#yeah like New York City and Philadelphia have ones that are good

[goldenstarprincesses]

America has a wonderful and unique culture

But we really dropped the ball when we didn't appropriate European style Christmas markets

[janeyseymour]

Tough Philly Girl

I don’t know, this came to my head, and I couldn't get it out

As usual, unedited, written while half awake, and hoping it's good enough.

Summary: Melissa's always been tough. Why?

WC: ~3.15k

“Why do you always have to be such a fucking asshole?!” you shout at your girlfriend, and you know you don’t usually curse when in arguments with each other, but… well, she started cursing at you first. She had called you a bitch, and you just lost it.

“I’m a fucking asshole?!” she screams back at you. “You’re the asshole!”

“We’ve been dating for two years, Melissa!” you yell as tears stream down your face. “I thought that by now, you would’ve let me in! I thought you would’ve dropped the ‘tougher than you’ complex! But no! Fuckin’ no! You still have your fucking walls up so fuckin’ high that I don’t even know the woman I fell in love with!”

“Newsflash: I didn’t ask you t’fall in love with me!” she retorts.

“You know what? Fuck this…” you wipe at your tears angrily. “I’m done. I’m not fucking doing this anymore.”

“Fine, run! Like you always do! God, you can’t ever just fight the fight!” She yells as she storms out of your shared bedroom. “All you do is fuckin’ run!”

“When you call me a bitch and fucking asshole,” you grumble. “Yeah, I do. I don’t deserve to put up with this shit.”

You pack a bag, and you leave the house that has become both of yours. You don’t even look back as you pull out of the driveway. You have absolutely no idea where you’re going, but you’ll- you’ll be okay.

You’re not, actually. Your heart is breaking inside of you as you drive through center city Philadelphia during rush hour. One of the worst cities to drive through at this time, the only one being worse is New York City.

Somehow, you end up at Janine’s house.

“Y/N!” her eyes light up at the sight of you, but then they flicker to the bag you have slung over your shoulder and the tears still rolling down your cheeks. “Uhm, are you okay?”

“Can I spend the night?” you ask meekly. “I- uh… Melissa and I had a fight, and I- I don’t know where else to go.”

“Y-yeah! Of course! I can set up the couch,” she says quickly as she ushers you inside. “Although I’m shocked you came here, and not to Barbara’s.”

“Going to my girlfriend’s best friend is probably not the smartest thing,” you chuckle bitterly. “I’m sure Barb’s gonna hate me tomorrow.”

You’re met with Gregory Eddie sitting at the dinner table. His posture immediately straightens out, and you swear you can see just the smallest blush creep into his cheeks.

“Hey,” you sigh softly. “I’m sorry I’m interrupting your date night.”

“A-are you okay?” he asks you gently- far more gently than you’ve ever heard from him at school unless he’s talking to his girlfriend.

“Melissa and I had a fight, and I had to get out of there,” you sigh softly. “I- I couldn’t keep fighting.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Janine asks.

You shrug, and the couple continues to watch you. With a sigh, you start to spill what had happened. Really, all you wanted was for the feisty redhead to drop her tough girl act, even just slightly for you. But she refused- she flat out refused, and then she doubled down on it. And because you were big on communication, you tried to speak your concerns… and that threw her for a loop. You knew your girlfriend, sure you did- the two of you live together. But after two years of dating Melissa, you thought you would’ve known her more than you did. And you can’t spend your life with someone who stays guarded- you can’t marry someone who still has the walls up around you, even if you know her a lot more than most people. She still refuses to talk about most of her family to you. 

The two listen, and then Gregory cuts in. “You know you know way more about Melissa than any of us do.”

“I should know everything about her after knowing her for two and a half years and dating her for two,” you huff.

“You live with her, you have to know more than you think,” Janine tells you.

“I didn’t even know she had a sister until she mentioned it at school,” you huff. “Don’t you think I should’ve known that before… no offense, people like you knew?”

“I mean,” Janine bites her lip. “I guess. But that’s just Melissa.”

“We’ve been dating for over two years,” you repeat. “I should know a lot more about her- I should know every side of her, and I really only know the tough girl side.”

“Isn’t that what you fell in love with to begin with though?” the man asks.

“Yes,” you grumble. “But I thought-”

“Has it crossed your mind that she doesn’t have a softer side?”

“Everybody does, especially teachers,” you mutter. “I’ve seen her soft with her kids. I know she has a soft side. She just doesn’t ever fucking show it to me, unless it’s after…” you turn red at the thought of her head between your legs.

“I’m sorry you guys had a fight,” Janine tells you. “That really sucks.”

“It sucks for all of us,” you sigh as you roll your eyes. “She’s gonna be a menace tomorrow.”

Back at the house, Melissa is fuming. She knows that your concerns and thoughts are entirely right- she hasn’t dropped every wall that she probably should with your history. And that’s what makes her even more pissed- she knows she’s at fault for this, and she really doesn’t know how to make it right.

Her first call, of course, is Barbara.

“Melissa, dear?”

“She left,” the redhead bites out. “She fucking left!”

“What do you mean she left?” Barbara immediately turns concerned.

“She left me! And it’s all my fault! She- she’s gone Barb!”

“Oh dear lord,” the kindergarten teacher grumbles. She moves away from the phone for a few seconds, probably relaying to Gerald what’s happening right now. “I’m on my way.”

When Barb is at your house, Melissa is pacing furiously back and forth.

“Well, sweetheart,” the older teacher asks gently. “Have you talked to her about all of this?”

“No, why would I?”

“Because she’s your girlfriend, and she cares about you… every side of you,” Barbara hits her with a pointed look. “You couldn’t have expected to keep the tough girl act up for forever.”

“I know, but I thought I had more time,” the redhead runs her hands through her hair and fidgets with her necklaces. “It took me nearly five years to open up to you.”

“Well, that may be true, but we aren’t romantically involved with each other.”

“So you think I’m to blame for this one?” Melissa groans out.

“All I’m saying is… try to see it from her side,” the kindergarten teacher says. “And you better not come into the staff room tomorrow being a…” she trails off before humming.

“I can’t promise nothin’.”

“Do you want me to stay tonight?”

��No,” Melissa grumbles. “I gotta figure out what I’m gonna do about Y/N, although the way she packed a bag, I’m not sure I can get her back this time.”

The next morning, you sigh as you walk into the staff room to put your lunch away- you already miss having your girlfriend’s leftovers, and instead you’re stuck with a ham and cheese sandwich and a bag of chips. You know you won’t have Melissa making you a cup of coffee like she usually does, and you sigh as you make your own.

You don’t even bother to stick around to watch the news with your friends- er… her friends, and you really don’t want to see the redhead today. But of course, as you’re hustling down to your classroom, you see her. She looks at you, you look at her, and then you continue on your paths.

She storms into the break room, half slamming things around as she puts her own lunch away and makes her own cup of coffee. She finds an extra mug and pours you a cup before coming down to your classroom. She places it in front of you and glares at you. When you don’t so much as glance at her, she huffs.

“Just because we’re fighting don’t mean I don’t still love you.” She plants a rather aggressive kiss to your hairline, and you still don’t respond. “Fine.” And with that, she leaves your classroom.

“She won’t even look at me,” your girlfriend groans to her friends. “I brought her a cup of coffee, and she still wouldn’t look at me.”

Gregory and Janine share a look- they know how you feel on the subject, and they aren’t about to interject with their own thoughts. They had talked about it after heading to bed last night, and because you weren’t asleep, you also knew how they felt on the matter.

“Do you really think one cup of coffee is going to fix this issue between the two of you?” Barbara asks her best friend.

“I thought it would get her to look at me.”

Lunchtime rolls around, and you actively avoid the staff room. You take your kids down to the lunch room before anyone else and sneak into the break room. You grab your sacked lunch and bolt back to your room.

Melissa comes knocking on your door about ten minutes into lunch.

“I really don’t want to talk to you right now,” you say plainly.

She sighs, clearly upset, and turns on her heel. You hear the way her heels hit the linoleum floor angrily. 

The rest of the day passes by painfully slowly, and come the end of the day, you really don’t want to have to go home to her, but you aren’t about to put yourself on Janine and Gregory again.

“You can stay with us again if you need another night,” Janine still offers.

“I appreciate it, but I have to figure out what I’m going to do moving forward,” you sigh.

“A-are you thinking of breaking up with her?” Gregory asks you, terrified for what might happen if you do split. 

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “I love her, but if I can’t get through to her anymore, I don’t really know… I can’t spend my life with someone I don’t know every side of.”

You have no idea Melissa was standing on the other side of the door and could hear you. She practically runs out of the school. She’s going to have to do something big to keep you by her side.

When you enter your home… house… old house (?), you sigh. It looks darker than usual, as if the house knew the two of you were fighting. It’s a gray day, and the natural light that usually shines through the big window in the kitchen only reflects your mood. You sigh as you pull out a few things to grade.

