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youunravelme · 1 day

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nothing happened in the way i wanted part 2

author's note: okay so here's part 2! sorry for making you wait, i like the anticipation lololol

summary: a year has passed and you are no closer to understanding why matt ended things and you have every plan of avoiding that thought until he comes back in town for the offseason, then suddenly he's everywhere.

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: ANGST, friends to lovers to exes to lovers, mention of sexual assault, attempted sexual assault, drinking, depression, panic attacks, let me know if i missed something! (these include the trigger warnings from part 1)

before

a piece of plastic should not be that big of a deal.

but it is when there are two pink lines staring back at you.

weren’t you and matt careful? he always wore condoms, you were on birth control, you two were so careful all the time—

wait.

shit.

except for a few weeks ago.

you were wearing a red bikini at a pool party and matt had tugged you into the guest bathroom. he didn’t have any condoms and you assured him it was fine.

but maybe it wasn’t fine.

because there were two fucking pink lines staring back at you. and the worst part? matt wouldn’t be home for another two hours or so.

you were hyperventilating, surely. that’s why you felt like you couldn’t breathe?

oh god.

you were going to have to figure out how to raise a child while matt was on the road. oh god, what if he didn’t want the baby? what if you didn’t want the baby? what if he didn’t want the baby or you?

you were pacing back and forth in your living room when matt came home, arms full of bags from his workout. they immediately dropped when he saw the look on your face.

“what’s wrong?” he asked. “what happened? did someone die?”

you shook your head and burst into more tears. it was a mere second before you were wrapped up in his arms, one of his hands stroked your hair while the other stayed firmly put around your waist.

“baby, you’re scaring me.” at the sound of the pet name, you sobbed even harder. baby. there was a baby.

“i’m sorry, matty, i’m sorry,” you managed to get out between cries.

“what’re you sorry for, huh? you haven’t done anything wrong, have you?”

your hands were shaking as you pulled back from him, opening your palm to show the piece of plastic in your hand.

“what—” but matt seemed to have lost his voice at the sight of the pink lines staring back at him. “oh,” was the only thing he found fit to say.

“i’m sorry, matty. i thought it would be fine, but i went to the dollar store because i didn’t have any money and this was the only test available and—”

matt tugged you back into his chest. “it’s okay. we’ll figure it out.”

“we’re too young!” you wailed. “barely 20.”

“it’s one test, we’ll take another and if it’s still positive, we’ll go to the doctor,” he murmured against your hair. “wait,” he started. “where did you say you got the test?”

you pulled back, confused as to why his voice took a sudden turn from concern to something you couldn’t quite place. “dollar store, why?”

matt laughed. he threw his head back and laughed. “baby,” he started. “you chose a cheap test, it could be a false positive.”

you blinked. “is that how that works? i didn’t think—”

“let’s get another test, and we’ll take it, together.”

matt drove you both to the pharmacy, his hand on your thigh the entire ride. he went in alone, grabbed a box of clear blue and a bag of sour patch kids before he came back out. you almost burst into tears at the sight. as you ripped into the bag, matt’s hand found its way back to your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns into your pants leg.

the sour patch kids had done the job of calming your nerves for the moments leading up to retaking a pregnancy test. matt held your hand while the two of you waited for the timer to go off.

“whatever the result is, i’m with you,” he mumbled against the side of your head. and when the timer went off, matt was the one to check it, you were too overwrought with nerves. he didn’t even check the test, wanting you to see the result first.

negative.

a sigh escaped your mouth. your shoulders sagged as tears came to your eyes. relief wasn't a strong enough word to describe how you were feeling in that moment. matt pressed a kiss against your temple and wrapped you in his arms.

“one day,” he said. “just not today.”

after

maybe you were a bit of a coward, waiting for tuesday to come around before you texted matt a good time to meet. you waited until the last two minutes of your lunch break before you sent him a message. the second you heard the whoosh sound, you put your phone on do not disturb and shoved it in your bag so you could forget about it.

frankie popped his head into the studio while you were hunched over a canvas, carefully scraping away the back side of it to clean.

“you busy?” he asked.

you looked up before glancing down at the giant canvas in front of you. “i can take a small break, my back is killing me. do you need me to clean up? how long do you need me?”

frankie shrugged. “not long, so you don’t have to put anything away. i just wanted to talk to you about your future.”

your stomach dropped. “is this a segue into firing me?”

“you’re so dramatic,” frankie chuckled. “no, you’re not being fired. i’m more so trying to get you in a place where you can be compensated fairly one day.”

you blinked. “are you not compensating me fairly right now?”

frankie rolled his eyes. “you have a lot of talent, and unfortunately, i can’t pay you any more until you get a graduate degree in art conservation.”

confused, you nodded. “i know,” you said. “i started here for experience to use on grad school applications.”

“and have you applied anywhere yet?”

you opened your mouth and then promptly shut it again. no, no you had not.

frankie sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “look, you’re talented, i’ve said that plenty of times already and i want you to be successful, whether that’s as a conservator or an independent freelance painter. what i don’t want is you staying in st. louis forever in this job waiting around for something to happen.”

waiting for something to happen.

waiting.

what exactly were you waiting for?

frankie continued. “i’ve emailed you some of the best conservation programs in the states if that’s a route you wanna go. i honestly think you could do conservation or freelance painting, you’d be great at either, but that’s a choice only you can make. if you want to go to grad school, i will gladly write as many letters of recommendations as you’d need, i’d even help you by asking clients for some if that’s what you want, but the ball is in your court.”

for a moment, you were floored, truly astounded that someone would go through those lengths to help you figure out your life. for now, all you could manage to say was a “thank you.”

“anytime,” frankie replied.

he left the studio room shortly thereafter so you could continue the mindless scraping once more.

when the work day was finally done, your hand was sore from the constant repetitive motions and your back ached from hunching over. but at least the scraping was done.

you grabbed your bag and car keys and headed out the front door. the aux was the first thing you reached for after locking yourself in the car. it wasn’t until you searched your bag to grab your phone that you remembered the text you sent matt earlier that day, the reason why your phone was on do not disturb.

you:

what does your week look like?

matt had responded two minutes after your initial text.

matty:

i’m free tonight, or any other time you’re free.

you rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the smile on your face.

you:

i just got off work, let me go home and change and we can find a place to meet.

you barely managed to get the music flowing through the aux when your phone buzzed with a text.

matty:

you can always stop by the house? mom, dad, and taryn would love to see you. we could go on a walk around the neighborhood...

your stomach churned at the thought, it felt a little too close, too familiar. but there were very few places in that city that wouldn’t spark some sort of memory for you. you grew up there, you grew up there with matt. there were seldom spaces that weren’t deeply intertwined in your co written story with him.

you:

that’s fine.

neither of your parents were home when you got there, which was probably for the best, it meant you wouldn’t get asked where you were going or why you agreed to talk to matt after all this time.

you made the drive to his parents’ house. it felt as familiar as putting on the old t-shirt you’d stolen from your mom before you left for college. you didn’t need the gps, even after the time had passed.

you parked in the same spot you always did when you finally got a car to drive to matthew’s. it wasn’t like that spot on the street was used very often, not when you were dating at least. matt hated making you drive, especially when his car was newer and better and by all of his standards, safer than yours.

by the time you made it onto the front porch, taryn was opening the front door and smiling so wide, her eyes were squinting.

“you’re here!” she shrieked. it was only a matter of seconds before you were wrapped in her arms. “what brings you here?”

your mouth opened to respond, but you were promptly cut off.

“she’s with me.”

matt appeared over taryn’s shoulder looking every bit the man you fell in love with all those years ago.

taryn pulled back from the hug, her eyes wide. “what? she’s with—”

“not like that,” you smiled gently. “just came to talk, figure some things out.”

“are you staying for dinner?”

you looked at matt, unsure if that was something he’d even want. “it’s up to you, i won't force you to stay,” he said.

you shrugged. “we’ll play it by ear.”

matt nodded and moved past taryn. “you good for a walk?” he asked, eyes never once leaving your face. and you couldn’t help but stare back, getting lost in the pools of blue that once were your whole world. you felt yourself nod right before following him down the stairs and off the porch.

neither of you said anything until you were both sure his family couldn’t see you from their house anymore.

“thank you,” you said. “i should’ve said that the other night.”

matt shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. “you don't need to thank me for that. i’m sorry that happened.”

“you couldn’t have done anything to prevent it.”

“i could’ve told the bartender to stop giving him drinks when i saw how drunk you were.”

your head whipped to the side to look at him, but matt wouldn’t return your stare. his jaw was tightly clenched. “how’d you even know i was there?”

mat shrugged and kicked a rock out of the way. “i always notice you, even when i don’t mean to.”

there were no words coming to your mind, nothing you could say could add to the conversation. so you nodded and looked ahead of you.

“i wanted to apologize—”

“matt—”

“for everything.”

you stopped walking altogether. “don’t,” you said. “don’t say that. don’t apologize.”

matt’s brows pulled together, the corners of his lips turned down. “why?”

“because i don’t want it.” words you thought you’d never say.

did you mean them? it felt like you did. for months, you’d waited for a moment for him to apologize, to admit that he regretted it. but now that you were faced with this decision, you weren’t sure it was an apology you wanted.

“what do you want, then?” he asked, earnestly this time.

you looked down at your beaten up hokas, the ones you bought after moving back to missouri, needing something that didn’t used to stay in the apartment you shared with matthew. the shoes were only a few months old, but they were discolored and dirty. you wore them to work, and often got droplets of solvent or paint on them when you weren’t paying attention.

matt’s foot nudged your own. “what do you want?” he repeated.

“did you cheat on me?” your eyes were still trained on the ground, so you didn’t see the look of hurt in matt’s eyes. you only saw the way he stepped back immediately.

“what?” he asked, pain clear in his voice. “why would you think that? i would never do that to you. you have to know that, please know that i’d never cheat on you.”

you shrugged, still not making eye contact. maybe you were scared if you did, you’d start crying, and he’d seen you cry enough times since he’d been back in town. “you broke up with me over a five minute phone call, matt. it was out of the blue, didn’t make any sense. the only reason i could think of was that you got tired of me and found someone better.”

matt scoffed. “i could never find someone better than you,” he said. “and never in my wildest dreams or thoughts did i ever even consider cheating on you.”

you finally met his eyes. the once bright blue irises were now darker, whether in pain or anger, you didn’t know. you weren’t sure how much had changed with him since the break up. “then why’d you end it? why’d you wait until you were traded and nearly halfway into the season to tell me it’s over?”

“because i didn’t want you to move to florida.”

you figured as much, but it still stung hearing it confirmed.

“why?” you asked.

“because you kept putting off your life for me! i hated it!” matt was pacing now, shoving his hands through his hair.

at the same time, your head tilted. you wanted answers. you wanted the reason why he'd ended things out of nowhere and the reason he just gave you wasn’t enough. “what’re you talking about?”

matt stopped moving long enough to fix you with a look. “you wanted to go to ucla until i committed to notre dame. and then when i signed with calgary, you transferred after a year.”

“so?”

matt scoffed. “so?”

“i wanted to do that!”

“and i wanted you to be yourself, i wanted you to chase your dreams without worrying about me, without altering your life just to stay with me!”

you stepped back. “so you didn’t want me with you?”

“that’s not what i said!”

“then what are you trying to say, matt? we’re just not compatible? headed in two different directions?”

“i—” he groaned and ran a hand down his face before shoving that same hand through his disheveled curls. “i wanted to do right by you. you are so gifted, and you could’ve gone to any school you wanted, but you followed me. i didn’t want to be the reason you never got to do what makes you happy.”

“so you took the one thing i wanted away from me?”

“you weren’t going to choose yourself! you were never going to choose yourself, so i did.”

“that wasn’t your choice to make, matt!” you couldn’t help but want to rip your hair out. who was he to think he could make decisions for you?

he took a step closer to you before immediately stepping backwards and pacing. “i have known you my entire life,” he said. it was an exaggeration, you both knew it, but as you both got older, it was harder to remember the years before you were in each other’s lives. “you are the kindest person i know, the best person i know. you have made more than enough sacrifices for me, for this game i love. but i was tired of being the only one living out their dream. you love art, or at least you did. you loved it, you painted all the time growing up. but when you moved to calgary? you stopped. you went to my games, galas, team events, instead. i wanted you to have something that you loved just as much as i love hockey.”

“and what if that was you? what if i was okay just supporting you?”

he shook his head adamantly. “you deserve more than that. i love you too much to let you live like that.”

you furrowed your brow. “live like what? supporting the love of my life as he lives out his dreams?” you tentatively took a step closer to him, imploring matt to look at you. “why is that such a bad thing?”

“because what if it’s not enough?” he looked up. you were shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes. “what if one day, you wake up next to me and resent me for dragging you all over the continent for a stupid sport?”

“it’s not a stupid sport—”

“it is when i’ve seen it ruin people, ruin their relationships.”

“but you ruined ours when you broke up with me, matt. how does that make any sense?” his mouth opened and shut once, twice, three times before he avoided your eyes altogether. “matt, how does that make sense?” you took a step towards him, slowly but moving. “matt?”

“i could handle it if you hated me,” he said. “i could learn to live with it if it meant you got to be happy in the end.”

your heart broke, your face crumpled as you watched the man you’d loved for a decade shuffle shoe around what he was actually trying to say. “why couldn’t i be happy with you, matt? why isn’t that possible in your mind?”

you waited for him to say something. it felt like you waited forever. but you would’ve waited for the cows to come home if it meant honesty from him.

“because i’m never gonna be enough for that.”

you thought the phone call from six months ago ripped your heart in half, you fully believed he’d done the most damage then. if your heart was going to be broken again, surely it would be when you would inevitably see another girl hanging off his arm at brady and emma’s wedding.

but there you were, standing in front of the man you still loved, heart breaking even worse because he believed he wasn’t enough. he wasn’t enough.

“matt—”

“to me? you’re everything. you’re literally the smartest person i know and you’re so talented and kind and considerate.” he laughed a little under his breath. “i still remember you shaking in the goal while i practiced my shots. i was waiting for you to say you didn’t want to do it, but you did it because you knew how much it meant to me.”

you smiled as you remembered the moment he was talking about. you were eleven and your crush on matt was just starting to form. you would’ve done anything he asked even if it meant flinching every two seconds.

“breaking up with you was the worst thing i’ve ever done, but if it meant sparing you the life of forever being forced to follow me around, it would be worth it.”

you stepped closer to him, uncaring that the two of you had been having this conversation in the middle of the sidewalk of his neighborhood. “who put this idea in your head, matt? was it me? was it—”

“your parents.”

you barely even heard the “what” leave your lips, so you were unsure how matt did. he looked as uncomfortable as you felt.

“i was gonna propose when you moved to florida. i bought the ring before the season ended and over the summer i had every intention of asking your dad for his blessing.” matt cleared his throat before finally looking up at the sky. the sun, thankfully, was beginning to set, golden hour was coming soon. “you’d gone out with our moms, emma, and taryn, and i went over to your house to talk to your dad.”

you weren’t liking where the story was going.

“he asked if i would quit hockey for you.”

your stomach dropped to your feet.

“when i said i would in a heartbeat, he didn’t believe me.”

your stomach was in the core of the earth.

“matt...”

he swallowed and looked at you. “i would do it, you know. if you’d asked me, i would’ve given hockey up in a heartbeat to keep you.”

“i know, matty, i know,” you said, the nickname slipping out before you could stop it. “what else did my dad say?”

matt shook his head.

“matt,” you implored.

but he didn't relent.

“matthew.” you took a step closer, finally, after months of little to no physical contact, your hand cupped his cheek. and like he had no control over his body, like he was acting on pure instinct, he leaned into your palm. “what did he say?”

he shook his head again. “i can’t.”

“you can.” you stroked your thumb along his cheekbone.

“he asked if this was the life i wanted for you. the moving around, the fighting, the crazy schedules, the tweets, all of it. he asked verbatim if that’s the kind of life i wanted you to live, if i wanted you under a microscope for the rest of our lives. he told me that he knew why i was there, and that if i thought you’d be happy to a life like that, then he'd give me his blessing.”

your hand shook a little, but matt’s hand steadied it against his face.

“it’s not that i thought you were weak,” he clarified. “it’s not that i didn’t want you, because i did. i just didn’t want you to be stuck with me for the rest of our lives.”

“is that what he said? that if we got married, i’d be shackled to you?”

matt shrugged, but in his silence, you found the answer.

