reminded him to advert his eyes, focusing back on the glass of wine in front of him. He came here for a drink, he should follow through with his plan. The wine quickly vanished as Alhaitham signed for another. It took an impressive amount of willpower for his eyes to not wander back, he won’t let them.

Your small performance had come to an end, sounded by the closing of the fallboard and how the bench dragged against the floor. He knew you were bowing to show thanks to the audience, yet he still refused to look. From your earlier actions, it was blatant that you despised his presence.

So even as your figure passed by his table, Alhaitham refused to allow you into his line of sight.

It’s been an hour since you left the establishment in a rush, and Alhaitham had run up quite the tab now, best to call it a night. Tossing some mora onto the table, the ashen-haired man stands up ready to begin the taxis ride back.

The effects of the alcohol must have made his eyes wander back to the piano, a fruitless attempt to watch one last glimpse. And a glimpse they found, in the form of a CD you had carelessly left behind.

You had abandoned it, thus it was now free for the taking.

It was unlike the stoic man to order rounds after rounds of wine, but he needed something to busy himself with. Just as how you were busy with the piano, he needed the alcohol to quell undesirable impulses. However, as his unsteady steps made it up the front porch, he was chastising himself for that decision. A hangover was guaranteed in the morning.

Roughly slamming the door shut behind him, Alhaitham entered the asylum of his home. The newfound stillness of the house was usually a luxury the ashen-haired man indulged in. However, at the moment it was a tribulation, for his noisy thoughts filled the silence. Its volume only exacerbated by the alcohol in his system.

When he was younger, Alhaitham naively thought the knowledge gained from academic journals was equivalent to experience. After all, he had just read about another person’s experiences, he could pinpoint their flaws and learn from their mistakes so as to not repeat them.

Just like the knowledge obtained from his books, he assumed that you too shall always remain in his possession, you shall always stay by his side. Of course, only a naive teenager, no, only a naive child would think this way.

Did you know that the downfall of many great kings, heroes, and gods was their hubris? Excess self-confidence blinds their vision. Excess confidence only a naive child would have, believing he could analyze everything.

Oh, how life works in mysterious ways, finding lessons to humble such egos. Alhaitham, against his will, reminisces about the event that taught him a valuable lesson in the noisy silence of his house.

–

“Haitham, I can’t believe they did it.” You were curled up on the couch of his grandmother’s home, tears streaming down your face.

“They sold my piano, Haitham. They sold it because they wanted me to get over this ‘hobby’. Hypocrites, as if they weren’t the ones who forced me to practice hours a day since I was a kid.”

Alhaitham said nothing, silently holding the tissue box out to you. The pair of you had just returned from school just a few hours earlier, bidding goodbye before returning to your respective houses. However, just an hour ago his quiet reading was disrupted by frantic pounding on the front door. He had opened it to your tear-stained face.

“How could they instill in me a passion for all my life, but when I want to continue with it as a career, they do their damnedest to snuff it out?” You were furiously wiping your eyes with the back of your hands.

Oh, so that’s what happened. Alhaitham had already seen this coming, knowing how your parents were, it was predictable. They had valid reasons for not wanting their daughter to pursue such a career path.

You still had stage fright, constantly telling him to not look at you when you played. How would you make a living like this? He analyzed the statistics and figures before he comes to his own conclusion.

There was no reason that you couldn’t balance a stable career with your passion for piano. In Sumeru, they had one of the most progressive work cultures of all of Teyvat. There were generous amounts of paid time off, sick days, and reasonable hours. You had more than enough time for music.

He decides to share his conclusion with you.

“Music should stay a hobby. Even graduates from the most prestigious music universities aren’t guaranteed a career. To be frank, it’s better if you pursue a degree that leads to a steadfast position. Of course, be firm in your boundaries so that you can have the time for piano.”

The room fell silent, your wide eyes stared into his calm teal ones. A heavy hush hung in the air as the grandfather clock continued to tick away, until it rang, signaling the change in the air. After the last resonance of its chime faded, you let out a laugh, but there was no joy in your voice.

“Of course… Why did I think you’d be different? This is why they love you.” Your tone was dry as your shoulders shook, eyes now trained on the floor.

“Look at Alhaitham, what a level-headed guy he is, you should learn from him. Look at his grades, why can’t you be top of the class? He’s so talented and good at everything, what can you do? Why can’t you be more like Alhaitham?” You spat out his name as if it was poisonous.

“Comparison is the thief of joy, you shouldn’t-” Alhaitham needed to de-escalate this crescendo.

“If only you were born their son… Then I wouldn’t have suffered.” More tears fell from your eyes as you stumbled off the couch.

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.”

Alhaitham once believed that words, which have no physical form, couldn’t hurt him. The stab in his chest from an unseen force dismissed that notion.

Your burning eyes reconnected with his gaze. He knew that look, he’s seen it many times. Jealousy, anger, and hatred. They were familiar emotions that others cast his way, yet he found himself taken aback. You’ve never looked at him like this before… Have you?

Before he could utter another word, you stormed off. All the young man could do was watch the back of your figure as it disappeared from sight.

–

There was a firm frown now on Alhaitham’s lips and a furrow between his brows. He wanted this horrible play to end, for his brain to stop showing him events that have already passed. It’s always one’s own mind that can show the most cruelty to itself.

–

It’s been a month since you’ve last spoken to him. Taking long about ways to school so as to avoid crossing paths with him, your lunches were spent locked in private practice rooms.

Young Alhaitham had a whole month to analyze and reanalyze at which moment everything fell apart. After much deliberation, he concluded that he made a miscalculation. He overstepped his boundaries.

In the end, it was your life, you should be the one to decide how you will live it. His unsolicited suggestion was wholly unnecessary. He knew an apology was needed.

However, he could read from your actions that you weren’t ready to talk to him just yet. It wouldn’t be wise to approach you, lest you look at him again with those eyes. That’s fine, he can wait until you came to him. Alhaitham bided his time with more books. Was reading without music always this lonely?