About half an hour later, Melissa comes in, and it’s almost like she has her tail between her legs.

“Y/N?” she calls softly. You fight the urge to look up, keeping your eyes trained on Brianna’s math test in front of you. “Amore?” You still don’t respond.

She finds you at the kitchen table, glasses on top of your head and grading quickly. She  shyly holds out a giant bouquet of flowers she bought for you.

“Very pretty,” you mumble, but you don’t take them. You quickly flicker your eyes back to the paper that you’re in the middle of marking.

“Y/N,” the redhead says softly, and she places the flowers down next to you. “C’mon.”

“Flowers don't fix our issues,” you tell her quietly. “I’m still pretty pissed at you.”

“I’m sorry I called you a bitch and an asshole,” she whispers as she wraps her arms around your shoulders. 

You shrug her off.

“Thank you, but I’m still pissed,” you tell her honestly. She doesn’t make another move for you. She slinks away. She cooks dinner silently. It’s quite a change in your house- the two of you always listen to music while in the kitchen. This tension could be cut with a knife, and all that’s audible is the scrawling of your marker and the sizzling of the vegetables she’s sautéing.

“Dinner’s ready,” she tells you.

“‘m not very hungry,” you mumble, and at this point she knows you’re just being stubborn.

“You gotta eat, hun,” she says softly.

“I will,” you sigh and pick up your things. You’ll finish grading in the home office the two of you have set up but rarely use.

“Y/N,” she calls after you. “C’mon. I apologized for calling you a bitch, I brought you home flowers, and I cooked dinner!”

“I already told you that wasn’t why I’m pissed,” you call over your shoulder as you continue to head for the office. “I thought I made it pretty clear why I’m upset, and if you don’t know why I’m really upset… we have a bigger issue on our hands.”

Melissa hates eating dinner by herself. It’s always something she’s loved to share with others. She stabs the food with her fork more aggressively than she usually would. She settles on the couch after doing the dishes- something the two of you usually do together. She misses having you next to her. She turns on the television, but her mind is anywhere but with whatever is on the screen.

You thought, and maybe hoped, that your girlfriend would come into the home office. But she doesn’t. You can hear the television playing, so you sigh and finish grading. And once you’re finished grading multiple subjects, you head to your shared bedroom, and you pack a bag. You suppose you’ll be staying at a hotel tonight. 

“I’ll see you later,” you tell her as you walk through the living room, duffel bag slung over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” she asks, eyes filling with fright.

“Dunno,” you shrug. “Just not… here.”

“Y/N,” she says meekly- it’s weird to hear her voice like this. “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you sigh as you take your keys from the holder by the front door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?” she repeats, firmer. 

“Probably the Marriott. I don’t want to be here right now.” You don’t give her a chance to say anything more before you walk out.

She almost follows you, but she doesn’t. She knows if she comes out and just continues to beg you to stay, it’ll just be another fight. So she does the only thing she knows to be the right choice at this point in time- she calls her best friend.

“Barb, I can’t lose her,” Melissa rushes out as soon as the kindergarten teacher answers.

“What do you mean, honey?”

“She’s going to break up with me, and I can’t lose her. I can’t,” the redhead states firmly. “I- I bought her flowers, I apologized for calling her a bitch, I cooked dinner… she won’t talk to me!”

“Melissa, no one said anything about losing her,” the older teacher says calmly.

And that’s when she reveals what she heard you tell Gregory and Janine.

“Well, what do you think you should do?”

“She wants me to open up! But I- I hate being vulnerable,” she sighs.

“You’ve been dating her for two years,” Barbara reminds her. “You’ve seen her at her most vulnerable. Maybe it’s your turn.”

“I- fuck.”

“You don’t want to lose her, do you?”

“No. I need her.”

“Then maybe it’s time to allow her to see you- all of you.”

“She has,” Melissa mumbles before sobering. “O-okay. Fine. But if this doesn’t work, you get to deal with post-breakup Schemmenti.”

“I’ve done it before,” the kindergarten teacher rolls her eyes. “I’ll do it again, although I really would not like to. Y/N is good for you.”

“Thanks, Barb,” the redhead sighs into the phone.

“Go get your girl back,” the kindergarten teacher encourages her friend before hanging up.

Melissa grabs the flowers that she’s since put in the vase and heads outside, only to discover it’s pouring rain. She doesn’t even care. She has to get you back.

She manages to hit every single traffic light on the way to the hotel, and then she has to circle the block a few times to find a parking spot. By the time she’s parked, she’s about a quarter of a mile away and she’s in the middle of a torrential downpour with no umbrella. She doesn’t care. She has to get to you.

You’ve just managed to check into your hotel room, and she misses you by one elevator ride. She must look insane when she runs into the hotel lobby, hair clinging to her soaked clothes and holding a sad and now saggy bouquet of flowers.

“Ah,” the concierge at the front desk eyes her. “You must be here for the sad girl that just checked in.”

“Please… tell me what room number she is,” Melissa wheezes out, trying to catch her breath.

“I’m afraid that’s against company policy,” the man behind the desk says.

“Can you phone her and tell her she has a visitor then? Please?”

The employee seems all too excited to tell her no.

The redhead looks like she’s about ready to kill, but she pulls out her phone, dials her guy, and in no longer than two minutes does the smug employee look like he’s about to shit bricks as he uses his keycard to allow her up to your room.

There’s a knock on your door, and you sigh from your bed.

“I didn’t call for room service,” you say loudly enough that whoever is behind the door can hear you. They only knock again.

With an angry breath, you stand from your bed and make your way to the door. You whip it open, ready to tell off whatever room service person is behind your door, but you’re greeted with Melissa. Her red hair is no longer curled, but soaked straight and clinging to her body. Her leather jacket is doused in rain water, and her old Abbott sweatshirt sticks to her skin. The flowers she’s holding droop with the added weight from the rain. Her makeup is running, and she’s out of breath, but she’s here.

“Please don’t leave me,” are the first words out of her mouth. “Please. I can’t live without you.”

You go to shut the door on her, but her the toe of her dock catches the door, and she finally sighs, “Do you want to know why I have to be so tough all the time?”

Interest now piqued, you raise a brow and slowly open the door.

This ought to be good.

Next

[jerzwriter]

Tobias took his friend Casey to see his hometown of Washington, DC, all decked out for the holidays; then, she showed him how her hometown of Philadelphia did it. Now, they make one pitstop on the way back home and decide what city does it best... and wrestle with what they mean to each other.

Book: Open Heart Characters: Tobias Carrick & Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 2,400 (sorry) A/N: This series is a rewrite of a fic I originally wrote in 2022. But, as I fill in the gaps in my Tobias/Casey headcanon, I needed to make some adjustments - and wanted to make some improvements. I haven't tagged my full list for the other parts, but I'm going to do so here because this is the part that had the most alternation - and will lead us back to the question: "So how did they actually end up together?"

Thank you to anyone who has read this - it really means so much to me! :)

Series Masterlist | Tobias x Casey Masterlist Masterlist

“Last stop!” Tobias jumped out of his Jaguar, eagerly tossing the keys to the valet. There was no denying he was as excited about the last minute addition to their itinerary as Casey, perhaps even more so.

As she gingerly stepped out the passenger side, her enthusiasm was diminished, and concern was written all over her face. “Are you sure this is a good idea? The traffic was worse than we anticipated, and you have to be at work early tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Tobias chuckled. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”

Unamused, she stood her ground. “Well, I’d like to keep you around for a while, and you need your rest! So we’re not staying too long, all right?”

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he nodded, and she couldn’t help but crack a smile when he animatedly gestured toward the street that would lead them to their next adventure.

The cold air and aroma of roasted chestnuts mingled with jingling bells and car horns blaring at tourists who blocked intersections made it clear... it was Christmastime in New York City. Casey was mesmerized, stopping at every store window to peruse the holiday displays. She was so enchanted that she didn’t notice the minor miracle that had taken place; Tobias Carrick was... quiet.

While his mouth had stopped moving, his mind was in overdrive. Amid the joyful chaos, he could focus on only one thing: fighting the visceral urge to take Casey’s hand in his, and not out of fear of becoming separated. His internal debate was relentless... would it be so wrong? Friends do hold hands sometimes, especially in crowds like this. It would make sense. Perfect sense. It wasn’t like he was leaning to kiss her. Not that they hadn’t done that recently. They had! Less than a month ago, they declared they’d be friends with kissing benefits. Of course, it hadn’t happened again, and if it did, Casey would have to initiate it, not him; fortunately, his rambling thoughts came to a halt along with the rest of him when he walked directly into a light post.

Casey turned around, startled, but began to laugh once she realized he was OK. “You OK there?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he recovered. “Just a little... disorientated.”

In desperate need of a distraction and wishing to prevent further injury, Tobias started a conversation to occupy his mind for the rest of their walk.

“So tell me, how did you manage to attend NYU for four years, yet you never saw this tree?”

