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fazbear-security · 4 years

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Secret Tunnels & Surprise Visits

Mike hadn’t had a week off in nearly two years, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

He’d slept as late as he could, but that had only taken him to 1pm, and most of his siblings had extra curricular activities that would keep them out until at least 6pm. His mother was working until at least then, when she picked up the kids, and Sasha’s curfew wasn’t until 11pm (and boy, did she wring it for every minute she could get). He’d tried cleaning up around the house, but that had only taken up part of his Thursday, and as much as his mother had appreciated his hard work, it hadn’t been enough to satisfy the itch in his idle hands.

The pizzeria was being renovated that weekend, and was closed from Thursday to the following Wednesday, so Mike had a good full six or seven days all to himself. Already out of things to do around the house after day one, he’d decided to tackle the one task he (and everyone else in the house) had been putting off for years.

Organizing the basement.

“You have a lot of stuff down here.” Puppet commented as he climbed up on top of an old gear locker shoved against the stairs. A pair of old workout gloves and a rolled up mat were still stuffed in it, along with a set of resistance bands. Mike made a point not to look at it. “Like, a LOT a lot.” The slender animatronic that had taken up residence under his bed poked at the curling edge of an old sticker on the side of the locker. “Don’t you guys throw anything out?”

“Does it look like it?” Mike asked rhetorically as he surveyed the mess. Where was the best place to start? Christmas ‘91? His old college stuff? That box of yearbooks that stretched all the way back to Tara’s freshman year of high school? “That’s what we’re down here to do today - pare down all this junk and get rid of the stuff we really don’t need.”

“That’s easier said than done…” Puppet eyed the mess from his perch up on the locker before jumping down, and curiously opening the nearest box. “You’ve got more stuff down here than the old location had in storage….oh!” The little animatronic leaned over the edge of the large box - almost falling in - before scrambling back out with a little box clutched in his striped fingers, and a wide smile on his mask.

“Hey! I remember these!!” He popped open the lid and ran a cloth fingertip over the enamel pins on the board inside while Mike picked another box in a stack across the room, and started to dig through it. “These are the commemorative pins from 1987! They had me give these to employees as a gift at a big party!” Puppet tilted his head curiously. “How’d they get down here?”

“The night shift isn’t the first time I’ve worked for Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, you know.” Mike made a face at the musty books inside the box he’d chosen, and closed it back up. His mother still might want to donate these to the library - best to just set these aside, for now. “I spent a few months making pizzas for the other location across town before I went to college. I was out sick when that party happened, but management gave me those pins the next day.”

“You mean...we could’ve met sooner?” Puppet looked down at the old pins - at the cutesy, cartoony faces of Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, Foxy, and the pizzeria’s logo - and some of his smile faded. Mike looked up from the box of old clothes he was sorting through at the heavy silence, and frowned.

“Don’t...don’t think too much about it, Puppet.” He advised, folding an old shirt that had stopped fitting a decade ago and setting it aside. “You wouldn’t have liked me when I was eighteen, anyway. I was kind of an as-...uh...kind of a jerk.” He quickly amended. Puppet frowned, and put the lid back on the box before jumping up and sliding it on top of the locker. He was absolutely keeping that.

“So?” The animatronic moved to Mike’s side, and stood as high as he could to try and see into the clothing box. “I’ve dealt with sulky teenagers before.”

“I was a lot more than just ‘sulky’...” Mike winced. He’d been a jerk with a capital ‘J’ before he’d gone to college and gotten knocked off his pedestal. It was a miracle his parents had been able to put up with him for an entire year, honestly. “Be glad we met after I got my head on straight. It was for the best for both of us.” Puppet’s mask twisted into a frown, but Mike was determined for that to be the end of the topic, and moved the clothing box to get at the yearbooks beneath it.

“...huh?” Mike paused in the middle of opening the last box in the stack, and closed the flaps again to tilt it back, and get a better look at what had caught his attention. Puppet quickly perked up as the young man shifted the box across the floor, and off of a mysterious, rectangular shape still half-buried by all the clutter.

“Oh, cool! A secret door!” Puppet grabbed another stack of boxes and tried to push it off the shape, while Mike scratched his head in confusion.

“I...don’t remember this.” The human frowned, even as he helped Puppet to move the stack that weighed more than him. “I wonder if Mom or Dad knew about this?” He frowned as he cleared the last of the boxes off of what was now obviously some kind of old trapdoor. “Kind of seems like they tried to bury it.”

“Maybe it leads to a secret tunnel!” Puppet suggested eagerly. “Just like in that cartoon with the dog Pippa likes!” He started to bounce on his heels, and started to reach for the seam in the floor. “Let’s open it and see where it goes!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, Puppet!” Mike snatched the little animatronic up under one arm, and stepped back before he could get his striped fingers into the crack. “We can’t just open it!” He argued. “We have no idea what might be down there - there could be rats, or spiders, or-”

THUNK.

“......” Both Mike and Puppet froze at the sound, and looked down at the trapdoor. “.....that’s a big rat.” Puppet whispered. Mike slowly - quietly - stepped back from the trapdoor, and the sound came again, only louder. He dropped Puppet back to his feet, and the little animatronic quickly hid behind the human, and dug his striped fingers into Mike’s red jacket as they both nervously watched the trapdoor.

THUNK. THUNK.

Something pounded on the trapdoor from below - something big - and a small puff of dust was kicked up from the space. Mike looked around frantically for something he could use as a weapon, and snatched up a baseball bat from another pile of junk. Luis hadn’t used it since his high school days. Surely, he wouldn’t mind?

THUNK THUNK THUNK.

The trapdoor began to rattle, and Mike swung the bat up over his shoulder as the rusty lock creaked and bent. Finally, the old metal snapped, and the trapdoor was thrown open by-....by Chica?

Mike’s brain ground to a halt as the animatronic chicken mascot from his workplace popped up through his floor, looking around with a curious hum at the cluttered basement before she laid optics on him, and broke out into a wide, toothy smile.

“Hi, Mr. Schmidt!! How’d you get here?”

“.......” The baseball bat fell out of Mike’s limp hands, and clattered to the floor. Puppet flinched at the loud sound, but Chica didn’t seem to register the human’s obvious shock, and came up the rest of the stairs and into the basement.

“Guys!” She shouted back down the stairs. “Mike’s here!” Behind her, Bonnie’s ears appeared before the rest of him, and Foxy’s hook scratched at the edge of the trapdoor hole as he hauled himself up out of the tunnel that yawned beneath the basement floor. Mike sucked in a breath through his teeth as the pirate fox - and other figures that, in no way, should have ever been in his house - rose up from beneath the floor, and stretched his limbs.

“Aaarrr, ‘tis about time!” Foxy grumbled, leaning back as if to stretch out a kink in his spine. “We’ve been walkin’ fer hours! I thought we’d be ‘alfway t’ Tortuga by now!”

“We were only down there for twenty minutes, at best.” Bonnie argued as he climbed out. “Your internal clock must be broken!”

“Jus’ like th’ rest o’ me, ey?” Foxy turned an irritable glare upon the rabbit, but his expression immediately softened when he noticed the audience Bonnie had not. “Oh! Mike! How ye’ be, lad? Ain’t seen ye’ since Wednesday eve’!” Puppet looked up at the human he hid behind with wide eyes, and Mike found the presence of mind to lower his hands from their raised position.

“....you’re in my house.” He said eloquently. Bonnie and Foxy both tipped their ears forward, and looked around the basement.

“This be your house?” Foxy flipped up his eyepatch for a better look. “It be….uh….cozy?” Bonnie shook his head and smacked the fox on the arm.

“This isn’t the whole place, buckethead.” He scoffed. “There’s an upstairs, see?” He pointed to the basement stairs, and Mike looked over just in time to see Chica’s tailfeathers disappearing at the top. His heart skipped a beat or two.“This is just a basement!” The rabbit hopped over a box on the floor, and headed up the stairs himself. “Chica, wait for me!”

“I knew that!” Foxy huffed back with a lash of his tail. The basement started to feel a little small, and Mike pulled another breath in through his teeth. Oh, god. He’d had nightmares just like this, back when he’d first started on the night shift...except he wasn’t sleeping now. He was awake, and this was real-

“I, ah, don’t suppose I could get a hand?” Mike froze, and slowly looked back down at the trapdoor to see Freddy himself seemingly wedged in the stairway opening. Behind him, he could also see the glow from Sam’s LED hat band, somewhere back within the tunnel. “I’m not as slim as the rest of you, you know!” The bear admitted.

“Aye, let’s get’che out o’ there.” Foxy reached out with his good hand to grab Freddy’s and started to pull, with Sam - presumably - pushing from behind. After a few more seconds of staring, Puppet edged out from behind Mike to help. Mike, however, remained frozen in place, and a few shades paler than he probably should have been as he tried to comprehend how one of his darkest nightmares was becoming reality right before his eyes-

“Oh, wow!” Chica’s voice echoed from somewhere upstairs - somewhere on the second floor. “It looks like Parts & Services up here, only better lit! Bonnie, you have to come see this!”

“That’s my-! Oh no.” Mike’s eyes popped wide, and he finally broke out of his frozen stupor to bolt for the stairs, leaving Puppet, Foxy, and Sam alone to try and pry the pizzeria star out through the too-small trapdoor in the floor. “That’s my room! Don’t touch anything!”

He passed Bonnie in the living room, seemingly enamoured by the many framed photos hung up behind the couch, and nearly tripped running up the stairs before he caught himself on the banister. It wasn’t until he’d made it up to the landing and thrown open his bedroom door that Mike realized that he...had no real plan for confronting the animatronic inside. He froze again in the doorway, panting, and struggling for words as Chica ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed over the variety of drawings and unfinished projects strewn about his desk.

“Whoa!!!” Chica picked up a pipe-and-wire hand model that he’d given up on three months ago, and cradled it in her hands with the reverence of a child holding a coveted toy for the first time. “This is just like our endoskeletons! Mr. Schmidt, I didn’t know you could build things!”

“I-. Uh. Um.” The unexpected praise made it even harder for Mike to find his words, and he stumbled for an embarrassingly long time before he heard the creaking of the stairs, and felt a towering presence at his back.

“Oh, neat!” Bonnie pushed his way into the room, causing Mike to stumble forward, as well, and gleefully batted at the punching bag still hanging from the ceiling next to his bed. “Heheh, what’s this thing? Does it make noise?”

“No, it-. It doesn’t make noise.” Mike reached out a hand to stop the bag from swinging, and hoped the feeling of the synthetic leather against his hand would help snap him back to reality. It didn’t do much. “It’s for hitting.”

“Oh.” Bonnie seemed to lose interest at this answer, and turned to face Chica, who had moved on to looking at the posters and pictures hanging on the wall. “Oh!” Bonnie zeroed in on one in particular, and Mike winced internally. “Who’s this kid? I haven’t seen them at the pizzeria before.”

“Yeah, you have. That’s, uh.” Mike found himself wishing he’d never framed that dumb childhood photo. “That’s me.”

“That’s you?!” Bonnie and Chica both crowded around the frame, now, and Mike prayed to any deity listening that his floor would hold under them. “Aww! You used to be so cute!”

“Bonnie!” Chica gasped, and tweaked one of the rabbit’s ears. “That’s so rude! He’s still cute!”

“......” Mike pressed both hands over his face, and leaned back until he was sitting on his bed as the two animatronics began to squabble.

Maybe, if he just sat here for long enough, his brain would get tired of this nightmare, and he’d wake up?

#fnaf #fnaf fanfic #mun's writing #Mike Schmidt #Freddy #Chica #Bonnie #Foxy #Puppet #Safety Officer Sam

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chappedandfadedvds · 4 years

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Nov 26th, Thursday 23:17

„I thought you’d be in bed already?“

Jens had just finished the dishes, ready to head to bed, after he spent hours trying to get all his notes for his french test ready next week. He wasn’t worried that he would fail. Perhaps a little worried.

His mother stood in the doorway to her room, when he reached the last step, causing him to watch her perplexed.

„Me too, but it looks like my side of the bed was taken before I had a chance.“

Curious Jens went up to her, sticking his head over her shoulder. Lotte was his mom’s bed, sleeping peacefuly despite the lamp on the night stand lighting the room.

They just stood there for a moment and watched the little girl. Til his mom took a step back, weak on her feet. He helped her get down and joined right after. Causing them both to sit side by side, propped up against the wall across the stairs. He had his legs pulled up, his arms hugging his knees as he stared straight ahead.

„Lucas is my boyfriend.“

It just bursted out of him, the first thing that had come to mind. He probably should have said it sooner. He didn’t even know why he hadn’t done that til now.

„No! Really?“ His mother exclaimed shoked in pretence, nudging him lightly as she chuckled.

„What reaction do you want? Strict parent, or not understanding mother, or perhaps I could tell you, I always knew you weren’t as hetero as you believed. Even though that would be a lie.“

Jens bit his lip to contain his amusement. Instead he tilted his head as if he needed to consider her words. Jens definitely knew who was responsible for his personality. Even though they only had gotten as close and on par with each other since the diagnoses. She wasn’t just a parent any longer to him. He wished they had been like that earlier. They had fought rather often. Certainly him having been to blame for most of it. Sneaking out to meet Britt and later Jana, or getting caught coming home high and drunk. Perhaps he had to change first to get to this point.

„How about your genuine feelings?“

He therefore asked, not much worried that she would dismiss his boyfriend. It took her a second to think about it before she spoke.

„Obviously I like him a lot, and I’m glad you have him, you always seem happier with Lucas around. He is very kind. And he can keep up with your assholery.“

„Assholery?“ He snorted.

„Yes, hush! You can really suck sometimes. And regarding him being a boy. I don’t care. I just want you to be loved, respected and supported. That’s all that is important to me.“

Lucas was that, wasn’t he?

„I just wanted to actually tell you this, you know, in person. Out loud.“

His mother nodded, grinning at him, as they both had turned their heads while talking. Though he brought his eyes back onto the banister of the stairs infront of him, pulling on the ends of his hoodie’s sleves.

„Don’t you think it’s unfair to him?“

„What is?“

„This. Like I know I’m his real first relationship. And I had Britt and Jana and, like, other girls before him. I feel like I’m keeping him from something. I don’t know what exactly. Dating around. Hooking up casually. Not remembering the girl you drunk kissed last night at a party.“

„Speaking from experience, I take it.“ His mother sounded gleeful as she said it. She wasn’t wrong. Not that he would actually tell her that. She knew anyway. So he went on.

„Just something that makes him regret it in the future, if he stays for all of this that is my fucking life.“

„You haven’t talked about this with him?“

Jens stayed silent. They both knew better than expecting him openly talking about his personal feelings. Late night talks with his mom though made it easier.

„I think Lucas is at an age to decide that for himself. In fact you are both graduating soon, just enjoy the time you two get to have. You are both teenagers. Nobody expects this to last forever. You are dating for what? A month? Don’t worry about what’s after, and talk to him, tell him what you think. Take it easy.“

She concluded, reaching over to place her hand on his knee. Her thumb brushing over it in light circles.

„I don’t know.“

„Then what do you actually know?“

Sometimes his mother murdered him in cold blood with her quips.

“Hey!” He exclaimed accusatory. She was his mother. She had to love him unconditional. Not be mean to him.

They both were nonetheless enjoying the quiet banter and even the silence that followed when the two of them were each sunken in their own heads.

„I’ve written your father.“ His mother suddenly said, making his head spun round. He hadn’t known they were in contact. The last two years went completely by without any message nor a mention of his dad.

„I don’t have his phone number, but his mail adress, and so I’ve told him today about everything that is happening right now. He is still the man I had planned to grow old with, the man I’d die next to. Even after all these years I can’t quite forget about him. He should know at least.“

She sounded saddened as she spoke, her voice low and resigned.

„I’m not gonna let him come back here and take Lotte.“

It was all Jens honestly cared for, even if it was cold to ignore his mothers remeining love for his father. He knew that his parents were officially still married. To his knowledge neither his father nor his mother ever hadn’t gotten into a serious relationship after they broke it off.

„Let me finish, okay?“ She interrupted his thoughts. „I also did it to send him a form Alex gave me for him to sign, and waive his position of choice as the legal guardian. I thought you may not want to talk to him yourself. It’s also one less thing for you to worry about it.“

„Thank you.“ He was greateful for that, honestly. He should have stopped at that, yet still found himself asking: „Why did you let him do this to you?“

„What?“ She looked at him puzzled, perhaps retracing her words to figure out what Jens was getting at.

„Let him leave you.“ He expanded on his question. Something he realised he had thought about since his father had left them six years ago. Jens probably should have asked this years ago in order to understand, because he never could figure it out. His father was just gone for months on end, and one day for good.

„It wasn’t something that came over night. We both knew since we began dating at university. He had always talked about his plans and ambitions. And I always reminded him that I wanted children more than anything else. So he gave me you three to love and I gave him his freedom.“

„Aren’t you regretting it?“

„Letting him go?“

Jens nodded. Yes exactly. Like how can you merry a person you know will leave you at some point. Maybe even a fixed point as his father began his expeditions and travels right after his phd.

„No. Well sometimes. When you three drove me crazy. Especially that one day you decided to give your baby sister the cream jar, for her to smear all over the living room, herself and you included. I had to bath you three for an hour to get everything washed out. Cried two more hours after. And the armchair, the poor armchair had to be thrown out.“

She laughed, as she indulged in her reminiscence. He couldn’t help but smile at her. They really had done some dumb stuff when they were younger. How his mother had managed to keep Lies and him in check while tending to Lotte was a mystery to Jens.

„But no I don’t regret ever having had all of you. Nor having let him follow his passion and do his work. I think he would have stayed had I asked him to. But he would have come to resent me for it one day. Sometimes you have to let people go because you love them.“

„Sounds stupid.“

His mother just giggled at his blunt response. She rose her hand ruffling his hair, ignoring his complaint as leaned away to escape her teasing.

„Maybe you are right.“ She admitted sheeply. „I am your mother, but I really don’t know shit.“ She grinned brightly at him as he watched her amused. „To let you in on the secret of adulthood. You just have to wing it most of the times and hope for the best.“

His groan could have probably woken his sister if she wouldn’t be such a deep sleeper.

„This sucks.“

„It does.“ She agreed without hesitation, trying to comfort him with a kiss to his forehead. It helped a little.

„So what are your plans?“

„For what?“

„I don’t know.“ She shrugged, leaving him none the wiser on if she was playing at something. Maybe Lucas had talked to her today?

„Senne invited us all for christmas to go to his grandparent’s cabin in switzerland.“

„Really?“ He hadn’t expected her to look so happy while surprised.

„Yes.“ The confirmation was just a little whisper. He was uncomfortable to talk about it. Jens knew she would want him to go. And he knew he couldn’t just leave her at home, and enjoy his holidays, knowing his mom’s declining health. What kind of son would he be?

„Wow now I’m very jealous.“

„I’m not going.“ He cut her off, before she could say anything else. Of course it was already to late, her cheery expression already faltering.

„Why? Come on, Jens, tell them that you will join their trip.“

„It would be our last christmas.“

He only had to send her one look, to make her understand and sigh.

„I know. But I’d rather have you spend some weeks away from all of this. Get your head free a little, get distracted. I had planned to go see my mom in Brussel anyway, if I can, before... You know. So you could drop off Lotte and me on the way and then see your friends. Sit in front of a fire with them. Kiss your boyfriend on a mountaintop. I don’t know. Just enjoy your time, before you’ll have your little sister tag along on any other vacation for the next couple of years.“

It sounded so easy when his mother said it. As if he could just turn his brain off for a moment and not think about her all the time when she wasn’t around. But he supposed she had a point. Especially at the end of her little monologue.

„Geez. You might be right.“

„I always am. So you are going?“

He kinda hated how bold she smiled, knowing she had made him consider it and probably accept Senne’s invitation. Damn her.

„I’ll sleep on it.“ He sighed once more, while he rolled his eyes especially hard.

„Good enough for me. We should probably head to bed as well. When will Lucas be here with his mom for breakfast again?“

Oh. That reminded Jens of what he actually had wanted to do after dinner, when he had stood in his room questioning why he had made the trip upstairs in the first place He definitely had taken his phone off the charger and down back to the kitchen, didn’t meant he had actually sent the text.

„Eh... Shit, should probably message him. I forgot. What was it? Nine thirty? Ten?“

Lucas had said something before he had left.

„I can’t believe I am leaving all of this and the responsibitliies to you.“

His mother cluck her tounge, as she shook her head. Her expression definitely amused.

„Funny. Come, I’ll help you up.“ He said getting to his feet first before he extended his hand for her to take. They both needed a moment to recover, stretching in place after having lingered in the same position for a while. And on the hard floor as well.

In turn it was her now reaching out for him, to nudge him towards her room. Both squeezing in on the free side of the bed. His mother only reaching over to turn off the light and call it a day.

__ __ __

tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

#week 5 #wtfock #skam #vds #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #chapped and faded #mama stoffels #i'll miss writing these #one of the last easy talks between them

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raysofcrosby · 5 years

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LITTLE DO YOU KNOW PT. 4

“𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘖𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺.” ━ 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬, 𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

gif credit (x)

series masterlist

requested: yes | no

warnings: mentions of alcohol and swearing.

word count: 7,562 [ ok but i swear its all worth it tho ]

authors note: okay yay we’re finally at part four and the friendship is getting a lil bit less...friendly and more romantic ;) any-who, if you need a visual for the outfit y/n and kennedy wore in this, here it is [but just imagine it’s in two pieces instead of one big one ok yay]. anyway, um here’s parts one, two and three. so ya enjoy and i’d love to hear your theories, your likes/dislikes, anything, so don’t be afraid to pop on over to the ask box! ok byeee :)

The best thing about the boys only having one game during the week, was the free-time they had to hang around and relax. Katie, your brother's longtime girlfriend had flown in for the week to pay him a visit before she had to go back to work in L.A. Tyler, being the ever social person he is, decided to invite the team over to his house every day for pool parties and other stuff, just so everyone could relax and mingle amongst one another. Kennedy and Big Rig were getting closer, seeing as he was over at your dorm every day and you were getting a lot closer to Tyler as well.

The night he invited you over to help you study was the most fun you'd had in a long time. Tyler not only stuck to his word and let you cuddle with the dogs while he quizzed you using your flashcards, but he also tried (and miserably failed) to make the two of you milkshakes, which resulted in a messy kitchen and uber eats delivering you two milkshakes at 3 A.M. In the minutes before you were set to go to sleep in the guest bedroom, you had managed to convince him to record a Hallmark Christmas movie, and he promised that he wouldn't watch it without you.

Which is how you ended up back on his couch with him and the dogs the next night and every night for the last week just watching and recording more and more Christmas movies. Tyler and Big Rig invited both you and Kennedy out to the bars with them and the boys, and for once you actually accepted the invitation. The third time you and Kennedy had joined them at a bar, Jamie wasn't nervous about approaching you with the question as to why you were coming out with them all of a sudden when you hadn't dared to in the past. It was awkward, trying to come up with an answer on the spot, especially since Katie had asked you the same thing earlier in the night. But Tyler swooped in to save the day with a beer for him and Jamie and saying that Kennedy had dragged you along since Big Rig invited her– and Jamie ate it word for word.

That was your cover-up all week when you showed up at the same bar they did– that you were here for Kennedy and it was all Tyler's doing. It was a tricky thing to play it off around Jamie that you were here for Kennedy's sake and not just to see Tyler. Though there were those gap moments when you and Tyler were able to separate yourselves and talk. That's what it was at first, just talking. He'd offer to get you a drink, you'd accept it and then you'd mingle with each other and the rest of the boys who decided to come out– talking about anything and everything.