It was the day of your graduation. From within the sea of celebratory gowns and cheering students, teal eyes honed in on your figure. You were intentionally avoiding his gaze, instead going to congratulate and talk to fellow musicians and classmates. His hand balled up into a fist before he unclenched it. It’s fine, you need more time, and he’ll respect that.

It’s the least he could do. Either way, the two of you had the whole Summer to make up before university started.

Another miscalculation on his part.

Alhaitham recalls the panicked ringing of his doorbell, but instead of you, the door opened to reveal your parents. You were gone. Your phone was left behind, important documents missing from filing cabinets, and a bag full of belongings gone. You’ve vanished, the only explanation they got was a note:

“Don’t Bother Me”.

You’ve already become a legal adult, how could the Matra have any justification to drag you back?

That whole hellish Sumeru Summer Alhaitham read at the nook located by the front door. For that whole Summer, the young man answered any number that flashed on his screen. He knew that you had limited money, after your pitiful savings dried up you were bound to return. If not to your house, then at least to this haven.

Your voice was never on the other side.

Laughably, it took the prodigy Alhaitham an entire Summer to finally come to terms with the facts of the matter. The songbird had left its tarnished cage, and it will never return. He started university without you by his side.

–

Grey lashes fluttered open as the play finally ends. Memories that once looped like a broken record in his mind. With time this memory became a softer hum to his thoughts. An earworm that burrowed deep within so as to remind him of his past shortcomings.

Yes, his past mistakes made him aware of his limited human vision. That he did in fact not know everything. The series of errors that strayed you away from him. Humans weren’t books, they’re not as easy to decipher as scripts on a page. The growing pains of maturing. A lesson he has learned well.

Once was an accident, twice is a coincidence, and the third time… a chance. Alhaitham doesn’t believe in gods or fate, but he does believe in opportunity.

Teal eyes made their way to the CD left on top of a polished ivory top. This time, he shall turn around and chase after the ghost, to return to her what was rightfully hers.

If these occurrences were bound to happen more often, then it’s best for you to catch up with the seven-year backlog of information. Of course, instead of consulting the primary source for the much-needed answers, you turned to a secondary source instead. You are nothing, if not a coward.

Hence why on this warm Thursday night you were out at the local bar, wallet getting emptied by the blond slumped next to you.

“Ugh, that man was a tyrant. Leaving books everywhere, letting dust just pile up, and every other sentence had to be a snide remark.” Kaveh finishes another glass, another cry from your wallet.

You were still nursing your second glass while Kaveh’s got a scarlet glow already. A part of you regrets inviting your hall neighbor out, but you appreciated the wealth of information he spilled out once a drop of liquor hit his tongue.

Currently, Alhaitham is employed at the top company in Sumeru city. he’s the secretary but quickly raising up the ranks. He also owns his own house in a rich suburb, one he used to share with the drunk man beside you, but now it only houses himself.

“Not only that but every week like clockwork that apathetic bastard would bring home the ugliest furniture. He once brought home an old piano. It took up so much space and clashed against the dark wood of the house! He wouldn’t even try to arrange them, he messed up the feng shui! He can’t even play! What was it for then?!”

Ah, you can see why the architect was willing to move into the lackluster apartment, he was desperate the spare his blood pressure. You don’t blame him, in fact hearing about your former friend’s spending habits brought a sour aftertaste to your wine.

Oh, how nice it must be to have such financial freedom.

“Then whenever I make a polite suggestion that he try to consider aesthetics, his response? ‘It is my life, my house, and my money. Suggestions from others are irrelevant and should be ignored. I’m guessing such philosophies are difficult to uphold for designers who must bend to their client’s will.’ Can you believe how insufferable he is?”

“Hypocrite.” That word rolled bitterly off your tongue, a past dialogue resurfacing from the back of your mind.

The blond’s hazy eyes peered at your inquisitively. Then his drunken mind sparks a thought: Why were you asking about Alhaitham? He also remembers that he had unanswered questions as well.

“By the way, what is your relation to that detached man?”

“Just a nobody who got compared to his brilliance.”

That doesn’t satisfy his question at all.

“Not this game again. Seriously, just what went down between the two of-”

“For a person who prides himself on his empathy, you sure are oblivious to the discomfort you’re causing. Prying for details that don’t concern you.” A deep voice from behind made your skin prickle.

Why was he here?

You didn’t need to look to feel the heavy weight of his teal eyes, boring holes into your stiff frame. The wine tasted awful now. It’s rude to ditch the guest that you had invited out, but you needed to get out of here before bile begins to taint your palette.

Quickly signaling for the tab, you didn’t even comprehend the number before you slammed down a bunch of mora.

“I’ll leave first. It was nice drinking with you, Kaveh. Let’s do this again sometime.” An excuse and lie.

“Hey, wait-” The blond lifted up his hand.

“I’ll walk you home. It’s quite dangerous this time of night around here.” Alhaitham’s body turned to follow you. Ah, he’s pointing out how shit your neighborhood was, isn’t he.

“Oi! Stop interrupting your senior-”

Alhaitham tosses an extra handful of mora onto the table. Kaveh was nearly shaking with rage, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of another few glasses of wine.

You were taking exaggerated strides across the uneven concrete, trying to put some distance between you. However, your legs were no match for the towering man’s steps, as it wasn’t before long until he caught up.

The clicking of your shoes and the thumps of his steps filled the tense silence. You refused to meet his gaze. But the thoughts racing through your mind needed answers, in particular, why is he haunting you now of all times?

“Why are you here?” You punched in the code for the entrance of the complex.

“I was looking for you. It just so happens that I spotted you through the window of the bar.”

There was an annoyed twitch at your eyebrow. He is not aware of how creepy he sounded right now?

You swiftly pulled the heavy door open and tried to slam it behind you, to create a barrier. However, Alhaitham’s foot was just a bit faster. His tall figure continued to loom behind you as you ascended the stairs.

“I have a reason to seek you.”

“Oh? Then pray tell, why a young professional would follow a woman to her home.” Keys fumbling to fit into the loose door handle.

“I took a CD. I’m no thief, and I believe that a musician should be fairly compensated for her work.” Came his flat reply.