“Well,” she shrugged. “I had intended to but never made it. Christmastime is also final exam time, and you know me, I had to get straight A’s, so my mind wasn’t fully on the holidays until I finished the last exam... then I was usually on a train home to Philly.”

He shook his head with a chortle. “Didn’t anyone tell you all work and no play is bad for you? Man... you really needed an influence like me in your life  back then, kid.”

“Oh, that’s probably the last thing I needed,” she laughed. “And I managed to have a lot of fun in college. I saw the Bryant Park Tree. Of course the Washington Square Park tree and I were very well acquainted. I just never saw this tree.”

“Well, as much as I am surprised, I’m kind of glad you didn’t... this way, we get to see it for the first time together.”

Casey gave Tobias a side glance; it was now her turn to fight off visceral urges, but she merely gave him a tender smile. “I am, too.”

Then, with the turn of a corner, there it stood, towering above them in all its glory: the world-famous Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree.

“Holy shit!” Tobias exclaimed as Casey gasped in awe. “That thing is huge! It’s twice as big as I thought it would be.”

Casey playfully nudged his side with a giggle. “That’s what she said.”

“Really, Casey?” He mocked. “Really? It’s Christmastime.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop being a smartass just because of that,” she winked. “That wouldn’t be fun at all.”

After a moment, it was Casey who made the final determination.

“Well, I hate to admit it, but that guy was right.  I think this Christmas tree is the winner. It beats Philly, and it definitely beats DC!”  

“I’m so glad you said it,” Tobias chuckled.  “I’m done conceding loss on this trip! I just wish we could see it at night.  Can you imagine how beautiful it must be then?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. But we can’t stay that late today. Maybe we can come see it again next year.”

Next year.  Those words from her lips took his breath away. Mere months ago, they didn’t know if Casey would survive to see this Christmas, much less next. Yet here she was, full of vitality and right at his side... smiling. Next year. She was thinking ahead, and she was including him in her plans. He wasn’t one for Christmas lore; he sure felt like that red-suited, white-bearded old man had dropped a present right into his lap. But as he felt a swell of promise rising inside him, he also felt something else: fear.

He promised he wouldn’t let this happen. Yet here he was... the happily confirmed bachelor was smitten; he couldn’t even deny it anymore. So he made a new promise: to keep his feelings to himself. Casey had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t ready for any romantic entanglements, and even if she were, he didn’t know if she’d want those entanglements to include him. He had bungled their first chance together badly. He knew how much it had hurt to lose her and didn’t want to face that again. He was lucky to be in her life at all. Friendship was plenty, he convinced himself. Still, as he watched the tree lights flickering on her beaming face, his heart filled with a warmth previously unknown, and he had to wonder... if the time came, would he be able to watch her fall in love with someone else, knowing how much he already loved her so?

“Well, we’ve declared a winner,” Casey said. “We should start heading back to Boston.”

But Tobias had an impish glint in his eyes. “We could.... unless…”

“Unless what?”

“I have always wanted to take a carriage ride through Central Park... and how often will we be in New York. What do you say?”

Casey turned to him, and he could just see the little angel and devil battling over her shoulders. In the end, he was delighted that the devil won.

“You!” she said with a gentle shove. “Leave it to you to find something impossible to say no to!”

“Well,” he smirked, “that is kind of my specialty.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” she laughed. “Now, let’s go!”

As much as Casey insisted they make haste, that didn’t prevent her from having a lengthy conversation with Joel, the carriage driver, and she refused to step foot inside until she was satisfied.

“No, Ma’am, I promise you, George here is very well cared for. It’s not like it used to be.  He only rides through a special route in Central Park. It’s perfectly safe.”

Petting George’s beautiful mane, Casey continued her cross-examination. “And what about at the end of the day?” She demanded. “How do you get him back to his stables?”

“In a trailer attached to my truck that I drive very carefully.  Would you like to run my license?”

“Please, don’t give her any ideas! She just might,” Tobias laughed.

“Ma’am,  George, here is family to me. I assure you, he’s the most spoiled horse in the City.  I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“OK,” she nodded. “Then we can take the ride, but can I feed him a carrot first?”  

“You sure can,” the driver smiled.

When she was done, Tobias helped Casey step into the carriage. “You’re incredible,” he smiled. “You know that, right?”

“Really? Incredible in a good way or a bad way?”

Tobias’s eyes crinkled as the driver gave them a blanket to help keep them warm.

“In the very best way.”

“Thank God for this blanket,” Casey said with a shiver. “I didn’t realize how cold it was until we sat down.”

“I did,” Tobias laughed. “In fact, I’m thinking about striking a deal with Joel so we can keep this thing for the walk back to the car.”

While they were seated closely together, Casey eyed the tiny gap between them with caution.

“Well, if you’re that cold, we could huddle together. You know... for warmth.”  

“We could,” he replied nonchalantly. “Anything to stave off frostbite, right?”

“Right,” she smiled, sliding closer to him.

Tobias cautiously lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, pleading with the universe for the gesture not to upset her, and the universe delivered. Casey nuzzled her head into his shoulder.  He didn’t think this trip could get better, and just like that, it did. 

The clip-clopping of George’s hooves cut through the crisp air, providing the soundtrack as the carriage meandered gentle curves through the park. About halfway through, delicate snowflakes began to fall, and Tobias and Casey agreed this was better than anything they had ever seen on screen. They were approaching the end of the ride when Casey looked up and nervously giggled.

“Yes,” Tobias asked with a raised brow.

She pointed to a small sprig of mistletoe dangling between the red fringe that lined the carriage’s hood; it would have been easy to miss. Biting her lower lip, she turned away. The scene was too perfect, the moment was too ideal, but should she take the chance? Not allowing herself to give it further thought, she turned to Tobias with abandon.

“So... remember that day back in Cambridge? When I asked if we could kiss... you know... with no strings attached... and you said we could be friends with kissing benefits?”

“I do,” he smiled mischievously.

“Well, we are under the mistletoe, and this is such a special day.  Don’t feel obligated... you don’t have to... but if you want, I thought maybe we could.... mmmhhhh.”

Just like last time, she didn’t get to complete her sentence. Tobias’s soft lips were upon hers, his hand gently cupping her cheek as her arms wrapped around his neck. The kiss was sweet, warm, filled with a tenderness that each longed for but was afraid to claim as their own. This time, when the kiss broke, Casey was unwilling to let it end, pulling him back for one more.

When they silently parted, a blushing Casey diverted her eyes, and perhaps because he wasn’t ready to face the moment either, Tobias pulled her close against his chest, placing a loving kiss atop her head. They remained like that for the rest of the ride, each with a million thoughts swirling in their heads, but not a single word could make its way to their lips.

“Well, this is it, kids!” Joel yelled as he hopped off the carriage. “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“Yes,” Casey said almost too quickly. “It was... it was beautiful!”

Tobias shook Joel’s hand, slipping him a tip, before he and Casey began their trek back to the car. The usual easiness between them was replaced with an awkward silence punctuated by small talk about the frigid temperatures and how they could no longer feel their toes. But each attempt to quell the discomfort faded too quickly, and quiet was upon them again. Finally, Casey grabbed Tobias’s wrist.

“T, wait a second,” she insisted, tugging him to face her.

“Is everything OK?” he asked.

“Yes... It’s more than OK. This weekend was just magical. It was more than anything I could have imagined, and I will always treasure the memories I made with you.”

“I’m going to do the same,” he smiled.

“I just hope,” she nervously chewed at her lip. “I hope I didn’t ruin things.”

“Ruin things?” he asked, with a creased brow. “Casey, you couldn’t ruin things if you tried.”

Looking up from under her lashes, she gave a tantalizing little smirk. “Wanna bet? The kiss on the carriage... I... I just got overwhelmed; everything was so beautiful, it was so romantic, and then the mistletoe was there, and I...I....”

“Casey, Casey...” he said, taking her hands. “It’s all right. Everything’s fine.”  

“It... it is.”

“Sure,” he comforted. “Look, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

He watched as the relief that just settled on her features turned into something different, something that looked like hurt, and he was quick to recover.

“Let me correct that. Of course, it means something. Everything with you is very special... because it’s with you. That was a beautiful moment, and I’m glad we got to share it together, but it doesn’t have to mean any more than you want it to. I know where you are right now, and I respect that. We can just leave that tender moment alone.”

“You know... I am feeling better every day,” she insisted. “On this trip, for the first time since the attack, I felt like my old self again. In fact, I went two whole days without even thinking about it.”

“I could tell,” he smiled. “And it was beautiful to see.”

“But, I’m still not... I’m just... still not...”

“Casey,” he whispered. “It’s OK. I promise you...it’s OK.”  

“Good,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

“But maybe,” he stalled, already kicking himself for what he was about to say. “Maybe we should hold of on that friends with kissing benefits stuff. You know? I don’t want it to confuse you, and I really don’t want it to hurt what we’ve built between us.”