But that Thursday night was when everything changed. You were all at Bottled Blonde, Tyler's pick of bar that night, and had wandered off to the bar to get yourself a drink after dancing your ass off with Kennedy and Katie. Distracted by texting Kennedy that you'd be right back, you didn't notice someone was beside you until their arm was resting along your lower back and gripping your hip. When you looked to your left, expecting to see one of your friends or a Stars player, you were met with an unfamiliar, and clearly drunken, stranger. You tried to move out of their grip, only to be pulled back in as he was persistent with getting your phone number while complimenting your dancing on the floor.

You weren't the least bit panicked until the words 'I have a boyfriend' seemed to not affect the man. And when you found yourself suddenly freed from the man's grasp and pulled into someone else's side, your heart continued to race– because it was Tyler who had pulled you away. 'Back the fuck off, she's taken' was all it took for the guy to stumble away. You didn't know if it was because it was Tyler Seguin saying it or the fact that his tone had dropped into a demanding one that sent chills down your spine...and maybe even turned you on a little bit.

When the bartender handed you your drink, Tyler told him to add it onto his tab, grabbed your hand, led you away through the dance floor and over to a tucked-away space where the music was mumbled. He had you cornered, looking you over before letting out a relieved breathe before asking if you were okay. You didn't know what to say. That you were freaked out because some guy came onto you at the bar? Or that you wanted to do nothing more than pull Tyler against you and kiss the hell out of him?

Instead, you just nodded and he led you back out to your guys' group, never letting go of your hand. For the remainder of the night, you stuck close to your group and Tyler stuck close to you. For anyone watching, it looked as if you were just hanging out with friends and laughing. But secretly, Tyler was always touching you. Sitting at a booth? His hand was on your thigh underneath the table. In the big crowd? He was cradling your lower back. Standing up? The two of you were standing thigh to thigh.

It was comforting, it was safe, it was hot...and it wasn't as secretive as you thought it was. Because the next morning before her class, Kennedy asked you the one question you'd been asking yourself over the last few weeks.

'What's going on between you and Tyler?'

And tonight, a cool, Saturday night was no different. Instead of getting ready to go out with the boys– you, Kennedy and Big Rig were getting ready to go out to Cole's fraternities big annual off-campus 'ABC' party. Tyler had extended an invitation for you guys to join them, they were only going out for a little bit since they had to leave for Winnipeg the next morning– but you had already told Cole a while back that you'd go to the ‘ABC’ party. Besides, you and Kennedy had put in some work on your Jack Daniels' boxes to make them outfit material, and that wasn't going to waste. Big Rig was surprisingly comfortable in his box and almost asked for you guys to make it as short as yours– but according to him, he'd need a shit ton of shots to follow thru with that idea.

"Okay so I know I've already asked you this before–"

You groaned, turning away from your makeshift vanity and looking at her. "If it's what I think you're about to ask, then try like a hundred times...since yesterday!"

"Don't be so dramatic, it's been like ten."

"Fifteen."

"Actually, it's probably closer to–" Big Rig went to chime in, but Kennedy raised an eyebrow at him and he raised his hands in defense. "Ten sounds about right."

"Anyway, as I was saying," she stopped tying the shoulder strap of her box and turned to you. "What's going on with you and Tyler? I mean, you've been over at his place almost every night since last week, sometimes spending the night there. Plus he was all touchy and staring at you with lovey-dovey eyes all night, Thursday."

You turned away from her, returning back to double-checking your make-up. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh please, are you and Segs hooking up or what?"

"Jamie!" Kennedy blurted out, tossing a nearby shirt at him. "You can't just blurt it out."

"What? It's not like we're all not thinking it!"

You put down your mascara and turned to him. "What do you mean by 'all'?"

He shrugged his shoulders, kicking his box to the side as he lounged on Kennedy's bed in his compression shorts. "I mean you've got Kennedy and me. But then some of the guys have kind of noticed how you two have been...I don't know," He plucked at her comforter, looking away from you. "Getting closer, I guess."

You feel a sense of panic wash over you as your brain starts to list off the possible names who noticed you and Tyler. Which ones have been around you two when those little moments happen? "Does Jamie suspect anything?"

Big Rig shook his head. "Nope, he's oblivious as hell. It's just the young ones– Miro, Klinger, Hintz. Why? Are you admitting that something is going on between you two?" He asked, raising his eyebrows and smiling.

You flipped him off and stood up from your chair, walking to your bed. "No, I have a boyfriend, remember? Cole?"

"Yeah, a boyfriend who you haven't talked to since the Halloween party– TWO weeks ago."

You wanted to argue against her, but you knew she was right. You and Cole haven't texted, called or spoken to one another since Tyler's Halloween party– at this point, you weren't even 100% sure you were still dating. You looked over at Big Rig and stuck out your bottom lip, asking for help.

"Oh no," he laughed, shaking his head and holding his hands up in defense. "I'm not stepping in the middle of this."

"Ugh, you suck," you replied, tossing a pillow from your bed over at him. "Anyway, nothing is going on between Tyler and me, and there probably never will be."

"Do you want there to be? Cause the boys might be oblivious to looks, but I see how you've been looking at him all this week when we're out. You do that giggle and you constantly touch your hair and roll your eyes at his stupid jokes," Kennedy walked over to her bed and plugged her phone in to charge. "They're all classic Y/N likes someone, signals."

You were speechless because she was right and you knew it. You liked the way Tyler was around and with you, and part of you wanted him to know it but is too nervous to admit it. You cleared your voice, putting your make-up away. "It doesn't matter if I do. I'm his best friends little sister for God's sake, could you get more cliché than that?"

"I mean, have you met Tyler?" Big Rig added in, no humor in his voice. "Not to be a total downer here, but he isn't picky when it comes to his girls...and I don't think Chubbs being your brother would stop him from going after you. At least, if he likes you it wouldn't."

Ouch. You knew Big Rig was right. Tyler's reputation and resume of hookups didn't paint him as someone who had a type or cared what the girl looked like– he just went for it and that was it. But damn, hearing that if he really liked you, he'd have made a move by know and knowing that he hasn't done anything... gut-punched you.

Kennedy smacked his stomach and shot him a look. "Don't say that!" She looked back at you with a hopeful smile. "Listen Y/N, what he said, maybe true, but you're also not just any other girl in a bar downtown who just wants to be able to say they slept with a professional hockey player."

"Yeah, because instead, I'm Jamie Benn's kid sister," you mumbled, turning towards your bed.

Kennedy turned you around and kept her hands on your shoulders, looking at you. "No, it's because you're his friend. You see him every day, you watch his dogs...he cares for you."

"Oh great, so now I'm in the friend-zone!"

She rolled her eyes and reached over for the bedside table and grabbed your beer, handing it to you. "I've seen the way he looks at you and I highly doubt you're anywhere near the friend-zone. I just think he's probably trying to figure out how to make a move."

"Well if he could do that sooner rather than later, that'd be great," you said, taking a long sip of your near-empty PBR. No sooner than the words left your mouth, did you realize what you just admitted? Your eyes immediately looked towards Kennedy and Big Rig to see them both smiling. "Don't you–"

"I knew it," Big Rig cheered, hopping off of Kennedy's bed and pointing at you. "Ha! I knew it! Klinger owes me 10 bucks."

You groaned as your phone beeped and you walked back over to your desk, picking it up. You chugged the rest of your PBR and turned towards the duo. "Stop being assholes and come on, our Uber is here."

"Whatever you say," Big Rig replied, brushing by you and walking to your door, turning around and winking. "Mrs. Seguin."

"JAMIE OLEKSIAK I SWEAR TO GOD!" You yelled out, only for him to already be completely out of your door. "I'm going to kill him. Have your fun tonight Ken, because he's a dead man."

"Please don't kill him Y/N, he's the best hook-up I've had in a long, long time," she joked, nudging you out the door. "Plus, he's not exactly wrong. Seguin is a good look for you."

You rolled your eyes and stormed ahead of her and down the hall to where Big Rig was holding open your complex door. Your costume prevented you from crossing your arms and fully bringing on the attitude, so you had to settle with your best resting bitch face to act as a mask so they wouldn't be able to tell just how much you actually liked the idea of Tyler being yours.

❒❒❒❒

Beta Upsilon Chi's off-campus 'ABC' party, was arguably one of the biggest parties of the semester. It was thrown in a warehouse owned by a former member and has been a big tradition for the last ten years. A lot of shit happens at these parties, stuff that you thought only existed in unrealistic movies– but your freshman year you were surprised when you and Kennedy walked into one of the rented bathroom trailers to see a group of kids doing a line of cocaine. Another year, the entire men's swimming team decided to initiate their freshmen by making them do a naked lap around the warehouse and a spotlight following them around.

You had to give it to the fraternity though, while some wild ass shit always went down, nothing tragic ever happened, they always made sure people got home safe and it was always a damn good party. It was wild from the moment you guys stepped into the warehouse, both the literal party and the groups of people who would come up to the three of you and talk to Big Rig. After the ninth or tenth group stopped the three of you, you had found Cole talking to his roommate, Tristan. It was an awkward greeting since the two of you haven't spoken in weeks, but no sooner than he kissed you and Tristan offered you a few shots– all went back to normal. Cole managed to leave his fraternity duties behind for a good while so he could dance with you, Kennedy and Big Rig– all while managing to refrain from even looking at Kennedy, most likely due to what happened at the last party.

But the dancing didn't last long before Cole had to go back to doing his rounds as one of the Frat members and you were left third-wheeling with Big Rig and Kennedy. As the night went on, you realized that for the first time in a long time, you and Cole were getting along pretty well– when he came to find you in the crowd. The two of you were laughing, he was getting along with Kennedy (when she didn't secretly give him a stink eye) and it reminded you of the early stages of your relationship. Either it was real or it was all of the shots you took, blurring fantasy and reality together, you didn't know, but also...you didn't care.

Sometime during the night, Big Rig took Kennedy back to the dorm because she wasn't feeling too hot and he had to be up the next morning to fly to Winnipeg with the team. He offered to take you home too, but you were still wanting to dance and told him Cole had said he'd take you home later in the night. And that's how you ended up at the party alone, being fed shots by Cole's fraternity brothers whenever you walked by the table in search of your boyfriend...which totaled to be a lot of shots. Stumbling your way through the crowd wasn't too hard, seeing as you were amongst people who were much drunker than you and dancing wildly. When you got to the middle of the floor, you saw Cole through a group of people talking and waved your arm in the air to get his attention.

When the group broke and your line of vision cleared, your stomach dropped into your shoes. Cole had a girl pressed against him, his hands wandering along her body as he had his face pressed into her neck; whispering into her ear or kissing her skin, you couldn't tell– but she was smiling. Before you could even manage a logical thought, your feet were carrying you over to the two of them, stopping right beside them. You reached out and shoved Cole's shoulder, instantly gaining both of their attentions. "What the fuck, Cole?"

You expected his eyes to go wide in fear at the fact that he was caught in the act. That there would be a hint of regret hidden on his face or in his body language when you confronted him, but there was none. And at that very moment, you didn't know what hurt worst. The fact that he didn't seem to care you had caught him or that strangely...you weren't surprised.

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" The girl asked, looking between you and Cole. "The ex-girlfriend?"

"EX- girlfriend?" You asked, looking at Cole. "Who are you?"

"I'm Paisley..." She looked up at Cole, linking her arm in his before looking back at you with sympathy. "His girlfriend of, what's it been, Cole?" She smiled up at Cole once again, "three months?"

Your eyes were about to pop out of your head the moment your mind registered her words. It was like you had completely zoned out, the only thing you could hear was the muffled music mixed with your heartbeat. Your mind was running a million miles a minute, throwing out questions that your mouth couldn't even speak.

"Also, don't worry about the dress stain. I took it to my dad's cleaners and they got it out like it was nothing. I never figured Dallas Stars team parties got so wild."

And that was the nail in the coffin. The dress Cole had brought for you to wear to Tyler's Halloween party– the one he said belonged to Pat's girlfriend, actually belonged to the girl he had been cheating on you with for three months. You tried to push down the nauseous feeling as the questions kept creeping back into your mind. Was he sleeping with the both of you? How did he hide this? Was it your fault?

Then the tears started to build. Partially because he was cheating on you and from the alcohol, but mainly because you couldn't believe you had been so stupid. And then the laughter soon followed, because here you were, still with your shitty boyfriend that:

A) None of your friends or family liked.

B) Managed to get an entire NHL roster team to hate him

and C) Was so shitty to you, that even the most prolific womanizer in Dallas could see it and thought it was wrong.

You looked at Paisley and smiled. "I don't know what he told you, but we're very much still together," you turned to Cole, the anger suddenly needing to take over. "And you're such a piece of shit that I honestly don't even know why I'm surprised."

"Y/N, you're making a scene–"

"What do you mean you're still together?" Paisley turned to Cole, a confused look on her face. "You told me that you broke up with her before the semester started!"

"Nope, we're still together! Though Paisley, a bit of a warning for you? He's a misogynistic asshole who's total shit in bed, will belittle every little thing that you do and–"

Cole stepped towards you, looking around at the few people who were starting to notice that your argument was even taking place. "Y/N, enough!" He growled, putting on a smile and nodding before looking down at you. "Let's go and talk somewhere. You're drunk and upset and not making any–"

"No!" You yelled, stumbling back from him and poking him in the chest with your finger. "Fuck you, Cole! I have a right to be angry! I turned down hanging out with people who genuinely like me to come to your party because you whined about me missing the last one and it turns out you've been cheating on me for months!"

He laughed, rolling his eyes. "People, who genuinely like you? Who are you talking about? Seguin and the rest of your brother's pathetic team? Newsflash, Y/N," he stepped towards you with anger in his eyes. "You're just a young, hot piece of ass to him and that's all you'll ever be. Just another girl trying to fuck a Hockey player." He smiled and looked off to the crowd before looking back at you. "Huh, I guess that replacement Halloween costume...wasn't a costume after all then, was it?"

You could feel the tears come back as you bit the inside of your cheek to keep them from falling. That was a sore spot that he just did a boxing combo on and you just wanted to turn around and run. But you were tired of letting him treat you like this, so even though your legs were shaking, you kept your shoulders back and blinked back the tears. "Go to hell Cole," you spat, throwing whatever was left in your cup onto his costume and spinning on your heels to walk away.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" He yelled, seconds before he reached out and clutched onto your forearm, trying to stop you from leaving with all of his strength.

You whipped around, swinging your free hand back and up, your knuckles making solid contact with his eye and cheekbone. He immediately let go of your hand and went to touch his face as more people looked on. Your heart was racing as you took in what just happened and yet sympathy for him was nowhere to be found. "In case that wasn't obvious, Cole...we're done." You looked up at Paisley, who was standing in the same spot, frozen. "Sorry about the dress."

Before either of them could reply, you stormed off through the crowd, not caring who you bumped into as you tried to distance yourself as far from them as possible. You ended up by the bar in search of the cooler that held some free water in it. "Hey, want a shot?"

You turned to see someone you didn't recognize but looked a little too old to be a college student. This wasn't surprising because there's always been a problem with non-SMU students sneaking into the party with invites from current students. "Uh, no thanks."

"Come on, just one shot! It won't hurt you and look, you can even watch me pour it in case you think I'm going to drug you or something." He laughed, brushing off the seriousness of it all and opened his flask, pouring out two shots and sliding one over to you.

"I said no."

"Hey, Hey!" He grabbed onto your hand as glared at you as you went to turn away. "I'm offering you a fucking drink, you don't have to be such a bitch about it!"

You snatched your hand away from him and stumbled back into the crowd, not even caring if the tears you'd worked so hard on holding back were starting to fall. You took your phone out of your spandex beneath the bottom portion of your box and unlocked it, scrolling through your messages as you continued to stumble through the crowd. You clicked on a contact, calling the number as you reached the entrance of the warehouse. It only rang once before they picked up, but you didn't even bother to give them a chance to speak.

"P-please come get me," you struggled to take a deep breath as you pushed your way through the crowded entrance and out into the night air. "Kennedy and Big Rig left, I p-punched Cole, some creepy guy tried to give me a drink and I-I don't have a ride home. I'll share my location, just...please."

"Stay right here, I'm on my way."

You hung up the phone and broke down alongside the warehouse building.

The chill wind was just starting to pick up when you felt a presence in front of you. "Y/N?"

You looked up from your arms to see Tyler squatting down in front of you in a sweatshirt and shorts. "You came?"

"Of course I did." He looked at you as if you had two heads before holding out both of his hands. "Now come on, let's get you home."

You grabbed onto his hands and he helped you up, looking at you and turning you side to side to make sure you were okay. "I-I'm fine," you sniffled, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I just look like a drowned rat."

Tyler just laughed and pulled you into his side, wrapping an arm around your waist. "No, you don't, Y/N. Let's just go home, okay?"

You nodded and snuggled more into his side, relaxing against him as he led you away from the warehouse. "Tyler! Hey Tyler Seguin, what's up man?" A drunk partygoer yelled out, waving at Tyler. "Go Stars!"

"Not much man, thanks for the support!" Tyler replied, pulling you further into him, staying tense and on alert as he led you to his car. When you reached his car, you noticed that he was parked pretty much on the curb in his fancy-ass Mercedes. He opened the passenger door and looked. "Do you need help getting in?"

You scoffed, tossing your hair over your shoulder and acting as if you weren't totally shitfaced and had been crying for the last fifteen minutes. "I am an i-independent and newly single woman, Tyler. I c-can do it."

You took a step up onto the sidestep and reached out for the 'oh shit' handle, grabbing air and almost falling forward. Tyler grabbed onto your hips and helped you steady yourself. When you looked back at him in embarrassment, he just shook his head and tried to hide his smile. "I won't say anything, now get in the car."

With a little push, you were seated in his leather passenger seat and looking around the car. He stepped up and grabbed your seatbelt. "I'm going to buckle you in, okay?"

You just nodded and watched as he reached across you, balancing himself by only holding onto the 'oh shit' handle and standing on the side step with one foot. He was so close to you that you could smell his cologne radiating off of his body and man, it smelled good. Your eyes took in his mess of curls he called his hair and for a split second, you wanted to reach out and run your fingers through it. When you heard the buckle click, he stopped right in front of you and smiled. "All buckled in."

'I could just lean in and plant one on him', you thought. Just grab onto his face and kiss the hell out of him. What's stopping you? Not Cole, that's for damn sure. Now that you were a single woman, you could indulge in your feelings and finally go after Tyler...assuming he'd even be okay with that.

Tyler reassuringly squeezed your thigh and got out of the car, closing the door and making his way to the driver's side. It was only a few seconds before he was in the driver's seat, starting his car and turning on your seat warmers. When he turned the radio station from Hip-Hop to Country, he smiled at you. "I know you like country music, so just listen to this and we'll be home before you know it."

You nodded as he started to drive away from the party and zoned in on the song.

"You brushed away your blonde hair And you kissed me out of nowhere, I can still show you the spot where everything went down. Oh, I told you I was gonna marry you, you probably didn't think that it was true"

The moment your brain registered what song was playing, the waterworks just exploded and you burst into tears. Tyler looked over at you with a panicked look on his face before slamming on the brakes at a stop sign. "What? What is it what's wrong?"

"The s-s-song," you pointed to the radio and wiped your cheeks. "Th-that was our song. He said it was our s-song when we first started dating b-because we met on October 14th."

You felt stupid, bawling like a baby into your hands in Tyler's car over a song that an asshole of a boy dedicated to you years prior. It wasn't the fact that the song was the issue, but how you remembered how nice your relationship was at the beginning of it all.

"Okay, okay we can fix this," Tyler cleared his throat and kept changing the station channels until settling on another country station that had a song just ending. "How about this, hey...look at me, please?"

You sniffled and picked your head out of your hands to look at him. His eyes took in your tear-stained cheeks and immediately he covered his hand with his sweatshirt and patted the tears away. "S-Sorry that I'm such a mess."

"Don't apologize for what that asshole did Y/N, ever." He brought his hand back and nodded at the station. "I've got an idea, hear me out?" You nodded and he pointed at the radio.

"The next song that comes on, that'll be our song, okay? Not you and douchebag, you and me. Does that sound good?" Nodding again, he smiled and held his hand out across the center console towards you.

You looked at it and smiled, reaching out and holding onto it for what felt like dear life. He intertwined your fingers with his and held up your hands, looking at you. "You've got me on your side, okay? If you need to cry, vent or just yell, go ahead and do it...I won't judge."

"Thank you, Tyler." You sniffled, squeezing his hand.

He just smiled and let your hands relax back onto the center console, where he didn't release his from yours. As the long list of commercials came to an end, Tyler squeezed your hand again before turning down the street. You rested your head back against the headrest and looked out the window as the radio DJ kept talking about the CMA awards. You weren't listening much, only trying to focus in on what song would play next- the song that would belong to you and Tyler.

"I'll never settle down, that's what I always thought. Yeah, I was that kind of man, just ask anyone. I don't dance, but here I am, spinning you around and around in circles. It ain't my style, but I don't care, I'd do anything with you anywhere. Yes, you got me in the palm of your hand, 'Cause, I don't dance."

You tried your best to sneak a peek of Tyler from the corner of your eye to see if he reacted to the song, but before you could even get one, he let go of your hand and changed the song. "Next station!"

"What? Why!"

"This song is better," He turned the volume up and went back to staring at the road.

"If he don't love you anymore, just walk your fine ass out the door. I do my hair toss, check my nails– baby how you feelin'? Feeling good as hell"

He looked at you quickly, soon frowning. "What? You don't like this song?"

"No, I love this song and Queen Lizzo," you sighed, slumping into the seat. "It's just... that was gonna be our new song, remember?"

"Oh," he cleared his throat and turned it back to the country station. "I just figured since it was like a...romantic song that uh, I'd change it."

You shrugged your shoulders and turned your attention back to the window, continuing to jam out to Lizzo. You had the urge to cry but bit the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from doing so. Tyler changed the song because it was a romantic one, he hadn't bothered to grab your hand again– maybe you were thinking too much into things and your friendship with him. Otherwise, he probably would've been okay with the song...right?

❒❒❒❒

Tyler had his arm around you still as he helped you up the steps and to the door. The longer you had sat down in his car, the more the alcohol had hit you and the moment you went to get out of his car, he practically had to catch you or you would've hit his garage floor face first. "I'm such an i-idiot. My brothers were right," you slurred as Tyler held you up and against him, throwing your arm over his shoulders. "Cole is a fucking dickface and I wish I could k-kick him in the balls."

"I'm sure we'd all love to do that, Y/N." He laughed, unlocking the door and pushing it open with his foot. "Now there's a step, so be–"

You walked ahead of him, wanting to get into the house and completely tripping over the step he was telling you about. “careful...”

You landed on your hands and knees as his tile floors felt cool against your skin. Crying wouldn't have helped any, so all you could do was laugh. You crawled ahead and out of his way as the familiar sound of paws echoed down the hall. "PUPPERS!!!"

In seconds, the three blobs of fur sprinted around the corner and tackled into you, knocking you onto your but and inadvertently breaking your DIY costume bottoms. "No! Bad boys, go back!" Tyler said, closing the door and snapping his fingers.

The dogs didn't listen as they continued to crawl all over you and licking you. "Be nice to my puppers Tyler," you said, reaching forward and rubbing Cash behind an ear as your other hand was rubbing Marshall's butt. "Because dogs are so cute and lovable and they don't screw other girls behind your back."