“matty,” again, the nickname slipping out before you could stop it. “i’m sorry, you should’ve said something—”

“and cause problems between you and your dad?” he shook his head. “you love him, i wasn’t gonna come between that.”

you could’ve cried at that sentiment. after all this time, he was still looking out for you. “thank you, matt. thank you for being honest.”

he gave you a small smile, one that broke your heart as much as it mended it. “you staying for dinner?”

the temptation was there, to go inside and sit in your old seat next to him, to feel your shoulders brush like they used to when the two of you were still together. maybe you’d laugh at something brady said, maybe you’d compliment chantal on her cooking.

but there were bigger fish to fry at home in the shape of your father.

so you shook your head no. “i think you know i have to go.”

matt nodded. “i get it.”

the two of you turned around and started walking back to your car. in the end, you didn’t walk very far so you were standing next to your vehicle in a matter of minutes.

“thank you for agreeing to talk,” matt said, his hands shoved deep in his pocket.

“thanks for telling me the truth.”

matt opened your door and braced his forearm on the roof of your car while you got in. “i’ll see you around?” he asked.

you smiled. “don’t be a stranger, tkachuk.”

he laughed and knocked on the roof of your car before shutting the door. you watched him in your rearview mirror as you drove away. all the years you were together, there were only a few times you could remember walking away from him.

the drive home was quiet, you were stewing on what you'd say to your dad when you got back. you were pissed, upset, angry.

but most importantly, you were in agony.

the man you loved your whole life let you hate him for six months so you wouldn't hate your dad. he let you make him into a villain so you had the support of your parents.

and maybe it was that thought process that had you throwing your car in park and storming up to your childhood home and all but slamming the front door wide open.

your mom and dad were sitting in the living room, neither of them interacting with the other in any meaningful way. no, this wasn’t the tkachuk house. your parents weren’t in love anymore, they were content with the idea of not having to find anyone else.

“matt was gonna propose to me?” you asked, chest already heaving from the anger coursing through your body. your eyes were on fire, if looks could kill and such.

your dad, to his credit, managed to catch onto what you were talking about immediately and put his book down.

but your mom cut in. “sweetheart, what're you—”

“ask him,” you interrupted, but didn't spare her a single glance, something you'd apologize for later. “go ahead, ask him what i’m talking about. ask dad why matt broke up with me out of nowhere.”

“honey....” your dad started. you waited for him to continue, to justify something, to say it was a huge misunderstanding, but he said nothing.

“alan, what is she talking about?”

you still wouldn't look at your mom. your eyes were fixed on the figure of your father who sat still in his recliner. “i went to talk to matt today, get some closure, figure out what went wrong with us. dad convinced matthew that i would feel shackled to him if he proposed, if we got married. he planted this idea in matt’s head that he wouldn’t be enough to keep me happy.”

that seemed to be enough to get your dad speaking. “you have so much potential, honey, i didn’t want to see it wasted chasing him around.”

you rolled your eyes. “i was happy to do it. he was everything to me.”

“and you should’ve been everything. you should want to be great, you should want to be a great painter, you should want to accomplish great things.” your dad gestured between himself and your mother. “you think we want this for you? to choose a partner just based on love? what happens when that love runs out? what happens when you get married, have kids, and matthew get bored on the road? what then?”

your stomach twisted at the thought. “matt would never.”

“maybe not, honey. but you have to understand, i was looking out for you.”

you scoffed before you could stop yourself. “looking out for me? you literally held me while i sobbed a few weeks ago and told me that maybe matt had changed when you knew damn well the reason things had ended.” you ran a hand down your face and laughed bitterly. “do you wanna know the worst part about this? you let me believe the worst things about the man who has loved me most of my life.

“you let me hate the man who wanted nothing more than to protect my happiness. and then you had me going on absolute bullshit pep talks to myself every morning where i’d tell myself i’m fine, that matthew brendan tkachuk was just a guy i dated for almost half my life and that there are plenty of fish in the sea to choose from. and that i’m a woman, a strong, intelligent, and capable woman that any man would be lucky to have! but i went on a date the other night and something really awful almost happened, but matt was there and he made sure i was okay. he took my vitriol in stride, he protected me without ruining my life, something you can’t seem to do.”

your dad, to his credit took your spewing words with a straight face. he didn’t interrupt you once.

your shoulders were heaving with the force of breaths you were taking to get all those words out. your heart was pounding in your chest. you were angry. angry. angry.

until it dissipated at the look on your parents’ faces.

tears replaced the anger quite quickly.

“i get you were trying to protect me, but you should’ve seen the look on his face when he told me. dad, i love you, but you damn near ruined my life.”

your father nodded, a shattered look on his face. “sweetheart i—if i’d known—” he cleared his throat. “i’m sorry. i thought i was doing right by you, trying to keep you from making the same mistakes.”

“and what mistakes are those? falling in love? getting married to the person you loved? getting to live the rest of your life together?”

“falling complacent,” your mother said. “getting too comfortable, becoming roommates instead of lovers.” your mother was picking at her nail beds, refusing to look at either of you. “i was not a part of the conversation your dad had with matthew, but i will not lie and say that your behavior didn’t concern me, because it did.” your mother held a hand up when you opened your mouth. “you didn’t have any ambition! you were sacrificing your dreams for him, aimlessly following him.”

“mom—”

“i have found myself lost before, lost in this marriage, lost in motherhood, lost in my job. i did not want that for you, neither of us did.” your mother stood from her seat on the couch and walked towards you. she placed her hand on your cheek. “i know you love him, and maybe he’s your person, but we did not,” she cleared her throat, “i did not want you to grow up regretting and resenting matt because you were too young to know what you wanted.”

your mom’s thumb traced your cheekbone. she stared you down with the eyes that matched your own. “do you remember when you were younger, you would draw these beautiful pieces with your colored pencils?”

you nodded.

“you don’t draw anymore, sweetheart. your art supplies are still in a box in the attic where they have been since you've moved back home. from my viewpoint, i see the little girl i raised chasing the man she loves and neglecting herself in the process. you’ve spent most of your life following matthew, but what about you? when will it be your turn?”

your bottom lip wobbled.

you were nine years old again, showing matt the self portrait you did and watching his face light up.

“you should draw me sometime!” he said.

and you did. all through middle school, high school, undergrad, all of it was matt matt matt matt matt. even if it wasn’t his face, even if it wasn’t hockey related, it was matt. the colors swirling together, the passion beneath the oils, all of it reflecting him.

you were so pissed at your dad, for telling matt what he did, but you were pissed at yourself as well, for neglecting who you were.

who were you anyway?

the fight left you pretty soon after your mother’s words were spoken. the hard truth of them still lingered in the air.

you went to bed that night and stared at the ceiling, trying to imagine what you would paint if the surface was a canvas instead.

before

you would’ve never picked up your phone had you known what was waiting on the other side of it.

the day started off simple enough. your apartment was a mess, usually at that time of year, it would be covered in christmas decorations and presents would be wrapped under the tree you and matt picked out from a tree farm. this time, there were boxes strewn about the room in anticipation of the move you’d be making to florida in just a few weeks. the plan was you’d fly into st. louis and have all your belongings that you didn’t need to survive, shipped to your new home in florida.

you were in the middle of packing up the last of your summer clothes into a box when matt called. it felt like a flip had been switched, because any exhaustion that was set deep in your bones from the work week disappeared the second you saw his contact photo on your lock screen.

“hey!” you said, smile so wide, your cheeks ached. “how’re you doing?”

“hey,” he replied, but his voice sounded off.

“everything okay?” you asked. “i saw the game last night, i’m sorry about the loss.”

“don’t worry about it.”

“oh,” you said. “well i have most of the apartment packed up, just need to put the rest of my clothes in my suitcases. i’ve already arranged the rest of our things to be shipped and—”

“i don't think you should move to florida.”

all the words in the world and all you could say was “what?”

matt sighed over the other end of the phone. “i didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“but you still meant to say it?”

“look, this isn’t easy for me to admit but, i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to move to florida. i don't even think it’s a good idea to keep this going.”

“keep what going?”

he sighed again. “this, us, our relationship. i just don’t think it’s working.”

well that was news to you.

you swallowed, your hands were shaking. it wasn’t until you couldn’t see straight that you realized you were crying.

“since when? i thought we were fine! what did i miss? what can i do to fix this?”

the battle of alberta had nothing on matt’s silence ringing through the phone. with each passing second, you felt the hope of repairing and fixing your relationship dwindle.

“i don’t think there’s anything to fix.”

the world had stopped spinning, even as he continued on, talking about the next steps you'd need to take, how he would continue to pay the lease, he’d cover the moving expenses to switch destinations of your things.

it all made you want to vomit.

how could he speak about the logistics of your break up when you felt like you couldn’t get past the actual reality of your breakup? your world was caving in and he seemed fine.

at the end of the call, he apologized. “i’m sorry,” he said.

all you could say was “okay.”

five minutes, your phone said when you looked at the call log.

matthew tkachuk had ruined your life in five fucking minutes.

after

frankie had to be the weirdest boss you ever had. when you called him and said you needed a few days off to sort things out in your personal life, he jumped at the chance to tell you to take a day or two off immediately.

“i can’t pay you for those days, but if it means you feel better, go ahead and take off. we’ll be fine.”

which is how you ended up sitting in your room for eight hours, staring at a blank canvas.

your hands shook anytime you reached for a paintbrush. what if it was the wrong brush? the wrong color? what if it was bad? ugly? what if you hated it?

you'd communicated those same thoughts to simone over the phone when you called on her lunch break, trying to keep yourself from crying over a blank canvas.

“it’s gonna be difficult at first,” she started. “but you have to start somewhere, even if it’s just a dot in the middle of the canvas.”

and you'd repeated her words in your head, yet you couldn’t force yourself to do anything about it. this was supposed to be about you, yet everything you were doing reminded you of him. it was the particular blue you used to mix together to represent his eyes. it was the red from calgary. it was the yellow that reminded you of the t-shirt you wore when matt first kissed you.

what would you even paint? the living room of your first shared apartment? saddledome? this was supposed to be about you, so why did you keep wanting to make it about matt? what was wrong with you? your parents were right, you lost yourself in trying to be the most supportive girlfriend around.

the second day didn’t produce much results either and when you finally went back to work, you looked and felt like you hadn’t rested at all.

“that bad, huh?” frankie asked.

“i didn't think it’d be that hard to paint, it’s literally never been that hard before.”

“you gotta just let it go.” when he didn't say anything else, you gestured for him to continue. “stop expecting it to be a masterpiece or to be meaningful, art is about you, not perfection.”

“but—”

frankie held a hand up, just like your mother had. “when you're here, it’s about doing right by the painting, the art itself. when you create though, it’s about doing right by you.”

you floated through your workday, your fingers itched to do something more than scraping dirt and grime off the back of a canvas. they longed for the oil based paint to stick to them. they longed for the cramping in your hand that came from holding a brush too long.

but you started.

you turned on some classical music and started.

you weren’t even sure what you were painting until you were staring back at the ice rink in front of you, empty, just like you were feeling. you should’ve known it would've had something to do with ice.

maybe it was foolish to believe you could completely get rid of matt in one painting. you'd known him longer than you hadn’t. but frankie’s words kept echoing in your head.

it’s about doing right by you.

so instead of painting matt or his number, or the curls on top of his head, you painted something else entirely. blurred figures raced past a lone frame standing completely still. the slumped shoulders of the person in stuck in one place, the lack of proper equipment, no ice skates, no sweater.

after days of painting and plotting and painting and waiting, it was finished. an ice rink with a person completely stationary while life moves around her.

it wasn’t your best piece, but it was your most honest.

it was like a dam had been broken because you couldn’t stop painting the silly little pieces of your feelings. you were losing space in your bedroom, and your phone had been neglected for two weeks.

now, you still responded to texts in the bridesmaid group chat, and you texted simone frequently. but your brain was taken up by this reawakened, once dormant, passion of yours. it was all you could think about.

your fingers were practically permanently stained with paint. you hadn’t changed out of your paint clothes all weekend, living in the spandex and one of your dad’s old t-shirts. the past few days, you’d been a hermit, only leaving the house to go to work. and while you weren’t completely anti social, you weren’t going out of your way to get in contact with people.

your parents were out on a rare date night while you were up in your room adding little details to your painting. the music playing through your phone’s speakers had lulled you into another world. you were all but lost to reality.

thump.

you paused, brush poised over the canvas. you listened again for the sound but heard nothing. so you continued.

thump thump.

you glanced at the window just in time to see a rock hit it. before you could stop yourself, you sighed and chuckled.

you felt like you were in high school again.

when you opened your window, sure enough matt was standing outside with a handful of stones in his hands. “you busy?” he asked.

at the sight of his boyish smile, your heart leapt. “what’re you doing here?”

he shrugged. “just wanted to see you.”

be careful, your head warned you. he’s not yours anymore.

but your heart didn’t give a shit. try as hard as you might, you were almost positive you’d love matt the rest of your life. “you couldn’t knock on the door?”

he shrugged again. “i tried, you didn’t hear me.” he shifted on his feet. “so are you busy?”

you glanced back at the painting you'd been obsessing over all day and decided you could leave it for a little while. “gimme a sec.”

very quickly, you cleaned up your art supplies before you ran down the stairs. you snagged your keys out of the basket by the door and locked the front door behind you.

matt had moved off your lawn and was now propped up against the passenger door of his car. “wanna go for a drive?”

how could you deny him anything when he looked so happy to see you?

“you’ve been busy,” he said as soon as he pulled out of the driveway. you did your best not to pay attention to how good his arm looked behind your head rest as he backed out into the street.

“how do you figure?”

matt put the car in drive, but before he pulled away, he gestured to your forehead. “you have paint, everywhere.” you could feel the heat crawl up your neck as you opened the sun visor to look in the mirror. sure enough, streaks of paint covered your cheeks. matt reached over and shut it with one hand. “stop it,” he said. “you look great.”

“even with the paint?”

“especially with the paint. you look happy again.” a beat passed. “are you?”

you thought about it for a moment. a few weeks ago, you were in the trenches, suffocating in the unknown, drawing in questions that had no answers. and while you were still single, even as you sat in the passenger seat of the man that you still loved, you felt capable. you felt like you could handle life. no longer were you floating, waiting for a strong breeze to blow you away from your reality. you still might depend on having wind in your sails, but at least you were a boat with a steering wheel instead of a helium balloon.

“i think i’m getting there. i’m not as angry anymore, i’m painting again.” you gestured to your face. “though you could probably tell.

“what have you been painting?”

how could you explain it? how could you possibly articulate that while you were still searching for what it meant to be you, you had somehow uncovered fragments of yourself that you’d lost along the way?

“myself.”

matt smiled, his eyes crinkled in the corners. “that’s what i like to hear. you enjoying it?”

“more than i thought i would, once i got over the fear.”

“fear? what were you scared of?”

you picked at the dirt under your fingernails. “not being good enough.”

matt made a sound between a scoff and a snicker, like the words coming out of your mouth were so incredibly stupid it was both alarming and hilarious. “are you fucking with me? you’re the most talented person i know!”

you rolled your eyes before you could stop yourself. “you play with some of the best athletes in the world—”

“and none of them could hold a candle to you.” he braked easily when you came up to a red light.

and you weren’t sure why you said what you said next, maybe it was the intimacy of the environment or maybe, when it came down to it, you wanted matt to hear all your updates first.

“i think i’m gonna apply to more grad schools again. i talked to frankie, he gave me some information and said he’d write as many recommendations as i needed.”

you wanted to be brave and look at matthew, you wanted to see his reaction in real time. but you couldn’t bring yourself to. whether that was because the moment felt too intimate for eye contact between exes or the you were afraid you'd see real time disappointment, you weren’t sure.

“is that something you wanna do?” his voice was soft. you could feel his eyes on your profile.

that was a question you'd asked yourself over and over again. was it something you were legitimately interested in? or were you like every twenty-something who applies for grad school when they don't know what else to do?

“i think there's just as much beauty in restoring as there is in creating.” in a split second, you decided you could be brave, so you looked back at him. “i don’t think i should have to choose between one of the other.

matt nodded, his hands white against the steering wheel. “do you think everything deserves a chance at restoration?” he asked, his blue eyes filled with a sincerity only he could replicate.