That’s it? You already had a terrible week at work, becoming the scapegoat for the incompetency of managers. Now, his presence was only exacerbating the negativity flowing through you. Maybe the heat of the fire hasn’t been completely forgotten. You don’t want his money, you don’t want his pity.

For the first time, you whipped around intentionally staring straight into his teal-orange irises. You don’t need his money nor pity. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was the mounting stress on your shoulders or a damning combination of both.

You wanted to wipe that indifferent look off his handsome face, you couldn’t stand it.

Alhaitham’s lips parted ready to continue the transaction, only to be interrupted by the crashing of another on his. Your fingers were tangled in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the crisp fabric. Your burning stare never left his slightly raised eyes, wanting to observe anything hint of human emotion.

Shock? Disgust? Fury? You’d take anything over his infuriatingly stoic face.

Instead of shoving you off like you inferred, Alhaitham slowly lowers his eyelids. Parting his lips even more as if to grant more access, allowing his tongue to dance with yours. These actions only irked you more.

This wasn’t your first kiss with him, the first time happened while two friends were sitting by a piano, heads turning to face each other too fast. An accidental brushing of lips. It irked you that the mushy feeling from that day was currently making its grand return.

Breaking away to allow oxygen back into your burning lungs, a thin strand of saliva trailing between. You were panting as his eyes reconnected with yours, something else was swimming behind those impartial irises. Too bad you were too impatient to decipher it, as you pulled his face back down.

Back pushing the rusty apartment door ajar. Two bodies disappeared behind the awful singing of its hinges.

–

For once, you woke up before the screeching of your phone. The sun was just barely peeking through the blinds. A muscular arm was draped over your bare torso, sheets still a bit damp from sweat. You knew that smell currently suffocating you in the room. You just slept with your former friend.

Your hand itched to slap your face. Idiot, you avoided him for all this time just to welcome him into your bed.

Stealthily shimming your body out of bed, you could feel the slight wobble of your legs. Of course, he’s good at sex, he’s good at everything. You cast a quick glance at his slumbering form. Teal eyes were still hidden behind closed lids. Good, he’s not awake.

Like a thief in your own home, you toed around the clothes scattered across the floor, careful to avoid the creaky wooden planks you’ve memorized.

Swiftly grabbing a random assortment of items out of your closet, you deemed the outfit professional enough for work. Trying to glide across the cluttered apartment like a ghost, you put on your heels, ready for the walk of shame away from your apartment. At least your gym membership will see some use now, a shower would be great to wash the shame and guilt off.

It’s not like you had anything worth stealing. Grabbing your bag off the table, you exited the scene of the crime. Hinges announcing your departure.

If the you from a few months ago saw what the reunion of friends had morphed into, she’d probably keel over in shock. Can you even call yourselves friends anymore?

The next Saturday following that incident, you had finished up another gig at Lambad’s Tavern. An all too familiar face made his way up to the piano. Browsing through the selection of CDs you still had on display.

“I’ll take this one.” Alhaitham held the smooth plastic in one hand, as his other reached for his wallet.

You gestured for him to stop. Crossing your arms in front of your body as if soothing your nerves. Pride still too great to accept his money, a resource he seems to have in excess. Just earlier in the day, after reaching the second round in the audition, the proctor thanked you for your time and lead you to the exit. Another failed attempt to join an orchestra.

You knew that returning to your cramped abode will only lead you to wallow in misery with a cheap bottle of liquor.

“You can come over. I’ll take it as compensation.”

How would you define this relationship? Friends with benefits? But the two of you were ex-friends, so that wouldn’t really make sense. Regardless, you knew what you wanted. To forget the sting of failure through pleasure. You turned your head to face him, awaiting his reply. An attentive stare was the silent confirmation you needed.

Does he think you’re easy or desperate? You didn’t particularly care for his opinion anymore. Alhaitham was currently kneeling by the side of your mused bed, he was here to ‘compensate’ you, and compensate he will. Your thighs were firmly held in his large hands, spreading them apart granting him access to the honeypot he seeks.

His hot tongue lapped at your slick folds, parting the labia and collecting your slick. Making sure to end the journey with a small flick to the little nub on top, before the wet muscle traveled back down. The noise was sinfully melodic. Your legs were straining against his hold, instinctively wanting to close in on his face, but his strength far surpasses yours. So instead, you pressed your lips into the back of your hand. Denying him the privilege to hear your moans.

This must’ve displeased him greatly, as the next thing you knew he broke from his steady tempo, and his soft lips enclosed around your sensitive clit. Alhaitham’s tongue was now accompanied by the suction of his mouth, torturing your poor little bundle. Slurping and sloppy wet flicks bounced off the thin walls. Hot flashes shot up your legs as your toes curled, a moan was fighting its way past your teeth.

He changed his pace once more. Now intertwining deep laps of your leaking hole with the overwhelming attention on your now swollen clit. Your honey was dripping down his chin as he continued his efforts. Your legs were trembling now, unable to give any resistance against his domineering hold. Thus, allowing him to slip one hand between, two long fingers stretching out your gummy walls. Prodding their way through the tight warm hole, mapping out their way to that special spongey patch.

Your teeth wouldn’t hold back the moan any longer. Back arching off the messy sheets, the internal and external pleasure created a maddening duo, pushing your sanity off the edge. Your vision when white was your body shook, nonsense babbling out of your lips. Alhaitham gave your pulsing clit a few more slick licks before pressing a sweet kiss against it.

His towering frame got up from the floor to loom over your recovering body. Teal eyes observing every twitch and shiver of your sloppy face. Soon his face descended closer, this time you were the quick one. Snapping your head to the side. Denying him a kiss, lest those mushy emotions bubble up during this moment. Alhaitham stills, he says nothing, just letting his warm breath fan across your face.

He got the message. Pulling away to give space between your lips, he searches his back pocket for a condom. Even with your bodies connected. There was still a line deeply etched into the sand, separating the two of you.

–

Once again you woke up before him. Once again you slipped out of his embrace. Ocne more his arms gave no protest. Another journey to the gym.