Like he knew that you needed it, Gerry reached up and started licking your face. You could feel yourself start to forget all about Cole and Paisley as the three Seguin boys showered you with their love and attention. Standing over you, you saw Tyler laugh and shake his head as he had his hands on his hips. "Don't worry, you guys are the best, goodest boys in the world and your daddy is just jealous that you love me more than him."

"Alright that's enough you needy dogs," Tyler shooed them off and ignored your pout as he held onto your hands and stood you up off of the floor. "You lost your pants." He said, bending down and picking up the Jack Daniel's box. "Need these?"

"Throw them away, I don't care." You replied, moving ahead and walking towards his living room as best as you could.

"Oh no you don't," He ran up behind you and turned you around, his hands on your waist. "Come on, please don't make me toss you over my shoulders."

You gasped, a smile breaking out on your face. "Like a fireman? Oh, could you? That'd be so cool."

Tyler just sighed and directed you towards the stairs and pushing you lightly up them, keeping a hand on your lower back in case you were to fall. You only fell back into him a few times before reaching the top of the stairs and when you did, Tyler grabbed your hand and led you to his room.

A crazy sense of Deja vu washed over you as you knew the situation was all too familiar. You in a...broken costume of sorts, drunk and Tyler taking you to his room. He walked you over to the bed and sat you down, pointing at you. "Stay right here, okay?"

You brought your hand up to your forehead, saluting him and almost knocking yourself over. "Yes, sir!"

He just laughed as you fell back onto his bed, staring up at his ceiling. "Don't fall asleep on me, Y/N!"

"Technically," you raised a finger into the air. "I'm not sleeping on you, I'm sleeping on your bed...which is so comfortable. I think I'm going to steal it for my dorm."

You heard him walk by you again as he tossed something onto the bed beside you. "I'd love to watch you try, Y/N. Now come on, stand up for me."

He tapped your bare thigh and you felt your nerves send a shock throughout your entire body. "Did you just shock me?!"

"What? No!" He replied, reaching out to you and pulling you up by your hand. He made sure you wouldn't fall back down as he reached beside you and picked up a shirt. "You can go ahead and put these on so you don't have to sleep in...whatever that is."

"It's called art, Tyler," you scoffed, sliding the straps of your box top off of you and letting it drop onto the floor as you took the clothes from him. "And I'll have you know, I worked the hell out of it!"

You reached down to take off your bandeau and Tyler immediately spun around. "What are you doing?! Just put on the shirt! You don't need to," he waved a hand around in your direction. "Do that!"

"I never sleep with a bra on, Tyler. Besides, it's a bandeau and it'll just slip off when I roll over," You took it off and tossed it onto the floor, sighing. "I bet you he cheated on me because of my boobs, do guys do that?"

You could hear Tyler choke on his breath as he kept his back to you, looking up at his ceiling. "I mean, I think my boobs are great and they're real! I bet you Alpha Gamma Psi Paisley the bottled blonde's boobs are fake!" You looked down at your chest before looking back at Tyler. "Mine are real! I grew them myself, I mean...aren't my boobs great? Actually, Paisley was really nice...now I feel mean.”

Tyler brought a hand to his face shaking his head. "I'd prefer not to answer that question, please."

"I demand you to look at my boobs Tyler!" You glared at him, the alcohol taking over you completely. "How else can you judge them fairly?"

"I'm not going to look at your boobs, Y/N..."

You groaned and plopped down onto his bed. "Tyler Seguin, you look at my boobs right now or I'm telling my brother."

"Well, that's exactly why I can't look at your boobs."

It all seemed so ridiculous, the fact that you were getting so upset because he wouldn't look at your chest. You were 100% positive that he's looked at other girls' chests without protest, but yet here he was with his back to you still, being stubborn and refusing to look. The thought of him not returning even a slight bit of feelings, combined with the alcohol and everything that happened tonight- was enough to make you start crying again.

"I bet you he cheated on me because my boobs are ugly or something," you wiped your cheeks as more tears fell. "Am I that undesirable of a girlfriend to where he had to go out and find a-another girl?"

You could see Tyler's shoulders relax before slumping over as he let out a deep breath. He turned his head slightly, looking you in the eye before letting his eyes travel down for only a second before he turned right back around, just as fast. "Your boobs are great, Y/N. Now can you please get dressed?"

"That wasn't even a full look, but I guess you're just really nice," you sighed, pushing yourself up. "Nothing like the manwhore everyone says you are–oh!"

You tripped over the Jack Daniel's box that was still around your feet and Tyler turned around quickly to keep you from falling. When he looked down at you, his eyes went wide before he looked away towards his closet and helped you up. "Just, use me for balance and get dressed."

You picked up the shirt and put it on you, resting a hand on Tyler's shoulder whenever you felt like you were going to fall over. When you sat back down onto the bed, Tyler picked up your bandeau and folded it, placing it onto the dresser. He turned back around with a pink pack of facial wipes in his hand and squatted down to your level as he pulled done out and started to wipe off your make-up.

"Is this okay? It's not too hard, right"

"Why do you have these? From your last club conquest?" You asked, not afraid to hide the jealousy and sarcasm in your voice.

Tyler blushed as he nodded at you to close an eye so he could get the mascara off of your eyes. "Candace uses them and I love the way they smell, so I bought them for myself." He grabbed a new wipe and moved to the other eye, "plus they keep my beautiful face clean."

You laughed as he finished up and pulled back the covers of his bed and patted the empty space, "welcome to your bed."

You smiled and crawled towards the empty space, digging your legs beneath the covers. "With the dogs?"

Tyler just laughed and rested his hands on his hips as he whistled. It was only a few moments before the three dogs you babysat often, were jumping onto the bed and each picking their place beside you for the night. "You three better behave yourself and let her sleep," he said, looking at each dog individually. "And no funny business, I'm looking at you, Gerry. That means no shitting on my floor."

He turned back to you and grabbed onto the covers, pulling them up as high as the dogs' weight on the blankets would allow. He picked up the facial wipes and walked into the bathroom, tossing them away before going to leave the bedroom altogether.

"And you?" You asked, propped up against his pillows and petting Cash who had claimed the spot right beside you.

Tyler stopped and turned around, looking as if he was contemplating whether or not he would join you in his bed. He rubbed the side of his beard and shook his head. "Not yet, I've got just some to do really quick."

You tried your best not to allow your disappointment to show but ultimately failed, "Oh. Later then?"

"Maybe, later." He headed towards the door and stopped to look at you again.

"Thank you for coming to get me again, you're the best I don't deserve you." You yawned and rolled over onto your side, snuggling down into his bed and against Cash. "Goodnight Ty."

It felt as if the moment your head relaxed into his pillow that your body and brain just slipped into a fast sleep. No sooner than you closed your eyes, you heard him turn off the light and then start to walk...except the steps were coming closer to you. You felt him tug onto the blankets a little more, making sure that your upper body was covered, feeling his hand rest on your shoulder.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered, removing his hand from your shoulder softly. You thought that maybe he was leaving the room, but as soon as you felt his lips and the scruff of his beard against your cheeks– your heart stopped. "And no...I don't deserve you."

You stayed still as you listened for his footsteps leave the room and the sound of the door closing. You opened your eyes, bringing your hand against your cheek, swearing up and down that you could still feel his lips against them. You smiled and snuggled more into Cash, petting his head as he sighed. "Holy shit Cash, he just kissed me...does this mean he might like me? Oh God, what if I'm just overthinking this? Do you think I'm overthinking this?"

Cash lifted his head slightly and licked at your face before plopping his head back down onto the comforter and letting out a long breath. You sighed and kissed his head, "okay yeah, you're right, let's just go to bed."

As you closed your eyes again and cuddled with the Seguin boys, your heart was thumping against your chest as your brain thought about the one Seguin that you couldn't help but wish was lying here with you– Tyler.

#tyler seguin imagine #tyler seguin oneshot #tyler seguin writing #nhl imagine #nhl writing #nhl one shot #hockey writing #hockey imagine #hockey oneshot #dallas stars imagine #dallas stars oneshot #dallas stars writing #ldyk fic #my writing

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

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two years too late, chapter o n e

You were waiting for the subway when you got the text. It was a typical Thursday evening in a wintry New York City. A brown-stained slush seemed to line the floors of the train and too many people were too close beside you when you read the message for the fourteenth time.

I know it’s last minute and it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other but I have a show in New York tonight. Would love to see you if you’re free. Xx H

That part of your life had long been over. The last time you spoke to Harry was some time in 2015 when he showed up at a Christmas party that your school friends had thrown together. Everyone seemed to fawn all over him like he was some type of God--but not you.

It was shitty, really, the way your friendship ended. You’d been close throughout the classes you’d shared and you had plenty of laughs together at co-ed birthday parties when you were both still awkward and fourteen.

But by the time you’d realized that he was the type of person you’d actually maybe have feelings for, he’d found his way onto the X-Factor and there were plenty of girls who he’d rather shag than the random girl in his friend group who wasn’t all that funny or all that pretty or all that anything. At least, that was the way you saw it.

How did he even know you lived here? You tried to trace through your last conversations with him that occurred in Kenny Tilley’s mum’s house. Sure, you’d maybe mentioned that New York was a cool place to live or something--especially if Harry had mentioned all the time he was spending there for work. But you had no idea you’d end up here two whole years ago. So how--in the middle of a snow storm that was taking over the Financial District--did Harry know how to get in touch with you?

You’d come up with three different answers by the time you walked back into your apartment, ranked from most realistic to least realistic as following:

He’d somehow followed along your life through social media and saw that you often tagged photos in New York.

He asked Bryn or Jessie or even maybe Adam or Jake and one of them had mentioned you lived in New York.

He googled you.

Okay, definitely not that one.

The door to your apartment latched behind you and there was music coming from the kitchen. Alyssa, your roommate, was often home before you, her bra flung onto the couch before she opened a bottle of wine and started cooking.

Tonight wasn’t any different. She swiveled her head around to see you when she heard you come in. “Hi,” a smile twisted her lips towards the sky as she wiped her hands on the dish towel she held. “How bad is it out there?”

“Terrible,” you said, your fingers finding the metal of your jacket zipper and pulling it towards the floor. “The subways are crowded and everyone’s acting like it’s Armageddon.”

She let out a laugh and turned her back to you now, minding whatever was on the stove. “‘S’gonna be bad, I guess. News-4 is saying up to eight inches locally.”

You rolled your eyes and shrugged your jacket onto the ground, letting a groan escape your lips. While the weather might not have been bad for native New Yorkers, it was more than you were used to in Cranage. And besides, when you first moved in, Alyssa told you it never even snowed in December.

But now she turned her head to eye you suspiciously. She stirred something on the burner but then abandoned it, coming to join you in the living room as you set your bag down on an armchair and tried to kick off your boots.

“Okay--you seem miserable. Bad meeting about weekly topics?”

“No,” the word fell out of your mouth as you used your toes to push the leather of your shoe down your ankle. “But it was a stupid meeting.”

She laughed at this, her eyebrows raised as you let your body slump onto the couch. “So what is it?”

“You know Harry?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You mean your high school friend who’s incredibly famous?”

Another roll of your eyes as you let a sharp exhale escape your lips. Alyssa laughed at this. For whatever reason, she found your feelings towards Harry to be remarkably entertaining. She knew the history--or the lack thereof--and she still somehow managed to get a good kick out of any and every (albeit the few) conversations that had anything to do with him.

“Yes, him.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, sneaking a peek over her shoulder to make sure whatever she was cooking didn’t need her immediate attention. You knew she was growing impatient.

“He texted me.”

Her eyes grew wide and she moved forward to sit on the couch. “He texted you? I thought you don’t even talk!”

“We don’t,” you shrugged. “He invited me to a concert.”

“His concert?” Her face was excited and her voice was an octave higher than it usually was.

“I dunno,” you closed your eyes and leaned your head back. If your weekly topics meeting and commute home hadn’t been bad enough, this was definitely the last straw in an already shitty day.

You’d been writing the List category for the entirety of your 9 month employment at the online pop culture news site, The Scoop. Writing about the top ten fashion trends of the season or the 15 best self-care ideas for a snow day was way better than freelance work that a lot of your uni friends were doing, but you’d long had the itch to contribute to more compelling pieces.

Some of your coworkers were covering real news. Campus sexual assault cases. Music industry myths. Even the long standing feud between Camila Cabello and her ex-bandmates felt more compelling than the best women’s razors.

“You don’t know who’s concert he invited you to?”

“Here,” you shoved your phone towards her after reopening the message. “I don’t even know how he has my new number.”

“Oh my god,” she read the words over and then lifted her eyes to settle on your unimpressed glare, reigning in her emotions so as to not piss you off any more. “I mean, do you think you’ll answer?”

“What am I supposed to say? Sure? Be right there? I don’t even know where it is. Could be Long Island City, for all I know. I am not going there with this shit storm,” you pointed out the window at the snowflakes that now seemed to be more like nickels instead of pennies.

“Okay, I doubt that Harry Styles would be performing in Long Island City, number one. Number two, when was the last time you saw him? Wouldn’t it be fun to reconnect?”

When you didn’t answer immediately, she got up to head back towards the stove, likely answering her own question with the smirk on her face.

It’s not that seeing him would be miserable. It’s just that you were used to seeing him with other people around and the last time you saw him had been incredibly, well, awkward.

“You weren’t at Kenny Tilley’s house two Christmases ago, clearly.”

“Clearly not,” she mocked your accent. “Because you’ve never really told me what happened.”

“It was nothing,” you said, reaching for your phone and reading over his words once more. “I was drunk and he was drunk and it was just stupid.”

“Did you hook up with him?!” She asked excitedly, holding up a wooden spoon as she waited for your response.

“What? No! We didn’t hook up--we’ve never hooked up. But I was drunk enough that I probably would have, which is why I can’t see him!”

“Oh come on,” she chastised as you stood from the couch. You padded towards her, thankful for the warmth of the apartment and the scent of whatever meal she was prepping. “Sounds like you’re being childish.”

“M’not,” you said with a serious face. “It would be so fucking awkward.”

“Or,” she looked back down at what was in the pot--which appeared to be some sort of stew--and tilted her head. “You could totally have a killer comeback and it could be not at all awkward and you’ll undo any embarrassment that occurred that night.”

She reached for a wine glass from the cabinet for you.

“I dunno,” you said, almost defeated. Alyssa’s words had sparked some type of naive hope in your heart that you could get things sorted. Maybe he didn’t even remember (unlikely). Maybe he didn’t care (somewhat likely). Maybe he was just being nice because you ran in the same circle back home and you were the only one living in New York (very likely).

Or maybe it wouldn’t be that weird. You lifted your glass for her to pour some wine. When she set the bottle back on the counter, she spoke.

“Just ask him where it is, Y/N. That’s totally reasonable! We’re not going to Brooklyn or Inwood or even the Upper East Side. But if it’s Midtown or something we could totally make it happen.”

You sighed, eyeing your phone on the counter.

“Fine. Okay. I’ll just do some information gathering.”

She hummed to herself quietly as she tasted the stew, clearly pleased with her pushing.

You thumbed out a response.

Hi, thanks for the invite! Whereabouts is it?

“Whereabouts? How old are you, sixty-three?” Alyssa stifled a laugh when you read it aloud.

“Oh come on! I don’t even want to go or see him or any of it. I’m basically asking to feel like an idiot.”

“Or you--or we, if you get a plus one,” she waved a hand in the air as if she was totally feeling indifferent about going--you knew her well enough to know she was dying to tag along. “We could go and make the best of it and there’d probably be free food and alcohol. And besides, how often do you get to go to a free concert for a hugely popular music act?”

You rolled your eyes at that one. You’d been to four One Direction concerts with your friends whenever they had a show in London. You’d get to be backstage, visit with the rest of the band. It was fun and cool and only made you feel even more stupid for thinking that Harry actually ever saw something in you.

The truth was this: the more famous he got, the less you saw him. He found new friends and had a new house in a new city and was soon too busy to even reply in the group chat. So you started one without him.

Your phone buzzed in your hand and Alyssa nearly dropped her spoon.

It’s at Spotify, it’s a live recording thing. No worries if you’re busy, but it’s 8pm.

Another text came through immediately with a red pin on the map.

150 Greenwich St 62nd Floor, New York, NY 10007.

“I mean, no worries, like he said. But that’s like a ten minute Uber away. Twenty on the subway, tops.”

“Thirty in this weather,” you corrected.

“So we’re going?” She clapped her hands excitedly and grinned in your direction.

“Relax, will you?” She flinched at this, making some kind of face to let you know you’d offended her somewhat. “This isn’t some chick flick where we’re about to finish this bottle of wine and have a magical night with him.”

“Uh,” she looked around the room, finally landing her eyes on your face. “Sounds like it could be exactly that.”

When Alyssa turned her back to tend to dinner once more, you typed a response and sent it before she could get her hands on it.

See you then!

The snow hadn’t let up. If anything, the wind had gotten worse and the snowflakes had graduated to quarters--wet and heavy as they fell on top of the hat you wore.

“I thought it never snowed in December?” You questioned her--recalling the day you moved in last April. A year in to your post-grad life had left you bored in London, ready for a change of scenery and a leap of faith. An opening at The Scoop and a wine-induced confidence had you clicking the submit button on your application after Adam had given you a pep-talk via text.

“It doesn’t usually,” she said, trailing behind you down Cortland Street. The roads were still busy, but the blanket of white on the ground seemed to quiet the ever-present noises of the city. “Global warming’s a thing, you know.”

She was right, but you didn’t reply. You reached for your phone in your pocket and verified that you were heading in the right direction. It was 7:51pm. After dinner and a quick shower, you were both out the door to trudge through the slushy sidewalks and meet up with Erica: the woman Harry said would be waiting for you upon your arrival.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m with you?” Alyssa asked, snowflakes turning to water when they made contact with the hood of her jacket.

“S’fine. I don’t think there’s like--a list or something.”

She’d been upset that you hadn’t asked if she could come. But she was clearly missing the fact that if she wasn’t going, neither were you. You weren’t about to show up to Harry’s gig flying solo and face the impending awkwardness alone.

You crossed Church Street in the dark and headed for a set of glass doors that seemed subtle for the New York satellite of the biggest music streaming platform. Alyssa pressed the button for the elevator inside and impatiently shook her hands out of the gloves she’d worn for warmth.

She seemed to know you needed a minute, because she kept her eyes glued to her phone as the elevator rose the sixty-two floors until it let out a loud beep to signal your arrival. The doors parted. A neon green wall met--and nearly blinded--you both.

“Jesus, bit much, don’t you think?” Alyssa complained as she stepped out, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the aggressive color. You looked both ways down the long hall. It was eerily quiet.

Before you could process the sound of footsteps headed your way, you were greeted by a voice of an excited woman.

“Y/N?” She called your name, prompting both of you to turn quickly. A woman in a grey cardigan smiled and offered a small wave as she headed your way. “I’m Erica.”

“Hi,” you said, pulling the hat from your head to reveal (what you were sure was) hat hair. You smoothed it quickly, offering her a hand to shake. “This is my roommate, Alyssa.”

You tried to ignore the knot in your stomach and the rise of heat to your face. You were sure you looked stupid. You were sure you sounded stupid. You were sure, suddenly, that nothing good would come of this decision.

“Nice to meet both of you,” she motioned to follow her back in the direction from which she came. “They’re actually just about to start recording, so we’ll slip in the back and just watch for now.”

Erica was decidedly American. Decidedly a fixture of Harry’s new life. Friendly as she may seem, you couldn’t help but be bothered by her smile and her shade of lipstick and even the bracelet on her wrist. Maybe it was some kind of defense to keep you from making more of a fool out of yourself than you already had.

“So you’re a friend from back home?” She asked over her shoulder as you slipped out of your jacket.

“Yeah,” you folded the fabric over your arm as you followed behind her. “Went to school together and all that.”

It’d been a while since you told someone about your knowing Harry, really. Since the day you moved in with Alyssa. You weren’t keeping it a secret, but it certainly wasn’t public knowledge. No one at work knew, and honestly, you feared that it would make people take you less seriously. If anything, you were afraid that knowing him would make coworkers think you were hired for that and that alone.

That’d be the definition of clickbait: Former pal of One Direction star writes lists about the best boyband songs to ever grace the planet, and yes, 1D is included!

All of your other friends from home knew that you knew him because they did too. Your parents always asked if he’d be joining your make-shift school reunions, but it’d been a while since he had. Which was why it was so strange in the first place that he’d shown up at Kenny Tilley’s house two years ago.

Erica rounded a corner and then reached for a door--one that was black metal and had a red light above it. Alyssa offered you a smile as Erica pulled it open, urging both of you in before holding a finger up to her mouth to remind you of the noise requirements.

The room was big--and while you could hear the music and hear the voice of someone you knew quite well, you couldn’t actually see him. At least, not until Erica led you a few steps to the right.

There was a group of 75 or so people--girls, really--who watched in raised seats as Harry strummed at a guitar. Alyssa, who reached a hand down to grab yours in excitement, couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. You knew the feeling.

But Alyssa didn’t know that you knew the feeling. She didn’t know that you’d had a massive crush on Harry up until he left for the show. She didn’t know that you stayed in contact for a while, until the travel and the distance and everything became too much.

It was cool at first. Your friend was finding success and did his best to keep in touch with the five of you he’d left behind. Bryn and Jessie had warned you that he wasn’t coming back, and he never did.

All Alyssa knew was that you were friends and attended his co-ed birthday parties until you were 16. She knew that you’d see him maybe once or twice a year after the band took off and she knew that you were anything but close now. She knew something ridiculous had happened the last time you saw him and she knew you swore that he’d never want to speak to you again.

You really thought that was the case. Until today.

So while she clutched your hand and smiled excitedly at you--even jumping up and down every few minutes--you did your best to calm the thumping of your heart that felt like it was strong enough to out-do the bass that walked alongside Harry’s melodic voice.

Five songs. Applause. You were ushered to a back room with Alyssa and that’s when Erica finally let you have a moment alone, her ponytail swaying as the door shut behind her.

“Is this where he sat, do you think?” Alyssa spread herself out on the black plush couch that sat on top of a black plush carpet. “How cool is this? How many times have you touched him? A hundred? A thousand?”

You took a deep breath. This is exactly why you didn’t often tell people. She seemed to gather that, though, because she regained her composure and let out a breath, an embarrassed giggle escaping her lips as the door behind you pushed open.

“Hey Smalls,” Harry’s lips pulled upward as his eyes caught yours. His arms immediately extended forward, wrapping around you before you could even process the use of your embarrassing (and non-consensual) nickname. You stood there, arms by your side as his body enveloped yours.

“Hi,” you spit out the word, the one syllable sounding a bit short and brash as it left your lips. He was warm up against you, his hand rubbing on your arm as he pulled away.

Upon noticing Alyssa, he smiled. “I’m Harry. You must be,” he raised his eyebrows at her, reaching forward to make contact as you stood awkwardly between them.

“Alyssa,” she answered quickly, extending her hand and offering a smile in return. Her eyes were as wide as two moons, her grin toothy and sincere.

You were both back in your coats now--ready to face the grueling storm despite the warm temperature of the room. You’d been hoping that you’d say a quick hello, engage in the dreaded small talk for a matter of minutes, and then be on your way back to your shared apartment. After all, you had work in the morning.

An awkward pause filled the room as Harry ran a hand through his hair. You shrugged your shoulders absentmindedly, wondering if he felt as uncomfortable as you did.

“Good to see you,” you forced out, fingers reaching for the zipper on your jacket to occupy your empty hands. “Sounded great out there!”