“i think anything can be fixed if someone cares enough to try.”

feeling bold, you spared him a glance from the corner of your eye. matt had his head down for a brief moment, a small smile on his lips.

there were words that hung in the air like the car freshener on matt’s rearview mirror, yet neither of you spoke them. both of you were more than content to bask in the silence rather than answer unasked questions that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

before

matt wasn’t at school that day, and you were the reason why. he hardly ever missed, even with his busy hockey schedule and his dad’s games, chantal always made sure to have her kids in school. if they weren’t rich, you’d assume his parents had the same thought process your grandparents did: they weren’t forking out all this money just for their kids to be absent all the time.

which brought you back to your original thought.

matt wasn’t at school.

and you were the reason.

well. that wasn’t entirely true. matt’s decisions were his own, even if the two of you were in fifth grade, you were both mature enough to own your mistakes.

and he made a big one.

it started at the beginning of the school year when jared, a new kid, started bothering you during class. you'd done what your parents had taught you and told the teacher. but mrs. wright just looked at you with a condescending smile and said:

“aw honey, he just has a crush on you!”

you were met with the same excuse each time you told her.

you’d tried to keep it to yourself, done your best to get over it, but he was too forward. on monday, he teased the way your uniform looked, which was a sore subject because your parents couldn’t afford to buy you a new uniform and your grandparents were being stingy with money in an effort to manipulate your mother. you were old enough to start recognizing that now.

on tuesday, jared criticized your doodles on a sheet of scrap paper, saying they looked childish. wednesday was no better, he snickered and pointed at you when you messed up a note playing hot cross buns on your recorder. thursday was when things took a left turn.

jared hadn't been at school for long to fully understand the dynamic between you and matt, not like the other kids did. he was smart enough to approach you when matt wasn’t around for the most part. maybe it was the confidence of the lack of punishment and accountability from your teacher and school administration that made him bold enough to tug on your hair and push you down during recess right in front of matthew.

you didn’t have enough time to shed a tear before matt was on jared.

to put it simply, physically fighting someone was grounds for suspension. it probably should’ve been a longer suspension had you and your parents not said jared had been harassing you for weeks now with no consequences.additionally, the amount of money the tkachuks sewed into the school probably helped lessen his punishment too.

“you shouldn’t have beat him up,” you said. the two of you were sitting on the back porch of matt’s house. originally, you expected matt to be grounded from seeing you as a punishment, but given the context, keith and chantal both said it would've been unfair.

matt shrugged. “he should’ve kept his hands to himself.” his words sounded similar to the ones you heard from his father earlier that day when you and matthew were sitting outside the principal’s office.

“mr. tkachuk, we do not condone violence at this school.”

“but you do condone harassment? bullying? my son was doing what your administration failed to do, and that’s protect his best friend.”

“i don't like it when you're in trouble.”

“and i don’t like seeing some jerk hurt you.” matt nudged your knee with his own. “besides, i’ll be back on monday. ‘s not like i was expelled.”

“just don’t make it a habit.”

“no promises,” he said. “i’ll always fight for you.”

after

the wedding approached faster than you thought it would. you spent the last seven months dreading emma and brady’s big day, scared of what seeing matt in a tux would do to your heart. originally, you didn't think you could handle it, you never thought you'd actually get to the wedding day and not want to cancel last minute.

but now you were standing in the bridal suite adding finishing touches to your makeup in the vanity feeling every bit of happiness for emma that you were faking just months ago.

life was starting to turn around for you. just last week, frankie had helped you finish your applications to some grad programs in art restoration and conservation. you were holding out hope for nyu, but didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“how’re you feeling?” taryn came up behind you where you were lined up in preparation to walk .

“ready for some wine and the reception,” you answered honestly. “i’m so excited.” and you were telling the truth for once. your smile felt genuine.

“matt will be excited to see you,” she said. “you look so pretty.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from forming on your lips. “oh hush, this isn’t about us, not even remotely close.”

taryn rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “maybe...” she trailed off before the wedding planner was moving her into position.

your hands shook as you held the bouquet. lily, one of the other bridesmaids looked back at you and mouthed “are you okay?” when you nodded and gave her a shaky smile, she turned around.

you weren’t nervous for a good reason, but walking in front of crowds always scared you. what if you tripped? what if the heel of your shoe broke? what if what if what—

but then it was your turn to walk down the aisle and every anxious thought went quiet the second you saw matthew.

it really wasn’t fair, how he could put you at ease so easily, without even saying a single word. how his blue eyes would meet yours and the racing of your heart would beat for a different reason. sure, there were moments where you were anxious around him, around the feelings that came with dating for ten years, but the truth was you never felt more safe than you did in his arms.

you kept your eyes locked on his as you walked down the aisle. not once did you stumble or fall. though, you nearly laughed out loud when he winked at you. a flush creeped into your cheeks when he smirked. you’d known him most of your life and you were still reduced to a school girl whenever he looked at you. when you made it to the end, you took your spot next to lily, taryn eventually took the spot next to you.

personally, you loved weddings. you cried every time. so obviously you were wiping tears with brady when emma walked down the aisle. it was almost surreal, watching the boy you knew as when he was eight years old was now marrying the love of his life. when did you grow up? when did that happen?

you met matt’s eyes over brady’s shoulder. in another life, it would've been you two getting married. the very thought sent an ache through your chest, but it didn't hurt the way it did a few months ago, hell, even a few weeks ago.

sure, you might not have ended up with matt, but you reconciled. he would still be in your life, even if it wasn't in the same capacity as before. that thought used to be debilitating, now you were just thankful he was around at all.

the crowd cheered as brady kissed emma. you could barely see them through the tears. you managed to wipe most of them away in time to walk back down the aisle. you were supposed to be linking arms and walking back down the aisle with quinn hughes. so when matt was standing there and holding his arm out, you almost stumbled back out of sheer confusion. in a haze, you took his arm.

“you weren’t supposed to walk me,” you said just loud enough for him to hear.

matt scoffed and pulled you a little closer. “like i was letting hughes walk you back down the aisle. that’s my job.”

“you messed up the order.”

he shrugged like the idea didn't bother him in the slightest. “brady will get over it, if he even notices.” the two of you had just walked down the aisle when you went to pull away, but his arm tightened around yours. “you look beautiful,” he said before releasing your arm and walking off.

it felt like you were stuck, rooted where you were standing, until the wedding planner ushered you along to take photos.

you were floating through the pictures, only barely remembering to smile and look at the camera. matt’s words floated around in your head in an endless loop.

when it was time for dinner, you entered with quinn like you were supposed to (and to matt’s chagrin). brady and emma did not want to confuse the dj who was announcing everyone. quinn indulged your excitement and twirled you under his arm as the two of you walked out. there was a huge smile on your face at the sheer fun of it all, a smile that didn't dissipate until you were both seated with the rest of the wedding party.

you were happily chatting with quinn, asking him about how his girlfriend was, and eating your dinner when emma’s maid of honor stood up and started her speech. to be quite frank, you knew it was a beautiful nod to her friendship with emma, but you weren’t fully paying attention, too enraptured with the food and wine in front of you. though, you did clap where you were supposed to and laughed when everyone else did.

it wasn’t until matt stood up to give his speech that you were dialed in. and maybe that made you a horrible person.

you knew matt well enough to know he didn't prepare a speech, not like the maid of honor did. he'd told you so once brady and emma got engaged.

“are you not gonna write your speech down?”

“nope,’ he said, popping the p.

“but he's your brother.”

“the only one who is getting a planned and fleshed out speech is you, when i propose and when we get married. everyone else gets the improvised speech.”

so you weren't surprised when he didn’t have a slip of paper in his hand like the maid of honor.

“thank you all for coming to celebrate the marriage of brady and emma with us. i know it means a lot to them, to see the support they have all around,” he began. “i’ve known brady his whole life, obviously. so i know better than most that he’s a menace to society. both on and off the rink. but seeing him with you, emma, well you’ve brought the little bit of good out in him.” the crowd chuckled at the slight, you even cracked a smile, especially when brady flipped him off.

“love is the best thing this world has to offer,” he continues. “who are we without it? what is life without it?” matt looked around the room until his eyes settled on you, locked in. “falling in love is, dare i say, better than the game itself. once you experience it, there is no game that could hold a candle to the feeling. i’ve found it, and i’m happy that you, brady and emma, found it too. just hold onto it, don’t let it go. not when it gets hard, especially not when things look bad. it’s those times you hold on tighter.”

maybe it was the lighting, but his eyes looked a little misty.

matt cleared his throat. “so here’s to the bride and groom, may you have nothing but good years ahead.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat and clapped along with everyone else. but matt’s eyes never left yours. you could feel his gaze on your face even as you talked to quinn. but he was on the other side of the table closer to brady.

it wasn’t until the dancing started that he even approached you.

outkast’s hey ya blasted over the speakers when matt found you. his hand immediately slid into yours as he tugged you closer.

“great speech!” you shouted over the music. “did you prepare it beforehand?”

matt spun you around. “you know i didn’t. i’m saving prepared speeches for special occasions.”

you expected the answer but played dumb anyway. “your brother’s wedding not a big enough occasion?”

he scoffed, like the very idea was offensive. “not even remotely close. only the love of my life deserves the written speeches.” he pulled you a little closer. your stomach twisted at the thought of him falling in love with someone else, but it didn't hurt the way it would've months ago. “but considering i broke up with her before i could propose, that’s not happening any time soon.”

your heart lurched in your chest, yet you felt yourself stepping back. “matt....”

he sighed like he knew what you were going to say. “i know we need to talk, and that this isn't the time, but can i just dance with you tonight? like nothing changed?”

and in the end, you wouldn’t be able to deny him anything.

you allowed him to spin you around and hold you close when the music slowed down. you allowed yourself to pretend all of it was real. you allowed yourself to live in this fictitious world where new jersey was the happiest place on earth simply because you had matt. the last seven months hadn't happened, you were still together, your future was certain, and maybe one of these days, he'd get down on one knee and ask for forever.

you played pretend even when the night was coming to a close. even when you were all waving goodbye to emma and brady. even when you gathering your things, matt was there, holding your bags for you and walking you to the car you rented.

“when do you fly back to st. louis?” he asked.

“tomorrow. i have work on monday.”

he grimaced. “frankie wouldn't let you off?”

you rolled your eyes and smiled. “some of us don't make millions of dollars and need to pay our bills, matt.”

“right,” he said. “forgot about that.” he cleared his throat and stepped closer to you. “do you think we could get coffee when i get back in town? i really think we should talk.”

you reached out and took his hand in yours. “just let me know when you’re back.”

and he did. days later when you were back at work on your lunch break, you got a text from him. before you could stop yourself, a smile lit up your face.

matty:

just landed, when are you free?

the two of you met at a park not too far from your homes, deciding that you two needed privacy to talk and sitting in a coffee shop where matt’s face was well known wasn’t ideal. it felt like it used to, with the two of you walking side by side, matt walking a little slower to match your pace. your arms occasionally brushed.

“everything okay?” you asked when the silence started to make you anxious.

matt looked at you and smiled. “yeah,” he said. “just wanted to talk.”

“about what?”

“us. what happens next.” when you didn't say anything, he continued. “i wanted to apologize—”

“there’s nothing to apologize for, matt. i understand—”

“but i should’ve just communicated with you instead of letting my insecurity and the pressure get to me. i should’ve done better.”

you bumped your shoulder into his bicep. “you did what you thought was best, i can’t blame you for that.”

matt ran a hand down his face and sighed. “i wish you wouldn’t be so understanding,” he said. “i wish you'd just say that what i did sucked.”

“but i get it—”

“i get that you get it, but i need you to be honest with me.”

“okay,” you said. “i’ll be honest. i hated every single rose you've ever gotten me, but i was too afraid to say anything because you looked so happy to give them to me. and i know it’s what your dad would bring home to your mother after roadies. i hated that you never remembered my coffee order, you changed it every single time, but i accepted it and tried it because i saw how proud of yourself you were and how much it meant to you that you got me a drink. and i hated that you ended things over a phone call with no explanation. i hated that i spent seven months agonizing over what i did wrong.” you swallowed the emotion bubbling up. “but i understand why you did it, and in another life, i might have done the same.”

matt’s hand brushed yours. you thought he was going to leave it at that, a gentle touch, but he grabbed your hand and interlocked your fingers “i wish you would've told me you hated roses.”

you smiled and shrugged, squeezing his hand in yours. “seeing how happy you were outweighed the hatred for roses. it was the thought that counted.”

“so what is your favorite flower?”

“red anemones.”

matt pulled out his phone and typed something into his notes app. “what’s your coffee order?” when you told him, he typed something else into the note. “i do care about that stuff,” he said. “i didn't mean to seem dismissive.”

“you remembered the important stuff like anniversaries and my birthday. you remembered that i hate driving in snow, you used to pick me up from school every time there was more than an inch on the ground.” you squeezed his hand again so he'd look at you. “you weren’t a shit boyfriend for forgetting the little things, matt. in fact, you were a really good boyfriend until you broke up with me.”

he didn’t say anything for a moment, choosing to bask in the summer sounds of the park. “do you think we could try again one day?”

it was a question you'd asked yourself multiple times since the conversation where you found out the truth behind the break up that nearly ruined you. could you two do it again? do it right this time? there was no way to know.

“i don’t know.”

a beat passed. “would you want to?”

would you? being with matt was all that you dreamed about but would you want to risk the heartbreak again? would you want to take the chance that it wouldn’t work out a second time?

yes. it was an easy yes.

heartbreak was inevitable, but you wouldn’t want your heart to be broken by anyone but matt.

but you could love him and also want to prioritize yourself and your wants and desires. you had a plan for your future that didn’t involve him for once. maybe he’d be there years later, but there was no guarantee. if you got into grad school, you wouldn’t be moving to florida. and while long distance had worked before, there was no assurance that things would again.

so you said “maybe one day,” and gave him a smile.

“one day,” he replied. “in the meantime, can we be friends?”

one more time, you squeezed his hand, tugging him a little closer, his arm bumping into your shoulder. “i’ll always be your friend at the very least, from here on out.”

after what looked like a moment of hesitation, matt pulled you closer and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

after

when matt flew back to florida for the season, you fully expected him to stop talking to you. with distance being a factor, it was easy for you to assume he'd text whenever he wasn't tired or out partying.

but he texted you every waking and unoccupied minute of his day. in all honesty, you were worse at replying than he was. everything felt like high school again, in the days leading up to your first kiss.

you felt like you got your best friend back.

it started with him telling you about his day, asking about yours, and evolved into him telling you a joke he'd heard that day, a tiktok that reminded him of you, remembering your schedule.

god your heart leapt every time he texted you. it was pathetic, but you loved it.

you loved him.

it wasn’t a scary thought, you’d never stopped loving him even after the breakup. to act like you ever stopped was crazy.

and when you got into grad school? he was the first person you called.

it was nearly a year after he ended things, and there you were, calling him on the phone. you waited for him to pick up, for a moment, you were scared he wouldn’t answer. the phone kept ringing and your anxiety built up as the seconds went on. maybe he was busy or his phone was in the other room. or worst case scenario, he was ignoring your call, out with someone else. what if you annoyed him? what if—

“hey!” his cheery voice sounded over the phone. “everything okay? you usually don't call at...” he trailed off. “...3pm?”

you could’ve cried at the sound of his voice, the relief hitting you all at once. “i got in,” you replied.

“what—” he choked. “you got in? nyu’s program?”

you nodded before realizing he couldn't see you, stunned at the news and the fact that he immediately knew what you were talking about. “i did.”

he sighed over the phone. “god, baby, i’m so proud of you.” your heart swooped at the pet name, no longer angering you like it did months ago. “what did your parents say?”

“i haven’t told them yet,” you said. “i just found out.”

he paused. “and you called me.” he didn’t bother asking.

“and i called you. maybe that makes me a horrible daughter for not telling my literal parents but i just wanted to tell you first.”

he paused again. “why?”

your stomach twisted with nerves, your hands felt sweaty. “you know why.”

“i need to hear you say it. tell me there’s still hope.”

“matty—” you cut yourself off with a shaky inhale. “matt, we shouldn't.”

“why not? i love you, i’m sorry but i love you. i fucked up and lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me because i was scared.”

“matt, we shouldn’t be having this conversation over the phone...”

“then i’ll book a flight.”

you closed your eyes and smiled. this was a side of matt that you knew, someone who’d drop anything for someone he loved or the game he adored.

“you have games and practice,” you reminded him.

you could practically hear the scowl through the receiver. “we play the blues in a week. can we talk about this then? i’ll take you out to dinner.”

“you usually get dinner with your parents.”

matt scoffed through the phone. “i see them enough, i want to be with you.”

you smiled because you just couldn't help yourself. “we’ll talk about this in a week,” you agreed.

matt whooped over the phone, the glee evident in his tone. “i’m really proud of you,” he said, changing the subject back to the original point of the call. “grad school is a big deal. you worked so hard to get here.”

“thank you, matty.”

“i’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

the week leading up to the panthers vs. blues game was agonizing. you kept thinking of his confession over the phone:

i love you, i’m sorry. i love you, i’m sorry. i love you.

his words rattled around in your head like the cartoon birds that would fly over a concussed cartoon character.

five more days.

then four.

then three.

two.

tomorrow.

today.

matt bought you tickets to the game, one that you offered to simone, but she declined saying she “wouldn't want to be in the way.” when you told her she wouldn't, that you would like her company, she laughed.