One time turned into two times, two times turned into… you lost count at this point. However, it would simply be a waste of time to think too deeply about it. It’s Alhaitham after all, that man would never bother with activities that waste his time. If it doesn’t serve to benefit in any way, he’d be the first to drop it, what an objective guy he is.

The two of you were still young professionals with a lot of steam to let off. A familiar face of convenience to destress and feel the wisp of comfort from another warm body in this cold world. This is what’s become of the pile of ashes from a once beautiful bridge.

The back of your head hit against the brick wall supporting your body. Another rejection, this time you made it all the way to the semi-finals. Alas, from behind a curtain, the panel of judges deemed you unworthy of playing in their esteemed orchestra. Your aching fingers dug into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract from the burning sting welling up in your eyes.

The pursuit of knowledge and the pursuit of dreams were more similar to each other than what great scholars of the nation of wisdom cared to admit.

They were the shining light that broke through the murky uncertainly of life, beckoning stray souls towards them. Those lost in the labyrinth of reality desperately seek to walk the path illuminated by their glow.

In the end, knowledge and dreams were like the sun’s warm rays shining through the leaves of a tree. No matter how many times your hands reach for and grab, you can never hold them.

The multiple part-time jobs you juggled between your college courses taught you the most valuable lesson no lecture ever could: Dreams cost money, and so did rent, and so did food, and so did utilities.

Scornfully, you had to tack on extra courses to your piano major, a witless minor in business administration. It stings your pride to this day to attribute your current steady stream of income to that last-minute academic decision.

It stung because, in the end, Alhaitham’s prediction was correct. Regardless of if one was a natural or artificial prodigy like you. Even the brightest and most dedicated musicians aren’t guaranteed a career, degree or not. Perhaps, this truth that you’ve come to terms with was the water that smothered the flame of anger. Leaving behind the defeated wisps of regret and embarrassment.

Of course Alhaitham was right, he always is.

There was a chime from the store door opening up beside you. A certain ashen-haired man walked out with a bouquet of Sumeru roses in hand. ‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

You quickly adverted your gaze, but it was useless as he had already taken note of your presence. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Deciding to take control of the conversation before anything starts.

“I don’t have a show tonight.” Referring to the bouquet in his hands.

“I’m aware. I was going to visit my grandmother today.” His deep voice drummed.

Oh. You wanted the archons to strike you down at this very moment. Stupid, why did you assume such things? There’s nothing but a tightrope formed by virtue of convenience connecting your paths. Just what were you hoping for? Your cheeks were now burning with shame.

“Would you like to come with me?” His calm tone beckons you out of your thoughts.

At this rate, how could you refuse? Perhaps it was due to the surmounting weight of guilt and embarrassment. But a part of you also knows it’s because you missed her. So you followed Alhaitham to his car, buckling yourself in and opening your arms, offering to carry the flowers. The car ride was silent the whole time.

Alhaitham’s grandmother always looked at you with those tender warm eyes of hers. Extending out a warm hand to comb through your locks in exchange for every song you’d play for her. She was the only voice that offered your impoverished heart any words of encouragement.

Words that brought an inkling of warmth from the icy stares of your parents.

–

The final note echoed throughout the common area of the hospital. Applause could be heard from the few patients attending your impromptu concert. However, your attention was focused all on the soft smile of the frail woman in the wheelchair beside you. Her thin, wrinkled hands clapped together.

Jokingly you gave a dramatic bow from your sitting position at the piano bench, earning a gentle chuckle from her.

“Oh, what a lovely performance by the loveliest girl.” A hand reached out towards you.

You swiftly bowed your head under her palm, allowing her fingers to rest against your scalp. Gently she began to stroke your head, making a wide smile stretch your cheeks. Your heart’s weekly dose of encouragement. However, this tender moment was broken by the vibrations of your phone. Your eyes quickly scanned the name of the caller.

Oh, it was your tutor, you skipped your lessons once more in favor of visiting the Bimarstan.

The woman beside you takes note of this and lets out a huff.

“You’re already plenty smart. I don’t understand why your parents insist on such endeavors.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the hours of tutoring and cram schools you sandwiched between your demanding schedule was due to the idolization of her grandson. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t his.

It was yours, for not being to stand on equal footing with the prodigy Alhaitham. You pressed your lips sealed. This detail didn’t escape her aging eyes. She shifted her attention to the sheet music propped up on the stand.

“Do you know the story behind Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro?”

You tilted your head to the side, you’ve never researched any piece in depth before. Reading your answer from this action, the old lady continued.

“It was written for quite a famous play. A story and message that caused waves through society at the time. A story about servants rebelling against their masters, taking fate into their own hands.” Her warm eyes gave you a knowing look.

“That is why it’s my favorite song from Mozart.”

“Oh? Then I’ll play it for you again. As many times as you want.” The smile returned to your face.

You never thought that the next time you’d ever play that song would be at her funeral. Fellow professors and colleagues dressed in black filled the room of the wake, paying their respects to her and their condolences to the young man beside you.

What an awful transition into adulthood Alhaitham had.

Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the marble floor. Peering at the face of your dearest friend, his cheeks were dry.

By the time the sky began to turn its brilliant pink and orange hues, the attendees had all funneled out of the room. Your parents were the first ones to leave, but you stayed firmly by Alhaitham’s side. It was only you, him, and the casket in the room now.

She wanted a private burial, thus the staff informed you that they’ll begin the process soon. However, before they did, you wanted to play her favorite song one last time. Your send-off for her.

Sitting down at the sleek black piano provided by the funeral home, you took a deep breath. Alhaitham takes his place next to you on the bench, with his back facing the piano you couldn’t see his face.

The bright tones of this joyful song resounding through the room harshly contrasted the somber mood. But you continued playing regardless, fingers never skipping a note nor compromising the tempo.

Alhaitham’s head found its way on your shoulder, the weight slightly interfering with your range of motion. However, you didn’t say anything and never stopped playing. The bright melody comforting two grieving souls.

–

The last memories you had of her resurfacing as he places the flowers down at her grave. The tombstone is still as clean and polished as the day it was inlaid into the ground. A testament to the diligence of her grandson, the only family she left behind.