He smiled at this, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, thank you. Yeah, m’glad you could make it, thanks for coming.”

More silence. Alyssa shifted on her feet and smoothed her hair.

“How long are you in New York for?” You didn’t really care to know. One night was enough to last you the next four decades--or, if you were lucky, until you were dead.

“Another week, actually. Doing some promo here and there. Heading back for the holidays soon though. Y’gonna be home?”

“Yeah--booked my flight a few days ago actually. Heading to Heathrow on the 20th.”

“Nice,” he nodded, averting his gaze for a minute over to Alyssa. You turned to look back at her, but as soon as she met your gaze, she pulled her phone from her pocket and pretended to be suddenly occupied by something much more interesting.

“Have you both eaten dinner?” His voice was choppy but it didn’t falter.

While you opted for the truth (yes), Alyssa shook her head (no). Harry furrowed his brows and looked between you, a smirk eventually tugging at his mouth.

“She uh, she means ‘we had a snack.’ You were just saying how hungry you were, Y/N,” Alyssa prompted, her left brow twitching upwards as if to silently communicate that you were to go along with her plan.

“Uh, we sort of ate.”

He let out a laugh, clearly unperturbed. “Well, I was gonna go to a really seedy place that has the best Pad Thai in the city--if you want to join.”

Alyssa looked to you and seemed to wait for your response. Something about Harry knowing the best Pad Thai on the island made you territorial, almost. As if he’d intruded on a place that was yours, not his.

“Oh,” you opened your mouth to make an excuse, but Alyssa cut you off.

“You two go, I’ve actually got a lot of stuff to do tonight. I’ll just get a cab home.” She made her way towards the door and offered a smile over her shoulder. “Text me when you’re on your way home, yeah?”

While you could have cursed Alyssa out for all that is holy, you forced a wicked smile and narrowed your eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry waved over his shoulder, shoving a hand into his pocket as the door shut behind her. He turned back to you and raised his brows again. “Shall we?”

It wasn’t like you’d never been alone with Harry. There was the time you were dropped off at his house to catch a ride to the school dance. You ended up in the doorway to his bedroom while he decided between which over-powering teenaged boy-scent to douse himself with.

There was also the time he got to your house first one Friday for a movie night. You probably had seventeen minutes alone before Adam and Jessie walked in at the same time.

You’d certainly been left alone with him when you all went shopping, everyone wandering off into different shops and you and Harry often ending up together.

Then there was the conundrum at Kenny’s.

And it wasn’t like you’d always been this nervous. Actually, you barely used to bat an eye about it. You really only started being nervous at 15 or 16 when you realized that maybe his curly hair was cute and maybe the way he always made people laugh was something you wanted to be around more often.

But as soon as you realized it, he was gone.

So instead of focusing on the way your heart was in your throat when you rode in the backseat of a black Chevy Suburban, you focused on the fact that you’d done this before.

You were sober. He was sober. That immediately meant it couldn’t be as tragic as the last time you saw him.

You’d already done the necessary formalities. He’d asked about your family, you asked about his. You complimented his performance again. He asked how the end of uni was--given that last time you spoke, you were finishing up your degree.

So you busied yourself with your phone in the car, hiding behind the Yelp app and a plethora of 5 star reviews until you were forced to brave the cold air again.

A bowl of mints had welcomed you at the front door--the empty restaurant was quiet aside from the distant voices of a woman and a man in the back. Beige stained walls and shabby leather booths promised a good meal.

“So how’re Jessie and Bryn?” He looked up to see you, using two chopsticks to pull a portion of noodles onto his plate after it’d been set down between you.

You tore at the paper that shielded your own dining utensils, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. When was the last time he’d spoken to them? You’d been sure that he was talking to them more than you--really just based on the fact that neither of them had the same traumatic experience you had.

“They’re good. Bryn is working in finance at some company I don’t even know the name of,” you recounted, following his move to pull a serving onto your plate. “Jessie’s looking into PhD programmes. Can’t stand the thought of being uneducated.”

He let out a laugh at your joke, carrying a bite of food towards his mouth. His eyes caught yours for a second and your stomach sank, almost sure he was about to bring it up.

“And you’re…”

“At The Scoop, you’ve probably never heard of it, but we love to write about you.”

You rolled your eyes at the desperation displayed by your own company. The right side of his mouth pulled up as he chewed.

You tried to backtrack somewhat. “Well, not me, but, like, my coworkers.”

You’d made it a point to never actually write about Harry. The band was open season, but you’d made a rule on your first day that you weren’t about to blow your cover. Enough of your readers were already suspicious about the fact that he followed you on Instagram and Twitter. Writing about him would be sure to draw more attention to the fact that, buried somewhere on Adam’s instagram feed, was a picture of you and Jessie and Harry lounging on a couch in someone’s basement.

“I know it, the website,” he nodded. Another bite, words spoken around chunks of chicken. “I’ve read some of your stuff. Didn’t know if you were still there.”

“You’ve read it?” Your eyes must have gone wide because he laughed at that, rolling up the sleeves of his brown sweater so as to not make contact with the broken pieces of noodles on the table.

“I have. Pretty good, really. People seem to love you.”

You let your head roll to the side, a nonverbal sign that it wasn’t a big deal. You’d amassed a fair about of followers on twitter--but not quite as many on instagram. People seemed to find your dry humor and self-deprecating ways to be entertaining enough to want to see it regularly. It helped gain you some street cred at work and in the journalism field altogether. Apparently people really _were _interested in the best women’s razors.

“And you like New York,” he nodded, waiting for an answer despite the fact that he’d already made a statement.

“Love New York,” you nodded. “Excited to go back to London though for the holidays.”

“We’ll have to get everyone together. I know I’ve been,” a lift of his right shoulder out of guilt, “pretty shit at keeping in touch.”

“You’re busy,” you said.

“Still.”

“S’fine.”

“S’not, but,” he didn’t finish.

You couldn’t take the seriousness or the truth or the authenticity. So you derailed it before it could start. You asked about his album and his tour and tried your best to keep the conversation as far as possible from the night of December 29th, 2015.

And you’d really thought you’d managed it all beautifully when he paid for the meal and you were, once again, pulling on your jacket to brave the snow that fell from the night sky.

“Want to walk?”

“Huh?” You looked up at him as he pulled a flat cap over his hair.

“Walk, Smalls, just for fun. I don’t always see too much of the city.”

You didn’t really know how to reply. Was he trying to guilt you? He had to have known it wouldn’t work, but maybe two years was enough time for him to forget that you’d never been one to fawn all over him.

“I mean, I have to work in the morning, so.”

“Oh,” his face fell, almost as sad as you’d ever seen it. “Yeah, no, s’fine.”

“I guess, we can walk to my apartment, if you really want. It’s not--it’s like fourteen blocks from here.”

Another sheepish smile from him as he pushed on the door and waited for you to walk under his arm. The snowflakes were smaller when you looked up to see them dance in the flood of street lights. Harry went up to the passenger side window of the car that waited for him, knocked twice before the driver rolled it down.

He said something about walking you home. You decided that the snowflakes were now more like dimes.

You fell into step beside him quite seamlessly. Something that you hated and loved all at once, feeling oddly soothed by his presence but still completely unsure of why he’d texted and what he wanted and how on earth he could tolerate you after that night.

“This is where I get my hair cut, actually,” you pointed to a window with empty barber chairs inside and a barber pole out front.

“Really?” His head dipped to the side as he slowed down, stealing a glance inside. You caught your reflection in the window, his coat was long and down to his knees, formal and grandpa-like and exactly what you’d expect him to wear.

“No--that’s like--it’s a place for men,” you laughed, feeling more comfortable once your lungs took in more cold air.

He laughed and turned back to look at you.

“Don’t say it,” you shook your head quickly, the words tumbling out of your mouth at the same exact moment as he did just that: he said it.

“You’re killing me, Smalls.”

You rolled your eyes. “I hate that nickname.”

He laughed again, catching up after you’d left him behind--picking up your pace in an attempt to let him know he’d pissed you off. He smirked at you now, though, an undeniable and unmistakable twitch of his lips that soon became a full-face grin.

“Oh come on, Y/N, s’not that bad,” he reached over to poke you in the shoulder. You shivered at the touch, hoping he didn’t notice. Or, if he did, hoping he’d chalk it up to just the cold air.

“Is too,” you nodded, serious eyes on his face. “You lot are the only ones who ever use that and I’ve never given my actual consent!”

He was quiet, a smile on his face as he shoved his hands back into his pockets, his boots brushing against the powder on the concrete.

You walked in silence for a few blocks. The wind blew every once in a while, and when it did, you shrunk into your coat, your lips grazing the zipper as you attempted to shield yourself. Harry’s eyes traced the skyline overhead, taking in the height of the buildings and the snowflakes that seemed to be downgrading to specks of dust in the wind.

You hated the fact that you liked him. You hated the fact that he gave you butterflies like you were back in Year 9 and you hated the fact that he never hesitated to pull out his signature raised-brow smirk.

You bit your tongue when you stopped in front of your door, nervous that if you opened your mouth, the truth would spill out, completely uncontrollable. You’d already made that mistake once.

“Thanks for,” he paused, his lips twitching as he searched for the right label. “Hanging out.”

“Yeah, s’good to see you. I’d uh, invite you up--s’pretty messy, though.”

“I don’t mind,” he said quickly, shaking his head as his eyes trailed up the side of the building. It was shorter than some others, only eight stories on the skinny residential street.

You hadn’t actually meant it as in invite--it was more just a polite way of saying you’re not invited up.

You shrugged your shoulders, hoping you didn’t have to be more straightforward. “S’late, I know you’re probably busy tomorrow.”

“I have a place a few blocks away. I’ll probably walk home myself, s’a short walk,” he shrugged, looking around to highlight the fact that his car hadn’t followed you.

“You have an apartment here?” you asked, your voice smaller than it’d been all night.

He’d lived a few blocks away from you and hadn’t bothered to reach out? Sure, he might not have known just how close he was--but something still triggered a sinking feeling in your stomach.

“M’not here often, really,” he told you, an excuse flying out from between his lips. His eyes dropped to the snowy sidewalk beneath your feet as if he knew just how bad he sounded. “A week or two at a time, few times a year.” He looked up, his voice more cheery and hopeful. “But, I’d love to see your place.”

When his eyes met yours, you couldn’t help it. You were putty in his hand and the world at his feet. “Uh, yeah, okay.”

You fished for your keys in your pocket, wishing you weren’t so childish or spineless or intrigued by the boy who’d outgrown his hometown and left you in the dust.

He followed you to the lift, climbing in beside you as you told him about your dreadful move in day. Too many boxes, not enough hands. Alyssa was helpful but you barely knew her--you didn’t want to earn the title of bad roommate too soon into your relationship.

The hallway on your floor was dark, small lamps lined the wall as he followed behind you. It was late and Alyssa was likely asleep. You’d forgotten to text her like she’d requested, so you keyed in as quietly as possible, hopeful that she wasn’t waiting up.

You pushed the door open and let him walk in first, wondering if you should give him the grand tour--shoebox bedroom and all.

“S’not much, but it’s home,” you looked around, taking in the sight through the eyes of a stranger. A small couch and armchair in the center of the living room. A modest-sized TV that was the home of Friends reruns and Netflix marathons. Framed posters on the wall of old Parisian magazines. A small kitchen table and two teal chairs by the kitchen in the corner.

You couldn’t help but wonder what his apartment looked like. Was it an apartment or was it a four story penthouse? Was it professionally decorated by someone from Vogue? Did he have marble counters and marble floors and marble furniture?

“S’nice,” he smiled, bringing his eyes back to yours. “Feels homey.”

That was his nice way of saying it was messy and small and a place he could _never _spend any time. He was likely used to lounging on sofas that cost more than your yearly salary.

The door to Alyssa’s bedroom creaked, her figure emerging from the light that seeped through the crack. “How’d it--oh, hi!” Her eyes widened when she learned I wasn’t alone. “How was dinner?”

We spoke at the same time.

“Good,” he said.

“Fine,” was my response.

Alyssa crossed her arms over her chest to cover the fact that wasn’t wearing a bra--she never was. That’s apparently what it took for Harry to realize it was time for him to head out. He looked between you both and offered another smile. Smacking his lips together, his eyes scanned the room once more, finally landing on you.

“I’ll see you--yeah? I’m here for another week, we could do dinner or something?”

You hadn’t expected him to initiate something again. You’d actually expected that you wouldn’t hear from him at all--maybe a text to the group chat on Christmas Day saying he missed the lot of you.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you watched as he headed for the door he’d just entered through.

“Nice to meet you again, Alyssa.”

“You too,” a dazed look still on her face as she watched him reach for the handle.

“You can find your way down? And your way home?”

He crossed the threshold back into the hallway, his lip curling up. “I’m good, Smalls.”

“Okay.”

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. See you later.”

“Bye,” you shut the door, soothed by the sound of the latch as you turned your back to the wood, a long sigh escaping your lips as Alyssa raised her brows for the umpteenth time.

“Care to explain?”

You bit at your lip. It was late, you were tired. You were emotionally drained. But you knew she wasn’t going to let you get away with it.

So you sat on the couch and had a cup of tea and told her about the last time you saw Harry. You also told her that despite all of it--the embarrassment, the resentment, the anger, and the jealousy--you hoped he meant it when he said he’d you’d see him again.

read the other parts here

AN: want to be on the tag list or have thoughts, questions, or just want to be friends?! Let me know here!

taglist: @thurhomish @castawaycths @harryspirate

#tytl #two years too late #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years

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Nothin’ Big

A/N: The 12 Days of Christmas start on Christmas Day and go into the new year. But the 12 Days of Christmas Fics starts RIGHT NOW. Starting the countdown with the sweetest Mafioso that ever lived. This is MM Nick. There’s a “chapter 3″ floating around unfinished, and this little interlude to the main story comes chronologically after it, but luckily non-linear storytelling is a game i like to play, so out of order it is!

Word Count: 4,097

Prompt from: @its-my-little-dumpster-fire

“Just open it.”

“It’s not weird, it’s tradition.”

“I didn’t know what to get you. You’re not exactly easy to shop for.”

It was warmer in your drafty home than it had been since the weather turned. The heat still wasn’t working right, but for once you had all four burners on the stove going, and the tiny oven had been set to 375 all morning. The sweet smell of sugary confections filled the air as you pulled a batch of cookies from the center rack, setting the tray on top of the waiting trivets on the counter. Red, green and blue sprinkles covered the crisp, golden forms of trees, mittens and snowflakes, and you smiled as you slipped the quilted pot holders from your hands and stuck them into the pocket of your apron. Just need to finish the chocolate chip, then I can get dinner in and start cleaning up. You turned and grabbed the second tray, already loaded up with rounded dollops of dough, and placed it in the oven. The timer beeped as you set it for twelve minutes, the microwave chiming in to let you know that your coffee was once again an acceptable temperature. You grabbed your mug, a chipped ceramic snowman that was nearly as old as you were, noting the time as you took a sip of the warm nutty beverage. I’ve got three hours. Perfect.

Setting your coffee down, you started sliding the sugar cookies onto a sheet of tin foil so that they could cool. You’d admittedly gone overboard- one batch of cookies would have been more than enough, but you’d let yourself get carried away by the nostalgia of the beat up old recipe book, the stained apron and festive pot holders, ending up with two dozen each of the sugar cookies, chocolate chip, and oatmeal raisin that you’d made the night before. Gonna be eating cookies for breakfast lunch and dinner. You made a mental note to find the green tins in the closet upstairs so that you could fill them up and bring the leftover sweets in to work with you on Thursday. For tonight though, you’d pulled out the long glass tray etched with little reindeer that had once belonged to your grandmother. You ran your fingers over the design before arranging the cooled cookies, letting your mind wander back to Thanksgiving, and the start of this entire holiday hullabaloo.

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

The wind lashed at the screens, causing them to buckle and knock against the glass panes, the windows shaking in their frames. You nestled deeper into the pile of blankets that you’d disappeared beneath, eyes shut tight as you sighed contentedly, pressing your cheek into the soft green pillowcase. Rain pattered against the roof, adding to the stormy symphony, the clouds contributing to the colorless sky. You loved sleeping through storms, especially on rare days off from work when you didn’t have to pull yourself from your cocoon before you were willing to do so. Normally your alarm would be blaring by 7am, alerting you that it was time to start your day, but turning your face to the clock on your side table, you pried one eye open just enough to see the bright red numbers reading 10:57. A sleepy smile pulled your lips upwards. Still so much time to sleep. You flipped your pillow, relishing the cool side as another strong gust rattled the glass and screens above your head.

But just as you felt yourself giving in to the waves of slumber that would take you back into dreams, your phone rang. It buzzed and vibrated against the wooden surface of your bedside table, causing you to jolt, nearly falling out of bed in a tangle of sheets and covers. What the- you groaned, slowly realizing that you’d forgotten to turn your phone on silent. You never got calls on your days off, so you didn’t bother to switch the setting before crawling into bed. Glancing at the phone clutched in your hand, you read the caller ID, blinking questioningly at it. Huh? What’s he calling me for? Sudden panic mixed with your sleepy confusion as you swiped your screen to answer.

“Hello?” Your heart pounded three times in the half beat it took him to respond.

He spoke your name in a sigh of relief. “Where are you? Ya good? Ya okay?” His questions tumbled out one after the next, accent thicker than you’d heard it in person.

“Nick? Yeah, of course I’m fine, what are you…what do you mean? What’s going on?” You raised yourself up on your knees and turned to peer through the curtains, nothing to see but a gray sky and a few seagulls swooping through it. “Why are you callin’ me?”

“You’re okay? You’re not…” he let out a heavy breath. “You’re not hurt or…or anythin’?”

His tone was only making you more nervous and unsure. Hurt? Why would he think that? “Nick, calm down. I’m fine. Where are you, what’s going on?” You sat back against your pillows, pulling your knees to your chest.

“I’m…at work. I’m outside, it’s,” you heard the rattle of the door handle as he tried to yank it open. “It’s locked and the lights are out. There’s no cars here. No one’s here and you usually are so…” The door rattled once more as he let it go. “So I wanted to make sure nothin’ happened.”

He was worried about me? You couldn’t really blame him, considering how things had gone only a few weeks before when you’d gone from cashbox girl to getaway driver to…whatever new label your latest antics had earned you. “Nothin’ happened, Nick, everything’s okay.”

He sighed again and you heard a soft thud, imagining him collapsing back against the locked door, that one section of hair falling in his face as he tucked his chin to his chest. “Okay. Okay, good, I… Okay…so where is everyone? No Steve? No Ralph?”

Pfft. I wish no Ralph, ever, that’s the dream. “No, Nick. No Steve, no Ralph, no me. Dockside’s closed today, it’s-“ The adrenaline had cleared the drowsiness from your brain, and it socked you in the gut that he had absolutely no idea why things weren’t operating like business as usual today. “Nick, it’s Thanksgiving. Even we close on Thanksgiving.”

He was silent for a few seconds, just the sound of the waves crashing against the vacant boat slips echoing in the background. The smaller sailboats and scuppers had all been plucked from the water to dry dock inland for the winter the week before, and soon enough the remaining ferries and large fishing boats would don festive lights and evergreen roping to usher in the Christmas season. “Shit,” he finally whispered. “Shit, I forgot about Thanksgivin’…” There was sadness in the silence as his sentence tapered off, and it sent a chill through your chest as the screen banged against the glass above your head. “I’m sorry, I- you probably have holiday plans and…and family an all that an-“

“I don’t.” You cut him off, biting your lip. “I uh…well, my plan was to sleep ‘til noon but some jerk had to call me and wake me up, so,” You gave a nervous laugh, hoping to erase whatever tension or uneasiness he was still feeling. “So I’m up now. Nothing planned but football and beer today if you wanna… I mean if you got nothin’ to do, you could come watch the games with me.” You said you’d be careful with this one. What are you doing inviting him here? You told yourself to shut up while you waited for his response.

He sniffed. “Yeah? You…you sure you don’t mind me crashin’ your party?”

Again that chill swam through your chest. He was trying to joke, but there was something there, something that sounded like loneliness and regret, and it was something you understood. Oh, Nick, of course I’m sure. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you were feeling just as lonely as he sounded, despite telling yourself over and over that you enjoyed the way that you spent your holidays, and company might just be the cure for that misery. “Yeah, I mean, don’t go expecting a turkey and stuffing and all that jazz or anything. I’m pulling out exactly zero stops here,” you paused and the sound of his chuckle chased some of that chill away. “But yeah, you’re welcome to join me. If you want.” You held your phone tightly to your ear, the backs of your earrings digging into the skin behind the lobes as you tried not to get your hopes up too much that he’d say yes.

“Alright,” he said a few hour long seconds later. “Alright, yeah, that’s…”

“Alright? That a yes, Nick?” You flung the sheets from the bed and stood, your free hand combing through your hair as you headed for a shower you wouldn’t have taken if it was just going to be you.

“Yeah,” he said, and you couldn’t help but grin at your reflection as you passed the long mirror hanging on your closet door. “Yeah, it’s a yes. Text me your address…I’ll see you for the games.” You were about to wrap up the conversation before hurrying to make yourself and your place presentable when he spoke your name, solidly, like it mattered. “Thank you. For doin’ this.”

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

By the time you’d finished in the kitchen, plating everything on the festive dishware that hadn’t gotten any use in over a decade and cleaning up the inevitable mess that your cooking space became every time you made a foray into the culinary arts, it was nearly 3pm. You hung the apron you’d been wearing all morning and afternoon on the hook next to the fridge, and ran upstairs to change and freshen up, the steps creaking beneath your socked feet as you took them two at a time, the framed photos that lined the staircase blurring by the corners of your eyes.

You exchanged your oversized tee shirt and dark green flannel pajama pants for a bright red cable knit sweater that fell off your right shoulder and a pair of black jeans that clung to your hips and thighs. Smoothing your hands down over the material of your top and picking off a few stray pieces of lint, you looked yourself over in the mirror. Your hair had been pulled up and clipped in place, soft tendrils falling around your face, and you’d dug your green and silver droplet earrings out from the bottom of your jewelry box. They sparkled, light bouncing off of the emerald facets, but you opted not to do your makeup. This is still just… we’re just friends. This is just two people spending a holiday together, so they don’t have to do it alone. No need to… I don’t need lipstick for that.

The fact was that it had been becoming increasingly difficult to see Nick as just a friend, and impossible to see him as simply a co-worker. Whatever had changed that night when you’d helped him pull off his inaugural job for Steve had deepened at Thanksgiving, when he’d shown up at your door with two turkey subs and a side of mashed potatoes from Wawa. He’s such a good guy. How’d he ever get caught up in all’a this? You’d laughed as he brandished the bag and a grin, opening the door for him and wondering if he questioned the same about you.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

You were on your third beer and Nick his fourth, empty, crumpled wrappers and a few shreds of lettuce all that remained of your holiday meal, when the second game of the day cut away to the halftime show. Both of you had gotten comfortable on your well-worn couches, you curled up in the corner where the two sides formed an L shaped angle, and Nick sprawled out on the reclining portion, shoeless feet propped up on the extended foot rest. “S’a nice place,” he said, looking around the room while the game was on hold.

You laughed, a warm fuzzy tickle in your brain from the beer, and it yanked the corners of his mouth up into a smile that wrinkled the skin on the bridge of his nose. “No it’s not. It’s drafty and old and creaky. The pipes freeze, the heat’s toast, and –“

“Yeah,” he said, draping one arm over the back of the couch. “Maybe all that’s true. But it’s yours. And it’s,” he looked around at the few decorations and knick-knacks that defined the space, some old, some new, all of them having some kind of meaning. “It’s cozy. I dunno, feels,” he shrugged. “Feels homey.”