“Well, I don’t see how they could hurt,” she faltered. “But... but... maybe you’re right, at least for now. But hug... hugs are still allowed, right?”

“Oh, hugs are always allowed,” he grinned, pulling her into one of the tightest ones he could offer.  

“Good,” she sighed with relief. “Because I always need those.”

Then, the two friends stood in the middle of the busy street as the cold wind blew. The sounds that made up the City's symphony- laughter, arguments, honking horns, and sirens blaring in the distance surrounded them. But Casey and Tobias didn’t recall that they were on an island of nearly two million people, for there were only two who mattered, and right now, they were clinging to the moment for as long as time would allow.

“Come on,” Casey smiled, taking his hand. “We need to get you home to Boston.”

“You got it,” he nodded. “But I have a feeling we’ll be back to visit.”

“I think so, too. Oh, and Tobias?”

“Yes?”

“I know it’s early, but... Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Casey,” he smiled, tenderly bopping her nose. “Merry Christmas.”

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Will tag others in reblog.

[willowwitchreputation]

I think that, Latino American parents, not only in Brazil, from Mexico to the last country in Latin America, parents are like bears, as it seems that in Asia it is also, in certain countries, because I heard from above, so I don't researched in depth the extent to which Asians live with their parents. I mean, Latino American parents are very protective of their children, you know? My darling friend, she is already at university like her brother, in Chicago, as they are children of Mexicans, they don't mind living with them. I also agree that, as the United States like Brazil is multicultural, they don't mind their children still living with them, I guess. I think that nowadays, a lot has changed, it seemed that in the past people were colder, even towards their children, right? They seemed to be bothered, if their children lived with them until after university, I speak from experience in what I always saw in American culture. I think that parents also feel more concerned about helping financially and everything else, if their child had a good job, not like, owning a McDonald's in life. I don't have anxiety about driving, it seems like you feel free, you know? I have vision problems, so I can't drive, until both eyes are operated on, only one is. Even though I love the idea of driving a car or a motorcycle, I think that, you can live well with public transport (sometimes it can be bad or crowded on a day, when you're stressed) or a taxi or Uber, as it seems nowadays, everyone wants a car to be free to go wherever they want, as there are no buses, subways or trains. I rarely hear anyone, who lives in New York use a car. It even surprises me, when I saw Pedro Pascal opening a car, because he lives in New York, I thought he used the subway more than he had a car. Living in São Paulo, I've taken the bus, when everyone leaves work, I know how annoying it is. I think that, nowadays, if I were, for example, in New York, I said that, I live with my parents, since the time they made me, I wouldn't care, if an American judged me for that. If you don't care, where do you live, how did you say you lived in a big city? Sorry, I love talking, lol.

Yeah definitely, every culture has different approaches but there will probably be some variation in each culture too. I know what you mean about the US and the cold approach. I personally don’t have parents like that, but I know for a fact there are parents who are like, “ welp, you’re 18 so it’s time to get out of the house, we want to live our lives” or they just have a bit of a tough love approach to push their children to independence and have them learn lessons on their own. I can see value in both sides. But it’s a spectrum now a days and probably in the past. Not every set of American parents will do that. I kind of have done both. I did go right to college, came home for breaks and a few months after graduation, but I moved 3 hours away from them for 6 years (with several short visits a year). Then during the pandemic I decided it was better for me to come back and figure somethings out while also spending lots of time with my parents. I do have plans to eventually move out, but I’m taking my time. That’s great you like driving, can’t relate 😂. I might someday but it’s very scary for me.

I live in the suburbs now so public transportation is not great/or an option, so I just go where my parents go most of the time. I don’t trust uber that much even though I have used it in the past. It’s true about NYC, many people don’t have cars or even ever drive, but some do drive/have cars there. It’s just expensive and unnecessary for many people.

Yeah that’s cool you have always lived with them! I live in the Philadelphia suburbs. I did live in the Washington D.C area for 6 years, which is where I lived in a city. I used the Metro and walked everywhere! I loved it a lot, but it was starting to get more and more expensive (I paid $1600 a month for 360 square foot studio apartment) and I was a bit isolated during the pandemic when all my friends there moved away at the time. So I moved home!

It’s totally cool! I’m a chatty person as well, just hadn’t had to time to respond until now! 😊

[quokkacore]

can you dig it? (m) [kim doyoung & kim jungwoo]

summary: post concert highs can be a real bummer, and tonight, after a particularly intense performance, your boyfriends help you come down.

pairing: kim doyoung x kim jungwoo x fem!reader

genre: poly!au, 70s!au, band!au, smut, fluff

warnings: drug usage (weed specifically), mentions of other substances (lsd and cocaine), shotgunning, established poly relationship, soft dom jungwoo, mentioned switch jungwoo, hard dom doyoung, sub reader, high sex, sex on a water bed!!, unprotected sex, spit kink, they're all so sweaty help, mxm, degradation kink, praise kink, orgasm denial, overstimulation, minor possessiveness

song recs: don’t stop - fleetwood mac // unlock it (feat. kim petras & jay park) - charli xcx // love her madly - the doors // ziggy stardust - david bowie // rhiannon - fleetwood mac // eclipse - kim lip (loona) // flick of the wrist - queen

word count: 5.4k

a/n: this is for my best friend, who i love with all my heart,bc last month we were talking abt the dowoo photoshoot and she said smth about high sex with dowoo. happy birthday queen <3 thank u for listening to me complain abt writing all the time :’)

masterlist

Friday, July 22rd, 1977

The concert hall smelled like cocaine and sweat, you noted to yourself as the three of you joined hands to bow. Cheers from the crowd bounced off of the walls as you bid them your final goodbye, wishing them a good night and telling them to drive safe. Still, their chanting persisted. "Seoul Motel! Seoul Motel! Seoul Motel!" 

You wondered vaguely if this was what it was like to be a young god.

The curtain lowered, and the three of you were ushered offstage, to take some pictures and then head back to the hotel, to try and get some rest before you were off to Philadelphia, some five or so hours from where you were now: Boston. 

Truthfully, everything passed in a blur. It was almost always like this after these concerts. The thrill and euphoria of performing made it difficult to focus on things. That might have also been because Jungwoo had passed you a joint before the concert. You couldn't be completely sure.

Your tambourine and guitar seemingly disappeared, but you knew it would show up tomorrow for soundcheck when you got to the Philadelphia venue, right along with Jungwoo's bass guitar and Doyoung's drum kit.

What you did know was that here, in the car back to the hotel that your manager was driving, lecturing you and Jungwoo about the importance of being sober when talking to reporters, Doyoung had a hand on your thigh, and that was all you could focus on. 

Doyoung was high too. You knew this because ten minutes before you were needed on stage he pulled you forward by the hips and told you to take a few hits from the hand rolled joint and blow the smoke into his mouth. Of course, he wasn't as high as you and Jungwoo were, and he knew how to hide it better. But if you were to get close enough you'd notice the redness rimming his eyes, the dilation of his pupils.

The three of you were something, that was for sure. You had been, probably ever since Jungwoo joined the band, some eight years ago, in the fall of '69. You only really defined what you were once you got your first big hit thanks to some disc jockey in LA playing a song you had written, Calabasas, on the radio back in '73. 

The song had blown up, and suddenly the three of you were whisked into a whirlwind of celebrities, drugs, paparazzi and producers who thought the three of you were born yesterday. Yes, you were college kids that ran on booze and weed, but you weren’t complete morons. That was when the three of you sat down to properly discuss boundaries, what slid and what didn’t.

You and your boys decided that night that weren’t down with the idea of everyone knowing. Too many prying eyes. The public didn’t really know, because the press would have a damn field day. 

Other than that, it was a pretty open secret. In the industry, who was going around with who didn’t really matter—a lot of them were too off their face to even care. You realized that a few years back when David Bowie walked in on you watching Jungwoo and Doyoung get it on in a bathroom at some afterparty in New York City, and closed the door muttering something about how strong the edibles were.

 So, what your manager said fell on deaf ears. Too much weed, too much adrenaline, too much energy for someone who needed to head back onto the road in a few hours.

 When you finally got back to the hotel, Jungwoo grabbed your hand in the elevator on the way up to your rooms, which were right next to each other. "You said that your bed was really big… can we come up?"

You nodded, leaning against his arm. Doyoung hummed affectionately at the sight, noting how tired you both were. 

"You two are about five seconds from passing out," Doyoung mumbled, and you waved your hand in denial. 

"Are not," you protested like a child.

"Y/N, don't be a chump. I'm pretty sure if Woo weren't next to you, you'd have fallen over."

You didn't have the energy to counter, and as the elevator slid open, you were the first one to march out, ready to just take a cold shower and die for the next few hours. 

Realistically, you knew that wasn't what would happen. What would happen was that you would shower, get into bed and then toss and turn for another hour or so. Only then would the adrenaline truly wear off. The weed didn't help, making you feel sleepy. 