Today was the first time the day didn’t end with a trip to your bed. The mood was inappropriate for such things.

Just two souls quietly reminiscing about the things that are now gone. As it was, it shall never be again.

If his colleagues were to ever discover the current predicament the raising secretary of the company was in, they’d either dismiss it or laugh at him. How unthinkable. The phlegmatic man whose hands always held the reins of control, reduced to such a complacent fool? The desert would freeze over before any of them would ever believe such a thing.

However, Alhaitham didn’t need to justify his actions to anyone. The ashen-haired man already knew the reason behind his actions. He’s known for quite a while now. He holds his convictions firmly and will walk through hell with them.

–

Sitting down in a private study room provided by the university, a senior was currently wallowing in an irrelevant emotion. Alhaihtam knows the name, it’s grief.

Of course, it’s depressing to lose a familiar face, a person who stood by your side throughout your developmental years. However, you were still alive. Why is he grieving over a person who’s still healthy and breathing? Questions unrelated to his thesis plagued his thoughts as his paper remained untouched on the desk.

Teal irises scan the stack of books he had piled to the side. Perhaps he should review some of the material to refresh his mind about his thesis on the consequences of unrecorded words.

Picking a random psychology journal from the mound, this book could hold the answers to why his thoughts are redundant. Alhaitham began his quest for an epiphany.

The student’s experienced eyes scanned through the text, noting details that could potentially support his points. It’s not a surprise that psychology and etymology go hand in hand, after all, words were born out of human thought and the need to communicate them.

This journal was only scratching at the ceiling that prevented him from crossing into the territory of true understanding. It frustrated him.

Disdainfully scrutinizing the text further, running through each passage over and over, until he finally reads the first line of the final page:

“Psychology as a science has its limitations, and, as the logical consequence of theology is mysticism, so the ultimate consequence of psychology is love.”

The student finally closes the covers of the book, it had served its purpose.

No matter how many times his thoughts circled back, searching for correlations and different conclusions from figurative pinpoints. Alhaitham knew in the end, they were all just excuses.

Love is illogical by nature, an unexplainable consequence of human thought. A fever which comes and goes independently of the will. Maybe, the true explanation of love has been lost to time, the unwritten words that belonged in the spaces between the script printed in preserved texts.

So Alhaitham will understand his limits now. It matters not if he understands the origins of love or language or words. All that mattered to him is that he understands now: He was in love. A diagnosis and truth that came years too late. With this revelation quelling his thoughts, he finished his thesis.

Acceptance, the last stage of grief.

–

‘This is unhealthy’ a voice in his mind chastised. Alhaitham didn’t feel the need to defend his current actions, because the voice was right. This is unhealthy. Teal eyes concealed the running thoughts in his head, watching the raising and falling of your chest.

After all these years you reappeared in front of him. The ashen-haired man knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Even though it was made from a rope of thorns, he still grabbed onto it.

For now, he shall set aside his pride, his hubris. Sex was the only time you would willingly approach him. Alhaitham was more than willing to exchange his body for the privilege of being close to you once more. A fair trade in his mind.

‘If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.’

The stoic man is sure the saying would disagree with his tampering. Like setting a songbird free, only to lure it back into his hands with the irresistible treat of pleasure. It was all he could do. Alhaitham knew that cruelly grasping at the songbird will only snap the fragile tightrope that connected your paths.

After all, you had fled the hated cage of your childhood home the moment the door was left open. He already decided he won’t do that to you.

Instead, he’ll keep holding out his hand, palms wide open, waiting for you to come back to taste the pleasure he offers you time after time again.

You were laying on his chest, sleep drenched every fiber of your being, heart vibrating steadily against his own.

It’s a paradox, how can your body be so close but your heart still so far away?

The desire for sleep outweighed his lust for answers. Or it could be that he already knew, he was just delaying the thought for the morning. His heavy lids closed.

When they open again in the morning, he knows they’ll be greeted by the sight of an empty bed. He knows the sheets that hold your lingering scent will be cold. He knows he will be left alone in your apartment.

Alhaitham knows, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The Sumeru Grand Orchestra, the golden ticket for any musician. Status, recognition, and generous paychecks. When the auditions were first announced you were one of the first to jump at the opportunity, and so did everyone else, flooding the application sites, but you were able to secure a number: 211.

Weeks in advance on a muted keyboard you practiced every classical piece you could, sharpening your sightreading senses. You were led into the waiting room with all the other aspiring musicians, it was now a game of survival.

You made it to the final round. It’s been five hours since you last left the palatial concert hall where the auditions were held. The one cramped room was now a motionless void, mutterings of prayers to any archon that would listen whispered through the thick air.

“Number 211.”

You were the lamb up for slaughter. The audition piece that was placed into your hand half an hour ago crumbled under the force of your tense grip. The proctor closed the door behind you, stealing off your path of escape as they led you through the labyrinth. At the end of the tunnel, you were greeted by the harsh stage lights glaring off the grand piano.

The curtains that once shielded you from the captious glares of the judges were gone. All of you laid out clearly on the stage. Your fate is balanced on the tips of their immaculate pens. The minuscule tremble of your hands couldn’t escape their hawk eyes.

Chin up and shoulders back, you strolled across the polished wooden planks, settling down at the matte black piano, it was like staring into the abyss.

Taking a deep breath, you signaled the start. Fingers danced along the ivory keys in accordance with the notes memorized. This stanza was from Meditation from Thais, the hypnotic theme filling the empty concert hall.

It’s been a while since you hear your own playing resounded out through such a place. However, this was a turning point a chance to take fate into your own hands.

To once again stand under the warm lights and bow to an audience enamored by your music. For the songbird to fly free from it’s grey sterile cubical.

“Stop.” A cold voice struck the fragile wings of a bird in flight.

You did as you were ordered, even before your mind even registered the words. Oh no, you weren’t finished, you didn’t get to complete this round.

“Number 211 is disqualified. The playing is soulless, empty notes that just echo off the walls.”