“honey,” she said. “there is no one else in the room whenever you and matt are around each other.”

you’d flushed when she said that, but didn't deny it.

your mother and father were seated in the living room when you came bounding down the stands to head out to the game. “you going to see him?” she asked. there was a fond look in her eye, one that only brightened when you smiled and nodded. “have so much fun, honey.”

you looked to see if your dad would say something, but he just nodded and went back to reading his book. it was fine, you were past caring what other people thought of you. in a month, you'd be moving to new york for school and out this cycle of mediocrity and settling. you bid your parents goodbye and left.

there was no time to waste when you got to the arena. you immediately made your way to the seat matt paid for and waited. you were a bit outnumbered in your panthers jersey (again, courtesy of matt), but he was no stranger to the st. louis crowd.

you were sitting close enough to the glass to be spotted when matt came out for warm ups. he tossed a few pucks to the kids next to you, but his eyes never left yours. the smile on his face eased the anxiety about coming, the anxiety about the conversation you'd have afterwards.

seeing him beam at only you? the world could've stopped turning and you didn't think you'd even care.

the game, unfortunately, did not turn out in their favor. with a 4-1 loss, you were two seconds away from asking matt to reschedule. the conversation both of you needed to have shouldn’t be done when he was coming off a loss.

nevertheless, your phone vibrated with a text.

matty:

where’d you park?

you replied with the vague location of your vehicle and headed that direction. you weren’t sure how he beat you out there, but he was propped against your driver’s side door like it was a luxury car and not the used vehicle you’d had since you were sixteen.

he held his hand out, and to anyone who didn’t know any better, they might think he wanted to hold your hand. but you tossed him your keys and he caught them mid air.

matt unlocked the car and threw his bag in your backseat while you got in the passenger seat.

“where are we going?”

“waffle house.”

suddenly, you were seventeen again, sitting shotgun in matt’s car at 2 am when neither of you could sleep. sometimes, you'd go to a 24 hour drive through and sit in the parking lot to eat. but your favorite moments were spent in a waffle house booth that had a half ass wipe down and food prepared by people who’d rather be anywhere else.

it was the best food you’d ever had every single time.

the bonus was that no one asked any questions, no one batted an eye at the son of keith tkachuk sitting in a waffle house at 2 am.

matt knew the drive by heart and minutes later, you were entering the establishment, trying not to slip on the greasy floors.

both of you slid into a booth and picked up the menus.

“didn’t think you could eat this stuff, with your diet and what not.”

matt shrugged. “it’s the holiday season, i’m allowed a few cheat days?”

you quirked a brow, remembering a time in calgary where you fixed dinners based on the diet given to you by the team nutritionist once she realized matt didn’t and couldn't cook. “i didn’t think that was allowed.”

“what they don't know won't kill ‘em.” he gestured to the menu. “what do you want?”

“you mean you don’t remember?” you teased.

matt rolled his eyes and gestured to the waiter. he recited both of your orders with an alarming amount of accuracy, given the fact the two of you hadn’t eaten at a waffle house in over a year.

“what?” he asked when he saw you looking after the server walked away.

“how do you remember that but not my coffee order?”

he blushed a little. “i feel like your coffee order changed with the seasons—”

“because they have seasonal drinks, matthew!” you exclaimed with a laugh.

“your waffle house order is simpler, easier for me to remember.”

you rolled your eyes with a smile on your face but accepted his answer. you sipped at your water and stared at him. “so what did you want to talk about?”

matt flinched back, like the sudden change in topic slapped him in the face. “what? you didn’t wanna wait until we got our food?”

you shrugged. “i’d feel less anxious if we just talked about it now.”

matt reached across the table and grabbed your hand in his own. it felt like being twenty-two again, living with matthew in calgary and holding hands under the table when you hung out with him teammates. his palm fit perfectly in your own.

“you don’t need to be anxious, i’m not gonna pressure you into anything.”

“i just wanna know what's’s going on in your head.”

matt’s thumb stroked the back of your hand. “you are all that’s in my head right now,” he confessed. “i get it, i fucked up by breaking up with you a year ago. and if i could go back, i would in a heartbeat. i would tell you everything i told you a week ago. that i love you and i’m sorry. i’m sorry that my insecurities got in the way, that i made a decision for you and in doing so, made you doubt my love for you.”

he continued. “but if you hear nothing else, hear me when i say i love you from the deepest part of my soul. if you asked me to give up the game and move with you to new york, if you asked me to request a trade to the fucking rangers, i’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“i would never ask you to do that,” you whispered.

“i know, but i would. because i love you, and if you’d let me, i’d like to be with you again. i’d like to marry you like i should’ve years ago. i’d like to have babies with you, however many you want. i wanna grow old and live in a house big enough to fit all of our grandkids for holidays. i want all of that with you,” he said. “what do you want?”

there were so many things you could say, so many things you wanted to say. but with watery eyes, and a heart that raced faster than a treadmill at full speed, you couldn’t vocalize any of it.

your mind raced with thoughts.

i wanna know the nicknames you gave your teammates. i want to use that specific combination of paints to make your eye color. i want to stick my cold feet between your legs and laugh when you pull away. i want my birthday to be your passcode again.

“i want you” you said, unable to say anything more. it was a miracle you even got those words out, your voice cracked on every syllable.

“yeah?” he asked, eyes shining with hope.

you nodded. matt immediately leaned over the table and kissed you, you met him halfway. and it felt like every question you ever had was answered. it felt like the best possible ending of your favorite tv series.

he felt like home, more than st. louis ever could. more than calgary.

when you both pulled back, neither of you could keep the smiles off your faces. “what do you say to doing long distance again? just while i’m in school,” you proposed.

matt’s smile could’ve lit the entire city.

“baby, for you? i’d do anything.”

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk #nhl blurb #nhl imagines #nhl imagine

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horrorartsworld · 2 days

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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 vox x f!pornstar!reader ➳ vox fucks one of valentino’s sex workers

warnings: smut. super duper praise. riding. not proofread

IM BACK FROM THE DEAD 😁😁!! hope y’all missed me

soooo i got this request a while back and fucked it up by accidentally misreading the context and ending up writing about val instead of vox and posting it…. like a dummy 😭 so i just deleted the whole thing to start back over but hopefully that nonnie sees this that requested it!! so sorry boo boo (this is what happens when you only run on a few hours of sleep 💀)

When you two were first introduced Vox couldn’t stop eye fucking you on the spot.

Sure you were a Porn Star and it was a normal thing that happened on occasion, but something about when he did it made it all much more sensual and pure. All while Vox couldn’t help this feeling swirling inside of his circuits of yearning to have his way with you. Whether that be in front of everyone here or…who am i kidding he wanted you right where you stood! With that skimpy little outfit you were wearing that barley concealed any of your assets and accentuated your body just perfectly. And that smile..Fuck…that sweet smile on your lips at him that he wanted soooooo badly to see parted while desperately crying his name.

“Nice to meet you baby…” Your perfect voice breaking him out of his sinful thoughts.

Fuck he liked it when you called him that.

You being currently nestled under two of Valentino’s arms, hugged up close to him as if he thought you’d fly away from him, you extended a pretty manicured hand towards the tv-headed man which he immediately obliged to without hesitation, taking your hand in his and kissing the top of each one of your knuckles. “Pleasures all mine doll..”

A low chuckle came from Valentino above you when seeing Vox act in such a manner that even he could tell had you feeling all warm and fuzzy, practically smelling the arousal radiating off of the two of you as Vox held your hand a bit longer than made appropriate for an innocent handshake. Val then getting a tinge of jealousy at the moment unfolding in front of him, he squeezes your hip in warning making you drop Vox’s hand sheepishly with a small blush dancing at your cheeks.

“So formal Voxy…almost too formal for one of my little sex toys..” Val was becoming more possessive by the minute when he then grabs your cheeks in the process and squeezes them at Vox as he cooed something down at you.

Vox just stood there with that shit eating grin on his face with his pixelated eyes hanging low before he made the jab, “Well Val….Let’s just say I know what women want unlike you..,” You could hear the spitefulness in his tone, let alone what he said caused your skin to crawl as you stood between two most powerful overlords awkwardly as they semi, no, full on bickered like an old married couple over you.

Valentino then shifts you in his arms to shoo you off behind him and out of Vox’s sight so that he didn’t have to be cock blocking for the rest of the night, which would only piss him off more.

“I don’t need you corrupting…let alone fucking one of my stars!”

Is the last thing you heard Valentino shouting before the rest was muffled behind the door you had exited the room from, but to his dismay you wouldn’t be as faithful as he hoped later on that week..

⋆⭒˚.⋆

“Damn it you little minx…fuck me like the star you are…” Vox would husk out underneath you as you desperately roll your hips against his own with his cock married to the deepest parts of your sweet core that was already clamping to his words.

“Yeah that’s right my pretty girl…you’re my girl aren’t you?” He gritted through his teeth feeling your walls squeeze him, causing him to take out the feeling on your precious neck, nipping little marks into your flesh that would surely show up when filming later.

“Y-yes baby..i’m yours..” You gasp breathlessly, not knowing how meaningful you sounded when you said it. Vox smirks into your neck knowing he’s got you wrapped around his finger just like he wanted. “That’s my good girl..”

That praise alone had you clutching at his shoulders, your head falling back when his hips started to flick up into yours when he sees you absolutely loosing it once you started growing closer to your much needed high. “V-vox..i-i..mphm!”

“No ones fucked you like they’ve meant it huh?…but i mean it…i so fucking mean it..” He spouts out, his words seeming to buffer in between when he starts to pull you down on to his cock with each of his thrusts, skin to skin contact filling the room and most likely the world outside the room you two occupied. You whine at this feeling that knot in your tummy starting to unravel itself, your eyes squeezing shut in the process. “Ah ah..baby…open those eyes if you wanna cum..”

You manage to force them open being warmfully greeted by his mouth, all tongue and teeth clashing with your own as he then pulls away abruptly letting a string of salvia keep the two of your mouths still connected. Watching intently as you then cum all over his cock and a drawn-out cry of his name following shortly after.

He then almost short circuits at the sight when his hips then stutter up into yours for a few more moments until he lets you collapse on top of him with both of your chests rising and falling rapidly.

After some time goes by of the two of you just resting there Vox stretches a little letting out a chuckle, forcing your head to look up at him with a confused expression written on your features at his smug one.

“What?”

“Oh nothing doll…” His fingers pressing against the few marks he left on your neck causing you to squirm. “Just thinking of how pissed Val’s gonna be when he’s sees what i’ve done to you in the next hour.”

Vox laughs when you huff at him and shove your face into his warm chest. “You know I have a shoot today you dick…”

He listens to your muffled voice only chuckling more when he then pats your head. “Yeah…but they’ll sure as hell know who you belong to…actually i think you need one more above your titty hold still..”

#☆⋆｡𖦹 my writings #☆⋆｡𖦹vox #vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel smut #vox smut #vox x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox

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chikaras-garden · 3 hours

Text

Batboys as your sugar daddy pt. 2

Don’t you know you’re his?

Pairings: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne x fem!reader

Contains: Sugar daddies. Possessive, controlling men. Power imbalances. They’re all a little toxic. Allusions to daddy kink in Jason’s.

Notes: So quick. Very short. I said ��one” and wrote three. I’m a giver. 18+ or you’ll be blocked. I don’t usually do part 2s unless I want to, so please don’t request them—thank you!

DICK GRAYSON 💋

Standing behind you, Dick dangles a breathtakingly dainty pendant in front of your face. You can feel his smile in the way he holds you: hands on your hips, chest puffed up with pride, lips against your temple.

“I got you this,” he says. “You’ll wear it for me, won’t you?”

Mesmerized, you reach out and touch the stone. No, it’s not his name, not even his initial, but a perfectly cut, dark blue-green gemstone nestled in your favorite shade of gold. Dick’s not the flashiest of men—yes, you look at him and instantly know that he’s wealthy, but he has nothing to flaunt because his confidence is as easy as breathing.

But he is possessive. Almost everything you own is blue now—because he thinks it’s funny to be so on-the-nose about a secret only a select few people know. He doesn’t care who else knows that you’re his, no; it’s that you know you’re his, so much so that straying isn’t even a thought in your pretty head.

Why would you, when he spoils you so?

JASON TODD 💋

“Are you going to be a good girl and ride my thigh?”

Jason doesn’t give you the chance to answer. It’s not that you can’t; he know you can. You’re his smart girl, his clever baby. You could solve all the world’s problems if you set your mind to it; you just don’t need to.

Because Jason takes care of things for you. That’s why, even though he asks, it’s while he already has his hands on your hips to drag you, pants and panties off, back and forth over his muscled thigh.

When he brings you close to his chest, he pressed playful, teasing kisses against your mouth; his eyes are alight with mischief, darkly sparkling in a way that invites you to get lost in them. In him.

Sensation climbs and your mind goes hazy, but that’s okay. Jason’s here. He always will be. Always within arm’s reach, always ready to give you his full attention—hands, lips, cock—at the drop of a hat. No matter where you are, you’re his, and he wouldn’t allow it to be any other way.

DAMIAN WAYNE 💋

“Can you behave?” Damian asks in a tone that suggests he knows you can’t.

It’s his fault, really; he sets impossible rules knowing you’ll break them, just because you and he both want to find out what happens. Your lover is brutal, yes, and ruthless—but most importantly, he is fair. He answers every one of your whims before you even say the word.

“I can,” you insist, tilting your head in search of his lips. Behind you, he leans away, holding you in place with a firm grip on your hip and shoulder.

When you whine that you can’t reach him, he tuts, chuckles, and cups your jaw in one hand. “Do you know what the word means?”

Behave, you think. Of course you know what the word means. Everyone does.

But then he murmurs, voice low in your ear and breath warm on your skin, “Should I show you?”

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you'#jason todd smut #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood smut #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne smut #🌸— mine.#🌸— dick grayson.#🌸— jason todd.#🌸— damian wayne.

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hazelfoureyes · 5 hours

Text

Not hazbin related— sorry for the odd not horny personal post

Donate here if you’re able and wanting to (PayPal username is JHilliard109) sharing is also a lovely way to help support me (support my mother)

So.

You may have noticed I was briefly MIA recently , and it’s because I’ve been ✨stressed and angry✨

My mother is currently in remission for breast cancer and was excited to use the state dental insurance she was notified in November she had. She lost some teeth to chemo, along with other issues, only having three teeth on the bottom of her jaw but all of her teeth on top.

In March she got approved and scheduled for May surgery to remove all her teeth and for her denture appointments in June. They had her get rides two hours away because they said they’d only pay for that specific doctor in network. (She can’t drive due to seizures)

After they took all her teeth, they called and said she actually wouldn’t be covered for the dentures or the surgery they already did. She was told, “Lots of people are out there walking around without teeth.” They said her insurance actually ended at the end of March, despite no notification and still approving the May and June appointments. They said it was a state thing and didn’t know why it ended. Even the morning of the May surgery they CONFIRMED she was approved with her dental surgeon. Then four days after the surgery they said “oopsies no you weren’t.” And sent her a 4800$ bill.

They can eat my entire ass.

So, they took her teeth and then told her tough luck. They made a mistake in approving these and won’t own up to it. She’s made it through cancer just for some knobheads to take her goddamn teeth.

Did she have a lot of teeth before? No. But she never would have had them all taken out if she hadn’t been told she was approved for fully paid for dentures. She even asked to get just half dentures (bottom half) and was dissuaded. “We will only pay for this procedure one time, so it’s best to get it all done at once.” (Paraphrasing)

If you can, we’d appreciate any help in getting my mom some teeth. We’re looking into a place that would offer payment plans and looking into lines of credit to make it happen but anything would help offset the shocking and unfair burden placed on my mother.

We’ve been quoted around $3500 for a full set of “standard” dentures (meaning…not… the best? Lmao Jesus I don’t even know what that means but it’s what we can manage. I didn’t know they had good and bad ones??). We’re using PayPal as we don’t expect to raise that full amount, so gofundme wouldn’t be helpful.

We are getting her some goddamn teeth one way or another, but any help would be immensely appreciated.

Because I’m in Japan we’re using my sister’s PayPal. If you’d considered tipping or using my ko-fi in the near future, consider instead donating to help get my mom some fucking teeth. 🫠 any money I receive through my own PayPal and ko-fi will go to this anyway. I’ll be working more, too, to add to the dentures fund.

fuck Florida and fuck the government for doing this to my mother 🖕🏼 had they not made SEVERAL mistakes in approvals and lack of communication she would have teeth still. So in my angry opinion, they fucking took them from her by misleading her into an unnecessary surgery.

my mom, before the cancer and chemo took her hair and a breast, and before her teeth were bamboozled out of her fucking skull (with her grandbaby)

#Hazel says help #I wanna fucking scream #How is this real life #fuck florida #I feel like I’m going fucking crazy

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brokenpieces-72 · 2 days

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COD x Transformers

Fair warning: heavier language than what I usually write.

Not gonna lie I’m gonna need help with this if y’all want a series. I’m letting requests and comments to push this series forward, because honestly I don’t know what else to do with this.