You unlocked the door, and Doyoung and Jungwoo gawked at the sight—and size—of your bed. It could probably fit all three of you easily. 

Since only one room would spark rumors, the manager usually booked two: one for Doyoung and Jungwoo and one for you. Your room always went unused. Usually, you would have to push Doyoung's and Jungwoo's beds together to make enough room, leaving an awkward and uncomfortable dip for the person in the middle. Whoever got the middle was handed the terrible double edged sword: cuddles galore, but a sore back in the morning. 

Immediately Jungwoo jumped onto the bed, gasping and immediately laughed gleefully as the bed sloshed underneath him. 

"A water bed!?" He exclaimed, splaying out his limbs. "Oh, far out. You really lucked out, dollface." 

He kicked off his shoes and curled up in the middle, eyes fluttering shut. You followed, sitting at the side as you peeled off your white leather go-go boots. Throwing yourself down next to him, you sighed at the sensation of waves beneath you, and nodded. "Oh, this is ace," You murmured, "Feels great."

Peeling one eye open as Jungwoo wrapped his arm around you, your gaze landed on Doyoung, who was still leaning against the wall. You beckoned him over with a hand. "C'mere, princey." 

He made sure that the air conditioner was working before sitting down on the other side of Jungwoo, for which you were grateful. The still drying sweat on the back of your neck and on your chest started to cool instantly. You and Jungwoo giggled as Doyoung’s weight sent waves rippling beneath you.

"So, are you guys gonna sleep or what?" Doyoung asked, kicking his shoes off as well and peeling off his denim jacket. His eyes were still wide open and he didn't look tired at all. "I'm probably staying up a little later, I have some ideas for some lyrics I want to get down—"

"I would love to sleep. But I can't," Jungwoo declared before glancing knowingly at the both of you, "and neither can either of you." 

You hummed in agreement. "Hmm, you're not wrong. Too much energy left."

You turned to bury your face into his chest. His forest green short-sleeved button up was only buttoned up halfway, easily revealing his collarbones. He smelled like pot, sweat, and designer cologne. His chest rumbled as he continued to speak. 

"What about you, bunny boy? You can't tell me you don't still feel it."

"The weed or the concert jitters?" Doyoung's voice was raspy, cautious. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going. Once you and Jungwoo ganged up on him, it wouldn't take long to wear him down.

"Both," You and Jungwoo said in unison. You laughed at the sound. Doyoung chuckled as well, and you cracked your eyes open, despite how cozy you felt with Jungwoo stroking the skin of your nape.

"Well, the jitters are still there. That's why I'm staying up. As for the weed… well, yeah. I still feel it."

Jungwoo sighed. "How's the weed hitting you, though?"

"Honestly?" Doyoung's eyes met yours, and you felt something simmer in your chest. He huffed, deciding to take a bite of the apple, and leaned towards the both of you. 

"The weed, plus watching you two perform… Safe to say I'm pretty fuckin' horny right now."

You bit your lip, giving him a sleepy grin. "Oh, Woo, we turned him on." The teasing tone wasn't missed despite the sleepiness in your tone. 

"And what about it?" Doyoung asked, leaning back on his hands. "You can't say that watching Jungwoo do the thing doesn't get you going."

"I have a thing?" 

"We all have a thing, Woo. Princey's over there is at the end of Mr. Jones' Motorcycle. You know, when he finishes the solo? He always throws his head back, because there's sweat and hair in his eyes. You can see his neck and shit..."

Jungwoo blinked. "Shit, that is his thing… What's mine?"

You raised an eyebrow at Doyoung. "His is the thing where he gets so into it that he throws his head back and plays, and still manages to get every bass note right, right?" 

Doyoung nodded with a satisfied hum. "Gets you going, right?"

You brought a hand up to Jungwoo's chest, slowly sliding it down his stomach. Your voice lowered to a raspy murmur, and Jungwoo's hand tightened around your waist. "Damn right it does." 

"And plus, you both have told me that watching me put together the drum kit is hot."

"'Cause it is!" Again you laughed as Jungwoo said the same thing you did. 

"Jungwoo." Doyoung's voice sounded thicker. "You can't tell me that Y/N isn't an absolute vixen on stage." 

"You're right," The younger man answered, voice gruff. His hand slid down, gripping your butt and giving it a light squeeze, before directing his words at you. "Oh! Y/N, your thing is when—you know how every time you play the transition from Calabasas to Saturn’s Rings you sway your hips and flip your hair back and forth? Sometimes you’ll look at me or at Doyoung while you do, and you looked at me tonight. You're a little tease up there, dollface."

Your breath hitched at their words. “Oh, yeah?” You goaded, cuddling further into Jungwoo’s chest. You let a coy smile grace your face as your eyes fluttered shut. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Don’t be a brat,” Doyoung growled.

“No, Doie,” Jungwoo hummed. He suddenly sounded a lot more awake. “...What would you have her do about it?”

Your eyes fluttered open, swallowing despite the sudden dryness in your throat. Doyoung's pupils were still blown wide, but you were pretty sure it wasn't because of the weed. He licked his lips. "Princess, get on your knees." 

Jungwoo prompted you up, pulling you up to stand at the side of the bed. Doyoung circled around the bed, before standing next to Jungwoo. Your gaze fluttered between your two boyfriends, one looking stern, the other looking like he was having the time of his life. 

Quietly, you lowered yourself to kneel on the plush carpet, fingers gripping the silver fabric of your dress' skirt to hike it up, so that you wouldn't kneel on it. Your hands itched to reach for them but you knew you needed to ask for permission. "Can I touch you?" 

Doyoung smiled, reaching for his belt. "There's our good girl," He said. Your mouth was already watering embarrassingly as you helped him undo his belt, pulling him out of his boxers. He was already half hard, and as you lifted your hand to spit in it, someone grabbed you gently by the rest. Jungwoo leaned over, turning your hand to reveal your palm to him. His eyes seemed to burn into yours as he let his spit fall into the palm of your hand. You felt your legs close, thighs trying to rub together at the sight. 

"Go on," Jungwoo murmured, using a hand on your jaw to move your head. Your eyes fell on Doyoung's cock again, slowly getting harder and harder. Your hand wrapped around it, stroking slowly as you met his smoldering gaze. You stroked him until he was rock hard in your grip, and his breathing turned heavy. Again, you swallowed, and Doyoung noticed this time. 

“What is it, princess? You want it in your mouth?”

“Yes, please,” You whispered, eyes wide. He chuckled breathily, head tipping back as you ran your thumb over the slit. His eyes met Jungwoo’s, who was palming himself through his pants.  

“What do you think, baby?” He asked him.

“Don’t be mean, Doyoung,” Jungwoo said softly. “Look at her, she’s desperate. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

You whined, nodding. The pair chuckled. Jungwoo grinned at the state you were already in. “Go ahead, dollface. Give it a kiss.”

Before Doyoung could say anything else, you took his dick into your mouth, and let out a soft moan at how heavy he felt, hot and pulsing. He let out a guttural groan of your name, a hand burying itself in your hair. His other hand gripped Jungwoo’s shirt, pulling him forward to meet in a tongue-filled kiss. 

Slowly, Doyoung’s hips started rocking back and forth, grinding into your mouth. Your hands stroked what you couldn’t fit, as well as his balls. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to relax so as to not gag on his length. But when he sped up, it became too much to avoid. 

A tap on your shoulder, and Doyoung let you off of his cock. You turned your head to look up at a very flushed Jungwoo, who had pulled his dick out of his pants as well. The words, “Me too?” tumbled out of his swollen lips. And with that gentle, breathy tone, who were you to disobey?

You wrapped your lips around Jungwoo, who hissed at the sudden heat of your mouth. From there, something primal inside of you took control, wanting nothing more than to please—you took turns sucking them off and stroking them, the muffled sounds of their moaning spurring you on.

It was always like this—during sex, Doyoung was the meaner one, manhandling you and throwing degrading words in your face that made your stomach curl in sick pleasure. He was the one who could put you in your place when you became too bratty to handle. Jungwoo was gentler, but he was all too content to watch Doyoung toss you around. He would always swoop in after Doyoung took you apart, and piece you back together. He’d tell you how good you were, how good you made the both of them feel, and while he definitely didn’t treat you like fragile porcelain, he definitely didn’t leave as many bruises as Doyoung did. 

And then, when they were both done, they’d shower you in kisses, and whisper in your ear how grateful they were to love you, and say some philosophical thing about eternal love and the cosmos that you’d always be too fucked out to comprehend, but that made your heart do a backflip regardless. 

“Shit,” Jungwoo groaned, pulling away from Doyoung’s lips. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum.” 

You pulled off of Doyoung to look up at Jungwoo. “In my—in my mouth, please, Woo.”