“That’s because it’s the only home I ever had,” you explained plainly, blinking at the eyelet lace that lined the curtains. You sighed, facing him with a small smile. “This is where I grew up. Pretty much everything you see has been here longer than…well longer than I have, actually.” The tickle in your brain faded and you felt a tug behind your ribs, reminding you of memories made and teasing you about the ones that would never come to fruition. Time for another round. You stood then, grabbing the deli wrappers and the empty potato container.

“Lemme help ya” he stood, swinging his legs over the side of the recliner and leaving it extended. In just half a step he was right next to you, so close that you could smell his cologne mixing with the beer on his breath. You could feel the warmth coming off his body, his socked feet only a few centimeters from your own, the heavily worn orange carpet tufting up in the space between. He bent down to reach for the wrappers, knuckles nearly brushing yours.

You turned, the paper and container in one hand and four empty bottles between the fingers of the other, to face him. “Nah, sit, I got this.” You looked up into his dark brown eyes, wondering if the chocolate in them was bittersweet. He tried to protest, swiping his hand over his hair as he opened his mouth, but you cut him off. “I said sit, Nick, guests don’t help.” And I need to pull myself together, here. “I’ll grab you a beer, ‘kay?”

He nodded, a sideways smile lifting one rounded cheek into his eye, lips twitching beneath the scruffy stubble. “‘Kay,” he did as he was told and sank back into his seat while you ducked into the kitchen. “Hey what’s this shelf up here for?” He called as you stuffed the trash into the can under the sink. “S’empty.”

You sucked in a breath as you reached for two more brown bottles in the fridge and thought about how to answer. The shelf in question ran the length of the wall above the couch from corner to corner, held up by carved maple brackets stained a rich amber color. “Uh, yeah.” You let the refrigerator door swing closed with a soft smack, and returned to the living room. Handing him his drink, you followed his eyes up to the one item on the shelf- a small snow globe depicting the lighthouses of the Outer Banks, the base sculpted to look like the crashing waves of the Atlantic.

Using the neck of your bottle, you pointed up to the lone trinket. “Used to be more of those…” you took a sip, the hoppy IPA doing nothing to dislodge the knot that unexpectedly formed at the memory of that shelf when it was full. “A lot more.” You finished, punctuating your thought with another swig.

You hadn’t turned around, but you could feel his intense eyes on you. “What happened to ‘em?”

Short answer? “They broke.” You blinked twice and gave a minute shake of your head to clear the images of shattered glass, your father’s desperate, tear stained face, the heartbreak in the vibrations of his vocal chords as he threw each one to the ground.

“All these goddamn perfect moments!” He grabbed two more pieces of your mother’s collection and hurled them downward, glittery liquid splashing over the floorboards. “All these perfect fuckin moments of hers and what good are they now?!”

You’d gotten him to stop in time to save the last one, a memento from a family vacation from a decade past- from before she’d gotten sick and lived vicariously through the memories trapped inside the crystal globes. It was all you had left that meant anything to you. You turned back to face Nick, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand before you did. “But what can you do, right? Things break.”

His forehead wrinkled as his brows gathered together. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Things break.”

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

At 3pm on the dot you heard his knuckles rap against the borders of your screen door. He’s here. Setting the last bowl on the table, you tugged at the sleeves of your sweater and headed for the door. He was standing on your front step, vapor puffing from his mouth as he let out a breath in the frosty winter air. As usual, he was dressed all in black, a stark contrast to the white sky, frozen blanket of crusty snow and unlit decorations all around him. He turned as he heard you opening the door, a smile on his face. “Merry Christmas Eve, Nick,” you greeted him, welcoming him in from the cold.

“Merry Christmas Eve to you too,” he responded, scraping his boots against the doorframe before entering your home. You let the screen swing closed and bolted the front door against the chill. When you turned back, he was looking at you with a shine in his dark eyes. “You look…” he gestured up and down your height. “You look nice. Real festive.”

You felt your cheeks flush and rolled your eyes inwardly at yourself. “Oh, thanks,” you mumbled through a smirk.

Nick looked around your living room, taking in the tree, lights, and other decorations before landing on the table in the dining room, laden with trays, dishes and serving bowls. “And all this is... “ He grinned with a small shake of his head.

“Go big or go home.” You shrugged and winked, reaching for the coat he’d just removed. The top lines of the ink on his neck peeked over the collar of his shirt, and you swallowed the flush before it made it to your cheeks this time. Stop it, will you? You can’t...he can’t… It was only after you’d hung his coat and you were about to offer him a glass of eggnog or a hot cider when you realized he was holding a small gift bag. “Nick,” you tilted your head as he extended his arm out to hand it to you. “What did you...you didn’t have to-”

He stepped closer and you curled your fingers around the gold ribbon handles, the contents of the bag shifting and feeling heavier than you assumed as he let go. “Just open it.” He cocked his head over towards the couch before taking a seat himself. You followed, sitting down beside him, leaving enough space between your thigh and his. “It’s nothin’ big or anythin’, just…”

You reached in, digging through the crumpled tissue paper. When your fingertips found a smooth, round surface, your heart skipped off rhythm. Is that..? Closing your grip around the round object, you pulled it from the gift bag. Oh, Nick. You turned the object over in your hands, the white glitter floating magically through the clear liquid and falling down around a bright green Christmas tree topped with a shiny gold star and surrounded by colorful gifts. “Nick…” you whispered his name, staring at the globe in your hands before lifting your eyes to his. “Nick, it’s…” He smiled and you couldn’t keep one from your own face, from your own heart. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Ah, your welcome, like I said, it’s nothin’ big, just...ya know,” he pointed to the shelf above where you sat. “Figured you’d wanna fill that back up.”

It’s huge, Nick. You don’t know how big that is to me. You stood on the couch cushion and placed his gift next to the lighthouse globe, catching a flush leaving his cheeks as you came back down. “Well, Tortano, you figured right.” You fixed the pillows, smacking a holiday throw as you stood back up. “And I actually…” you toyed with your earring before your hand fell behind your neck. “I did something for you, too.”

“What? C’mon you didn’t have ta get me nothin’, it’s nice enough you invited me over and-“

“Relax,” you laughed and held up your hands, palms facing him. “It’s not… it’s not a gift really. Not that you can open anyway. I still don’t know you that well, so I didn’t know what to get you. You’re not exactly easy to shop for.”

It was true, and it was by design. You and Nick shared very few personal details with one another. He knew you were estranged from your father but didn’t know why. You knew he had a brother but didn’t know where. Mostly, you kept things light, which was what both of you needed. But with each week that passed you felt things take on more and more weight. Like when he’d told you how much he’d miss spending Christmas Eve with his family this year; how he’d miss his cousins and brother, his aunts and his Nonna, all the food and the laughter. It would be the first one that he’d missed, and though he tried to shrug it off you could tell that it hurt him more than he was letting on.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

“Does your family do the six fishes thing?” You’d asked, trying to learn what you could about the man you’d just spent Thanksgiving with. “I always thought that was weird, but hey who’m I to judge?”

He’d been turning a bottle cap over in his long fingers, and he tossed it at you breaking into a grin. “It’s not weird, it’s tradition,” he protested. You laughed, swatting the small metal projectile away from your face. “And it’s seven, not six.”

.. .. .. .. .. ..

“So, yeah,” you gestured toward the dining room table and the array of seafood that sat atop the holly patterned tablecloth. Nick gripped the back of one of the chairs, staring at the spread. “It’s not much, but,” You’d stopped at the Fishery in Keyport and picked up two or three each of shrimp, crab legs, scallops, and mussels, as well as a filet of flounder and one of salmon. “I know it’s not like your family’s cooking but… traditions are important.”

He turned to you, mouth open and eyes wide. “You…” you watched him swallow the words that he couldn’t get out, then shake his head before dragging one hand down over his mouth, letting out a stunned burst of air. “This is amazing,” He finally said, not taking his eyes off of yours. A spark ignited in them as a slow, mischievous grin spread up his face. Here it comes. You’d been waiting for this moment, knowing it would make him laugh. “But I’m only countin’ six here.”

“Count again, Tortano,” you smirked, watching him scan the table, and knowing exactly when he’d found the seventh “fish” by the twitch of his lip and the crinkle near his eye. Between a pot of penne and a dish of green beans sat a small snack bowl full of goldfish crackers. You grabbed a small handful, tossing one at his chest and popping the rest in your mouth. “Seven fishes.”

In a moment that happened too quickly for either of you to stop it, he wrapped his arms around you, one behind your waist and the other draped over your shoulder. He pulled you tight against himself, so close that you had no choice but to lean your cheek against his chest. You found it easy to slip your arms around his torso and reciprocate the embrace. Too easy. “Merry Christmas”, you felt more than heard him say the words, and before you could respond he released you, his watch sliding back down his arm as it fell to his side.

Way too easy. “Merry Christmas, Nick.”

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @songtoyou @poindexted @thesumofmychoices @gollyderek @zaffrenotes @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime @roses-in-your-country-house

#12 days of christmas fics #12 days of christmas #christmas countdown #nick tortano #nick tortano x you #nick tortano x reader #by the gun fanfic #made man #christmas traditions #nicky tortano #the danger dipped cotton candy man

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britesparc · 4 years

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Weekend Top Ten #437

Top Ten Predictions for the Xbox Games Showcase

So I wasn’t going to do this. I had my “Games Month” in June; that was supposed to be me getting it out of my system whilst the various publishers and platform holders held their Not-E3 video livestreams. That was supposed to take the place of my usual semi-serious lists of E3 predictions; a variety of more generalised run-downs of Stuff To Do With Videogames rather than me saying “A New Perfect Dark” ten times.

But then Microsoft’s “Showcase” event turned out to be the back-end of July, the videos and livestreams kept on pouring in, and I found myself ever devouring more salacious rumours of what games were upcoming, especially for the Xbox Series X. I have even found myself reading – shudder – Reddit.

I know.

Anyway, from being a simple thought experiment of “I wonder what games will be out when the Series X launches?” through to me imagining a blow-by-blow runthrough of the July 23rd event, I guess you could say that I am excited despite my better judgement. I think my problem with videogaming as a hobby is that I retain my fanboy enthusiasm from when I was a ten-year-old eagerly awaiting the next issue of The One Amiga, frantically swapping all eleven disks of Monkey Island 2, but I’m a grown-ass man with a mortgage and two kids and I just don’t have the time. I love reading websites like Eurogamer, and going on forums and checking out Twitter threads and all that, devouring news and titbits about all manner of gaming ephemera, and I often think when do these people have the time?!

Now look, I know hobbies, if you commit to them, can be expensive in terms of money and time. I have friends who collect Transformers toys, and let me tell you, that shit ain’t cheap. But daisy-chaining triple-A RPGs together feels like a lifetime commitment. I’m still playing Mass Effect Andromeda and Titanfall 2. I’ve just started Breath of the Wild and I’m waiting to kick off The Witcher III once I complete something else. I operate about two to three years behind the curve, and with work and kids and other commitments I struggle to find space for the oodles of games I do have, especially because most of the time I just end up on Civilization VI again. And yet…

The lure of the new still excites me. I really want to play all those Sony games on a Sony console that I don’t even own. I’m fascinated by the divergent next-gen philosophies of the big three platform holders. I can’t wait to see what the games I already own will look like embiggened on a 4K TV thanks to a suitable next-gen console. And so I keep consuming this stuff, keep wanting to try the latest thing, keep wanting to be part of the narrative. I’m still excited.

Therefore I’ve decided, against my better judgement, to offer up a prediction list like I usually do at E3 time. This one is just focussed on the upcoming Xbox Showcase on July 23rd. I doubt I’ll do one for the two remaining big showcases in August – I believe both Sony and Microsoft are doing one apiece, where we might finally hear prices of these damn things – because I think by the end of the month all the big game news might finally be out there. Aside from guessing how far off £500 both machines land, I think we’ve probably heard all the major announcements. Maybe I’m wrong! I’m wrong quite a lot! But that’s part of the fun.

So here we go: ten things that probably aren’t going to be announced next Thursday!

Halo Infinite opens the show – and is playable: we know that Halo Infinite will debut some campaign gameplay. As more-or-less a known quantity (even if we don’t know exactly what it’ll look like or how it’ll play), kicking things off with Xbox’s biggest star makes sense and won’t deflate any surprises. What I think might happen, though, is the announcement of some kind of multiplayer demo or closed beta, maybe only for Game Pass subscribers or something. They’ve done it before with Halo, so it’d be nice to get a chance to play one of the year’s biggest games early.

Hellblade 2 in-engine trailer: Senua’s Saga looks amazing so far, with a phenomenal launch trailer that displayed vast landscapes, intense detail, and some truly awesome facial animation. There’s a lot of speculation that, whilst the trailer was apparently in-engine and running in realtime, it was a fancy cut-scene with “hero assets”. I might have missed a memo somewhere, but I don’t think Hellblade 2 has been confirmed as a “launch window” title; as such, I think it will end up a Series X exclusive (as in, not appearing on Xbox One) and be out Christmas 2021. As such we won’t see a considerable gameplay chunk as with Halo, but we will see some proper in-engine footage – not a cutscene – running on Series X hardware.

Fable IV is out next year: is it an open secret at this point that Playground Games is making a Fable game? I guess maybe they’re not. Maybe there’s not even a new Fable at all. But I think there is, and I think Playground are making it, and I think we’ll see it next week. I guess it probably won’t be coming too soon; maybe Christmas 2021? So I think there’ll be a launch trailer of some kind – hopefully a Hellblade-style in-engine one rather than a rendered movie – but it’ll be a pretty big to-do to close out the show (unless there’s some other surprise “…and one more thing”).

Minecraft ray-tracing: we’ve seen it before, and I’m not sure how much time it’ll take up in the run of things, but I think Microsoft will confirm that there will be a ray-tracing graphics update for Minecraft on Series X. It’ll be part of some other line-wide update, of course – maybe the fabled “Super Duper Graphics” update that was cancelled once before – but Series X owners (or PC owners with the right hardware) will get lots of lovely rays to trace.

Gears Tactics on Xbox this Christmas: the Coalition said their piece about Gears 5 on Series X this week, so I don’t expect them to have a huge presence on Thursday (Gears 6 presumably being too far off), but I think we’ll get a trailer for the excellent Gears Tactics running on Xbox, and confirmation of a Christmas release for one of my favourite PC games of 2020.

Cyberpunk 2077 on Series X: all the footage we’ve seen of Cyberpunk thus far has been – I do believe – running on high-end PCs. CD Projekt Red should have a presence on Thursday, and I think they’ll debut footage – actual proper gameplay – of Cyberpunk running on a Series X. I think we’ll also see further evidence of a cosy relationship with Microsoft, as they announce something – maybe exclusive DLC – as well as just maybe some Cyberpunk-themed Series X hardware. I also think they’ll announce a Series X update for The Witcher III: Wild Hunt.

Big Double Fine blowout: Microsoft’s purchase of Double Fine really excited me, because I’ve been a big Tim Schafer fan for decades. Aside from Psychonauts 2, we don’t know a great deal about what they’re up to. So I think we’ll see a lot of Psychonauts, as well as confirmation of a Christmas release. We’ll also get confirmation of classic LucasArts remasters – Day of the Tentacle, Full Throttle, and Grim Fandango – as well as something else. I’m not sure what. A remaster of the first Psychonauts? Brütal Legend 2? Scurvy Scallywags Series X? what I don’t think it’ll be, however, is any kind of Banjo Kazooie game, because I don’t really think Microsoft bought them to work on existing IP. I think we’ll see something new.

Third-party shenanigans: aside from Cyberpunk, I think we’ll get at least one other extended third-party trailer. Maybe Destiny 2, given the first game’s apparent preference for PlayStation? Maybe one of those military shooters everybody likes but me? Splinter Cell, which is becoming the perennial white elephant during Ubisoft presentations (and obviously has prior as an OG Xbox exclusive)? Or maybe we’ll see something like the announcement of Red Dead Redemption 2 as a Smart Delivery title. That would be pretty cool.

Japanese presence: I’m not sure what exactly, but I think Microsoft will make moves to entice the Japanese market. Perhaps it’ll be like the early days of the Xbox 360, when they published the likes of Blue Dragon. Maybe we’ll see a Western release of some venerated Japanese franchise. Or maybe some other sequel or reboot. Maybe it’ll even be the rumoured announcement of some kind of exclusive partnership with Sega? Who knows? Regardless I think we’ll see evidence of Microsoft making more of an effort in Japan; I think this will be part of a strategy to encourage Japanese gamers to subscribe to Game Pass/xCloud rather than buy more consoles.

One last thing: there’ll be a surprise. Everyone’s predicting everything, but I still think there’ll be a surprise. After the dust settles, good old Phil Spencer (t-shirt prediction: Viva Pinata) will leave us with a little something… a tease, a subtle tease, maybe even just a logo or character reveal. It could be a returning franchise, it could be The Initiative’s debut game, but I’d wager it’s something unexpected, something we’ve never heard anything about. It’s something that’s a long way off, but it’ll have a style or a hook or a brand that instantly makes everyone excited, and will bring the curtain down. Microsoft has largely done a good job establishing itself as a solid platform the last three or four years, but it’s sorely been lacking in mic-drop moments as hardware news is teased and studio acquisitions have taken time to bed in. So whether it’s Joanna Dark, a Mech, Banjo, or something I can’t fathom, we’ll leave on a high.

There we go: ten relatively reasonable, moderately level-headed predictions. I don’t think there’s anything too crazy there. I’ve not gone all-in on a huge Perfect Dark blowout, or Viva Pinata returning, or Microsoft buying Sega or Warner Bros or whatever else could be dreamed up. I’m sure there’s other stuff too; probably some gameplay from previously-announced titles like The Medium or (hopefully) Scorn, that really show off Series X capabilities; no doubt a montage or two, probably of some ID@Xbox games; Forza Motorsport 8, I guess, and I’d wager some info on Flight Simulator on Xbox. I do hope they make the whole presentation look nice though; Sony’s one, where they finally revealed the PS5 hardware, was excellent, with just enough talking-head developer stuff and those lovely idents that served to whet the appetite and tease the eventual look of the machine. We know there’ll be no new hardware or discussion about evolving services, so really all we’ve got to look forward to are games, games, games, which makes a nice change from the reveal of the Xbox One all those moons ago.

Okay, so my absolute crazy just-for-me wish? Well, things are getting thin on the ground now, as the big things I always want from Microsoft – Fable, Crackdown, Perfect Dark – have either happened or are strongly rumoured. Viva Pinata is next on that list, but beyond that? How does Black and White Infinite sound? That’s right, baby, next on my list – Lionhead rebooted!

#top ten #microsoft #xbox #xbox series x #halo infinite #games #gaming #xbox showcase

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mrsslrss · 5 years

Text

2019.

Welcome to my annual accounting of things I loved, 2019 edition.

I’m realizing the pattern here is to start this with a reflection of how I rang in the year but 2019 crept in pretty calmly: no big bugs to kill, no spontaneous sobs to a Sharon Van Etten song. On the first day of this year, I woke up and cleaned the house and, I don’t know, probably went to Big Bear and got a coffee and took a nap. Since it’s nearly the end of the decade, I could start there, but I couldn’t tell you where I was for New Year’s Eve, 2009; if I had to guess, I’d put myself at a friend’s house on the North Shore, drinking PBR with the guys and listening to pop-punk. That winter I was convinced I wouldn’t return to Poughkeepsie, I was so miserable, but when I did things started to fall into place.

I think my goal for this year was roughly something like, Just put your head down and do the work. When you are tempted to get fed up and wither from frustration or have a big ego about not getting what you want, just put your head down and do the work. I don’t know if I did that, exactly, if I really stuck to the goal, but every so often in a particularly challenging moment the goal would come into focus at the front of my mind and I’d sigh and acquiesce and nod at the work ahead of me. I got a lot done, I think; in this way I got a lot done. It was nice to be reminded about how the process can be the goal -- something I thought about a lot this year. Sometimes the goal looks like a result, but it’s really the habit I’m after.

I’d like to keep that up next year. 2019 was a year of cultivating; 2020, maybe, will be a year of action. Or maybe not! Maybe nothing flowers until 2021 or beyond. Or maybe I start tearing things up by the roots in 2020, who knows!

So anyway. Here’s to 2019, and here’s a list (more or less alphabetized -- why not!) of ten things that helped me make it through.

annie’s homegrown birthday cake bunny grahams

My official snack of the year. Over the summer I was visiting MZ in Brooklyn and we got snacks at their neighborhood grocery store and I bought these, which are meant to celebrate the 30th anniversary of this snack company, taste like funfetti cake, and are definitely meant for/marketed to children. But anyway I ate the whole box and then sought them out at every Whole Foods in my vicinity (because I went online and WH is apparently basically the only place you can find them?) and started preaching the good word to anyone who was looking for a snack. By, like, September I had eaten so many of these that I could no longer stomach them, so I’ve been on a brief hiatus, but still: snack of the year.

keeping lists

I started this year with a big digital spreadsheet called “2019 things” where I intended to keep lists: all the new albums and songs that struck me, all the old albums and songs I got obsessed with, the places I wanted to travel in the year. I kept adding tabs: the books I finished, my financial priorities, stuff I wanted to make sure to read or watch. I was pretty diligent about updating them -- I wrote down every book I read, but definitely forgot to add a couple albums; I never made it to Philly this year. I started keeping gratitude lists (analog) towards the end of year, too, because in college a friend told me it helps rewire the brain away from pessimism, or something.

meditation

Before this year, I’ve never had a serious relationship with meditation, but it always seemed like the kind of thing I would like. In mid-January I got struck by the urge to try it, so I did, and kept it up for a few days, and then I fell off, and then I got back on, and now, somehow, it’s been three-hundred-something days of it in a row. I have learned to find a quiet moment in a nice corner of my room before work, but also in a tent in the Catskills, in a guest room in Wales, in a hotel in Georgia, on a walk through Brooklyn, in my childhood bedroom. My life and brain don’t feel, like, enormously different or changed, but that’s good; it feels useful to keep showing up to something without expectation.

my siblings

Having a big family means every year is inevitably a big year for someone, but this was, somehow, a big year for all of my siblings. Mostly good things: health and healing, a wedding and a graduation, a license acquired and a course of study started and jobs well done. It doesn’t feel good to get into the hard stuff here, but there was a lot of that, too -- a lot of grueling bullshit overcome. After the wedding I almost texted everyone just to say how proud I was of all of them, but naturally I chickened out. But I really am proud!

navy blue

Longtime readers of, uh, *gestures wildly* whatever this is may recall that last year I claimed I only wore black but might be interested in navy blue? This year I determined that navy blue is so good: the color of the deep ocean, the night sky, my first Catholic school uniform. I bought navy jumpsuits, a sweatshirt, a scrunchie. I wore navy-adjacent eyeliner just in the corners of my eyes most days of July and August and September. I’m wearing a navy blue sweater right now. A good year for navy.