School was so stupid, why were you even here? You see some value in the lessons, math is useful, science is good to have, understanding history is helpful, and English has you reading in a different way. Why you had to come to classes though you really don't understand. But Price suggested it, and offered to pay for it, so here you are. Of course when people know where you grow up, or rather think they know where you grow up, that means dealing with people who are either afraid of you or think they are superior to you.

At least the guys in your shop class were chill. When you first came to the class, you got some looks, but after a week they were asking questions about your life. You kept a lot of it to yourself but it was nice having people not treat you like a delinquent.

You didn't have shop though, unfortunately there had been an accident recently involving some of the power tools being damaged, with yellow tape over the doors. It meant going home early sure, but you had one more class. Some girl took a piece of gum acting like she was better than you when you told her no. There was a kid who whipped around to hand you a work sheet, and then whipped back forward as soon as you got it, despite you not doing anything to him all year. Another handful of students tagged your locker with 'gang' signs and adult photos, and you were blamed for it. If it weren't for being in school you and the principal could be on a first name basis. Half the time she'd just go straight to security footage to see what had actually happened and shut down whatever group was trying to get you in trouble.

The bell rings and you stay seated, waiting for the teacher to finish talking and others to leave before you get up, slowly inserting your books and papers into your bag, before hoisting it over your shoulder. Of course it couldn't be that easy as you're met with a small group around your desk, close enough to break your personal bubble and making it very hard to stand up without bumping one of them, you just stare at the ground off to the side.

“Pay up.” The rich boy says. For what? God knows this time. He’ll demand money for a number of things. Tiny scratch on his car, losing an “unfair” bet, or for wasting his time getting called by the principal for his own actions.

“I’m not paying for the hairline damages on your daddy’s borrowed ride, for me crushing you in whatever you considered our most recent bet, or for making you late for your work shift at kissing mommy and daddy’s ass for getting caught.” You say before sliding back in your seat away from them, and heading for the door. You turn back to push in your chair, and that’s when the rich boy’s richer girlfriend pipes up.

“Probably wouldn’t want to touch any of their bills, who knows where they stuffed them last night at the club.” She sneers leaning in. You lean in to meet her.

“Sorry you couldn’t get me for your lap dance, I had respectable company to entertain last night.” You say smugly. God that shock and disgust on her face was a thing of natural beauty. You start walking out but before you can reach the door one of the rich couple’s cronies decides to make another remark.

“Bet your mama sucked dick to get you here.” You stop dead in your tracks when you hear this. When you were younger a comment like this made you see red and it made life difficult on your mother with the amount of fights you’d get into. You see red now. You turn to them.

“Even if she was straight, your fat ass hogs all the space under the desk in the office.” With that you leave, shoving your earbuds in. As you go, you take a photo of the shop class door with the yellow caution tape over it and send it to the guys. You text them, asking if you can hang out at the junkyard.

House rule: no skipping class to come see them. If you got off early that was another story. As you leave the building, you get a text from your mom. You didn’t tell her about shop class but she asks if you’re going to the junkyard. Which means she knows even without you telling her.

Y/N: yeah, shop is cancelled.

Mom: homework?

Y/N: was going to do it there.

Mom: Sleepover?

Y/N: maybe.

Mom: stay safe.

Y/N: I will.

You sigh and finally get a reply from the guys. They’re out but they’ll see you at the junkyard. Which meant you’d be able to do some homework by yourself.

There’s one of those giant storm shelters at the yard. It used to be for sorting junk like appliances, propane tanks, electronics, car parts, etc. Any equipment or machinery in there had either been removed or was completely broken down. Now it was your gang’s pad, complete with old beat up couches, a small fridge, a few tables and chairs, and whatever project was being worked on. There was a small loft area for you as well, filled with slapping bags, blankets that rivalled Swiss cheese and ratty cushions.

When you get to the junkyard you find the hole in the fence you use to sneak in and make your way down the dirt path. As you walk you notice some of the piles had been sifted through. Odd. The guys usually waited for you before sifting through the piles. Maybe they wanted an early start before going off to do whatever they were doing now. You reach the building and plop down on one of the couches, enjoying the silence and what sounds like some more trucks dropping off junk.

Kyle reclined on the couch leaning against your shoulder to bug you. They’d brought dinner for you, and Price was supposed to arrive later tonight. Johnny and Simon were working on a car they’d been trying to fix for some time. They got a new part for it and were doing some more work. Kyle was stepping back to bug you for a bit. He sees you more focused on your text book and not saying too much.

“What is the square root of Canada?” He asks. You don’t reply, so he replies for you, taking your jaw in his hand and poorly imitating your voice. “35 to the power of-“

“Fuck off.” You mutter shoving his hand away. Kyle sits up and looks at you. Something happened today, hell something happens everyday but something has you ticked off. Kyle gets up and grabs two flashlights, before swiping the textbook out of your hands. Your shoulders slump as you take it and pull the hood up on your sweater, zipping up your coat. Kyle takes his off the couch.

“Going out!” He calls, and gets a wave from Simon.

Outside you turn on the flashlight, walking with him along the dirt trail, keeping your flashlight low. You have your hands in your pockets and you feel a pat on your bicep. Kyle hands you work gloves. You take them, and continue walking.

“What happened this time?” He asks. You bump him gently, showing silently your appreciation for his company.

“Same old.” You say. Gaz sighs.

“You can’t let it get to you.” Gaz says. “They don’t know you, so why should you let them judge you?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, they treat me like I have, and won’t stop!” You argue.

“I know I know.” Kyle says, nodding. “Nothing wrong with a few comebacks. You have to remember though you are a beast among lions.”

“What kind of a metaphor is that?” You ask, half amused, half frustrated.

“They are testing you, trying to get you to act up so they have a reason to get you into more trouble. But you’re a much more powerful being, because you are more mature. You’ve grown up faster than them and they don’t like it.”

“So this is some initiation?” You ask, as you both start going off the trail to start checking for new loads.

“Nah. They’re egging you on to see if you’ll break or try to be one of them. You refuse to be one of them, and they can see that. So they go with the former.” He explains.

“…they insulted mom.” You mutter and he stops.

“You know the truth.”

“They don’t and then they go around talking about her like she’s some whore!” You argue, getting a little upset.

“She’s not. You know that.” He says. “And that’s all that matters.”

You nod. Then you both hear something. The two of you look in the direction of the sound, towards a pile that was deflating. Animal weren’t uncommon in the junk yard. However you’ve never heard this sort of metallic animal noise. It sounds like a raptor. Kyle puts an arm out, keeping you back, and shining a light at the pile. You’re frozen in place while Kyle moves closer. He only gets a couple steps before a head pokes out and you both are still as possible.

A metallic raptor looks at the two of you tilting its head curiously.

“Please don’t quote Jurassic Park.” You say quietly. Before Kyle could respond the raptor stalks out, keeping its focus on you. You’d heard about robotic aliens online but you’d taken it in as conspiracy. Guess this is how believers are made.

The creature makes another metallic growl, sniffing at Kyle. You’re impressed he can stay so still. The raptor’s claws are razors, with its spine and head looking like it was decorated with feathers from various fan blades. It’s around your size, so Kyle is taller but he’s also unarmed. Except for the flashlight. The eyes glow as they stare at the two of you, they’re a golden yellow.

It makes another small cry before walking away, and then looking back at you.

Without thinking you slowly move towards it. Kyle tries to stop you but the raptor approaches you both again. It comes closer, until you’re eye to eye with it. Your heart is pounding, and you wonder if it can hear it. It makes an odd sound, almost like a coo. You catch a glimpse at its teeth, and they’re sharper than any nail you’ve seen.

It walks away from you, before turning back at a short distance from you both. It’s waiting.

Kyle exchanges a look with you.

“We should follow it.” You say, seeing the creature shift from foot to foot anxious. Kyle opens his mouth to argue but honestly, he doesn’t know what to make of it.

“We have to tell Soap and Ghost.” He says.

“I’ll follow it, you go get them.” You say, and start following it before Kyle can protest. Kyle texts them, instead not about to ditch you. Your mother would kill him, and she could out run him.

The critter runs up ahead and you hug after it. It waits for you to catch up before hurrying off again. In between its movements it picks around the trash looking for something. It seems to find whatever it’s looking for but you can’t make out what it is.

It keeps going and eventually rounds the bend behind a much larger pile of junk. You’re not unfamiliar with these mountains, too dangerous to scale and picking through it could cause a collapse. You hesitate now, unsure about what could be on the other side. Kyle is nervous too.

“We should wait for the others.” Kyle suggests. You don’t mind waiting. Following the creature was a complete whim. For all they knew behind the mountain was a whole flock. You look around and find a long pipe. Not perfect, but it will do. Hopefully.

You wait a while and you can hear footsteps, from two large men and the raptor. It pokes its head out and then its whole body when Ghost and Soap see it eyes wide. If Ghost is scared he doesn’t show it, Soap just tenses.

“The bloody ‘ell is that.” He asks. It comes out from its hiding place and approaches you. You approach it, meeting halfway. It claws the ground restless.

“It needs help I think.” You say looking at it. It take off yet again, and you follow it behind the mountain where you freeze up. There’s a huge dinobot before you. It’s breathing heavily, sounding like the brakes of a bus. It’s another dinosaur, but this one is huge it looks like a triceratops. It’s weak too. When you look at the raptor you see it nudging something closer to it. Mustering your courage you move closer, while the other three hold back. You find at the raptors feet are batteries.

So many questions run through your mind, but the raptor gives you this almost pleading look. You look back at the guys who look tense, but keep their lights on.

“What do we do now?”

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @tai-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666

#john soap mactavish #cod au #task force 141 x reader #captain john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #cod gangster au #cod x transformers #dinobots #transformers #transformers au #sounds weird I’m in #requests are open

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wobblesthecowgirl · 2 days

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I'm No O’Driscoll!

Chapter Three: Arthur's Doubts

Tags: Arthur Morgan x Femreader, enemies to lovers, O'Driscoll reader, game plot, Arthur doesn't have tuberculosis, eventual smut, age difference, 18+, mild gore

Word Count: 975

A/N: Sorry for a short chapter! Next chapter is going to be a long one...Lenny, Arthur, and Reader get drunk in Valantine! Comment how you want that to go! I've also changed the layout to see which is preferred.

Chapter One

Arthur was starting to have doubts about letting both O’Driscoll’s join the gang. On the ride back to camp, he couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of them gunning down those there. Especially her. Where did she learn to shoot like that? She’s too quick.

Luckily, when he arrived, the place was calm and peaceful…or as peaceful as it could be. He scanned for the new members: Kieran was getting some soup from a not so happy Pearson, and then he finally saw her. It was clear the first thing she did as a free woman was have a wash and brush her hair.

Arthur couldn’t deny that she was definitely pretty, but her sour attitude, O’Driscoll past, and constant scowl made him hate her so much that he could look past how beautiful she was. However, when he watched from afar, he saw how she interacted with Mary-Beth: Her eyes were soft, her mouth curled up slightly at the corners, and she was even laughing lightly at times.

For some reason, this only annoyed him further. He strode over towards the two women who were sat on a blanket, looking up at him.

“You behavin’ yourself?” He asked, and there it was. Her famous scowl.

“You’re not going to give me a minute’s peace, are you?”

Now that he was closer, he could see had to look through her long lashes, and she had a small scar along her neck like Javier. Mary-Beth coughed.

“Is there something you need, Arthur?”

He shook his head, “Oh no, I was just making sure our new friend wasn’t giving you any trouble. God knows she gives it out a lot.” The woman shook her head to disagree, putting her book down.

“Not at all! She’s actually pleasant company.”

It was Y/n’s turn to talk, “I’m right here. Which, for your information, I’m a delight when I actually like the person. But, for a strange reason, I don’t like big dumb grunts who shoot me!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Give it a rest woman. You’re gonna have to get over that one day.”

The wind picked up slightly, making Y/n’s hair flow a little, and he was looking a bit too intently by accident. Mary-Beth stood up suddenly, causing the other two to turn to her. She excused herself, explaining she had chores to attend to, and scampered off. Arthur and Y/n stayed in awkward silence for a few seconds before she finally spoke up.

“Are you going to stand there or say something?”

He narrowed his eyes, staying stood because sitting next to her seemed too friendly, but the awkward pose of her sat looking up at him while he stood above her was just as bad.

“I’m just here to warn you that if you try anything- “

“Oh, give it a rest old man,” She spat as his eyes widened.

“Old man? You gotta be kidding, old man?”

Y/n laughed, tilting her head back slightly at his response. She stood up, dusting off her jeans. Despite being stood up now, she still had to look up. Tiny thing, she is. He asked, “And how old are you exactly?”

“Why? You interested?” She teased… flirted? He couldn’t tell, but he didn’t like either option.

He scowled at her, “Don’t be so cocky, girl. I’m askin’ ‘cos you’re acting like I’m as old as Hosea.”

“I’m in my early twenties, that’s all you’re getting.” She informed him, and for some reason, his stomach dropped. Arthur should’ve guessed she was young, she didn’t look older than thirty, but it still shocked him. Then she asked the same question. He chuckled lightly, looking away from her.

“I’m in my mid-thirties, old enough to be your Daddy.”

“Well, you don’t look a day over fifty.” She smiled sickly, enjoying tormenting the older man.

“Real mature of you.” He scoffed, before turning around without a goodbye. He couldn’t stand talking to her much longer; every single sentence she threw his way only jabbed him more and more, which would cause him to snap eventually. He found himself at Dutch’s tent, who was sat smoking a cigar and lost in thought. When he saw Arthur, his face lit up.

“Arthur! And to what do I owe the pleasure?” He took another puff.

“I just came to talk to you about that O’Driscoll girl.”

Dutch sat up straight, concern on his face, “Is she causing trouble?”

“Not exactly,” He rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s about her aim. When we were at Six Point, I was about to get shot, but she saved me. Put a bullet right between the man’s eyebrows. In seconds. That ain’t normal.”

The music was blaring from inside the tent like it usually did at this time, and Arthur could hear the rest of the members shouting and laughing. It almost drowned Dutch out.

“Where are you going with this, son?” The leader asked. Arthur paused, rubbing his chin.

“My point is, I don’t think she’ll cause trouble, but keep an eye on the guns around here.”

Dutch leaned back into his chair, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

“Or, we could use her to our advantage.” He was already planning something, a new chess piece for his board. Arthur rose an eyebrow and asked, “What you plannin’?”

He nodded his head, thoughts and ideas running through his head, “We are going to get Sean back, having her behind the scenes could be very helpful. Especially in a place like Blackwater.”

“Dutch…” Arthur groaned, “I can’t trust her. She may’ve saved my life, but she probably did it to save her own hide.”

“Well then, sounds like you two need to do a little bonding.” Dutch smirked, taking the final huff of his cigar, as he continued to scheme; much to Arthur’s dismay.

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan

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brightlypainted · 1 day

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I went completely bananas and wrote a full analysis of Joker Out and JO fandom stuff and situation... idk

Hi baby boos!

I’ve seen some confusion regarding JO’s latest announcements and social media activity (or lack thereof) so I've tried to analyze the current situation with a critical eye 🤓

I don't use Tumblr much so you're probably more familiar with my Twitter but I got suggested to post this here for easier reading (and... better audience in general 👀)

Long rant under the cut:

Before I begin I must point out that these are my opinions and theories. I have no idea how JO’s communication and management is being organized right now, I’m just making assumptions based on my perception as a fan 🤷‍♀️

(also I’m a communication graduate but my studies and current job cover this sector only tangentially so I may not know how some/most of this works…)

Let’s start with comparing last year’s situation to the current one: one year ago the boys were riding high on the wave of enthusiasm, having had a successful ESC (despite the ending placement) and having gained a lot of attention as fan favorite competitors ✨

A very high % of the growing fanbase, esp the international one, was coming directly or tangentially through ESC and how do you maintain that attention once the contest is over? you increase your social media presence and you start planning international concerts. which they did!