He nodded, licking his lips as his hands fisted themselves in your hair, gripping but not pulling as he allowed you to touch him the way you wanted. His hands gathered the loose strands into a makeshift ponytail, using it to guide your mouth up and down his hot cock. His hips bucked into your willing mouth, the sound of his hissing and his moaning getting louder and louder, until… 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/N… Y/N!" He groaned, as he came into your mouth. His head tipped back, which gave Doyoung access to his neck, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin. This sight was worth the bitter taste that coated your tongue: one of your lovers in ecstasy while the other anchored him to the ground. 

He left his dick in your mouth for a moment, before pulling out with a shaky breath. Doyoung pulled away, letting him breathe. As Jungwoo caught his breath, Doyoung pulled you up, and he sat on the bed, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap. 

You turned your head to face Jungwoo, who smiled at you, coming closer to the both of you. One of his hands patted the top of your head. "That was wicked," He said. 

Doyoung smiled softly, and gripped your chin to get you to face him. His sweet grin didn't disappear as his grip forced your mouth open. He groaned at the sight of your tongue coated in Jungwoo's semen. 

"Gorgeous," He mumbled, eyes trained on your lips as it began to spill out. 

"Kiss her," Jungwoo told him, "You know you want to."

So he did, his tongue almost immediately slipping past your lips to get a taste of Jungwoo for himself, swallowing it down greedily. Your hands came up to unbutton his black dress shirt, and his hands pushed up the skirt of your dress to get you to rock your hips against his. You gasped against his mouth at the feeling of only your soaked panties separating him and you, before pushing the shirt off of him. 

He moved to lie you down on the bed. As he pulled away from you, you caught his tongue slipping out to lick at a dribble of Jungwoo's cum on his lips. To make matters even worse, the bed was rolling beneath you, making your head spin. 

Jungwoo pulled his shirt off before he sat down behind you. Meanwhile, Doyoung moved down your body, parting your legs. He prompted you to sit up, resting your back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your earlobe as Doyoung peeled your underwear off of you, biting his lip at the sight of your drooling pussy. 

"You're absolutely drenched, princess. And all from sucking our cocks, huh?"

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut as Jungwoo's lips began kissing along your jaw. When you didn't say anything, Jungwoo pinched your sides gently. "Use your words, doll," He whispered. From behind you, his eyes met Doyoung's. "You're gonna keep being our good little girl, right?"

"Y-yes, Jungwoo." Your hand lifted itself to press against his cheek, a silent plea for more kisses. He smiled against your skin. 

"Atta girl," He praised, "On your best behavior for us tonight, huh?" 

"The little slut's just being good because she wants to get fucked, Woo. Don't get it twisted." 

"Please, Doie," You pleaded at the mention of being fucked, "Need it."

The older man chuckled lowly, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit. 

"Told you."

His tongue pressed itself against your hole, and you immediately cried out. You would have immediately started grinding against Doyoung's face if it weren't for Jungwoo's hands on your hips, holding you down and keeping it still. 

"I don't think you wanna do that," He murmured. His hands travelled underneath your skirt, gripping the silvery blue gossamer as he tried to lift it up. You did your best to keep your squirming at a minimum as you tried to help him get you out of it. Finally, the bell sleeves were pulled off, and you were left naked as the day you were born.

Jungwoo’s hands moved to your breasts, playing with them as he watched you whimper at the sensation of Doyoung’s mouth working at your folds. When he slipped his tongue inside, you keened, head falling against Jungwoo’s shoulder. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” He whispered. 

Your chest heaved, squirming up and down as he began to tug and pinch your nipples, calloused fingertips making you cry out.

Doyoung’s free hand gripped your thigh, and his fingers on the other hand slipped inside when he pulled his tongue out. Immediately, he plunged in two fingers, curling his fingers as he attempted to search for that one special spot.

"Ngh, Doie, faster, pleasepleaseplease." Your legs were trembling slightly now. 

"So fucking slutty," Doyoung mumbled, chuckling wickedly, "And all I had to do was stick my fingers inside." 

He complied with no protest, and the sensation of Doyoung stroking your walls and Jungwoo continuously pawing at your breasts caused a string of moans to come pouring out of your mouth. Jungwoo had been sucking a bruise into your clavicle, but leaned up to press his lips against yours. 

"Don't want anyone hearing what's meant for Doie and I," He said, lips brushing yours. 

The idea made you even needier, the double entendre making your head spin. Jungwoo didn't want anyone to hear you because if they did, rumors would spread. And on top of that? He didn't want anyone to hear. You were theirs. They were yours. This was a sacred ritual between bodies meant to be witnessed by only the three of you.

Your head felt like you were floating, even though your limbs felt like they were sinking into the watery mattress. A coil began to tighten in your stomach, and your soft whines, muffled by Jungwoo's plush lips, increased in pitch. 

They both knew what this meant, because a second later, Doyoung removed his fingers from your core, and Jungwoo pulled away, his hands moving from your breasts to rest on Doyoung's atop your hips. You were left reeling and breathing heavily, that familiar sensation floating away.

When you looked down at Doyoung, you swallowed at the sight of his lips, chin and fingers, all glistening with your wetness.

He lifted himself up off the mattress, and proceeded to sandwich your chest in between his own chest and Jungwoo’s back. He gripped his dick, rubbing it against your folds, which were now even more soaked than before.

"Tell me how much you want it, princess." He pressed his forehead against yours, hissing when the tip caught your clit. You let out a desperate whine, clinging to his broad shoulders. 

"Do—Doyoung, please fuck me," You begged, reeling at the sensation. He was so close, all he had to do was slide in. But he refused.

"Not good enough," He insisted.

"Doyoung, don't be mean," Jungwoo said, but he seemed to be more amused by your desperation than anything.

"No, I wanna hear how much she needs us."

You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to gather your words. Jungwoo's hands stroked your sides, trying to calm you down. "You doing alright, doll? You wanna take a breather?"

"We can always stop." Doyoung's voice had turned stable, secure, safe. He started pulling away, until you grabbed him by the forearm and shook your head. You opened your eyes, seeing concern in his eyes

“No,” You mumbled, “Jus’ want some water. Think there’s some in the minibar. ‘M really hot.”

Doyoung nodded, getting up and striding over to the small refrigerator on the other side of the room. He pulled out a water bottle, and popped open the cap before passing it to you. Jungwoo had taken to fanning your face lightly with his hand. You took several long swigs of water, before setting it on the nightstand.

“I’m fine,” You promised. “Can we please keep going? I can take it.”

Doyoung pressed a kiss to your temple. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yeah,” You said with a nod. 

“Doyoung,” Jungwoo murmured, “Be careful.”

“I know, baby." He lowered his eyes to study your face. "I won’t go that hard on you, Y/N.”

You nodded, even though deep down you wanted to protest. You knew that this was probably the best route to take. You could already feel the high—from the weed and the concert—wearing off. You knew that if Doyoung were too rough you’d probably crash on the way down instead of float.

So, Jungwoo brushed some stray hair out of your sweaty face, and Doyoung grabbed your legs gently, wrapping them around his hips. Slowly, Doyoung eased in, and you sighed in satisfaction of finally being filled. He bit into your shoulder, taking deep heaving breaths as he let you get used to the sensation. Jungwoo took turns pressing kisses to the top of your head and the top of Doyoung’s head. 

“I love you both so much,” He whispered, “I’m so grateful the universe brought us together.” 

Doyoung looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “My baby,” He murmured against Jungwoo’s lips. He then turned to you and did the same, “My princess.”

You smiled at their words, but the need in your core was becoming unbearable. "Doie, Woo, I love you both so much," You murmured, "But Doyoung, if you don't move I'll pin you down and do it myself."

"And you were doing so well," Doyoung groaned with a laugh, before beginning to thrust his hips. It was a slow, torturous glide, and the way it caused the bed to rock left you dizzy in the best possible way. Doyoung was panting into your ear like some sort of beast, and you were whining softly with every cant of his hips.

"You must feel so good right now, huh, doll?" 

"Jung—woo," You moaned, clawing at his bicep.

"I know, dolly, I know." He sounded sympathetic enough, but the way he was grinding his dick against your ass suggested otherwise. "Bunny boy is just so good with those hips of his, hm?"

"H-he is!" You cried, "Feel so full, ah, Doyoung!" 

Doyoung's eyes met yours, and his hips picked up their pace, until your eyes rolled up into your head. Your head thrashed side to side, leaning against Jungwoo's shoulder. His mouth lowered once again to kiss at your neck, and your hand wrapped itself against his nape, while the other gripped Doyoung's shoulders.

Jungwoo's hands slithered down to where you and Doyoung were connected, and started rubbing at your clit. You shrieked, chest arching. Doyoung hissed. "Shit, do that again," He bit out, "Fuck, princess you just got so tight."

"D-Doie, harder!" 

Doyoung looked up at Jungwoo, the two having an unspoken conversation. A second later, Jungwoo gave a cautious nod. Doyoung smiled, before he adjusted his legs. Then…

Then. He began pounding into you at a breakneck pace. Your legs tightened around him, wanting him even deeper than before. 