“not” by big thief

My song of the year, which I knew from the first time I heard it. So much of this year (the news, the planet, global catastrophes, mass violence, etc. not to mention personal failures) felt hopeless and dreadful, but also so constant and exhausting that I wasn’t sure I could keep summoning anger, never mind do it in a useful way. I love this song because it is about abjection in the same way it isn’t about anything, about absence as presence, about not-knowing as knowing. It is desperate without being hopeless, explosive without being violent, or maybe: violent without being harmful. It’s about transcending language and different kinds of language and using whichever tools you have (Words are good enough). It’s about being swallowed whole by the everything-ness, a theme that came up in so much of the work I loved this year, the subject of an essay I’ll never write (lol). Music Twitter™ got into an argument about whether this band is good; I feel so sure of my love for this song (and most of what this band does) that I, for once, didn’t immediately assume I was a fool, or being had, just because someone disagrees with me. Instead it felt delicious and special to resonate with a thing that doesn’t resonate for everyone, a rare and generous experience for me. Imagine that.

pottery

At the beginning of the year I signed up for a ten-week session of pottery classes at a studio in Georgetown, and then when I told M, he wanted to join (by which I felt incredibly endeared). Then it became ten more weeks, then ten more, and since then we’ve gone nearly every Thursday night. Some things that are nice: learning to to make something with my hands, especially after staring at a screen all day; not being able to look at my phone or read the news for several hours (related: so many of the Democratic debates happened on Thursday nights!); having a standing weekly date with my favorite person. Nearly everyone in our lives got lumpy bowls, vases, etc. for Christmas this year, of which we are very proud.

“rooms on fire” by stevie nicks

This year, Stevie Nicks became the first woman be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame twice and so Rolling Stone interviewed her about her fabulous career. In the interview, Rob Sheffield said his favorite song of hers is “Ooh My Love” from The Other Side of the Mirror, which is an album I had never listened to before, so I started listening and the first song just hooked me. It’s so dramatic and magical and moody! It’s right up there on the Apple Music-generated playlist of my most-played songs of the year.

stockholm

For several years one of my repeated resolutions was “go to Scandinavia.” Sweden has always been the big goal, but Oslo seemed possible for a minute, and in 2013 I did briefly entertain the idea of going to graduate school in Finland. (Imagine!) This year I got really fed up of having not really, you know, taken a proper vacation since starting my job, so I took a full week off after my sister’s wedding and planned a solo trip to Stockholm. Each day of my trip I woke up whenever I woke up and I explored a different island; I went for long runs, drank coffee, ate kardemummabullar, took the subway across town, saw a one-of-a-kind Viking ship. I burst into tears at the Moderna Museet, ate through a vegetarian tasting menu at the Fotografiska, had an extremely lovely spa experience. I read three books in a week. I loved every second of it.

wigs

I bought a big gaudy pink wig this spring in anticipation of seeing Sasha Velour’s one-woman show in New York -- or, I told myself I bought it for that reason, but I think I really just wanted the possibility of wearing a big gaudy pink wig at will. After the Sasha show, I wore it to see Robyn at The Anthem, and was delighted when, after I put a picture on Instagram, a handful of people in my life thought I had a) dyed my hair pastel pink and b) grew my hair ~half a foot over the weekend. (I wish!) I think I’ll wear it for our house’s beach-themed NYE party, too.

everything else

frequent, long drives with M; songs about solidarity; the #saltypod; custom t-shirts; craving waffles; having an e-reader; the concept of “the archive”; choosing kindness; threatening to move to rural new england to work on a farm; being in love

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darks-ink · 5 years

Text

By the way, here’s about 740 words that I cut from the start of Surreptitious, all the way when I first started writing it, because I didn’t like it as a start for the fic. Reduced the Hal content of Surreptitious by as much as I could. :’D But I figured I might as well post it somewhere. I haven’t re-read this to check for errors, typos, and clunky sentences (since I cut it early on) so head’s up, those might be present.

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Roxanne’s fist curled around the microphone she was holding. Hal’s camera hovered in front of her as she spoke, steadily. Her script, she knew from memory. She had written it herself, after all. It had grown dark around them, but it suited the atmosphere, she thought.

“He was always there for us,” she said, her voice stable thanks to years of professionalism. “Dependable. Perhaps we took him for granted.” Her voice caught a little as she continued, “Maybe… we never really know how good we have it until it’s gone.”

She paused to take a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh. “We miss you, Metro Man. I… miss you.”

“And I have just one question for Megamind,” she couldn’t resist adding. He always watched her shows in the past, she knew. And maybe… maybe he didn’t anymore, now that he ruled the city. But there was always a chance. “Are you happy now?”

Having run through her script, she rounded off her segment with a slight twist on her usual. “This is Roxanne Ritchi, reporting from a city without a hero. Coming up next, are you ready to be a slave army? What you need to know.”

She gestured at Hal to cut, and the blinding lights shut off immediately. Overly cheerfully, too cheerfully for the situation, he grinned. “And… wrap that up and give it to a child on Christmas! ‘Cause we’re done.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Hal.” She turned around, walking up the steps to the museum. It wouldn’t be long until it closed, she knew, but… she wanted to check it out. It might’ve been silly, but… Wayne had been proud of it, of some of the exhibits. And she was too busy during the day to come check it out.

“Wait, Roxie.” Hal followed her up the steps, dropping his camera lower. “I’m having a party at my house. It’s gonna be off the hook or whatever,” he continued on, apparently encouraged by the fact that she had stopped to face him. “You should come over. I got a DJ, rented a bouncy house, made a gallon of dip. It’s gonna be sick.”

Roxanne resisted the urge to grimace at his attempt at a smooth grin. Hal was… urgh. He just wouldn’t take no for an answer. And sure, she and Wayne hadn’t actually been together, but no one knew so. So as far as Hal knew, she had just lost her partner of several years. Couldn’t he just leave her alone?

“Oh, I don’t know, Hal,” she said, shooting him a disarming smile. “I don’t really feel like being around a bunch of people.” Or any, really, take the hint! To make it even clearer, she went up another step, distancing herself.

But Hal just followed her up, scrambling for words. “No, no, no. That’s the best part. It’ll just be like you and me.”

He grinned, wide, and she felt her mouth drop open. Wow. Did this guy really not… not realize how creepy he was being? “Wow, that um. That’s certainly very tempting, but…”

“I did hire a wedding photographer,” Hal interrupted her, “That’s just in case we were like, something crazy happened and we wanted a picture of it. Like “maybe we should have this for like ever”. Like a memory, you know?”

“Um. I’m gonna pass.” She scrambled for an excuse, knowing that Hal wouldn’t leave her alone otherwise. She really needed to report this guy to HR, or something. It was inexcusable, really. “I have some… work here, that I need to do anyway.” She passed him the cordless microphone, ascending a few more steps.

“Cool,” Hal said as he took it, backing a few steps down. “So Thursday? Soft Thursday?”

“Good night, Hal.” She waved, as well, resisting the urge to shoo him off.

“That’s a soft yes on Thursday,” he concluded, reaching the back of the van. He turned around, and grateful to have finally escaped the conversation, she did too. Now all she needed was an excuse to get out of this made-up party on Thursday.

She studiously ignored the sounds of his whisper-shouting as he loaded the van. In fact, she didn’t turn around until she heard the sound of a fist hitting metal, followed up with, “Stupid van! You broke my finger!”

Roxanne watched him drive off with the news van, tires peeling as he barely avoided a streetlight. That was… concerning.

#megamind #fanfic #fanfiction #megamind fanfic #dark writes #surreptitious #it's not a bad start! but it wasnt overly relevant to the fic i thought #and transitioning from this to what is now the starting scene wouldve been clunky as all heck

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ablamarka · 6 years

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A fic where instead of Gretchen telling cady Reginas cheating on Aaron with Shane she reveals Reginas cheating with Janis

Hi, this was really fun to write, hope you enjoy!

Again, I *really* don’t know how the “read more” buttom work, sorry in advance.

“Every thursday she saysshe has SAT prep, but really, she’s hooking up with Janis Sarkisianin the North Shone Lion’s Costume.”

Gretchen revealed out ofbreath.

Cady’s eyes almost fell outof her face.

“She… She makes she wearthe costume?” Cady asked the first thing that came to her mind.

“No! They’re both in thecostume!”

Cady still couldn’t show anyreaction, how could the girl that has been guiding her through theperfect revenge is just hooking up with the Queen Bee? And how is theopenly homophobic Regina George hooking up with her former bestfriend and current enemy?

“HOW?”

“I still don’t understandthe logistics of it…” Gretchen said looking at the distance withpensive eyes.

“NO!” Cady squealed andgrabbed Gretchen by the arm bringing her to the closest girlbathroom, she asked for explanations but apparently the girl didn’treally cared about the subject. It was the weight of the gossip thatmatters, not really its content.

“I mean, you two are bestfriends now so it’s about time you know about this.” Gretchen justshrugged and re applied her lipstick to the mirror.

Cady’s mind went a thousandmiles per hour, and she couldn’t wait to see Janis after school andask her about this.

“You’ve been staring at mefor half an hour, are you having a stroke or something?” Janissuddenly asked stoping Damien’s rant about Gucci’s new pigcollection.

“Sorry.” she instantlyregretted apologizing, -she- wasn’t the one hiding a secret. At leastnot from Janis. “I just figured out how we’re getting rid ofAaron.” Janis and Damien immediately raised their eyebrows,interested.

“Oh, what did you findout?” Damien had a devious smile, but Cady’s eyes went straight toJanis, that suddenly looked a bit uncertain.

Cady wondered if it was theright thing to do, expose Janis like this. Like Regina had done toher before, but the needed to know. At the end, it could be just agossip Gretchen told her.

“Regina is cheating onShane.”

“What?” Damien lookedlike a child on Christmas. “This is everything! We just have to letAaron know about this and I’m sure they’ll break up.”

“Yeah… But, how did youfind out about this?” Janis asked carefully. “Regina told you?”her eyes narrowed.

“No… Gretchen did.”Cady said and, from the way they looked at each other, she knew itwas true. Janis look instantly fell and she took a deep breath.

Damien promptly started toplan their next step, he was more than excited that their revengewould finally be complete. First, because he would finally mess withRegina after she messed with Janis in middle school, but also becausehe just wanted this to be over and go back to spend his free timewatching rom-coms with Jan (even though she would never admit it).

Later that same night, asCady and Janis were walking home together, they couldn’t help buttalk about the tension between them.

“So… Are you okay withexposing Regina?” Cady asked already feeling the guilty of gettinginvolved in their lives.

“Sure.” Janis didn’t evenlooked at Cady, just threw the words at the air with a blank stare.

“I know it’s you.” Cadysaid in a low voice.

“I know.” Janis respondedin the same way.

“I just…” Cady stoppedwalking and Janis turned around just a couple steps in front of her.“How?” she asked honestly “Why?”

Janis gave shoulders.

“Have you seen her?” Hersmile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Janis…”

“One day we were alone inthe bathroom and ended up arguing – as usual.”Janis rolled hereyes and threw her head back. “Out of nowhere she jumped and kissedme. We were so caught up in the argument that out energy shiftedfocus completely and just…”

“When was that?”

“Last year.”

“What? It has been going onfor a year?”

“We’re not together oranything, okay? We just call each other whenever we want to fuck.”

“Sure…” Cady coughed.

“Trust me. The only feelinginvolved is anger.”

Cady knew it wasn’t true, butknew Janis would never admit it.

“How long Gretchen knows?”

“She found out lastsummer.” The girl closed her eyes remembering the exact scene “Sheopened the door of Regina’s room and found us in bed together. Ithought they would both freak out but turns out Regina just shruggedand Gretchen left like a scared dog.”

Cady stopped for a second,she could really see that happening, of course Gretchen wouldn’t sayanything, she worshiped Regina.

“It doesn’t change anythingin our plans.” Janis said with a conclusive expression and startedwalking again, Cady soon followed her.

“We have to see eachother tomorrow.”Janis, 23:16.

“Come to my place at3pm.” George, 23:20.

Janis walked to the door ofthe George’s house and, before she could knock, Regina opened thedoor wearing a white tank top, light pink velvet pajama shorts and aconfident smile.

“Hey.” she saidinnocently.

Janis didn’t even greetedRegina. She just went in her direction and kissed her lips roughly,her arms went straight to the girl’s waist and held her up. Reginasquealed with excitement and threw her legs around Janis, as she felther back fiercely reach the wall. The door slammed loudly but thatdidn’t stop them, their lips were still ferociously moving againsteach other in a long established battle. The touch was sloppy andtheir teeth collided against each other, making the two girls smilesoftly against each other’s mouth. Regina held Janis’ hair andentangled her fingers between them, smoothly pulling it, gettingmuffled moans from the girl.

As if this was their lastencounter, Janis’ mouth hungrily lowered to the girl’s neck, thetrace of bites and wet kisses fastly left marks on her skin.

“Don’t leave a mark.”

Janis laughed on her skin,intentionally biting her shoulder and softly pressing her teeth,followed by her tongue racing from the shoulders to her lower neck.The feeling of Regina’s nails tracing on her back felt a lot likerevenge. She reached for the blonde’s lips again with an amused smileand the girl tried her hard to keep a steady face.

“Don’t you dare leave amark.” Regina whispered against the girl’s lips.

“Or what?” Janis raisedan eyebrow and softly released her hold on Regina’s hips.

“Or we’re done.” She lether legs meet the ground, freeing herself from the girl’s touch,tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms in her chest.

Janis was trying really hardnot to laugh. Oh, boy, one of these days they would actually be done,and she would actually miss moments like these.

“Whatever.” She turnedaround and before reaching for the door Regina’s hand grabbed hers.

“Ugh.” Regina rolled hereyes. “Let’s go to my room.”

Fuck, Sometimes it felt tooreal.

They walked through the housestill holding hands, and she couldn’t stop thinking about her secretrevenge plan, about her secret friendship with Cady, about Cady’srecent discovery of their affair.

Before she could realizewhere they were, Regina pushed her against the door and already heldher shirt sliding it up and kissing the exposed parts of her stomach,she smiled at the vision of Regina on her knees devotedly kissing andscratching her skin. Her hands instinctively grabbed Regina’s hairand caressed her scalp, enjoying the enthusiasm the girl was givingher.

As Regina reached for herzipper Janis felt the guilt striking in her head. She pushed Regina’shead by her hair and met beautiful blue eyes lustfully staring ather.

“What’s wrong?”

“We have to talk.”

Regina’s eyebrow furrowed asshe stood up and tried to fix her hair.

“Is it serious?”

“Yeah…” Janis scratchedthe back of her head pondering her thoughts.

“Put your shirt on then, orelse I won’t focus.” She smiled softly and seated on the bed.Behind her smile, she was deeply worried. Janis has been the moststable part of her life for a while now and, she would never admit itin a million years, but only with her Regina felt like herself.

She watched Janis reach herblack t-shirt on the ground and awkwardly put it on.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

It was like Regina could hearthe words before they came out of Janis’ mouth. She knew it wascoming. Knew it wasn’t forever and that Janis wouldn’t take her crapfor much longer. Hell, she knew Janis deserved best. She deservedsomeone that would take her to parties and introduce her to theirfriends, someone that would save her contact on their phones with aheart next to it without feeling embarrassed of what it might mean.Someone that could actually admit they were in love with her.

She deserved someone thatoffered everything Regina couldn’t.

Regina wanted to be withJanis.

Only at this moment she couldadmit it to herself, a thought she avoided for so long. She wanted totake Janis out, show her off on instagram, be the first person sheshowed her painting to, wanted to spend the night with her and cuddlewithout feeling guilty. More than anything, she wanted to acceptthese things were what she wanted.

She wanted to ask Janis thereason.

“Why can’t we do thisanymore? Am I not good enough for you?” She had so many questionsbut none of them came up, she knew the answer for them.

They stared at each other forwhat felt like hours and -somehow- Janis knew the debate going oninside Regina’s head. She could feel the tension rising and fallingon the girl’s shoulders and the tears that formed and were gone witha brush of Regina’s hand.

“Whatever.”

From all the things she couldhave said, from all the words that expressed just how broke Janis’would leave her, she chose the one that didn’t said anything.

“Whatever.” The wordsunsaid flew around them in the room, their eyes met and held the sameremorse. There was no turning back now – and they both knew this.

#rejanis #regina/janis #writing #mean girls

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nipnapples · 7 years

Text

A Very BTS Christmas (pt 2/7)

Featuring a guest appearance from the boys of ~ GOT7 ~

Pairing: Namjoon + Reader (Slight Fuckboi!RM #sorrynotsorry)

Genre: Light Smut, Angst, and Fluff

Rating: 18+ please and thank you!

Confession Song...

“You should text him back,” Stella, my roommate of three years, said as she wedged another sugar cookie into her mouth.

I shrugged. “Eh, the date wasn’t that good and he kissed me with too much tongue.” I rolled out more cookie dough, knowing I’d have to replace every cookie Stella ate. These cookies were going to work with me the next day, over at the JYP Entertainment building. Jackson hadn’t been feeling well lately, and JB and Mark had agreed that a surprise of cookies might boost his mood. We were standing in our kitchen, discussing a date I’d had the night before with a boy from her gym.

Stella rolled her eyes at me. “Why’d you let him kiss you if you didn’t like him?”

“I don’t know,”

“Yes, you do.” I refused to look up at her, rather concentrating on cutting out tree shapes from the dough. “You wanted to see if he’d make you feel the same way ‘Joon did when he kissed you. All sparkly and fuzzy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your words, not mine. Anyways, you’re going to compare every boy to Namjoon for the rest of your life.”

“‘Joon and I kissed once at Mark’s holiday party, and we both were crazy drunk, I barely remember it, and he certainly doesn’t.” Stella was fully aware of how Namjoon hadn’t mentioned it since, much to my disappointment.

Namjoon and I had been friends since junior year of college, when we were paired together for a philosophy project. I had a huge crush on him right away, but after watching him hook up with nearly the entirety of the theater department I knew that it was pointless to even try. So we remained friends, he helped me with my math homework and I helped him dye his hair various shades of the rainbow. Now, four years later, we worked at the same company and had many of the same friends, including the member’s of GOT7, JYPE’s golden brain child.

“I still think you should talk to him about that...” Stella mumbled around another cookie.

“Could you please stop eating those, I need them for tomorrow.”

“I will if you promise to talk to Namjoon about the kiss next time you see him.” She picked up another cookie shaped like Santa and popped his head into her mouth.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, the next time that I see him, I’ll talk to him. Now stop eating those, they’re for Jackson. He’ll be pissed if he finds out you ate his depression cookies.”

She was brushing her hands off when my cell phone rang. Namjoon’s caller photo popped up and Stella wiggled her eyebrows at me. “No, you said saw him not spoke. I win.” I picked up the phone, accepting the call and holding it between my ear and shoulder. “Hey, ‘Joon, what’s up?”

“Hi! Look, JB and Mark and I are out at the bar, Jackson is crying over some girl, and you know Stella is the only one who can pick him up...”

“Then why didn’t you call her?” I looked at Stella who smiled back, snatching another cookie from the plate before dashing to her room to hide.

“I tried, went straight to voicemail. Can you guys come out, please?”

I couldn’t help thinking that she’d rejected his call on purpose. “Ugh, I don’t know...We’ve got that meeting in the morning.”

“Don’t worry about the meeting, JB says he’ll get it pushed.”

“Perks of being a leader...” I huffed, thinking about how all JB really had to do was text his assistant and then boom it was a done deal.

“Yeah, so please, come out. Jackson needs it,” Namjoon begged. I could practically see him on his knees before me, his hands clutched to his chest.

“Ugh, okay, where?” I ignored the fact that he hadn’t really once mentioned wanting to see me or the fact that we hadn’t really spoken lately. I didn’t have time and nor did I want to think of those feelings now.

“Yes! We’re at the Lamp Shop, in the usual booth!”

“Fine, we’ll be there in twenty, I’m sure Stella’s already choosing an outfit.”

“Sweet! See ya soon, Y/N!” I heard him turn to the boys to confirm that we were coming before he ended the call first.

Half an hour later, Stella and I were walking into the Lamp Shop, a small bar downtown that played live music on Thursday nights along with four dollar long islands. We spotted the boys right away in our regular corner booth. Jackson’s head was in his hands, and Mark was rubbing his back sympathetically. Namjoon was watching his friend bemoan about his romantic life, or lack thereof, occasionally looking up to see if we were there yet. He looked drop dead as usual, with his hair mussed up from the snow. He wore a leather jacket and several large silver rings on his long fingers, and I recognized one that I’d given him years ago. It made me smile to think he still wore things I gave him, and it made my heart shutter when I thought about him wearing jewelry I’d given him.

I shook the snow from my hair and waived at Namjoon and the guys, leading Stella to the bar and then to the booth with our drinks. I dropped down next to Namjoon and Stella slid in beside Jackson, touching him to let him know she was there.

As they got comfortable, Namjoon pushed his shoulder against mine. “Hey, you.” He said, smiling. I could tell from the way his cheeks were blushed that he was already fairly buzzed. Stella glanced at me but I shook my head, I wasn’t going to bring up the kiss right away.

“Hey, ‘Joonie, how goes it?” I smiled back, forgetting momentarily that I had been trying to avoid him. I busied my hands by playing with the cold moisture that was building on my glass, anything to distract me from the way Namjoon smelled like soap and pine needles.

He glanced sideways at his poor drunken friend. “Sunmi dumped his ass. Again.”

“She was a witch anyways,” I shrugged.

“Do you think I haven’t told him that? He still thinks she was perfection.”

“Because she waaaaaaaas,” Jackson whined over the lip of his beer glass.

“No, she wasn’t, Jackson baby,” Stella sighed, brushing his bangs from his forehead. “You can do so much better,”

Namjoon rolled his eyes at Jackson. “You wanna go get another drink?” He nodded at his own empty glass. I began to shake my head no, motioning at my still full long island, but he scooped it up and downed it quickly. The image made me want to gag.

“Well, now I have to.” I said, looking at Stella to make sure she had a handle on Jackson, and JB shooed us away.

“That was the point,” Namjoon winked, as we slipped up to the bar and ordered a couple of more Long Islands. “So, you’ve been avoiding me,” he said as the bartender took our orders and began mixing.

I didn’t look at him, keeping my eyes trained on the chalkboard of specials. I could feel his eyes boring into my profile. “I’m not avoiding you, I’m just busy.”

“Yeah okay, except Stella has noticed too.”

“Oh, so you guys are talking about me behind my back?” I snapped, irritation flaring up in my chest.

“Easy, Killer. I’m not attacking you.”

“Sounds like it,” I smiled at the bartender flirtatiously as he handed me my glass, his fingers brushing mine. He dropped Namjoon’s unceremoniously on the bartop. Namjoon narrowed his eyes at the bearded man, and then turned back to me.

“Jesus, Y/N, look at me then.” I turned at looked him straight in the eyes.

“Is this good?” I asked, my heart hurting at how is eyes seemed sad yet his jaw was tight with frustration. I hated fighting with him. He was too hard-headed to admit he was wrong and I was too passive aggressive to actually tell him what he’d done wrong. It was always a constant back and fourth until one of us ended up snapping and blowing up in the other’s face.

“No, but I’ll take it. Listen, what’s wrong? You’ve been weird since Mark’s party. I miss you...”

I stared at him. “You miss me?” I hated the way my heart lifted at the words, giving me false hope in him. I struggled to keep the scowl on my face.

He blinked, confused. “What? Yes, of course I do! You’re my best friend and you’ve been ignoring me for like a week. You used to talk to me, tell me what’s going on, okay? Tell me so I can fix it, please.” His eyes were wide, and it was rare of me to say no to them. He knew exactly which of my buttons to press. I hated and loved him for it.

I took a deep breath, and glanced at Stella over his shoulder. She was smiling at me, still talking to Jackson. I knew she would pick at me if I didn’t talk to him. “Fine. Do you remember Mark’s party? Like at all?”