This constant exposure to content made the fandom flourish: we were all witnessing how easily people from everywhere could join and already feel at the very center of attention, both because JO’s communication was being very active and successful and also thanks to fanmade organizations like JokerOutSubs, group chats, old time Slovenian fans sharing juicy pre-ESC content, etc. I'll be grateful forever

We had a past year that could be divided into 2 halves in terms of communication: it all went extremely well until more or less the end of 2023 (last tour dates in Spain) and then started gradually becoming very odd and chaotic all through 2024 until last month’s complete draught

We know that they mostly tend to manage their online presence on their own, so ofc during breaks and during very busy times is harder for them to find good content to share. They had also been very clear about needing time off their phones all through the London era and the album recording in Hamburg, so that didn’t come as a surprise for fans 🤷‍♀️

But having very sensible, personal reasons to quit/decrease social media presence has unfortunately no meaning in communication, where the laws are very simple: once you stop sharing, you stop existing

I don’t want to criticize their choices, because they are entitled to their privacy and offline time. I’m just pointing out that this very long, hiccup-y period probably could have been avoided with better management and with the presence of a smm/pre-planned sm communication 🙃

It also unfortunately happened concurrently to the new ESC season, which was bound to “organically” erode part of the fandom anyway, and to an EU tour that, although successful, has still highlighted a lazy/bad management and yet again a communication that made little to no sense at times (es. the whole campaign that subtly asked people to go to more than one concert, which clearly made fans with less financial and logistical possibilities feel ‘lacking’ and ‘inferior’) 🙄

In their defense, the tour was to establish a fanbase more than gaining more fans and exposure, so pushing for getting more of a loyal than an occasional fanbase wasn’t completely wrong an idea… it just backfired

And it did because the greatest part of their international fanbase is made of very young people who aren’t financially independent and whose interests are bound to be fleeting and shifting ESPECIALLY when they aren’t constantly met with content production/consumption

Let’s also not forget that having completely shifted their attention to international waters at the expense of the Slovenian/regional fanbase has been very risky. We still can’t tell if the gamble was successful or not

It’s never a good idea to ignore/neglect your hardcore supporters, the very people that helped you raise to your current standards. it’s true they are the most loyal, but they are also very easily the ones that could feel more betrayed

I also think it’s very risky trying to shift the fans’ content consumption out of social media and into a (controlled, easier to manage, ofc) site like Openstage for two main reasons: as said before, complete disappearance from socials means communicational suicide and until now, the “dedicated content” directed toward fans on the site has been… too bland and generic (sorry)(they can learn how to improve that)

Openstage has other very interesting uses tho, firstly the early access to ticket sales and secondly the tracking of international fan presence, which was pretty clearly the main goal and reason why they opened the site in the first place... so it’s not ex ante a bad communication choice, just (until now) one that has yet to show its potential and usefulness

So what now? I think it’s time they make a few considerations and sensible choices to maintain what’s currently the status quo and in order to tackle festival season in the best way

They need to keep their international presence by opening their fanbase to a new kind of fans: festivals bring exposure to bands from a very specific type of fanbase, more interested in music than in contents. If they manage to capture the interest of Sziget people, for example, they could gather a new type of international fanbase less interested in the “social media” content consumption and more in the “I wanna see these guys play again, somewhere else, maybe a show of their own” way

(which, to be completely fair, could be the best choice to cure their current crazy/shifting/confusing fanbase state, giving them more peace of mind, more privacy and a more “normal” rock band experience than the one they had in the past year… that we can all agree has been pretty bad at times)

I personally think this summer season must go in the quantity direction (gaining more new fans) and at the same time in the quality direction (less shows, bigger stages) and this is why some of you are disappointed in seeing so little shows compared to last year or to the SYS tour... I get it

Many of us, me included, won’t be seeing JO live for the whole summer season, and I’m aware that is disappointing, but I hope this analysis has helped you put things into perspective and consider maybe one of the possible reasons why this next phase for Joker Out is being organized this way

I’m still hoping they’ll find a good compromise with their social media communication, because right now I really feel that being the main issue with the gradual but constant drop in traction (please boys hire a smm. i adore jan’s sad edits and the unhinged video and stories like the next person but serious work has to be done too)

Ending the rant on a note of hope: I wish to see you all enjoy the summer and the content to come and I hope for the boys to have a successful, fun season full of new experiences, new music, new people, fresh ideas for the future. I’m honestly very excited for what’s to come! 🌻

#joker out #bojan cvjetićanin #kris guštin #jan peteh #jure maček #nace jordan #long post #analysis

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oftenwantedafton · 2 days

Text

the long way home | steve raglan x female reader

inspired by @arkarti ’s ongoing fanart series

rating | explicit

words | 4.7k

cw | sexual content

ao3 link

It’s the worst sort of luck, breaking down in the middle of nowhere.

The only saving grace is that it happens in the early morning, just after sunrise. You walk that dusty interstate road for what feels like hours. You have cowboy boots on that are meant to be flashy, not really proper footwear. Your heels are killing you and the sand that decorates the barren landscape feels like it has seeped into every pore and crevice. You can taste it, feel its grit in your hair and on your skin. The sun beats down and you’re grateful that you at least have sunglasses to shield your eyes. You’ve got your hair pinned up but it doesn’t really help with the heat much. You’re drenched in sweat that makes your tshirt cling to an even wetter bra and your skirt drags against damp thighs with every step. Sheer misery and yet you plod on, because you can’t—won’t—go back where you came from. There is just the promise of something more, moving forward.

You think you hear an engine and turn your head. The road has that shimmery haze to it, making it difficult to discern if there is anything moving over that lift of pavement you’d navigated awhile back. It’s getting larger, closer, so you decide it’s not a mirage after all. The vehicle is the same color as the ground you’ve grown to detest trodding over, a bland beige shade with a slightly darker interior. You grind to a halt and the sedan slows and pulls onto the shoulder, the tires dipping off the asphalt and onto the dirt.

You’ve been taught never to pick up hitchhikers, but not what to do when faced with the prospect of being one. Your steps are cautious as you approach the parked car. You haven’t gotten a good look at the driver yet, not that that was any clear indication of their intentions. Looks could be deceiving. Anyone could be dangerous.

The man—you can see it’s a male now, behind the wheel—leans over and cranks the handle of the window around, the glass descending and disappearing from view. He’s got a long sleeve shirt on which seems a poor choice given the climate, but you can feel the cool waft of air that emanates from within. The car has air conditioning. You find yourself taking an involuntary step closer towards that promised land. To be away from the sun. To feel a cool breeze. You’re not sure you can resist that kind of temptation.

“Need a ride?” It seems a foolish question. Of course you did. You’re hardly out for a leisurely stroll. “That was your car back there, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, she quit on me.”

“That’s a shame.”

The man’s voice is pleasant. You like the sound of it. There’s a rasp to it, combined with something else that’s difficult to describe. You notice he’s wearing a tie to go with the shirt. A traveling salesman, maybe? He’s got that demeanor. Smooth talker. Neatly trimmed facial hair, the same blend of salt and pepper as the rest. Glasses. Friendly smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle, becoming more pronounced. Dimples, too. You know you’re staring and you know it’s rude. You shuffle your feet, kicking up a little cloud of dust.

“I’m happy to give you a lift somewhere. I promise I’m not a serial killer.” He chuckles softly and you join him, relaxing slightly. The driver seems innocent enough. Maybe you’re just being paranoid.

Still you hesitate. You glance back the way you came. You look ahead. It all looks the same. So far to travel on foot. It was almost midday. The temperature was rising. It isn’t just about discomfort; it’s dangerous to your health, being out here like this.

“I’ve got water. Ice has melted by now, but…”

It’s the final shove you need. You lift the chrome handle and settle inside, cranking the window back up. The shift in the temperature is incredible. The shade. You murmur your gratitude. A thermos is pressed into your hands.

“Make sure you put your seatbelt on. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” You finish gulping down the drink he’s gifted to you. Best damn thing you’ve ever tasted. You hastily jerk on the nylon strap, securing it over your shoulder and across your waist, the buckle settling into place with a satisfying click. You offer to return the drink, secretly glad when he insists you finish it.

You drain that container so fast your stomach aches. The ice hadn’t melted that much, actually. You keep the leftovers in your mouth, allowing them to dissolve. You squirm a bit, your feet still uncomfortable.

“Take those off, if you want.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry if my feet stink. I wasn’t planning on walking so much in them.” You bend and tug each one off, sighing in relief. Your bare feet curl against the shallowly carpeted floor mat. Sheer bliss, except those tender spots you’re pretty sure might be forming blisters. You’re not going to prod them just yet to verify.

“Thanks again for giving me a lift.” You introduce yourself.

“No problem. I was heading in this direction anyway. No reason not to. Put the radio on if you want. Or take a nap.”

You’re not sure sleeping is the best idea right now, as weary as you are. The man is still a stranger. So you opt for the first choice, fiddling with the dials until you find a station with a decent signal. Not really your type of music, but at least it’s background noise. You let your head tip back into the cradle of the head rest. Your eyes shut. You’re only going to rest them for a moment.

You fall asleep.

***

You jerk awake, suddenly aware the vehicle has stopped.

There’s a definite trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. You swipe at it hastily, straightening in your seat, your eyes darting around frantically. You’re suddenly thinking of the drink you’d been offered. Drugged? How stupid and careless can you be?

No. You’re mistaken, surely. Just tired. You can see you’re at a gas station. He’d stopped at a gas station. Nothing wrong with that.

You struggle to shove your feet—yes, those are blisters, a matching set for each foot—back into your boots, depressing the button to release the seat belt’s buckle, the restraint making a little whining sound as it retracts back into its plastic casing mounted on the side of the car. You push the passenger door open and it creaks in protest. You’re not about to pass up a chance to use the restroom, as vile as it probably is, and grab yourself a drink and a snack.

The man giving you a lift emerges from the store, and you realize then just how tall he is, mostly legs that go on forever. He’s got a rolling sort of walk that draws your attention to his hips. Your cheeks flush and you force yourself to look at somewhere safer, fixing back on his face. There’s a piece of cherry licorice between his teeth, shiny red twined ropes tucked through a barrier of even white, the pocket of his shirt bulging with what looks like a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of soda in hand. “Hey. I was going to wake you, just wanted to give you a chance to rest a bit more. You were really worn out.”

“Yeah, I guess I was.”

“Want something from inside? My treat.”

“No, I…I got it. You don’t mind waiting?”

“Not at all.”

“Th…thanks. I won’t be long.” You duck inside the shop to get a key for the restroom. It’s attached to a comically large piece of scrap wood. You unlock the restroom door and push it open with trepidation. Okay, not terrible. Seems relatively clean. Certainly not the grossest you’ve seen. No paper towels in the dispenser, but at least there was toilet paper. Even soap in the pump on the wall. Definitely could have been worse.

You return the key and peruse the aisles quickly, aware the man is still waiting for you. You decide water is still the best for hydration, opting for a package of mini powdered donuts for a snack. Not the healthiest option, but hey, you think you’ve earned it considering the day you’ve had.

Back inside the sedan, you slide the seatbelt back into place. You shove your feet free of the boots again and crack the plastic wrapper off the water bottle. It’s one of those ones with the nozzles you pull up and down to open and close it. You take a long pull and get started on the donuts. Your companion has made short work of the candy, chewing and staring at nothing in particular. He reaches for the pack—cigarettes, just as you’d suspected—in his shirt pocket and pulls the bit of red plastic tab that marks where to unravel the wrapper. He glances over at you as if to ask if you mind and you shrug. It’s not really your place to tell the owner of the vehicle you’re in if he can or can’t indulge.

He leans and pushes in the cigarette lighter on the dashboard, slotting one of the paper rolls between his lips while he’s waiting. For a time you sit in companionable silence, you nibbling on your donuts, your fingers and lips already dusted in powdered sugar, while the older man lights the end of his cigarette and takes a deep inhale, sighing the smoke out of the open window. You’re surprised he’s a smoker, honestly; his teeth look too pearly white for that. Maybe it was something he only did rarely, when the mood struck him. Traveling with a young female hitchhiker, perhaps.

You demolish the contents of the package in your lap embarrassingly quickly. You’d been starving. You lick the white coating off your fingers and lips and feel the man’s eyes on you as you crumple the plastic packaging in a tight ball. He points to the center console, where the lone vacant cup holder holds spare change and a faded looking receipt, the other occupied by his soda. You deposit your trash there and take another sip from your bottle, staring out the window. The engine rumbles to life. You hear the window crank being rotated and you copy the man, closing your own. The cool air soon returns, drafting welcomingly over your skin. The car is moving again. You’re on your way once more.

***

When the sun starts to go down, things feel different.

Maybe it’s because the radio signal has finally gone out of range. You tire of working your way through bursts of static and finally shut it off.

You wonder if the driver is getting tired at all.

He doesn’t seem it, his eyes focused on the road his headlights reveal, his posture still straight and upright. You don’t know how he maintains it. You can’t stop squirming, trying to get comfortable. Your ass hurts and your legs are cramped and you just want a shower and any even remotely flat surface that can serve as a bed.

“You never mentioned where you wanted to go.”

His voice startles you. It’s been so long since either of you has spoken. You’d forgotten how his sounded. That pleasant gravel drag.

“Hurricane. But I know that’s still a ways ahead. I don’t expect you to take me all the way there.”

“What’s in Hurricane?”

“Not what. Who. My sister.”

He grunts. “I’m going to Hurricane as well.”

“Really? Why?”

“That’s where I live. Where my business is.”

“What business is that?”

“Restaurant.”

“Really? Which one?”

“What do you think about stopping here for the night?” He gestures and you look through the windshield, seeing the lights of a motel glowing like a beacon against the growing darkness.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so.”

The turn signal taps in a rhythm that sounds a little too rapid, matching your elevated heart rate. You’re feeling nervous again. Mistrustful, although if the man had wanted to take advantage of you, he certainly could have done so before now.

He pulls into one of the empty spots in front of the office that shares a similar bit of crimson neon to match the motel’s vacancy sign. You speak before he exits the car, feeling pressured to say something before this continues any further.

“I’m grateful for the ride, and I know you’ve been nothing but kind this far, and I appreciate it. I might…I might just see if my sister can come pick me up tomorrow. I hope you’re not offended.”

He pauses, his fingers still curled around the door handle. “If that’s what you want.” You nod. “Alright, then. I guess this is where we part ways. Good luck to you, miss.”

“Thanks. You, too.” You’re suddenly feeling guilty. He really was just a nice guy trying to help a stranded woman out. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. “Maybe I’ll visit your restaurant, leave a generous tip for—” The door shuts and you cease talking. Well. That was one way to end a conversation.

You pull the boots back on and exit the car for what you think will be the final time. Your traveling companion is already inside, speaking to the man behind the counter. You can see the rows of keys with red tags hooked on the wall behind him. The man turns and pulls two down while the driver scribbles into a book on the counter. There’s a faint jingling of bells to announce your arrival, and the man passes you without a word.

“I need a room please. Single.” Your eyes glance down at the log book. You can’t read the signature of your benefactor. He still hasn’t told you his name.

“You’re all set, miss. Paid up by your friend there.” He waggles his eyebrows and nods towards the door.

“Oh, he’s not…”

“No?” The smile on the man’s features is far too suggestive. You grab the key off the counter, turning to leave.

“Sign the book, please. Then you can go to your room. Or your friend’s. Both paid for, so it’s all the same to me.” Another smug smile. You hurriedly scrawl your signature and exit the office, feeling your cheeks burn.

Your heels are loud on the decking that lines the front of the motel rooms. You glance down at the number printed on the tag, a chipped white six greeting your vision.

Your steps slow when you reach the correct door. The sedan is parked in front of the door beside yours. Of course the motel manager has given you rooms next to each other. Of course he has.

The man is apparently already inside the room, the car empty. You insert the key in the lock and shut the door, sliding the chain across. You close the blinds and turn to survey your surroundings. About what you’d expected. Dated furniture that felt straight out of the seventies. A carpet that badly needed to be replaced. You hoped there weren’t bed bugs. Gross.

You stride over to the bathroom. Chipped sink. Chipped toilet. Chipped tub too, but you don’t really care. You crank the faucet and let the water pour out, hastily reaching to plug the drain. You’re finally back out of that accursed footwear. Your clothes pile on the floor. Maybe not the best idea, but you’re too desperate to get into the tub just then.

It’s heaven. Sheer bliss, submerging yourself in that basin. You spend a long time soaking, letting your body temperature decrease. Scrubbing away the dirt that has clung so stubbornly to your skin. Rinsing your hair twice. You linger until your fingers prune and then you unplug the drain and turn on the shower, rinsing off a final time. You don’t have anything clean to sleep in, but you’ll survive. You’d wash your clothes in the sink, but it will take time to dry them. So back on the shirt and panties go. You leave your bra and skirt draped over the shower curtain rod. Fuck those boots.

You put the television on low volume and flip back the flower patterned coverlet. Well, it seemed insect free, anyway. You sink onto the mattress and pile the pillows together behind your head. You don’t hear any noise from next door. The room on the other side looked unoccupied, and the driver’s…well, maybe he’d just gone to bed.

He’d paid for your room. You had to thank him, at least. Damn it.

You slide back out of bed, returning to the bathroom to slip on your bra and skirt, cringing when you view those hated boots again. Fuck it. You’ll risk going barefoot. Knowing your luck you’ll step on a rusty nail and get tentanus, but fuck it.

You open your door, startled when you see the man standing outside. He’s leaning against one of the deck posts, smoking again. The end of the cigarette glows in the darkness.

“Thank you for paying for my room. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I’m aware.” He barely spares you a glance, blowing a stream of smoke and flicking the ashes from the end of the cylinder pinched between his fingers.

“You should let me pay you back. There’s a liquor store just down the road.”

“I noticed that.”

“I’ll treat you. Pick your poison.”