"You love this, don't you? Our pretty little slut." His voice was tighter now, panting with exertion. You nodded. 

"Yes, yes! I'm your slut!" 

Doyoung grinned, before locking lips with you. His tongue dipped into your mouth, before letting you do the same to him. You could tell he was starting to feel something—he always kissed you or Jungwoo as a way of telling you he wouldn't last much longer. 

Truthfully, you could feel it coming too—your body felt like it was on fire, and your hips couldn't stop squirming. Whether it was towards Jungwoo's calloused fingers on your clit, Doyoung's cock, or away from both, you couldn't tell. Your moans were getting shriller too.

You clenched down on his length again, and he grit his teeth, grunting as his pace turned sloppy.

"C-c'mon, princey," You pleaded, "Give it to me, give it…"

"Shit, yes…" His head lolled onto your shoulder. "Gonna stuff you so full, princess, you'll be dripping—"

"Please! Oh, please—"

The two of you fell apart almost at the same time, your orgasm triggering Doyoung's a second later. Your mouth fell open, legs trembling and heart pounding as waves crashed over and under you.

When you came down, Doyoung rolled off of you, turning onto his side to watch you and Jungwoo. Jungwoo, who ceased the movements of his hands and slowly laid you down. Your head landed against the pillows, and you let your eyes shut as you caught your breath. 

"Can I take care of you one last time, doll?" You heard Jungwoo say. Your eyes opened blearily, and you reached a hand out towards him, legs parting of their own accord.

Both of your lovers groaned at the sight of your pussy, Doyoung's cum brimming from your folds. 

"Absolute perfection," Jungwoo murmured, crawling between your legs. He gripped his dick with one hand, the other swiping through your folds, and you immediately whined at the sensitivity there, teetering the fine line between pleasure and pain.

"Please," You whimpered, "Woo, I want it."

"You're insatiable." He sounded so affectionate, so in love. You watched as his eyes studied his index and middle fingers, covered in a mix of Doyoung's cum and yours, before dipping them into his mouth to lick them clean. You sighed, a dopey smile gracing your features. He lowered himself down to brush noses with you, dark eyes blown wide, wide awake despite the dark circles underneath.

"Guess I'll just have to do something about that."

He slid in as if he was coming home, immediately setting a solid pace that had you seeing stars, arms wrapping around his shoulders to lock hands at his nape. The sensitivity left you pliant in his arms, and Jungwoo didn't hesitate in cradling you in his arms.

"So good for us, Y/N. Always Doie and I's sweet girl." 

You nodded, tears brimming at your eyes at the heaviness in your chest, the pulsing in your core. His hair was falling into his eyes, and you lifted your hands to his face, doing your best to brush it away. Your hands cupped his cheeks, heavy eyes burning into his. Your hips were rutting against his desperately now, wanting nothing more than to feel that high with him.

Jungwoo pressed a brief kiss to your neck, feeling something simmer in his gut embarrassingly fast. 

Doyoung placed his head next to yours, gently lifting Jungwoo's head to kiss him, hand brushing the other man's ass. When he pulled away, he kissed you as well, and Jungwoo's mouth pressed itself to one of your nipples. You keened against Doyoung's mouth, hips losing all semblance of grace.

Here, you were needy, animalistic, running on instincts, and your boys were drinking it up like water from a desert oasis. 

Doyoung pulled away, a thin trail of spit connecting his lips to yours. His hands cradled your head.

"Can you feel it yet, princess?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, silent moans falling from your lips. "Ah, yeah, Doie… s-so close…"

"Me too," Jungwoo groaned between your breasts, "So wet, Y/N…"

"That's from all the cum she's filled with, right, princess?"

You nodded. "Mm—ngh! Stuffed me so good, Doie." 

"Yeah? You gonna let Jungwoo fill you up even more? Gonna keep it all inside, right?"

Your stomach did a backflip, and you felt your toes curl. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, I want it—"

"I'll give it to you, doll," Jungwoo growled, "It's all—fuck—all yours. S-same way this is all for us, right?"

Those words were what caused you to finally fall over the edge. Your high was so intense that you could have sworn that your ears popped—clawing at Jungwoo’s shoulders, your eyes squeezed shut. Only one side ended up scratched, since you always kept your right hand nails short to properly play guitar. You sobbed against Doyoung’s lips, and he eagerly swallowed up your cries, shushing you gently as you came back down.

You didn't feel Jungwoo come inside, but you felt it immediately afterwards—the satisfying stickiness, the warmth in your stomach. 

You looked at Jungwoo, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead before prompting him to move off. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you towards him as his little spoon, peppering kisses to your cheek and whispering how good you were. The two of you looked at Doyoung. You reached out, making grabby hands at him. His eyes were drooping, and he was blinking blearily as if he were trying to fight off sleep.

Still, he got up and pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, as well as his lighter. As he sat back down on the bed, the waves sent you and Jungwoo further and further into the recesses of slumber. As consciousness left you, you caught Doyoung looking down at the two of you as if you were the most precious beings he'd ever encountered. His tone was low and grumbly, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eye.

"I hope you two are happy. I can't remember those goddamn lyrics anymore." 

[bqstqnbruin]

Always be my plus one - part 2

Ok I know that I should use a different gif for each part but I'm not going to. But here's part 2! It's longer than the first part so have fun.

People to thank who are amazing and I owe my whole life to even though I'm probably forgetting someone because I'm the worst: @zinka8 (I CAN FINALLY TAG YOU) @hockeywocs @calgarycanuck @chara-hugs @justjosty anyone who sent in an anon and again I'm forgetting someone so if you helped me with this and I forgot, yell at me.

But here we go! This is about 9k words, and, fun fact, this is also my 5,000th post on this blog, so that's exciting!

Hope you like it!

Read part 1 here!

Series masterlist --------------------------------

New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day

New Year’s Eve is the last day of the Georgian calendar year, marked with celebrations that last well into the next day. Huge parties take place around the world, one of the most notable being the ball dropping in Times Square in New York City, marking the new year for the eastern coast of the United States, televised with Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve hosted by Ryan Seacrest. This special each year includes a packed Times Square, performances, interviews, and general excitement to put whatever happened in the past year behind them. Likewise, in Canada, the CBC has hosted a similar countdown special since 2017, including live music and coverage of festivities in each of the provinces and timezones the country spans.

New Year’s Day is the first day of the Georgian calendar year, again marked with celebrations. In the United States, various parades take place, including the Tournament of Roses Parade in Pasadena, California, or the Mummers Parade in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. In addition, various sporting events take place as well, including the Citrus Bowl in Orlando, Florida, the Outback Bowl in Tampa Bay, Florida, the Rose Bowl Game in Pasadena, California, and the Sugar Bowl in New Orleans, Louisiana, all post-season college football games, and the National Hockey League's outdoor game, the Winter Classic, typical showcasing a major regional rivalry. The day typically includes people already failing at keeping up with their New Year’s resolutions, whatever it was they promised to do every day of the year (such as working out, flossing, getting more sleep) already not going well.

=============

December 27, 2021

Lucy had insisted Anne go with her to the mall to go shopping when she found out that she was going to a New Year’s Eve party with Tyson’s teammates. Once her older sister found out that Anne’s ‘mystery man’ was a professional hockey player, she went practically bat shit trying to figure out more information about the two of them since Anne had yet to tell her anything.

If only she knew there was nothing to tell.

“Come on, what about this?” Lucy asks, holding up a dress. Anne wasn't sure that it would go past her butt, not to mention the open back and the plunging neckline. Lucy had to know that Anne would never, on any occasion, wear a dress like that. It would look good on Lucy, and Lucy would be comfortable in it, but not Anne.

“No,” Anne tells her, continuing to look through the rack for anything that had more fabric to it than what Lucy was offering her. There was nothing wrong with the dresses, really, and Lucy was normally pretty good about picking things out that Anne would actually like, but something about this being a dress for what sort of was, sort of wasn’t a date with a guy she spilled her coffee all over was making her more nervous than she needed to me.

“But it’s for your man. On New Year’s Eve. It doesn’t hurt to look a little sexy,” Lucy begs, making sure to add a little shoulder shimmy at the word ‘sexy’ for emphasis.

‘He’s not my man,’ Anne wanted to say. But she wasn’t about to spill that secret before Lucy even met him. It would be easier to just tell them they broke up by Valentine’s Day. “Tyson wouldn’t want me to wear anything that would make me uncomfortable,” she lets out instead.

Lucy sighs, pulling out dress after dress to show to Anne. “Ok, how about this: what color do you want to wear and how long do you want it to be?” Anne shrugs, not having thought about it in the slightest. “Well what’s Tyson wearing? Are you matching with him?”

“I don’t think so?”