“I remember getting pretty trashed with you on spiked hot chocolate...”

“Yeah, okay, but after that?”

Namjoon blushed. “We danced.” I could see the memory in his eyes, but his expression made me want to stop talking immediately. This was a mistake, but unfortunately with Namjoon you can’t just drop the subject.

I closed my eyes, remembering every second after we started dancing. I was moving my hips in time to the music, holding Stella’s hand in the crowd so as not to lose her. She had shouted something about getting something else to drink and then handed me off to Namjoon, telling him to keep an eye on me. I remember the warmth of his palm in mine, and how my cheeks had blushed. The heat of what felt like one thousand other bodies pressing against us, but not really noticing them. I remember only watching Namjoon and Namjoon watching me. Then, we were slowly moving closer to each other, until his hands were on my hips, his chest pressed against mine. Whatever was in the hot chocolate was making my head spin to begin with, but the way Namjoon was looking at me underneath his hooded eyes and how he ran his tongue along his bottom lip made it twirl in time with my stomach. His hips were moving in time with mine, one leg positioned between my own, his hands grinding me down on his thigh. My hands wandered up the collar of his flannel, until the tips of his hair were twisted around my fingers. The pulsing music changed to something slower, a soft Holiday ballad about white Christmases and the people you loved. As the dance floor thinned and couples gathered around us, we stopped moving, and I swore that the room had darkened around us. His eyes fell to my lips, and my lids dropped closed. The next thing I’d known was the feeling of his lips brushing softly against mine, plush velvet against my own. The kiss deepened slowly, and he had clutched me closely to him, kissing me hard and desperate. Suddenly his lips were gone, and my eyes popped open in surprise. He was staring down in me at with horror leaking around the edges of his eyes, as though he had just realized it was me he was kissing. My heart dropped into my stomach at his expression, and I was horrified that I had let myself get so caught up in the moment, get so caught up in him. I remember telling him I had to go find Stella, that she had been gone too long, and disappearing into the crowd. The next morning Namjoon had acted like absolutely nothing had happened, and I wasn’t sure which would have been worse: if he had acknowledged the kiss and explained that it couldn’t happen again or the fact that he didn’t seem to remember it.

But looking at him now at the bar, as the snow fell outside and our friends sat our regular booth, with him suddenly avoiding my eyes, I wasn’t so sure that he didn’t remember.

“Yeah, we danced.” I blinked up at him before turning away. “But we also-”

“Kissed.” He finished. “I know.” I cringed at his tone, at the way he still avoided my eyes. “Is that why you’re avoiding me?” He placed his hand over mine on the bar when I didn’t answer. “Dude, I am so sorry, that was my fault, I was so drunk,”

I nodded, praying I wouldn’t cry out of embarrassment and frustration. “Yup,” was all I could trust myself to say. I decided that I needed to go outside right then, prying my hand out from under his, and I heard Namjoon call after me. On the sidewalk, I tilted my face up to the snow tumbling from the sky. The night air slipped beneath the collar of my coat, cooling my flushed skin. I took several shuddering breaths, trying to get a hold of myself. I had promised myself years ago that I would stop crying over Namjoon. I couldn’t believe he was sucking me in all over again.

Namjoon was suddenly beside me grabbing my arms and forcing me to face him.

“Y/N, don’t run like that, Jesus you scared me.” He took in my flushed face and watery eyes, chewing his lip, searching for what to say next, what would make this better. He pulled me into a tight hug, before holding me out at arm's length again. “I swear, it won’t happen again,” I looked up at him. “It was my fault, you weren’t cool with it, I get it, I’m so so sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“Wait, what?” I furrowed my brow at him.

“I’m sorry? I feel awful, I shouldn’t have assumed that you wanted-”

“No, no. Who said I wasn’t comfortable with it?”

“You...you took off afterwards looking like you were going to vomit and never came back and then acted all weird at work when I tried to talk to you about it...” His face crumpled at the memory, his cheeks flushing from the cold. He once again avoided eye contact with me.

“You looked like you’d made a mistake, you looked at me if you were suddenly realizing it was me you were kissing and you didn’t mean to. How was I supposed to react!?” I felt like I was in a dream, that the world was suddenly twisted and upside down. I had no control.

He groaned in frustration. “Because I did just realize it! Because with you that close, that warm, that willing to be near me, I couldn’t help myself. And then you kissed me back, no hesitation, I had to look at you, to make sure it was real. And then you took off and all I could think was how badly I fucked up, especially when you avoided me at the office, talked to Jin and Mark and BamBam but not me. You wouldn’t even look at me for Christ’s sake!”

My mouth was hanging open slightly at his confession. “You...You wanted to kiss me?”

Namjoon shook his head. “I don’t do things I don’t want to do, you know me.”

I blinked a few times, highly aware of how close he suddenly seemed to be. “Oh,” I whispered, looking up at him. He was dipping his head slowly towards me, and I couldn’t move.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry for messing this up.” he murmured, his eyes taking in each part of my face. “Can we get a redo? If you want?” I felt the brick wall of the bar press against my spine. Every fiber in my body was screaming at me to say no, that if we kissed here, in the snow against the bar with twinkle lights all around us I would never be able to get out again. He was drinking again, how would I know he wouldn’t regret again?

“Oh?” was all I was able to say before Namjoon was fiercely kissing me, caging me against the wall between his arms, his bare palms pressed against the brick. All of the thoughts that ran through my head, telling me to stop, telling me to think about what we were doing, were silenced. With Namjoon pressed against me like this, heat shot through my body, pooling within my core. I parted my lips beneath his, and his tongue darted in, swirling about mine tasting and exploring for a what felt like a blissful eternity. There was no hesitancy in his movements, as though he had been thinking of this, of touching me since Mark’s party. His lips trailed down my jaw, pressing gentle nips against the flesh. My hands were pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat that kept in time with my own fast paced one. My cheeks were burning with desire and my limbs had turned to jelly; the only thing holding me up was Namjoon’s grip on my waist.

“Damn, you taste so good.” He said against my skin. “Like snow and peppermint.”

“Mmm,” was all I was able to say as I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. I could feel his erection through my coat against my thigh, and my core ached in anticipation. I arched against him, and he groaned with need.

“Do you want to go home?”

“Mmm,” I sighed again, thinking of him in my bed, undressed and warm. “I want you.”

He pulled back. “Are you sure?” His eyes sparked with anticipation and he didn’t move until I nodded, a smiled cracking my face in half. “Let’s go,” He said, pulling me down the street towards my building.

We crashed banged into the apartment, shedding outerwear and shoes the further we moved inside. Namjoon pressed his fingertips into the soft flesh of my round hips with a grip that could bruise. I sucked small purple bruises into his skin, desperate to taste him and feel him around me. He was flooding my senses, everything I could hear, smell, and see was Namjoon. My world was collapsing around me, but all I could experience was Kim Namjoon.

Suddenly, Namjoon slowed his pace. “Jump,” he told me, his hands under my ass and he lifted me onto the counter where I trapped him about the waist with my legs. He hummed happily as I kissed him, my fingers tangling in his silver hair. He ground against me, his teeth latching onto the exposed skin of my shoulder, biting and then kissing til the pain melted into pleasure. His hands slipped beneath the red woolen sweater I’d chosen to wear, his fingers warm against the skin of my stomach and my lower back. Soon he rolled the fabric over my head, exposing the soft purple lace of my bra. He nipped his way over my breast, before tugging the cup down to latch onto my nipple with his supple lips. My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I braced myself against the counter with the palms of my hands. I rolled my hips against him, looking for friction, anything that could relieve the growing ache within my center.

“Bedroom,” I hissed between my teeth as he pressed a palm between my legs, feeling the heat radiating out. I slipped off of the counter, dragging him through the living room and into my bed. I shoved him down, and he stared in awe as I undid the buttons to my high waisted jeans. I rolled these off my hips, exposing my soft flesh to the dazed boy in front of me. I was standing only in my unmatching panties and bra, and Namjoon’s fingers twitched in anticipation.

I slowly undressed him, brushing kisses gently against his caramel skin as I exposed it to the cold air of my bedroom. He sucked air through his teeth with a sharp hiss as my teeth gently grazed his nipple, and he moaned when I tweaked it lightly with my tongue with a smile. His fingers clutched at the sheets, searching for purchase as I undid his jeans, releasing his member. His hips bucked up into my hand as I grasped his length, working him for a moment before taking him in my mouth. His hand tangled in my hair as I bobbed up and down taking him as deep as I could. After several moments, he tugged my head up and off of him with a soft pop. Namjoon sat up, and looked at me for a moment, brushing my hair off of my face, his large hands brushing over my shoulders and neck, goosebumps sprouting all over my skin.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, his eyes searching mine for anything that would tell him to stop. My body ached with anticipation, I had wanted him for so long. There was a voice screaming in the back of my head to stop, to stop all of this. But I chose to ignore the voice for once, and nodded my head before taking his hand and placing it against my crotch. He took a shuddering breath, his fingers working at me for a moment before tugging my panties of and pulling me on top of him.

The next morning, Namjoon was gone. My room was bright and cold, a snow storm having ripped through the neighborhood during the night with no warning. I felt his side of the bed, remembering how after we came undone into each other I’d asked him to stay. He had agreed, winding his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. We’d fallen asleep like that, molded against each other like puzzle pieces.

But now, my fingers touched nothing but cold sheets, and my heart sank to my stomach. I opened my eyes fully, seeing where he had fallen asleep empty and cold, indicating that he’d been gone for a while. I looked around the room, my clothes were still scattered, but his own were gone as well.

I dropped my head into my hands, wanting to scream. Of-fucking-course this would happen. It was Namjoon, why would I think he’d stay? It was Namjoon who had fucked his way through half of Seoul and showed no sign of stopping; why would I be any different? Because I was his friend? No, if anything that would make it easier for him, I knew how and who he was, I couldn’t hold him at fault for it. I groaned in frustration, but decided that as soon as I left my bedroom, I’d let it go. I wasn’t going to mope over Namjoon, it would be a waste of time. It would be pointless.

Still, I checked my phone, hopeful for a message, an apology that I knew wouldn’t be there. As expected, my phone was quiet and empty, except for a message from Stella, saying that she was going to stay at Jackson’s place because of the storm. She would go to work with him and the boys and see me later tonight. I shook my head, scrubbing my eyes and walking to the bathroom for a shower. Thoughts of the night before plagued me throughout, making my stomach quiver and my legs go weak, but I needed to shake the thoughts from my head. We had a meeting this morning, and it was required of all of us to be there.

I waved and smiled at Stella as I walked into the building, a bagel between my teeth and a massive cup of coffee clutched in my hand. She ran over and looped her arm through mine. “Hiiiiii,” she cooed, smiling slyly. She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “You’ve gotta tell me everything.”

“Everything about what?” I asked, playing dumb. I didn’t feel like talking about it, and still had to steel myself for facing Namjoon.

“Nope, I saw you leave with Namjoon and never come back, and then you didn’t answer my text this morning. Were you having morning sex? Was it great? Did he eat you for breakfast?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“You’re gross, you know that?” I said, setting my things down at my desk, glancing at Namjoon’s across the room. His coat was hung over his chair but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Yes, I do, and I will keep going and assume things if you don’t tell me. Was it good?”

I nodded, blushing and avoiding eye contact. “Really good. Like so good, Stella.”

Stella squealed and clapped her hands. “Yes! Finally! I knew it! Are you in love? Are you guys together now?”

“But he left before I woke up...” I tacked onto the end.

She stopped her excited bouncing, her face folding in confusion. “What?”

“He left, he didn’t even say ‘bye or anything. I just woke up and he was gone. Not even a text.” I shrugged, taking my things out of my bag and checking my lipstick in the reflection of my phone. It was easier to pretend that I didn’t care.

“But, like...he left the bar with you? His best friend?”

I shrugged again, gathering my notebook and phone and breakfast before moving towards the conference room.. “It’s Namjoon, we’re talking about, Stells. He doesn’t stay.”

“What are we talking about?” Namjoon was suddenly behind us. Stella jumped. Her eyes flicking between the two of us, uncomfortable. He had a cocky smile on his face, and his eyes trailed over my face slowly before turning to Stella. “Why so jumpy?”

“No reason,” she terribly lied. “We were just talking about...” She hesitated a moment, looking for an excuse. “...the guy that flirted with Y/N at the coffee stand this morning.” Namjoon looked at me and Stella mouthed “sorry” over his shoulder before ducking away to her seat. I cursed her out in my head, before turning back to my desk to make sure all of my paperwork was in order. Namjoon stepped closer to me and I shuffled carefully away. I looked up at him, idly wondering why he was still here.

“Oh?” Namjoon asked me, cocking an eyebrow.

I shook my head. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.” I avoided his prising eyes, feeling my cheeks flush under his stare. “Excuse me, ‘Joon, I’ve got to go talk to BamBam about his lyrics.” I tried to step around him, making sure not to touch him.

“Listen,” he said, touching my elbow softly, as though he actually cared. “About what happened...”

I pulled away gently, face flushing even more. “No, it’s fine. I totally get it. We don’t have to talk about it. It was fun, and a one time thing. No worries!” I was praying that he would believe my lie about not caring. Truthfully, if I were to admit it to myself, my heart was falling apart beneath me. But if I expressed this he would say I was oversensitive or overreacting to something that was normal for him.

I heard my voice jump a few octaves but looked him in the eye, praying that he wouldn't call my bluff. Something flashed across Namjoon’s face, but it was gone before I could figure out what it was. I just needed him to drop the subject, so that my embarrassment could begin to heal.

“Oh,” He chewed his lip, thinking. “A one time thing, okay. Yeah,”

“See? No hurt feelings, nothing! Everything is good!” I took my normal seat, with Namjoon beside me.

“Yeah,” He said, tapping his pen on the table. He stared narrowly into space, obviously irritated. The back of his neck and the tips of his ears were flushed. “No hurt feelings, everything’s good.”

Anger flared in my chest. How could he get annoyed with me? How could he feel uncomfortable? Namjoon was the one who started it, the one who left without saying goodbye. I was doing what he wanted, brushing it aside like it was nothing. When, if I really thought about it, it was everything to me. I had slept with my best friend, and he was treating it like I was nothing, like I didn’t matter, like I was some chick he picked up at the bar to fuck and leave.

I turned to him, plastering a fake smile on my face. “‘Joon, you’re the one who left without telling me. You could have left a post-it at the least,” I shrugged, pleased with the venom that had leaked into my voice. “So it’s nothing, clearly.” Namjoon’s mouth popped open in surprise, his eyes sparking with irritation, clearly ready to defend himself, but the members of GOT7 walked in, signalling that the meeting had begun. I scooted my chair over, and avoided any eye contact or physical contact with Namjoon for the rest of the meeting.

By the end of the meeting I had fantasized about punching Namjoon in his stupidly pretty face 50 Times, in various situations. I had to ball my fists beneath the table to stop from shaking in anger. When we stood up, he reached for me, opening his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but I flashed a dead-eyes smile at him and ducked out of the room without saying a single word.

A week later, Stella and I were once again making cookies in our kitchen. It was snowing, and we had decorated our Christmas tree the night before. It was warm and cozy, with Christmas music filtering out of our speakers in the living room.

“So you’ve not spoken to him since Monday?” Stella asked me, pressing tree shaped sprinkles into soft cookie dough.

“I mean, we’ve spoken at work, but we’ve not gone out of our way to talk. He hasn’t texted me all week.” Not that I’d texted him either. I was being childish but so was he.

“But you guys are best friends! Like...not to sound like a high-schooler or anything, but you guys were literally bffs.”

“Too late, you sound like a high-schooler Stell-Bell.” I slid another pan of cookies into the oven, the heat blasting in my face. Namjoon and I had only spoken at work, occasionally holding conversations but for no longer than five more minutes before we fell into awkward silence. We both danced delicately around the subject, and when he tried to bring it up, I would suddenly have an emergency. Soon, it got to a point where I just chose to avoid him entirely. It felt like the office temperature dropped several degrees every time we were in a room together.

“I don’t get it. He was so into you.”

“Stella,” I looked at her, putting my hand on my hip. “The only times we’ve kissed have been when both or one of us is drunk. Clearly it’s not something he did on purpose. He was never ‘into me’, we were both just super horny. That’s it.”

“No,” Stella said as I turned away. “That’s not it.”

“It is.”

“No because that’s not what he told me.” I stopped rolling more dough and looked at her.

“Not what he told you? Since when do you guys talk?”

“Since Mark’s party. He was so worried when you took off.” She shrugged, popping raw dough into her mouth. “He thought he did something wrong. He wanted me to talk to you, but I told him he had to do it himself if he actually cared.”

“Okay, well, see how that worked out?” I punched the dough downwards into the bowl. “not great.”

“He keeps asking if you’re okay,”. She idly licked a spoon. “Keeps emailing me and texting me.”

“I’m peachy fuckin keen,” I said, fuming at the idea of him asking my roommate rather than me if I was okay.

“Clearly,” Stella said, eyeing the way I’d re-balled the dough in my hands.

“Just, just tell him to let it go, okay? It didn’t mean anything to him, so it means nothing to me.”

“Did you ask him?”

“Ask him what?”

“Why he left with no warning?” She took the dough from me and wrapped it in Saran Wrap, clearly worried about me abusing it.

“Stella, he snuck out of the house, I don’t need to ask him anything.”

“Okay but what if he just got scared? Scared of losing you, of ruining this?” She waved her spoon in my general direction.

My mind flickered back to when Namjoon had stopped in the middle of everything, how he had looked at me tenderly and brushed the hair from my face. He moved like he was afraid he was going to break me, and I shivered at the memory of his fingertips searching my skin. My heart tightened as I remembered how he asked me if this was what I’d wanted, and the relief in his eyes when I’d nodded. “But I said yes,” I moaned at Stella, dripping my head into my hands. “Why wouldn’t I say yes? Why wouldn’t I mean it? It’s Namjoon, and I’ve always loved him goddamnit.”

Stella pointed at me. “You should tell him that,”.

“It’s too late,” I began, when my phone chimed. It was a text from Namjoon.

Joonie: Come outside, asap (6:56 pm)

My fingers hesitated over the keys, unsure of how to respond. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, my legs going numb from nervousness.

I showed Stella the text and she shrugged. “You should go outside then.”

We pulled on our winter things and moved out onto the sidewalk, and we waited. I stood in the snow, looking around outside on the sidewalk for Namjoon. It was silent, flakes falling around me, soft and muffled. I shook my head, after five minutes, turning and motioning to Stella that we should go.

I scrubbed at my face, turning back up the street towards my building. But Stella grabbed my arm as I took a deep breath to steady myself, and we heard a soft noise coming from far down the street. I paused, ears perking at the twinkling sounds that were growing closer. It was bells, sleigh bells, I realized after a moment, and I turned to squint through the snow.

Eight figures were moving towards us, their voices growing in volume as they approached. I recognized BamBam’s skinny legs almost immediately, and then was able to slowly pick out the other six boys. Mark and Jackson had their arms around each other, laughing between each word and note. The boys had clearly convinced JB into drinking whatever was in Jackson’s flask, for he had transformed into his goofy tipsy self; he was dancing in the snow, hopping and wiggling with each step and bobbing his head to the beat of the bells. You could hear Yugyeom and Youngjae trailing in the back, their voices bouncing off of the buildings, loud and strong. Jinyoung was keeping his eye on JB, making sure he didn’t hurt himself, but still smiling at the other boys, clearly enjoying how they wove about the empty street like a particularly concerned mother.

Each boy was shaking a tambourine or string of bells of some sort, singing clear and strong in the cold night air. Suddenly, my ears identified the song that they were singing, dredging it up from my memories of christmases through the years.

I-I-I love you, baby, i-i-i love you. I do, I do I do.

All day long, I wait for your reply. I keep writing and erasing to make sure there are no mistakes in my words.

I accidentally say things that I don’t mean...dramatic lines that I practiced in front of the mirror, are all forgotten when I stand in front of you, flustering me, my hands in front of yours...

They all stopped in front of me, and the eighth figure pushed his way between the clearly drunken carolers. My heart stopped, and I felt my limbs go cold as Namjoon stood in front of me. His cheeks were flushed, his stocking cap askew, flakes sticking to his collar, lashes, and melting on his red lips.

The boys quieted behind him, still shuffling and pushing each other in the manner of brothers. Stella moved around me to greet and distract them quietly while Namjoon and I talked.

Namjoon didn’t look back at his Santa-hat clad friends, rather training his eyes on me. He smiled weakly. “Hi,” he said,

“You're late,” I snipped.

Namjoon buried his hands deep in his pockets, grinding the toe of his boot into the fresh snow at his feet. “I know, I know I am.”

“You’re always late,” I took a step closer, and I wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or if I was naturally drawn to him.

“I know I am,” he sighed, his wide brown eyes taking in my movements as though he was terrified I would run.

“He was late for us too!” A drunken Yugyeom piped up from behind him, and Jinyoung hushed him quickly, offering me an apologetic smile.

Namjoon laughed nervously. “I mean, yeah I was, but do you know how hard it is to get the members of GOT7 into Santa hats when they’re three cups into spiked eggnog?”

“It’s like wrangling jellyfish,” Jinyoung said quietly, eyeing JB who was twirling around in the middle of the street while BamBam and Youngjae encouraged him.

I laughed at the sight, surprising myself at the sound that bubbled up in my chest. Namjoon’s eyes sparked, and he took a step closer. “Look,” he said. “I don’t deserve you. You’ve always been here for me I am so fucking stupid for not realizing what was right in front of me the whole time.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, never taking my eyes off of Namjoon. “You left me after telling me the exact same thing last time. After we slept together, ‘Joon. Jesus Christ I slept with my best friend, and he snuck out like a skeeze I met at a bar.”

“It’s not-“ he began but I cut him off.

“Then tell me, ‘Joon, explain how I’m supposed to trust that you’re not going to do it again.” I needed to hear the words from his mouth, I needed to hear them out loud so I could convince myself and my heart.

He grabbed my arm, shaking me slightly. “I need you. I was stupid and scared and you scared me and I’m scared of how much I need you. Please believe me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m here. Because I need you. Because I wake up every day wondering if you’re happy, wondering what you’re doing. I think of how you smell, and I want to know how you taste. I want you, all of you.”

“But I’m not tall, pretty, skinny, funny...”

“Okay first of all, you’re the funniest person I know, and I’m friends with Mark and Jackson,” he pointed his thumb at the two boys behind him who were building an anatomically correct snowman on the sidewalk while Stella observed. “Second, I don’t give two shits about that other stuff. I love how tiny and round you are, you’re adorable, like I could tuck you in my pocket. You’re beautiful and I want to do nothing but make you smile and laugh and take care of you.”

“And what if you change your mind?”

“I’ve got things to work on, I won’t lie, but damnit Y/N, I want to change for you, I want to be better for you. I want to be the man you deserve, but only so long as you want me too, I won’t force this if you don’t want it, I will walk away if you want me to.” He chewed his bottom lip, begging me with his eyes not to turn around. He had taken my other hand in his, running his thumb across the back of my knuckles.

Namjoon wasn’t perfect, but neither was I. And if he was willing to trust me, to want me and love me, then I could bend for him. I released his hand and saw his eyes sadden at the loss of contact, but I pressed my palm to his cheek. “I trust you,” I murmured against his lips. “I trust you and I love you. It’s probably a huge fucking mistake but it’s Christmas.” I shrugged and smiled up at him. Namjoon closed the distance between us, clutching me to his chest and wrapping his coat around me, cocooning me in his warmth. I faintly heard Jackson shriek in excitement, and the bells began to shake again, the boy’s voices rising in harmony as I melted into Namjoon.