His eyes focus on you again, his gaze lingering on your bare feet. “I don’t think they’ll let you inside like that.”

“I’ll put the boots back on,” you grumble.

The man hums thoughtfully. “Tell you what. I’ll go get something and bring it back here to share.”

“But then that’s you doing me a favor again.”

“Yes.”

“So then I’ll owe you even more.”

“I’m not keeping track. That’s you doing that.”

You chew your bottom lip. “Why did you pay for my room?”

He shrugs, taking another drag. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

You don’t have a response for that. Everything the man did just made you feel more and more ashamed for doubting his intentions.

“What do you want to drink?”

“I…beer is fine.”

“Then beer it is.” The remains of the cigarette land on the pavement and the man steps off the deck, grinding it beneath his heel. “I’ll be right back.”

You nod, settling into the one of the cheap plastic chairs beside a small circular table that served as a patio set. You can hear the faint hum of insects, or maybe it’s the neon signs. It’s still hot. The pleasant effects of your bath are already fading.

True to his word, the man returns with a case, setting it on the table and sitting across from you. He’s loosened his tie so that it drapes in a lazy knot around his neck. It doesn’t look like he’s sampled the motel’s plumbing just yet. He rips a hole through the carboard box and hands you one of the bottles before taking his own. Chilled, and already sweating. You wrap the hem of your shirt over the cap and twist it off. You take a sip and hear the satisfied sigh of your companion as he does the same.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” you say, fiddling with the metal cap with the crimped edges, spinning it on the table’s surface. There isn’t much room with the beer case there.

“It’s Steve.”

“Steve,” you repeat. “Steve what?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“In case I decide to look you up. You know, to pay you back.”

He waves a hand in the air dismissively. “You didn’t see what I wrote in the logbook?”

“Your handwriting is atrocious.”

Steve clutches his chest, sucking in his breath dramatically. “I’m deeply offended.”

“You’re not. Why won’t you tell me? Is it a big secret?”

“Maybe. Maybe I’m a celebrity, just trying to live like the common folk.” He takes a pull from the bottle.

“Yeah, sure. Just like the rest of us losers.” You pause. “You’re handsome enough to be an actor. Got the voice for it. I can kind of see it, actually.” The compliment slips from your lips before you can think better of it.

“Flattery, now? I don’t think my heart can take this much stress.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Probably.” He finishes the bottle and reaches for another.

“So out with it, Mister Movie Star. What is it?”

“Raglan.”

“See? Was that so difficult? Nice to meet you, Steven Raglan.”

“Not Steven. Just Steve.”

“Okay. Just Steve.” You finish your bottle and colllect another. “How come you’re so chatty all of a sudden? You didn’t say five words to me all day. Are you that much of a lightweight?” You gesture with the beer bottle.

“Hardly. I was concentrating on the road.”

“You could’ve talked more.”

“I apologize for not making your ride more entertaining.” He stands, resuming his position leaning against the post again. You rise as well, noting you are the actual lightweight, already feeling a bit lightheaded. Blame the empty stomach. You pad over to stand beside him. “I thought you wanted privacy. It’s not my place to ask for details about your life.”

You consider that. “You think I’m being nosy.”

“No. Not really.” He swallows another mouthful of beer. “You don’t trust me.”

“I…I’m being cautious. A woman stranded in the middle of nowhere should be, don’t you agree?”

“Of course.”

“If it was your wife, or daughter…”

He smirks. “Clever way to source the information you want. I’m no longer married. Children are grown. It’s just me. The handsome movie star, all alone.”

“Okay, okay.” You nudge his arm playfully.

“What about you?”

“Single as a Pringle,” you quip.

“That’s a new development, isn’t it? What you’re leaving behind.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“I’m good at reading people.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

You pull the now empty bottle from his hands and place it along with yours down on the table, selecting two more. You hand one to him and take a long sip from yours. They’re going down so smooth. You don’t even really like beer all that much. It’s making you feel warm and you hate that, but you like the buzz and you like the company, too.

“Okay, since you’re so insightful, tell me what I’m thinking right now?” You fold your arms across your chest, smirking after issuing the challenge. You’d meant it to be playful, but the look he gives you as he turns to face you holds no humor. Those blue eyes capture yours and trap them.

“You’re hoping your sister is more welcoming than you remember, because when you left, you weren’t on the best of terms. You’re hoping you can find a job soon and get back on your own two feet again. Relying on your ex so much was a mistake. You hate asking for help, even if you need it desperately. You—”

“—Stop.” You cut him off. “Don’t…don’t say that. You don’t know that. You don’t know me.”

“Alright.” Another shrug. He swallows more beer.

“How do you know so much?” Your voice is soft.

“I told you. I have a way with people.”

“You should be a fortune teller. Or one of those televangelists. Spouting prophecies that are actually real.”

“I despise religion. And I don’t predict the future. I just…understand people. Their motives. Even the ones they’re too ashamed to admit to.”

You’re not sure how to respond. The conversation is shifting, no longer light and comfortable and teasing.

“That’s why I don’t talk much. People don’t like hearing the truth,” he concludes, polishing off the rest of the alcoholic beverage he’s clutching. “I’m going to say goodnight now. It’s been a long day. Again, good luck.”

“Wait.” Your hand clutches his sleeve. “Let me…let me try it. What you just did.”

“You think you know all my secrets? Okay, I’ll indulge you. Go ahead.”

You lick your lips. “You’re coming back from somewhere you didn’t want to go, but you’re not exactly eager to get home, either. You’re tired of your business. You’re probably good at it, but it’s boring. Monotonous. You’ve always played by the rules. You long to break them, just once. See how the other half lives.”

His mouth curves slightly. “A nice attempt. But way off. Goodnight.”

He’s back at his door, hand reaching for the brass knob.

“You’re name isn’t really Steve Raglan.”

His fingers freeze. You see his shoulder blades stiffen beneath the dress shirt. He turns back to face you. Smiling again, but this one is darker, less friendly. “Good. That’s good. Clever girl.”

“What else have you lied about?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

You take a step closer to him. “Tell me now.”

“Why don’t you just ask for what you really want instead of playing this tedious game?”

Your mouth gapes, then snaps shut. “I don’t know what you’re…”

“This,” he breathes, dragging you to him, his lips touching yours.

Any protest you might have murmured dies. You melt against him, sink hands into hair that feels as dusty as yours had earlier, clutch handfuls of the rumpled fabric of his shirt that had undoubtedly started out the day crisply pressed and neatly tucked. He tastes like the beer he’s just consumed and the cigarette from earlier and you savor it all, letting him lick your mouth open for discovery. You’re shoved against the door and it strikes you again how tall he is, how much he towers over you. Those large hands already display more finesse than anything you’ve previously known, stroking over every curve, mapping each sensation. You hear the doorknob rattle as he fumbles it open, keeping you secured, not letting you tumble back into the sudden void at your back. His room is dark and he shoves you down onto the bed that’s still made. You wonder what he’d done while you’d been lingering in your own bathtub for all that time.

He’s at your neck and you’re at his pants and somehow you manage the belt and the fly while your skirt is lifted, panties tugged down. You’re not thinking about anything other than the need screaming between your legs, hot and damp and urgent, whimpering when you feel his cock pressing against your entrance. You’re not even sure if he’s shut the motel door in his haste to be at you.

He slides out of you almost as soon as he’s begun—you’re so wet and slippery—and he grabs your hips and shoves you back, leaning his body weight against you, and this time he fills you to the hilt. You wrap your legs around him and roll your hips to match his momentum, your mouth brushing facial hair before reconnecting with his lips. You’re fucking a stranger that lied about his name and you don’t care; it makes it better somehow, not really knowing. You don’t want to get caught up in details, in feelings again this soon. This man can be anything and everything and if it only lasts for tonight that’s fine, too.

His mouth tucks beside your ear and he whispers to you in that wonderful rusted voice of his, the hand slithering between your bodies stroking you just right, lighting those nerves up. He’s urging you to let go and you do, your body taut and then ragdoll limp as he pumps you full of his own release. You’re sticky, sweaty, pressed against him but you remain there, tucked now beside him, panting and spent and feeling better than you have in a long time.

You’ve nearly drifted off to sleep when you hear his voice again, or perhaps this is merely a dream, asking if you need a ride for the remainder of your journey.

You offer an affirmative answer, then inquire the last of your drowsy thoughts, asking if he might take the long way home.

You don’t hear an answer, already asleep. But that’s alright.

You can ask again in the morning.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #divider @cafekitsune

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celaenaeiln · 2 days

Note

been listening to a good amount of hozier lately and i’m just fixated on these lines from “Almost (Sweet Music)”

I'm almost me again. She's almost you

AND

I got some colour back, she thinks so, too

I laugh like me again, she laughs like you

and i can’t help but associate it with robin!dick and batman. what do you think. i can’t stop thinking.

oh my god.

THIS IS SO GOOD!!!!!

Also this part! -

"I came in from the outside Burned out from a joy ride She likes to roll here in my Ashes anyway"

This is literally Batman!! Coming back from breaking down after 3 years of fighting crime only to come face to face with Dick Grayson who grins brightly at him, tells him everything is okay, and cheers him up as if he wasn't covered in the blood of his enemies and hatred of himself. Bruce could be in the worst state ever and Dick would still love him for who he is because Dick's love for him is unconditional.

"I wouldn't know where to start Sweet music playing in the dark Be still, my foolish heart Don't ruin this on me"

Bruce fighting with himself that this isn't just a passing thing but he can't resist the happiness but he's also scared and loves Dick. It's about him opening up his windows and slowly breaking down his defenses in the face of Dick's continued persistence and pure positivity and warmth.

"Let's get lost and let the good times roll Let smoke rings from this paper doll Blow sweet and thick 'til every thought of it Don't mean a thing"

THIS IS CLASSIC GOLDEN AGE BRUCE AND DICK. During Golden Age, Bruce and Robin Dick literally were just living life for the thrill of it. They fought dinosaurs, met Leonardo Divinci, gasped at famous actresses, played pirates with Blackbeard - it was The Golden Age. The first line of the stanza is a callback to that. Of Bruce simply enjoying himself. Out with the bad, in with the good was their motto. Even the second line - "Let smoke rings from this paper doll" - could be Bruce reminscing about that time because bruce used to smoke cigars. Which he contemplates those times about through "Blow sweet and thick 'til every thought of it". It's all enjoyment - none of the bad that happened means anything. All forgotten.

"The very thought of you, and am I blue? A love supreme, seems far removed I get along without you very well Some other nights

Lord, the radio newsreader chimes Reporting Russian lullabies She'll turn to me, awake and ask "Is everything alright?" And, Lord"

"She'll turn to me, awake and ask 'Is everything alright?'" THIS IS CANON. IM SOBBING WHY DOES THIS FIT SO WELL. NOT TO MENTION THAT DICK ALSO DOES SPEAK RUSSIAN SO THEM LISTENING TO RUSSIAN LULLABIES IN THE 1950S ON RADIOS WHILE THEY READ THE NEWSPAPER?!! THIS IS!!

Batman (1940) Issue #1

IS THIS NOT WHAT THIS SONG IS ABOUT?!

#dick grayson #nightwing #robin dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #cl anon asks #cl asks #thanks for the ask!

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spurious · 2 days

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what was the moment where you said yes to McShep?

OKAY SO.

Obviously you, audioletter my beloved wife know all this but. I’m not sure I’ve talked about how I got into SGA/mcshep on my tumblr so.

After finishing the x-files in 2022, my wife’s Zaddy Husband Mitch Pileggi beckoned us to watch Stargate Atlantis (because we couldn’t stomach Walker Texas Ranger). We’ve both been in fandom for a Long Time and thus remembered the years that McShep reigned supreme, and starting the show we said to each other “haha wouldn’t it be funny if we became ride-or-die mcshep shippers?”

……..yeah.

From the very start of the show, basically every single time John and Rodney were on screen together we’d go “haha mcshep lol”

So now I’m like. trying to excavate my memories to figure out when it Became Real for me.

I do tend to love buddy slash pairings and ships where one person is shrill while the other is chill so it’s not, like, surprising to me in hindsight that I did end up shipping mcshep? And then the SGA fandom being so friendly and active just…allowed my fixation the space to flourish.

But anyway, let’s see what the first McShep thing I saved to my camera roll was!

*drumroll*

It’s this art by the amazing @luluxa:

So at this point I think I was still at the “no no, I’m saving this fanart to my phone ironically” stage.

Now, this was October 30th. By November 3rd, I have photos of a trip to mandarake where I was really hoping to find SGA doujinshi cause I SWEAR I’d seen it before (I’ve not managed to find it yet. Japanese fans why. You guys love generic white guys mcshep should be massive here)

The first fic I have bookmarked is from November 2nd with the note “oh no I have feelings about McShep now” and it is Counting Down by @alienfuckeronmain, which is a post-trinity fic.

HOWEVER. I also have a Grace Under Pressure coda bookmarked from a day or so later, and this tracks with my impressions: this is the episode that most intensely sticks out in my mind as being emotionally memorable and something I needed to be reading fic about. Soooooo I guess it was Rodney that got me, and the need to process my emotions about episodes by reading other people’s processing, and, uh, now here I am almost two years later!

SO. To get to the actual question, several paragraphs and approximately a day later, I don’t know that there really was a single moment that put me there, as opposed to a series of moments enacted onto an already-primed pump? Because truly I should know by now that the danger of doing something ironically is that you end up doing it ronically, but. I remember devouring the fic I could find that was non-spoilery as we were watching (lots of episode tags) and it definitely shaped my perspective on John and Rodney’s interactions.

But essentially, this is a ship archetype I tend to like, and Rodney McKay is absolutely the type of horrible little gremlin man I tend to like, and the fic was good, and. Here we are lmao

#mcshep #wife content™️

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onceuponapuffin · 19 hours

Text

Fanatic Intervention Part 12!!!

This post features the way I think renting cars works. I'm very sure it doesn't actually work this way, and I could have researched it, but the image is in my head and I thought it was funny having cars on shelves with little description tags like some kind of Automobile Costco Warehouse.

Also, I'm gonna link my playlist because I feel like you all might be interested to see the list of songs I'm working from lol.

Fun fact, the playlist used to be called List of Holding and was meant to be a small collection of songs that I wanted to hear REALLY often. But, um...well, I've since had to change the name :P

This is All Good Omens Now Who Am I Kidding

And yes, I'm very VERY picky about my Queen songs.

OKAY here we go.

Beginning || Previous || Next

********************

In the end, it was surprisingly easy to find a rental company willing to loan you all a car (considering that three out of the four of you have no identification, documents, credit score, valid driver’s licenses, etc.). Deciding on a car, on the other hand, was a bit more complicated.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just miracle the Bentley over,” Crowley whines as the four of you wander the aisles of cars.

“Well for starters, the steering wheel is on the wrong side,” Anathema reasons.

“The wheel’s not on the wrong side! All of these have steering wheels on the wrong side! They drive on the wrong side of the road here too! Americans!” He shoves his hands in his pockets, practically spitting the last word like it’s some kind of curse. Anathema raises an eyebrow at him, but otherwise says nothing.

“Ooh!” Aziraphale calls from further ahead, “Look at this one! The description says that it’s very good for the environment. I mean, aesthetically speaking it isn’t anything extraordinary, but I do like all of these things written on the tag.”

“What kind of car is it?” Anathema asks.

“I believe it says it’s a...Tesla?”

You snort a laugh. “I am NOT getting into one of those things,” You say between giggles.

“Why not?” Aziraphale’s confusion is genuine – you can see it in his face.

“Well,” You begin counting on your fingers, “It farts, it can see ghosts, and it may or may not explode while we’re in it, SO!” You see Crowley’s face light up.

“Sounds like my kind of car!” He says, making his way towards the car that Aziraphale is inspecting.

“No,” Anathema sounds like she’s talking to a child. Or maybe a dog. “No, we are not riding in a Tesla. I’m with you on this one,” she says in your direction.

“I have a suggestion,” You pipe up, raising your hand.

“Oh-ho!” Crowley calls. He leaned slightly to the left, and took off between the aisles. All three of you have to jog to keep up with him. He’s stopped in front of an enormous Hummer. “Now THIS is a CAR!”

Anathema is shaking her head.

“No, wait, listen, I have it,” You say, and everyone turns to look at you expectantly. “It’s the only logical option here. It fits the vintage vibe that you two like, and it’s the most reliable car I know of aside from Bentley.”

“Well go on,” encourages Anathema, “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“What we need is a 1967 Chevy Impala!”

And THAT, dear Reader, is how you find out that none of them have seen Supernatural. Or heard of it, even. Criminal, really. You resolve to make them watch it next chance you get. In the end, Anathema suggests a very practical SUV and well, you’ve all learned not to argue with her by now.

Honestly the woman needs a cake for putting up with the three of you.

Also, as it turns out, one of the perks of having a current car model is that you can sync up your playlist to the bluetooth. So guess who ends up in charge of the music.