–

Soulless. Huh, you’ve never been told that before. Raindrops landed into your unblinking eyes as they observed the darkening sky. Was nature taking pity on you too? Crying for you when your tear ducts were still frozen in shock? You let the cold droplets trail down your cheek. Around you, the crowd dressed in suits and ties walked passed the scene of a death.

The death of your dreams.

You used up one of your precious sick days to attend this audition, but now it might no longer be just an excuse. You couldn’t feel anything but the sharp shards of shattered hope gouging into your back. Staring up at the gray sky from the deep, cold well of your misery.

When did this happen? When did the bright fire fizzle out? When did your passion die?

A sorry excuse of a laugh slipped out. No, it might be accurate to say that there was never a passion in the first place, something nonexistent cannot die. Something nonexistent cannot be created even if the haze of a fever dream might say otherwise. Now that the rain had washed away that haze, you could now clearly see the void.

Did you really like the piano? Or was it a lie engrained into your flesh by stern hands?

Maybe the judges were right, your playing was soulless, pieces only ever practiced for technical perfection. Talent meticulously crafted by grueling long hours. Fingers that separated your beating heart from the inanimate black and white keys. In the end, you were an artificial prodigy, with an artificial passion that quickly denigrated under the droplets of calm rain.

“You’re soaked.” A baritone voice resounded behind you as a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders.

Alhaitham had just gotten off the clock, exiting the grand sliding doors only to spot your listless figure standing as an obstacle for the weaving crowd of the city. However, you kept staring at the dull sky, uncaring about how your wet clothes clung to your shivering figure. You didn’t even seem to perceive his words.

“You’re going to get sick.” Two warm hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, guiding your body to a secluded area, away from the crowd and rain.

This motion jostled your eyes, allowing them to read the company name proudly displayed on the front of the towering skyscraper. Was this the future you had gambled away for a false path shown to you by a dream? A steady job, good savings benefits, and prospective increases in income. All the chips you had pushed into the center of the table as you drew dud cards.

You shifted your eyes away from the imposing letters and connected with teal-orange irises. Was his mask of indifference hiding his smug satisfaction that his prediction was correct? Was he holding back an ‘I told you so’? The bitter whispers of a green-eyed devil tickled against the shell of your ear.

“Come, I’ll drive you home.”

No, you can’t go back to your abysmal apartment. You couldn’t even stomach the thought of seeing the sight of your reality. The messy bedroom, the music sheets scattered all across the cluttered living room, the mocking keyboard pressed up against a corner. If you were to step foot back in there, you’ll disappear under the murky waters in the ocean called ‘regret’.

Your trembling hands grounded themselves in the crisp button-down, crumbling the fabric against Alhaitham’s smooth skin. No words could travel past your vocal cords, throat numb to move. All you could do was shake your hang head from side to side. You could feel the ashen-haired man take a deep breath, his mind quickly forming an alternative plan.

“Come with me.” Large hands gently untangling your fingers from his clothes.

–

Those same gentle hands were now rubbing a fresh towel through your dripping hair, soaking up the excess water that had been trailing droplets down your skin. His house was quiet, no rumbling of car engines from the streets, no loud gurgling pipes, no thumping footsteps. Still and serene, only allowing the soft pattering of rain kissing the ground and windows.

Alhaitham hasn’t spoken a single word to you ever since he welcomed you into his home and sat you down.

As Alhaitham continued with his efforts to warm your shivering body, all you could do was observe the spotless wooden floors. They were so polished and lustrous… just like the grandiose stage.

Something vile was creeping up your neck, slowly making its way up to the falling sanctuary of your mind. No, you needed to push it back, you needed to distract it. To buy you some time before the vileness consumes you wholly.

Hopeless hands trailed up the toned arms of the man currently drying your hair, making his movements stop. You took this opportunity to shift your body so that it pressed against his, the dampness of your clothes transferring to his. Ah, it must be uncomfortable for him.

Clumsily, you began to undo the neat buttons of his button-down, only for your hands to be enclosed within a delicate grip. You could feel the weight of his condemnatory gaze upon you, teal eyes observing your movements as if he was calculating his next move.

There wasn’t any time for contemplation. The bitter bile thoughts were quickly encroaching on their destination. With your hands immobilized you used your mouth instead, nuzzling into the skin that peeked through the unopened portion.

You could feel the small shiver of his warm body reacting to your cold cheek. Alhaitham lets out a deep sigh, hot breath fanning over the top of your head. He got the message.

Your soaked dress was pulled over your head, heavy black fabric falling to the side of the bed in which you lay now. The sheets providing your shivering body with softness and a semblance of warmth. Alhaitham presses tender kisses down the nape of your neck, stopping between the valley of your breast to push your body further up the bed.

Larger hands ran along the length of your legs, as if to warm them up with the slow friction. Your legs gave no resistance as he places one over his shoulder, lips brushing against your knee.

You let out a small sigh, the skin-on-skin contact was just what your frozen body needed. Your body twisted further into his sheets, your other leg pressed against the back of his hip as if to spur him to hasten his pace. However, Alhaitham, being the steadfast man he is, ignored your neediness and continued to trail kisses down your soft skin. His mouth ended his journey with a slow and deep lap at your clit, causing your body to jolt.

“Mmm.”

Your skin has thawed, every nerve now acutely aware of each slow lick his wet tongue brushed against your sensitive bud. You no longer had any pride to uphold, thus moans just freely flowed out of your mouth just as how slick dripped from your aching hole. Once more you dug your heel into him, your neglected walls yearning for attention.

This time he was merciful, running one thick finger along the slick pooling between your folds. Gathering up the dew and tracing small circles along the entrance.

A whine followed, you twisted even more along the tussled sheets, reaching a hand down to tangle into his ashen locks. Alhaitham gave you want you wanted, slowly his thick finger was welcomed into your eager walls as his tongue continued to play with your clit. Your head was thrown back, heavy pants fogging up the room in the air, lidden eyes barely anything but the back of your head.