When we pulled back the boys were circled around us, crude snowmen long forgotten. I was warm and surrounded by friends and the boy I loved who finally loved me back. Stella was clapping along, swaying to the music and she winked at me.

I looked up and saw the North Star shining in the velvet sky above us. Namjoon looked up as well, and then cupped my face in his hands and running his thumb over my chapped lips, before pulling me back into his chest, where both he and I knew I belonged.

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andrewuttaro · 5 years

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New Look Sabres: GM 42 - EDM - Thirsty Thursday

3-2 OT Win

When I was an undergraduate in college there was this special night of the week called Thirsty Thursday. A lot of my classmates created their schedules, so they had no classes on Fridays creating a prolonged weekend for all the activities Animal House taught you college students do. Thirsty Thursday was the beginning of that debauchery. Specifically the mid to late evening as the party people dressed to the nines emerged from their dorms, already tipsy, and climbed into Ubers, Lyfts and Cabs to go to the skankiest clubs and try to cross the border into Canada. Niagara Falls is pretty lit on the other side in case you weren’t aware. The Buffalo Sabres had themselves a bit of a Thirsty Thursday yesterday. This time however I’m excited for the consequences. I drew attention to GM Jason Botterill’s planned 5:30 radio appearance before the game against Edmonton so that when it was called off it seemed cowardly. Not that my lone tweet riled up an angry mob like the gif I used implied, but the timing seemed… well very bad. Dalton Smith was put on waivers the day before after an embarrassing affair on New Year’s Eve against Tampa and it all seemed for nothing: as if our GM had no clue what he was doing and now he was hiding from facing the fans. In reality perfect setups like that never happen. When WGR550 was told Botterill couldn’t make his regular radio hit the negativity around the team right now would naturally make you think of that dodging the press theory. Us wild and crazy optimists hoped against hope he was busy working on… dare I say… a trade!? The whispers came in as game time approached and Thirsty Thursday kicked off with a three-way (Normally something reserved for the end of the night if you know I mean). At about 6:40 pm the team announced a 2020 fourth round pick had been acquired from the Montreal Canadiens for Marco Scandella. The next part unfolded when the team announced at about 6:50 pm that the same 2020 fourth that was yielded from the Scandella trade was going to the Calgary Flames for RW Michael Frolik. No salary retained or conditions, it was essentially Marco Scandella for Michael Frolik.

Set aside all your newfound appreciations for Scandella, even his revitalization was to inflate his trade value. Not to be harsh but he won’t be missed; especially when Jeremy White’s Super-Secret Sabres Source (SSSS) then tells him they’re not done, and they want to bring Lawrence Pilut up from Rochester. This humble blogger says good and good. Scandella for Frolik constitutes a wash in terms of salary if not a little bit more taken on by Buffalo. However, if it gets Pilut back up to Buffalo and or Colin Miller out of buying tickets out of town then it’s a win in my book. In spite of how few trades we saw in the last five months of 2019 it does make a lot of sense that this is the prelude to bigger trades. One can only hope. I hope this analysis of it is outdated by the time I post it. Although we all thought the Jokiharju trade was the prelude to a bigger trade that never came so it could go both ways I suppose. All this figuring out distracted me from the actual game unfolding. I looked up and suddenly the Sabres were down 2-0 to the Oilers at home and certainly a blood bath was to ensue if another egg was laid in downtown Buffalo. Then as soon as I had that thought Thirsty Thursday ticked up again, but this time with some good clean action: Marcus Johansson disposed an Oiler along the wall in the offensive zone and went around behind the net. Johansson got it to Curtis Lazar who tapped it in past Mike Smith in net. It was now 2-1 and Jason Botterill had that much more cover to come out and face the press in the first intermission like we hadn’t gotten three hours earlier while trades were unfolding.

Jason Botterill spoke for about seven minutes saying a lot of things you might expect: Michael Frolik will bring even strength scoring, he’s won a Stanley Cup, has playoff experience and what not. Perhaps the most important things Botterill said is the special teams have to be better. He said that Frolik could help on the penalty kill and could be a bit of a rover on the wing. Botterill spoke to greater roster competition as something of a rationale for seeing as many players publicly want out. Assuming this isn’t the only move to be made its just refreshing to hear that the GM does understand what’s going on. The Dalton Smith Fiasco will probably be pushed under the rug 1984 style and that’s probably the only way to handle it at this point but pushing forward the point that there is in fact a plan here will allow some optimism, however scant, back into the fanbase. Once again, assuming there are more moves coming this move helps. The move itself is more or less whatever. If you get what Frolik was in years past then maybe he’s not just another piece to be traded at the deadline. Getting Frolik was one of those rumors from months ago and evidently the conditions on this Thirty Thursday were just right to make it happen. Conditions were not just right in the second period and apart from a slash on Jack Eichel and the Sabres taking over the lead in shots on goal, nothing really happened. Then it creeps into your head, like I hear it does for the party people at some point in the early morning hours on Thirsty Thursday, that all this momentary excitement could just melt away with nothing truly rewarding coming from it unless… unless you kiss that hot little number down the bar. It was unlikely another trade would happen as the clock ticked past 9pm last night but the clap-back Sabres awoke again. As an early offensive push unfolded in the third period for the home team they began cycling the puck around in the Oilers’ zone. Zach Bogosian took a shot that Sam Reinhart redirected in for the 2-2 equalizer and… well what do you know: Reinhart’s 100th NHL goal. For a moment try not to think about the impending second coming of the Reinhart contract drama and just savor what Samson does and who Samson is. But just like most things with this team, darkness follows close behind and Victor Olofsson was escorted out of the game after a weird fall all on his own just after he got the secondary assist on the equalizer. No new word on that today either mind you, just Scott Wilson getting called up because you can’t let us get too high, right?

The third period went on and the Sabres threw everything and the kitchen sink Zemgus Girgensons at Mike Smith. Nothing went through and we found ourselves in overtime. To Ralph Krueger’s credit most of the Sabres overtime periods have been tight possession affairs like they should be, even when they’re losing efforts. The same happened last night until an absolutely bonkers ten seconds about a minute into the extra frame. Jack Eichel went end to end, like from behind the Linus Ullmark net all the way to Mike Smith’s mouthguard on the other end. Along the way he drew a penalty when Oscar Klefbom hooked him on his final approach. That was good for a penalty shot but before the play was even over Jack almost scored on the rebound. This Thirsty Thursday was about to see it’s last act. That hot little number down the bar I mentioned earlier, that was Jack mother fucking Eichel, and we kissed his greatness to cap off the night. He took the puck, skated in and snapped it far side past Mike Smith, 3-2 Sabres in Overtime! And so the inebriated masses stumbled out of their rides in the wee hours of the morning; still concerned about their future but sated for just a time until the next party comes. Hopefully more parties to come then sadness they hope.

Like, Comment and Share this blog now because some of you will not like what I say next. The game on Saturday was moved to 1pm in the afternoon because the Buffalo Sabres organization shares an owner with the Buffalo Bills and is therefore allowed to be self-aware. You probably already knew that. To those of you whom pointed to that move as a sign of the Pegulas caring more about the Bills I’d just ask you to take a deep breath, maybe play your favorite video game and relax. There is good evidence that theory is true, but the Buffalo Bills also happen to be in the playoffs for only the second time in twenty years. Forgive the whole City around you if they want to focus on that team when they come on at 4:35 tomorrow! I know its 90s night… or afternoon now tomorrow, but please, let good things be good. Enjoy yourself a little bit. The Florida Panthers will be a challenge and then they’ll be off for four days, hopefully while Botterill is making more trades and Michael Frolik is getting his Visa figured out so he can actually come and play. Then its six games leading into the bye week of varying difficulty but mostly difficult. I would guess even if the Sabres miraculously won eight straight going into that break they still might only crack the top three in the Atlantic Division given the spaces between games. Nonetheless the tide of this dissent into another lost season we’ve been experiencing since before Christmas can be reversed this month. It will likely take more work on the part of the GM even though the deadline is still several weeks away. Yesterday’s Thirsty Thursday events were not enough for me to fully get back in the conductor’s chair of the hype train but whether it be for hoped for trades or just the first Buffalo Bills Playoff win since I was in diapers I can enthusiastically say right now: Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. According to NHL PR that OT Penalty shot goal by Jack Eichel made him the first player in Buffalo Sabres history to do such a thing. That is some kind of surprising stat.

#buffalo sabres #hockey #nhl #blog

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welcometophu · 7 years

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Not Your Destiny: Chapter 12

Marked Book 1: Not Your Destiny

Chapter 12

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Working Saturday morning means that by the time Ángel gets to Maritsa’s tía’s that evening, he’s already exhausted. They take two cars to get there—Abuela and Joey with Papi, and Ángel is relieved to let Tanner drive him and Hayley. All he really wants to do is nap, but there’s no time.

By the time they get through midnight mass, he’s going to be asleep in the pew.

“Ángel, come sit with me.” Tía pats the couch, and Ángel settles carefully next to her. He lets her pull him in for a fond hug, and a kiss on the cheek. “It’s been years,” she says, chiding.

“Since graduation,” he admits. The last time he was here was during Maritsa’s graduation party, and it was just a small thing. The local family and friends; nowhere near as many people as seem to be crowding into Tía’s home tonight for Noche Buena. “It’s a good thing that Maritsa and Cleto rescued me after my car broke down.”

“Ah, Cleto.”

Ángel tries to read her tone, her expression, and can’t quite figure it out. She sounds fond, and disapproving at the same time. “They’ve been together a long time,” he ventures. It seems like a safe entry into the conversation.

“A long time, yes. They’re getting married,” Tía confides, tone low and dry. “He’s a good boy.”

It’s not a lie. But it’s not the truth, either. “I’m working at the garage over break so Cleto and Maritsa can get some time to pull the last pieces of the wedding together.” Ángel can’t miss the way that Tía’s features tighten. “Aren’t you excited about the wedding?” He avoids mentioning that they live together; he’s sure no one approves of that.

“It’s not a church wedding,” Tía says, voice low. “And they won’t listen to family. A wedding should be on the weekend, when family can come. It should be in a church, with Father presiding. There should be a Mass.”

Ángel checked the date when Gabi first gave it to him, and while Thursday is definitely an odd choice for a wedding, he also knows you never argue with the bride. “It’s going to make Maritsa happy, though.”

“It’s not a real wedding.” Tía’s voice goes flat. She rests her fingers on Ángel’s forearm. “You are a good friend of our family, Ángel, and you know the traditions. You adhere to the traditions.”

Ángel bites his lip, doesn’t remind her that he’s already gone against tradition by leaving home and falling in love with someone who isn’t Cuban. Or Catholic. Maybe Abuela didn’t tell her, since the point’s moot anyway.

“Convince her,” Tía continues. She grips Ángel’s wrist, and while he’s thankful that it’s his left, he’s unable to resist bringing his right arm up to press the inside of his wrist again his chest, away from her touch. Her gaze is intense, and she shakes his hand lightly. “Convince her. There is no reason to be married under the light of the full moon. No reason to have the ceremony outdoors. It is paganism.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I can say that’s going to change her mind,” Ángel says quietly. “Maritsa’s going to do what she wants to do. You know that.”

“She’s living with him,” Tía says. “My good girl is living with her boyfriend.”

“People do that all the time now, Tía.”

“We don’t,” she says flatly. “You are a good boy. Would you live with your girlfriend?”

Ángel’s gaze shifts to where Hayley and Tanner are sitting on the floor with three of the smaller children, as Hayley lights a tiny Christmas tree. “We were talking about it next year. She’s not my girlfriend anymore, though, so not now, no.”

He knows better than to mention any options other than girlfriends.

There’s a shout at the door; when Ángel glances over, Maritsa is hugging family, while Cleto shakes hands. There are enough people here that haven’t seen her ring yet—as small as the diamond is, an engagement ring is still an engagement ring—that she’ll be distracted for a time.

Cleto, on the other hand, is veering in Ángel’s direction.

“It’s her new friends,” Tía confides. “They are changing her, Ángel. Making her more like them.”

Ángel’s mouth opens, closes. “I’m pretty sure they’re Catholic, too, Tía. Don’t they go to the same church?”

Tía scoffs. “In name, perhaps. They live like pagans. Maritsa has changed since Cleto went to work at Mollicone’s. They’ve both changed.” She stops suddenly, her expression shifting into a broad smile as she rises, turns just before Cleto reaches them.

She holds out her hands, spreads them. “Cleto,” she says, and Ángel can’t tell that she’s anything but fond.

He stands as well, tucks his right wrist against his body when he crosses his arms. He waits through the greetings and kisses, until Maritsa slides up to him, hooks an arm in his.

“Mind if I borrow Ángel?” she asks, and Tía motions for them to go, go. Cleto brackets Ángel on the other side, and they slip into the hallway and head down to the kitchen.

Maritsa digs into the fridge, finds an open bottle of white wine and twists the cork out of it. She pours the dregs into three coffee mugs, and offers two to Cleto and Ángel. She holds hers up, “To family,” she says dryly, and they all drink up.

Maritsa sets her cup in the sink, wipes her lips with the back of her hand. “Was she asking you to intervene on behalf of faith and family?” she asks.

“Something like that,” Ángel admits. “She thinks you’ve forsaken God by planning a pagan wedding.”

“Father Christy would be highly offended by the idea that it’s a pagan wedding,” Cleto says. “If it’s pagan, why did I have to go through that retreat last weekend with all the other Catholic couples?”

Maritsa smacks his chest. “Hush. Abuela stopped speaking to me when I moved in with Cleto,” she says quietly. “Everyone says they’re thrilled for us, but no one’s happy. Isn’t family supposed to be happy when their children are happy, no matter how it is?”

“I thought Tía liked Cleto.” Ángel remembers how Tía would champion him to Maritsa’s abuela in high school.

Maritsa makes a cutting motion in the air. “It’s complicated, and you don’t want to get in the middle of it. Just promise not to mention Tony or Zita, and everything should be fine. Or Gabi. Tía really doesn’t like Gabi, which is entirely Gabi’s fault.”

“She implied that we were having a threesome after we moved Maritsa’s things out,” Cleto says blandly. “And she kissed Maritsa in front of Tía to prove the point.”

“You do realize that your family is even more conservative than mine can be, right?” Ángel asks, and Maritsa spreads her hands as if to say what can you do?

“If you haven’t been disowned for being bi—” Maritsa cuts herself off, head tilting. “Do they know?”

“Not explicitly, but probably,” Ángel admits.

“You’re in better shape than I am.” She ducks her head, and Cleto budges up close to her, his hand on the small of her back. When she leans into him, he kisses the top of her head.

“Are they coming to the wedding?” Ángel fidgets with the mug, just to have something to do with his hands.

“They’ll be at the wedding, because they’re going to pretend to be the better people,” Maritsa says slowly. “But they’ll be angry. We’re not doing a marking ritual. And we haven’t decided yet which magic we want to include.”

Ángel touches the inside of his wrist. He now understands exactly why anyone might not do that particular ceremony. “Why not have all the magic?”

“Because our friends will be there, and some of them aren’t fond of magic,” Cleto says bluntly. “And we’d rather have the people who like us happy, rather than the ones who tolerate us.”

That… makes sense.

“I saw him go this way, but should we be walking around? It’s not our house. Maybe we could find a bathroom, too, I kind of need to pee.” Hayley’s voice is clear, echoing off the walls. Maritsa ducks her head, laughing quietly, as Hayley walks into the kitchen, Tanner close behind.

Hayley grins. “Oh. Hey. Hi. Tía—she said we should all call her just Tía—was going to go looking for you for games? And singing. And she said the little kids were going to do a play of the Christmas story and something about a sheep song? I don’t know, but this all seems really elaborate. Plus she said la lechon will be done soon.” Hayley manages the pronunciation, grinning after she says it.

“It is,” Maritsa assures her. “Christmas will be forever ruined for you after this. You’ll never be able to just have a tree and presents again.” She unwinds from Cleto so she can get an arm around Hayley’s shoulders instead. “Are you coming to midnight Mass with us?”

“I think so?” Hayley twists so she can see Ángel, and he nods, because of course they’re all going to midnight Mass. That’s not actually optional. “Yes,” she says then. “Of course I am.”

“Then you’re an honorary part of the family for the night, and you can come play our games,” Maritsa says. “All you have to know is this: follow instructions, pay attention, and sit quietly through the kids’ play because it’s adorable and so horribly long. Try not laugh.”

They rejoin the crowds inside, and after a short time, Tía directs everyone into the back yard, where a small stage has been set up at one end, and folding chairs haphazardly cover the lawn everywhere else. Tanner sits with Hayley, and Maritsa and Cleto share a chair. Ángel feels his single status keenly, and Abuela directing him to sit with her doesn’t help.

Still. It does give him someone to whisper to during the little self-directed show, and his abuela fires back comments with grace and snark.

The play is cute, although Ángel thinks it peaks at the moment when “Mary” looks in the makeshift cradle in the manger and screams, “Where is Jesus? Which one of you took baby Jesus?”

Another little girl starts crying, and holds out the doll cradled in her arms; the little girl playing Mary takes the doll and wraps him gently before laying him down again. The play proceeds, with sniffles in the background, and an unusual presenting of gifts that look nothing like the traditional frankincense and myrrh.

But the kids have fun, and it’s obvious that it’s still a well-known, and well-loved story. The children bow, and sing “Away in a Manger” to end their show.

One small girl keeps singing at the end, and her high-pitched tones in “Silent Night” rise over the chatter.

The chairs are rearranged in a circle, and Ángel and Maritsa are pulled in to referee as the smaller children play North Star. It’s nothing more than a version of musical chairs, only instead of music, they raise a bright light above the center of the circle. When the light goes out, everyone sits.

Ángel raises the first light, banishing it after only a few seconds.

Maritsa raises the second light, and Ángel can feel the cracks in her magic. There’s a whistle and pop, almost below the edge of his hearing. She sets her jaw, and the light flickers, goes out abruptly; the kids scream and pile into the chairs, and Ángel sorts out which one was left without.

They remove a chair, and move on.

They alternate who provides the light, making some rounds longer and some short. Maritsa’s rounds are always short, and seem to end abruptly. There’s a faint line of sweat atop her forehead at the end, when there are only a few children left, and Ángel offers to handle the last few rounds.

They are changing her. Making her more like them.

Tía’s words echo in Ángel’s mind. But this can’t be what she meant. You can’t just lose your magic.

The prize for the winner is a chance to open the first of the gifts that have been brought out. Then it’s chaos as the children tear into their gifts, and the adults open their own more slowly. There are enthusiastic hugs and thanks, then it’s time for the children to go to bed, and the adults move indoors.

“I’ve never seen games like this,” Hayley says. “Are there more?”

“The last one’s a little more adult.” Maritsa winks. “Are you up for it? You can play with us. Tanner, sorry, unless you can make a Christmas orange out of thin air, you’re out.”

“Sure,” Hayley agrees, while Tanner’s brows furrow. “What is it?”

“It’s a kissing game.”

Hayley blinks at Cleto’s words. “Oh?” She looks at the people in the room still awake, ranging from older teens to the elderly. “Does everyone play?”

Cleto leans down, one hand on Hayley’s shoulder, and whispers, “Yes.”

Her gaze flicks between the people in the room and Cleto and Maritsa one more time. “Okay,” she agrees. “If this is part of Ángel’s traditions, I’m in.”

“I like her,” Maritsa muses. “She reminds me of someone else who used to leap into things without thinking. Do you remember the roof?”

“I remember the tree,” Cleto offers. “Ángel went out on a limb that was too narrow for his weight. But he was sure he could climb all the way out to the end. He did, and it broke.”

“And I broke, but we can forget that part of the story, yes, I’m impulsive sometimes,” Ángel mutters dryly. “Who’s playing?”

They start the circle, and are joined by an easy dozen of Maritsa’s relatives. The youngest is one of her cousins, only a few years younger than them, and the oldest is an uncle that Ángel doesn’t even recognize. As the oldest, he starts the game.

He produces a sparkling orange on the palm of his hand, and as Tía flips a coin, she calls out right or left after every flip, and they pass the orange along. It’s always strange feeling someone else’s magic on the palm of his hand, and Ángel gets the orange three times as it passes back and forth from him to Hayley and then back to Maritsa again. In the end, the orange pops and fizzles into nothing on Maritsa’s palm, and she offers her cheek to her uncle for a quick kiss.

Maritsa creates a fresh orange, and again Ángel feels the crackle of her magic like static in the air. She passes it to Cleto on the first coin toss, then it comes back to her and over to Ángel. It barely makes it to Hayley before it disappears in a bright crack, as Hayley’s eyes go wide.

“Now what?” Hayley asks, and Maritsa smirks, crooks a finger.

“Most people kiss the cheek,” Ángel mutters under his breath, as Maritsa places a quick kiss on Hayley’s lips.

Hayley is blushing as she takes her spot in the circle again, produces an orange, and quickly hands it off.

The game goes on after that, and in the end, Ángel captures and sends off the orange twice, including one quick flushed kiss from Hayley when her orange touches his hand and immediately explodes in a shower of sparks.

In the end, though, everyone’s laughing, and it seems as if some of the tension has eased between Maritsa and her family. As the game finishes, the lechon asado is brought out, along with everything else that has been prepared. There is more than enough food to feed everyone there, and perhaps another dozen beyond that. It’s been a few years since Ángel enjoyed a big family event for Noche Buena; his family usually keeps it small, with the crockpot going all day, rather than a whole pig roasting. It’s good, and Hayley is wide-eyed at everything she tastes.

As soon as the meal is done, Tía is up and bustling through, readying everyone who will go to midnight Mass at the Cathedral Basilica in St. Augustine. The eldest teens are staying home to babysit, but everyone over the age of eighteen is expected to go. Maritsa walks Ángel out, where Cleto’s Camaro is next to Tanner’s truck.

Hayley walks around to get a look at the Camaro, while Maritsa leans on the truck next to Ángel and Tanner.

“Thanks for coming,” Maritsa says quietly. “I don’t think Tía had talked to your abuela in a while. Since we were kids.”

“I don’t know for sure, but it seemed like everyone had fun.”

“After they were done talking about me, sure.” Maritsa twists the ring on her finger. “You’re coming to the wedding, right?” Her lips press together, fingers twisting still. “It’d be nice to have one person there who’s close enough to blood family who doesn’t think I’m making a mistake.”

“You’re getting married before you turn twenty,” Ángel says. “I don’t know if I’m that person for you. But….” He nudges her, waits until she meets his gaze. “Our lives are different, and I thought I was as good as ready to get married to Hayley, even if we were going to wait a few years. So I guess I understand that. And I like the Mollicones.”

“So do we,” Maritsa says. She pushes away from the car, tugs the door to the truck open and motions for Ángel to climb in. Once he’s made it into the back, she stands on the step and leans in. “They’re more like family than our blood,” she says quietly. “You get that, right?”

“I’m not going to try to convince you to get married in a church, in daytime hours, on a weekend,” Ángel replies. “But someday I’d love to know why you’ve decided to piss everyone off so damned much, when this’d be easy to give in on.”

“It’s important.” Maritsa leans out, waves Hayley over. She jumps down to give Hayley room to climb in. “I’ll tell you when you’re ready, Ángel, but right now, you’re already in over your head. Maybe if you figure out how not to drown. Maybe if you need to know. Enjoy your innocence and plausible deniability for a little longer.”

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