“And THIS one,” You say, flicking through your playlist, “Is a song that was suggested for the Season 3 playlist by Neil Gaiman himself!” And you press play on The Book of Love. And you watch their faces. You want to see their reaction when it gets to the part about wedding rings.

“Are all of your songs for us love songs?” Aziraphale asks. He stopped complaining about your taste in music an hour ago. Crowley is driving, and Anathema has been zoned out for a while now.

“Uuuummm, the ones that aren’t breakup songs you mean? Pretty much yeah.”

Crowley groans.

“Except for like, Queen and Hozier.”

Crowley groans again.

“I thought you liked Queen,” You are shocked and alarmed. Crowley rolls his whole head (probably because you wouldn’t see him roll his eyes behind his sunglasses).

“Go on then,” he says, “Which Queen songs do you have on that playlist of yours?” He glares at you through the rearview mirror. Suddenly, you hesitate.

“Um...Somebody to Love, and Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy,” You finish meekly. Crowley nearly crashes the car. Whether it was on purpose or not doesn’t matter. Anathema takes the wheel and he gets demoted to the back seat. Next to you. As a peace offering, you hand him your phone with your spotify open, and let him take charge of the music. You feel that you might not survive the ride otherwise.

Google Maps pegs the estimated driving time from NYC to New Orleans at 19 hours. Splitting the driving between a demon and a responsible human woman, the four of you manage a respectable 12 hours including a number of breaks to: use the washroom, get coffee, get food, look at the view, poke around a used bookshop, pick some apples, eat the apples, and buy some fudge. Crowley refuses to admit that he may or may not have stopped time once or twice, and Aziraphale refuses to account for your sudden bursts of energy from time to time (conveniently and suspiciously whenever there was a stop he was interested in).

So, having made excellent time, all four of you arrive in New Orleans. Crowley is back at the wheel now, and he pulls the car into the parking lot of The Ritz. Because of course it’s The Ritz again. Anathema doesn’t even comment this time. You figure she was probably expecting it. Learning fast, that one. You check in, and aren’t all that surprised to find that you’ve been booked into the fanciest suite in the place once again. According to the pamphlet at the front desk, this suite is supposed to only be two rooms, but when you arrive, you find that it actually contains 3. Why? Supernatural beings who influence their surroundings.

“You really do have some expensive taste,” You say casually to Aziraphale as you place your bag on the floor.

“It was Crowley who booked this one,” the angel replies, inspecting the knick-knacks on a shelf to his left.

“Crowley? Trying to impress you, no doubt.”

“Pft!” Comes Crowley’s response from behind you, “Right, and not at all because to get up here you need a special passkey, which keeps unexpected guests few, far between, and easy to notice.” He gives you a pointed look over his sunglasses. “We’ve been lucky so far that we’ve been left alone since Heathrow. But don’t think for a minute that he won’t be back.”

“That’s...fair.” You pause and think for a minute. “Then we should probably limit going out too. Unless we really need to.”

“That would be best, yes,” Anathema agrees, “But please, leave the hotel staff alone.”

Well, honestly she could only expect that request to go so far once Aziraphale found the room service menu.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

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ihavemanyhusbands · 19 hours

Text

Vidas Pasadas (Past Lives)

Gif by @doortotomorrow

PART TWO: REMINISCING

Also on AO3

Part One // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Latina!Reader (Spanish speaking)

Song inspo (used in chapter): Cuando Vuelva a Tu Lado - Eydie Gormé & Trio Los Panchos

WC: 2.8k words

Chapter Summary: Shifting between the past and the present, there are two sides to your relationship with Cooper… even if you’re unaware of who he is now.

Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, implied mutual pining, slowburn-ish, angst, canon typical violence, abduction (by raiders), swearing, smoking (it was common in hollywood back in the day dont get mad at me), some Spanish dialogue with translations, the ghoul being the ghoul, also reader gets bonked in the head by a raider, let me know if I’m missing anything otherwise!

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

In the past….

It was the very last scene of the film.

You and Cooper were riding horses off into the sunset, awash in romantic, golden lighting. He had saved the day, once again, and the girl to boot.

Not that the girl needed any saving, he didn’t think, but you already made that very apparent on screen. He wondered if the writers would ever make a version where you saved him.

“So, your lone ranger days are over, huh?” You asked, glancing at him.

He grunted, a smile starting to pull at his lips. “Can’t say I’ll miss ‘em.”

“That so?” You hummed in thought. “Thinkin’ of settlin’ down, are you?”

“I got my own ranch, if that’s what you’re askin’. But I ain’t retirin’ yet,” he said. “But if you’re askin’ if I’m thinking of going steady with you, well…”

You rolled your eyes playfully, inching your horse closer to his. “Oh come on now, don’t leave a girl in suspense!”

“I wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble if I didn’t want you around, now would I?”

He smiled that dazzling smile of his, and the butterflies fluttering in your stomach were genuine.

“Oh, amor mío…”

You pulled him in by his shirt and kissed him to seal the deal. It was sweet, passionate, and full of promise. Cooper’s hands cradled your face gently, and for a moment you forgot you were in the middle of a film shoot.

But when the director called Cut! and the cameras stopped rolling, you pulled away with a laugh.

“I don’t think we’re allowed to use that much tongue, Coop,” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“God, the crowds will be scandalized!” He said, not sounding concerned in the slightest. “Here comes Ernie.”

“Electrifying take, you two,” Ernie, the film’s director, said with a little wag of his eyebrows. “But let’s tone it down in this next take, alright? Trying to keep this picture for all audiences.”

“Alright, alright, go get the lady some water, why don’t’cha?” Cooper said, waving him off. “Looking this good on camera all day is tiring.”

You chuckled, bending down as a makeup artist rushed to your side to retouch your powder. A production assistant followed suit, bringing two water bottles for both of you.

You took a long pull from yours, accidentally spilling some down your chin. Cooper’s eyes were momentarily drawn to the thin rivulet of water traveling down your neck as you cleaned up with a handkerchief.

“Say… you didn’t get uncomfortable with the amount of tongue, right?” Cooper asked, averting his gaze and clearing his throat nervously. “I got a little carried away, but I'll keep myself in check from now on…”

“Oh, please, Coop,” you said with an all too casual shrug. “All part of the job. Plus, it wasn’t just you who got carried away.”

He didn’t say anything, taking a sip of water instead. In all the years you’d worked together, he’d cherished your friendship immensely. But he had to admit that having a more intimate knowledge of you made it impossible not to feel the echo of something more. Something he had deeply repressed so as not to acknowledge it.

He was ignorant that you were in the same position, valuing what you had instead of listening to your foolish heart. You’d had a few partners, distractions here and there, but no one ever seemed to be quite right. Better to be alone than to settle for just anyone, right?

“Been meanin’ to tell you,” he said, changing the subject. “Barb’s been askin’ when you’re gonna come over for dinner. Janey misses your arroz con leche.”

Your lips curled up at his accent, which always managed to have the same effect on you. “How about Saturday? I think we’ve got the day off then.”

“That’s perfect.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice, as if pretending to share a secret. “Truth be told, I’ve missed it too.”

You shook your head with amusement, those damn butterflies stirring in your stomach once more.

“Back to one now, please!” Ernie called from his chair across the set.

The two of you took your original positions, slipping back almost naturally into the role of lovebirds.

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

The Present…

You were humming to yourself again. An old bolero tune that took him a few notes to recognize.

“Cuando vuelva a tu lado, no me niegues tus besos, que el amor que te he dado, no podrás olvidar.”

(When I’m by your side again, don’t deny me your kisses, for the love I have given you, you won’t be able to forget)

It was the song you’d sang in one of your films, in a scene where he saw you for the first time. A little musical number to show off your skills, your voice. He’d been genuinely hypnotized, he recalled.

The recognition hurt him a surprising amount, and he couldn’t bear to listen anymore.

“Quit it,” he snapped, making you cringe. “You wanna alert others of where we are?”

“S-sorry, just something I do to distract myself…” you said, pursing your lips.

“That’s why they want you in New Vegas?” He asked. “Pretty little songbird of their own?”

“You keep complimenting me while making it sound threatening,” you said before you could think twice about it, immediately wishing you could take it back.

He let out an amused huff. “It’s all part of the charm.”

Charm, alright. You thought as you raised an eyebrow.

“To answer your question… Yeah, that’s exactly why they want me there. Signed the dotted line on that a long, long time ago.”

“And if you don’t make it there?” He asked. “What then?”

You slowed your pace, fearful of what he might be insinuating. “Well… then I guess they would be out of luck, but not money. Washed up movie star like me, I don’t think I’d cost them very much.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much. ‘Round these parts, we only got the past to escape to,” he said with a grunt. “Not to mention, you’re quite easy on the eyes.”

You swallowed hard, face heating up as you glanced back at him over your shoulder. You caught his roguish grin, which only made you even more flustered. The compliment was genuine enough, but you still weren’t sure how to take it.

“And you haven’t even seen me all dolled up,” you joked half heartedly, which prompted him to hum in thought.

And there it was again, that feeling that you were missing a crucial piece of the whole puzzle. There was a certain familiarity to his voice, but maybe you were just hearing what you wanted to hear.

“So I am going to make it there, then?” You asked. “I’m sure they’d also repay your kindness if you delivered me relatively unscathed.”

“That’s the plan, sweetheart. Was just makin’ conversation,” he said, but his tone was borderline noncommittal.

You lapsed into silence for a few minutes and stared out at the arid plains endlessly unfurling before you. You passed by a cluster of ruined houses, the wind whistling a melancholic note as it passed through smashed windows and yawning door frames.

Even before the great war, the world was not an easy place to navigate by oneself. Sure, there were plenty more precious commodities, but you never learned all of the rules of life.

Out here, you weren’t sure you’d be able to either, but in a way, it was kind of nice to have a clean slate. If all went well, then maybe you’d make more choices you hadn’t been brave enough to make in the past.

The urge to sing rose within you once again, but you tamped it down.

“It’s ironic,” you found yourself saying, a wry smile pulling at your lips. “I starred in a couple of westerns, but I never thought I’d have to brave the actual desert. Feels like I’m finally living the real deal, in a way.”

“That so?” The ghoul drawled. “You have a thing for cowboys or somethin’?”

“Can’t say I don’t,” you confessed, a shade of nostalgia in your voice. “Or at least I used to, for one in particular.”

This stunned him into momentary silence. Surely, you couldn’t be implying… He shook his head, not letting himself believe it.

To hide his shock, he placed a hand on his chest and pretended to be hurt. “Oh, you wound me. I’d have thought I’d make the cut.”

You chuckled despite yourself, starting to enjoy the strangely easy banter between you. The ghoul certainly was a threatening presence, but so far he had been all bark no bite… with you, at least. Poor Sabinez, who had been in your nightmares a few times, would definitely disagree.

You didn’t really need to ask why the ghoul had killed him, having gone to collect the bounty with him, but it wouldn’t have been worth it, anyway. He had a bit of a temper and not much patience to boot, so you knew you had to tread carefully.

You definitely had to stay on his good side. It was a matter of life and death, at that point. But luckily for you, he had moments like this, where he was almost friendly, in his own way. It’d be easier to cling on to those while traveling with him.

As the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon, he led you to a small cluster of rundown houses. He checked each to find just the right one, nestled among the others, and made sure there were no unwanted visitors.

You set your stuff down and slumped down on top of a broken side table, taking off your scarf and drinking water from your canteen. The ghoul watched you, something old and buried within him threatening to rise to the surface. You really hadn’t changed, but that shouldn’t surprise him.

“Alright, Toots, now you jus’ stay put while I go scope the area,” he said, needing some time away to think.

“But we–”

“No,” he interrupted, giving you a pointed look. “I know you’re smarter than that, now. Let me do what I need to do, or I’ll make you stay put.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. He let out a satisfied grunt and left without another word, the soft clink of his spurs soon turning into silence.

With a tired sigh, you pushed yourself off the side table and tried to figure out where the best spot to sleep was.

As it grew darker and you ran out of things to occupy yourself with, you went outside to get a good view of the sunset. You didn’t stray too far from the house just in case, but it was nice to get some fresh air.

You didn’t know how long he would be gone for, but you felt relatively safe in total solitude. You let yourself sing then, another soft bolero tune that you had always liked. You lost yourself in the threads of time as you imagined the accompanying instruments, unsure if you would ever hear them again.

But suddenly, rough arms enveloped your midsection, and a gruff voice you didn’t recognize was in your ear.

“Gotcha.”

You tried to twist around, but the grip was too strong. You kicked your legs as he easily picked you up, your eyes wide and afraid, brain scrambling for a solution.

The raider laughed, turning to yell over his shoulder. “Hey, boys! Look what I’ve found!”

Raiders, you realized, ice pooling in your gut. He smelled foul and his makeshift pieces of armor dug painfully against you. He tried to move your head to the side to get a better look at you, but you bit his hand, hard.

He growled with pain, yanking his hand away. “Fucking bitch.”

He hit you on the side of the head and you slumped in his grip, half conscious. Stars pinwheeled in your vision as you heard others approaching, and he tossed you over his shoulder to carry you fireman style.

“Thinking we could get a good price outta this one,” the raider said. “Mint condition, too. Just gotta keep her in check.”

“Got a pretty voice, too. Called us right here like a siren,” another raider said. “Maybe she can keep us entertained for a few days before we sell her.”

Your dread only deepend. The ghoul specifically told you not to sing, hadn’t he? And now you couldn’t even yell for help. Stupid, so stupid!

A gunshot rang out, hitting the wall inches away from the raider carrying you. They all jumped to attention, hands flying towards their weapons.

“You fellas better stay where you are if you wanna keep your fuckin’ heads,” you heard the ghoul’s voice, tight with rage, in the near distance.

“Oh shit, we’ve got company, we better go,” he said, your body jostling as they started to move. “Shoot it back!”

More gunshots followed as you swam in and out of consciousness, everything moving too quickly. One of the raiders yelped before collapsing heavily, most likely dead.

You begged and prayed that the ghoul would come out of this relatively unscathed — he was your only hope for salvation, after all.

Behind you, he screamed your name, but you couldn’t recall having ever told him.

—----------------------------------

The Past….

Truth be told, wrap parties weren’t always your favorite events. But this time, it was at Cooper and Barb’s house, so it wouldn’t be all bad.

You posed for paparazzi at the front door before making your way inside. The party was in full swing, Hollywood’s elite mingling all around the place. Music softly drifted out of unseen speakers, almost drowned out by the din of various voices.

You took a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter, searching for the hosts. You stopped a couple times to exchange a few words with some producers you knew, but then you spotted Cooper coming down the stairs, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Got another one of those?” You said when you finally reached him, bringing him out of his thoughts.

He took out his silver case and offered it to you. You brought the cigarette to your lips and he immediately lit it for you, covertly taking you in. You wore a beautiful sequin evening dress, which sparkled under the light of the chandelier. Your perfume was heady and sweet, lingering in his nostrils. Your red lipstick left a mark on the filter as you exhaled a plume of smoke, smiling at him.

“Great party,” you said. “Congratulations on the new picture, Coop. Can’t wait to see it.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have thrown one at all, but Barb wanted me to meet some of her colleagues.”

“Oh, Vault-Tec people are here?” you asked, looking around. “You just did a commercial for them, too, right?”

“Yup,” he sighed, voice lowering. “Lost myself another gig because of it.”

You hummed in thought and took another drag of your cigarette, unsure of what to say. You didn’t altogether trust Vault-Tec, perturbed by the way they were trying to make a profit off potential doom.

Still, you didn’t really know of any good alternatives for survival, if that day were to come. The government didn’t seem too concerned about it, after all.

“You probably think I’m a sell out,” he said, misinterpreting your silence. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

You shook your head. “No, that’s not it. You’ve got a family to take care of, Coop. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

He nodded somberly, nursing his scotch. “You thinking of joining one of the vaults?”

“I’ve been made an offer,” you said vaguely, not wanting to think too much about the details. “Thinking it would be smart to take it.”

“We can talk to Barb, maybe they’ll put us all in the same one. Hell, we could even be neighbors,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Perks of being married to one of the higher ups, right?”

“I sure would like that,” you said, ever so slightly relieved at the notion of there being some familiar faces if the apocalypse came. “But enough of that for now. How about we take a lap, show some face, and maybe you can retire from your movie star duties early? I’d also like to congratulate Barb for being such a stellar hostess.”

His shoulders relaxed some, and his smile was more genuine this time. “Oh, you’re heaven-sent. That’s a genius plan, let’s do it.”

He offered you his arm and you took it, holding your dress with your other hand as you descended the steps into the living room. You could tell people would immediately swarm over to you like sharks, and you knew you were in for a long night.

“Don’t count your blessings yet,” you said with a wry smile, raising an eyebrow. “We’ve still gotta make it to the other side.”

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