Another finger was soon added, stretching out your leaking hole only leaving your gummy walls craving more. A few soft kisses were pressed against your now twitching bud, before his skilled tongue took over for the final push toward nirvana. With practiced precision his fingers swiftly pressed against that spongey patch, making white flames shoot up your spine. Your quivering legs and curling toes didn’t faze Alhaitham in the slightest.

“OH!”

With a firm tug to ashen locks and one final flick to your swollen clit, your eyes meet the back of your head, a stretched moan bounced off the walls. Back arched almost painfully off the bed, Alhaitham continued the slow thrust of his soaked fingers into your contracting hole. As you rode the waves of pleasure back down, Alhaitham finally detaches his lips from your cunt, a slick trail connecting them.

The burning between your legs didn’t stop. You needed more, legs wrapping around his muscular torso, urging him to give you more. His self-control all but turns into dust in your presence. There’s not a plausible scenario where he could ever deny you. Finally, his leaking member can have its turn.

Fighting against the restraints of your legs, Alhaitham was able to pull the condom over his full length. Your hole jolted with joy the moment it felt his fat tip pressing up against your entrance. The slow circling before he finally sunk in, in an instant your walls clung onto every inch he pushed in, thanking him with pulsing contractions.

He sucked in a long hiss from how your warm, slick walls perfectly hugged him. You let your tongue loll out with a deep moan, legs pulling his body closer so that your arms could find purchase around his broad shoulders.

His pace was slow and deep, warming your walls up so as to not hurt the delicate you. This greatly displeased you, evident by how your nails dug into the solid muscle of his shoulders. You need it fast, you wanted it deep, you wanted him to pound those bitter thoughts away with his thick member. Two hands clasped around your hips, snapping your body tightly against his. He’ll grant your request.

“Ah! Ah! AH!”

His merciless pace had your breast bouncing and incomprehensible words babbling out of your lips. Heavy cock dragging out along your grasping walls, then slamming his hips harshly against your sobbing cunt. Every punishing thrust was welcomed by your slick walls thanking him. His heavy pants fanned across your ear as he continued this ruthless speed.

Your body was now burning, precipitation hanging heavy in the air, yet you still arched your back off the bed to chase after his warmth. Bodies entangled in a mess of limbs in an animalistic chase after pleasure and orgasm.

The wet noises of your weeping hole welcoming him back in over and over again. In between the heavy slaps of his balls against your sloppy cunt and thick tip bullying your poor spot, you could feel the deep vibrations in his chest.

“Look at me.” You felt him pull away just a bit so he could have a clear view of your loose face.

You didn’t want to. Lest his searching teal eyes discover the truth of why you pulled him into bed, to give him the satisfaction. You squeezed your lids closed. The particularly deep thrust he snapped displayed his displeasure at your actions.

“Please.” The unfamiliar words coming from his mouth made your eyes wide again. The tone is gentle.

So, with your resolve weakened, you finally connected with his gaze. What was that look in his eyes? It was too soft to be malice, too calm to be anger, too tender to just be lust. Yet your pleasure-melted brain couldn’t process it.

In gratitude for you granting his wish, his thumb found its way to your swollen clit, rubbing deep circles into the sensitive nerve. You pressed yourself impossibly hard against his body, walls clamping down on his thick member.

His actions made the knot inside your stomach pull against itself taught until the treads of sanity snapped. Even though your eyes were rolled to the back of your head, all you could see was the blinding white light of cloud nine. Your walls clamped down around him like a vise, snug walls now binding his length. Alhaitham clenches his jaw, stoic face twisted in the throws of pleasure as he spills himself into the barrier deep within.

Long fingers painting the sides of your hips red as he recomposes himself. Chest heaving from the exertion. He helps himself to a few more slow thrusts in your gummy walls, riding out his own orgasm even as his red tip teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. Your soft thighs still entrapping his towering frame. It looks like you still haven’t come down yet.

Alhaitham’s hand gently cupped your messy face. Your lips were off limits, so he shall kiss those bitter tears away from your eyes instead.

Like always you woke up before Alhaitham again. However, this time you couldn’t bear to look at his face. Was this out of embarrassment, shame, or guilt? You didn’t know and didn’t care.

Unwrapping his arms from around your waist, you hobbled towards the clack lump of your dress. The fabric was still ever so slightly damp, ah, the sensation against your skin made the bitter bile restart its journey again.

You couldn’t help the envy that bubbled up in your system as you observed the spacious halls of Alhaitham’s house. Footsteps softly tap along the polished wood floors so as not to awaken the sleeping homeowner.

Of course, he has a nice house in the most upscale neighborhood. Of course, it's located in a quiet suburb a commutable distance away from the raucous city. Of course, it has nice big windows and expensive dark wood furnishings.

Of course. Of course. Of course. It’s because he’s Alhaitham. He’s got everything.

Your face scrunched up as bitterness crept up from the back of your tongue. It wasn’t from the bitter waters of regret, no, it was from a certain green-eyed creature. You needed to leave this house as soon as possible before you did something foolish.

You dug your hand into your purse for your phone, ready to call a lift back to your shabby apartment. It was all becoming too much. Just at the end of the hall, you could spot the solid oak doors that blocked off the outside world. Get out of this cage and breathe the fresh air.

You no longer cared about the noise your steps were making, thumps echoed throughout the halls frantically carrying you toward the shiny knob. A shaky hand grasped onto the cold smooth metal, ready to twist the deadbolt free. A glimmer of white coming from the side room caught your eye, reeling it back from its tunnel vision. Your head couldn’t help but follow.

It was a grand piano.

His former roommate was right, the white lacquer finish on the piano contrasted harshly against the dark wood bookshelves. It really did look out of place, taking up too much space in the side library. The dark walnut wood piano seat looked odd next to it as well.

The viridescent seat cushion looked a bit worn as if it had been sat in regularly. Still, the pearly finish that reflected the morning rays beckoned you closer, the sense of nostalgia growing stronger with each step.

It looked exactly like your old piano, your most cherished treasure that had been plundered from you so long ago. Trembling hands ran along the glossy fallboard, not a speck of dust was found along the paths of your fingers. You caught sight of the gold lettering inscribed along the front, it was even the same brand.

The pull of intrigue was too great, you had to know, but do you dare? Why are you lifting your hopes up so high? Have you not learned your lesson after being dropped over and over again onto the cold pavement of disappointment below? Maybe you were some type of masochist. Just like Schrodinger’s cat, you can’t confirm if those hopes were dead or alive until you opened the lid.

A resounding creek rang out from the protesting hinges, the lacquered lid heavy as if trying to conceal the truth away from your searching eyes. But your determination beat out any old hinges, lifting the heavy top above your head. Your breathing halted.

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

It was written clear as day on the naked wood concealed by the glossy outer casing. Clumsy letters scribbled in harsh black permanent marker. The proof of authenticity. This is your treasured piano.

Your arm lost all strength, the heavy lid slammed down reverberating all the strings and hammers in a chaotic symphony of shock. The clashing vibrations pierced your ears, causing the ringing that was now the background music to the realization crashing down upon you.

All this time, Alhaitham stayed himself. His unfazed individuality moved through life to the metronome of his own heart. Like a firm apple tree whose roots held the ground below him together. The fruits of his labor dropping down to satiate a heart hungry for encouragement.

The shiny red fruits were given at every meeting, in exchange for every CD and performance attended. All this time, he never once looked at you with pity nor disdain. He treasured you.

And what have you given in return? You participated in gossip behind his back. You looked at him with the same prejudice you promised to defend him from. You broke your promises to him. You lied to him. You used him, even down to his physical body to further your own self-interests.

When did the whispers of a green-eyed monster turn you into that selfish child from the storybook?

If your past self was there to witness the scene in front of her, she’d be appalled. She’d beat you with hatred at the torment you put her beloved friend through. Yes, she’d hate you. You hate you. You’ve never hated yourself more.

How could you do this to him? You really are your parent’s child. You never considered how the shrapnel of consequences from your actions would wound those close by.

You couldn’t even look at the reflection staring back at you from the polished white surface, her eyes stared back at you with malice. You were a selfish traitor.

Too self-absorbed in your own wallowing to notice the slow steps approaching from down the hallway. Alhaitham’s steps were slow as he stared at the back of your figure. Like a watcher trying not to startle a resting songbird. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, making sure he wasn’t just looking at the afterimage of a person who had long left the house.

A small creak was all it took for your head to snap toward his approaching figure. Eyes wide and shaking. Alhaitham made sure to stop a arms length away as he accesses the situation. It looks like you’ve discovered his small secret. A fragment of the past that he relentlessly searched for, the only time he ever asked anything of your parents. He planned to return it to you one day.

You looked like you could collapse at any moment, so Alhaitham held out his hand, palms open and awaiting. You reached a quivering hand out, pulling back slightly a few times before finally landing. Your fingers clasped onto each other, you drew closer to his board figure until your forehead was resting against his chest. You didn’t dare look at his face.

He made no further moves.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.” Your mouth couldn’t stop spewing the regrets deep from your heart.

Even though you were apologizing, you didn’t want him to forgive you. You couldn’t even forgive yourself, how could he? It would be easier if he just hated you. If he were to just say ‘I hate you’ right now with that stoic voice of his, you could die peacefully. The best end that you deserved. You could feel the wet spots forming on his shirt from your tears.

“I won’t forgive you.” The vibrations from his deep voice were felt against you.

Four words cut into you deeper than any knife ever could. But you deserved this pain. Your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth, on the verge of splitting open from how hard you were biting back your cries. You didn’t deserve to cry.

“Not until you play Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro.”

Those words halted your breathing. Like a rope that’s been thrown down the dark well you were wallowing in. Will your hands reach out and grasp onto this opportunity? Slowly you lifted your gaze up. Something behind the calm teal of his eyes was egging you on to do so, to take a hold of the lifeline thrown down from the bright sky.

“… Of course.” You let go of him.

Moving back over to your grand piano. Lifting the smaller section of the lid first this time placing it gently back on the larger section, allowing the music rack to appear. Setting up the notches into position, you then lifted the heavy back lid up. Placing the prop up this time so as to not put your piano through the same chaos again.

Finally, the dustfree fallboard was lifted up, revealing the keyboards that held the faint imprints of history. You settled your self-down at the bench, your hands hesitantly reaching out only for your fingers to retract the moment your soft tips brushed against the smooth ivory. The bitter shame of failure scorching your delicate senses.

Inhaling a deep breath, you turned to face Alhaitham reconnecting with his teal gaze as he stayed in place. A silent plead. With quiet steps, he approaches closer to the bench, the wooden protested under the added weight. Two bodys not touching, facing in opposite directions. Ah, just like a familiar scene from many years ago.

Once more, you attempted to reach out your fingers, emboldened by the soothing body heat of the man besides you. Placing your fingers back into position, the scorning of your finger tips becoming irrelevant. Lulling you to return back into the blackness of your sanctuary of mind. Recalling the song that symbolized a period of great change, wonderful change.

The pressed keys played their notes, the hammers inside your piano striking against the string. Ringing out the awful tones of stings that have gone out of tune from years of unuse. Even if it stung you ears and his the same, you continued to play the chipper overture. The bitter bile fizzling out like sea form, as laughter tickled the inside of your throat.

“It sounds terrible.” You giggled honestly.

“Mm. I’m not all that familiar with performance etiquette, but I’m certain talking during a show is bad manners.” There was no bit to his words. You couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile.

Two hearts now closer than previously, became the metronome for the off-key rendition of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, accompanied by the bright giggles of the pianist and the content sigh of her audience. Outside the window, a songbird chirps to greet the beautiful sun that resurfaced after a day of rain.

He absolutely adores you, he always has. He knows that you know now. But he also knows that you weren’t ready to hear it. The weight of three small words would be enough to topple the stability of your consciousness. It wasn’t strong enough to handle them, not after the mangling hands of guilt and regret vandalized it.

So he won’t say those three words, not yet, not until you’ve repaired your cracking foundations. Alhaitham will wait to tell you ‘I love you’. Like a patient tree standing on the hill biding its time for the return of a beloved creature.

Fin~

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

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