“Annie!” Lucy practically screams the nickname her family decided they were going to call her, a few of the other store patrons turning to glare at Lucy’s outburst. “How do you not know what your boyfriend is wearing to a Colorado Avalanche New Year’s Eve party?”

'Not my boyfriend' she thought. “I don’t dress him. Do you know what Jason is going to wear for every party?”

Rolling her eyes, she holds up another dress that Anne turns down. “Well, since I’ve known my man since we were in diapers, I know his style, and therefore, know what he could potentially wear before I tell him what he’s going to wear.”

Anne lets out a sigh, wandering away from her sister while she continues to go through what seemed to be endless rows of dresses. Part of Anne wished she was like her sister: lucky enough to find a man that she would love forever when she was young, never having to worry about anything. The other part of Anne wished her family wasn’t so annoying about her finding a man, wishing that Sebby didn’t steal her phone and see Tyson’s name, and that their mom hadn’t come down and jumped to conclusions before she had a chance to defend herself.

“Hey,” Lucy comes up to Anne, “Why don’t we grab some food and then try a different store.” Anne nods, Lucy linking her arm in her sisters before taking her out of the store. “Have you met any of Tyson’s teammates before? I mean, you have to mean a lot to him if he’s bringing around the guys he spends the most time with.”

“He’s told me a little bit about all of them, but I haven’t met them yet.”

“You know this is big, then, right?” Lucy says, finding a line at the food court for them to order from.

Even if Lucy hadn’t picked a place that Anne wasn’t too fond of, her words made Anne lose her appetite. As far as she knew, Anne’s family thought they were dating, which they weren’t, while Tyson’s teammates thought they were friends, which they were. That’s what they had agreed to. They just needed to make it to New Year’s Day and then this would all be over.

Lucy keeps talking, rattling off information about Tyson’s teammates that Anne was sure she had found on their Wikipedia pages, Lucy’s ‘top of her class,’ ‘photographic memory’ coming out while Anne stayed silent.

“Look, Anne,” Lucy says once she gets the food she ordered for both of them, “if he likes you enough to bring you around his teammates, that’s a good thing. Think of it like Jason asking me to go to his soccer games when we were freshmen. He wants you to be at something important for him.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Anne shrugs, “I’m worried about bringing him into the belly of the beast the next afternoon.”

“Why, because you’ll be hungover and Ma and Dad haven’t seen you that way yet?” Lucy asks, smiling with her fork between her teeth.

Throwing her head back and groaning, Anne starts, “No. Ideally, we’ll still be drunk and calling you or Matthew to come to pick us up. Remember what Mom was like when I introduced you all to Andy?”

“Well, yeah, it was hate at first sight. And she was right to feel that way, obviously. If you think Tyson is the ‘one,’ then you’ll be fine.”

Anne chokes on the fries she was picking at when Lucy says that. “The ‘one’? Please. I wouldn’t know if he was the ‘one’ at this point. Right now, he’s my ‘plus one' at best.”

Lucy shrugs, a sly smile on her face as the two of them continue to eat in silence.

The two of them venture to another store, Anne not having high hopes in finding a dress, knowing that she was going to have to resort to wearing something old that probably wouldn’t be very ‘New Year’s Eve’ themed, or borrow something from Lucy, who, albeit having great style, definitely didn’t have anything that she would want to wear. Maybe she could call Stephanie or her cousin Lauren and see if they could pity her enough to let her borrow something.

Lucy went to the dress rack, Anne just wandered around the store. At this point, she didn’t even care if she found a dress; a long shirt would be just fine. She was nowhere near her sister or the dresses, but she saw something out of place, a skirt and sleeves peeking out in the middle of pant legs. She picked up the dress, solid black, which would probably fit her like a glove, off the shoulder. A black choker, which she had, and a nice pair of heels would make the dress perfect. And it was even on sale. Someone had probably put it there in order to hide it, but Anne didn’t know that for a fact, so could she really feel bad about wearing it?

She practically ran through the store to find her sister, grabbing her by the arm to the dressing room despite the stack of dresses on Lucy’s arm that were probably going to end up back on the rack or in Lucy’s own closet.

Anne looked at herself in the mirror, excited for the first time for Tyson to see her on New Year’s Eve wearing something like that. The two had been talking nonstop, but Anne had made it clear they were friends and that she wasn’t looking for anything. If something came along, she would know it, and honestly, she didn’t know it with Tyson.

But picturing him seeing her in the dress gave her a glimmer of hope that it was Tyson, even if he wasn’t the ‘one’ like Lucy had been badgering her about earlier.

“Hey, Annie, come on!” Lucy snaps Anne out of her fantasy, banging on the door to show her, “Jason texted me that he and the girls are going to be home in an hour with dinner so you can’t take all day.”

“You really think putting on this dress is going to take an hour?” Anne huffs, opening the door from the dressing room stall.

“Well, it depends on how many dresses you try,” Lucy starts, cutting herself off when she sees her sister in the dress. “Oh, Anne.”

“You like it?” she asks, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. It was a simple dress, knit and insignificant. She had no idea why she was so excited about it.

“I do,” Lucy says, coming up behind Anne and resting her chin on her sister’s shoulder as the two of them admire Anne in the mirror. “And you know who else is going to love it? Tyson.”

Anne took in a deep breath, Lucy rubbing her back between her shoulders before she let her get changed back into her clothes. ‘Tyson was going to love it.’ Anne hoped so.

=============

December 31, 2021

Tyson said he was going to be at Anne’s place at 9:15 to pick her up and drop off stuff at her place to stay over. Since they were going to be together all night, it was easier if Tyson stayed with Anne after the party before needing to drive to Anne’s uncle’s house the next afternoon.

But it was 9:30, and Anne was sitting on her couch, waiting for the boy who was supposed to fake being her boyfriend tomorrow to show up to take her to a party with a bunch of people who had no idea who she was or that this scenario was going to be happening the next day.

How did Anne end up like this? What if he didn’t show up? Why did she let her mom and siblings take over the conversation about her life and let them believe that Tyson was her boyfriend? And why did he agree to it?

Anne gets snapped out of her downward spiral of thoughts by her phone ringing, Tyson calling to hopefully tell her that he was waiting to be let in. “You said you were going to be here at 9:15,” she answers, not letting Tyson say anything.

“Well, traffic,” he explains, “It’s New Year’s Eve and I didn’t want to speed, either, and end up getting pulled over for that. Can you come let me in? It’s cold.”

Anne gets up from her couch, venturing downstairs in the slippers she was keeping on until the last minute. The heels Lucy had let her borrow weren’t uncomfortable, but she wasn’t about to wear them around her apartment building if she didn’t have to. She spots Tyson sitting on the couches in the lobby, going up to him. He was looking down at his phone, but seeing him made her heart race. He had on a white button-down with the top two buttons undone, a black jacket, and black pants on. She goes up to him, resting her hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

Tyson looks up, unable to find the words when he sees Anne. He stands up, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Anne sees this and lets out a small laugh. “Are you ok?” she asks, her nerves of seeing him dissipate while he acts like this.

“You’re,” he starts, letting out a breath as he looks her up and down. He shakes his head, a lazy smile on his face. “You’re beautiful.”

Anne laughs, grabbing his bag for him and leading him back upstairs to her apartment. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

“You know,” Tyson starts when the two of them get to her door, “pretending to be your boyfriend really isn’t going to be that difficult.”

“Yeah,” Anne scoffs, putting down Tyson’s bag with a thud by the couch, “and if you keep flirting with me like you mean it, then they’ll really believe you.” Anne’s back was turned to Tyson, so she didn’t see the look on his face, him biting his lip at her words that she thought he was just pretending. “You’re staying over for a night, what the hell could you have brought with you?” she asks him.

Tyson clears his throat, still not over Anne’s little dig about him pretending to flirt with her. He’s been flirting with her since they met, has she really not noticed? “Uh, you didn’t tell me how formal or casual this is at your uncle’s so I just packed a few options.”

“Huh, I never pegged you for a fashionista,” Anne teases, putting on her shoes and coat as Tyson orders the Uber to take them to the venue.

“Apparently you’re never going to peg me at all,” Tyson mumbles, not loud enough for Anne to hear.

“Sorry?”

“Uh, the Uber will be here in a few minutes so we should get downstairs,” he tries to save himself.

“But,” Anne says, locking her door and following Tyson back down to the lobby, “You can pretty much wear anything to Uncle Vince’s house as long as it isn’t a Juventus shirt.”

“Juventus?”

“That’s Napoli’s biggest rival. It would be like me wearing, I don’t know,” Anne says as they both get into the car that had pulled up, “a Red Wings or a Wild shirt to something for you guys.”

Tyson can’t help but smile, even though he knows it’s probably meaningless. Anne had made it clear that the two of them were just friends. But what if, “you like hockey?”

Anne shrugs, looking out the window as they drove into the city. “I don’t hate it, but I couldn’t tell you much about it. I’m more of a basketball girl, honestly.” Tyson scoffs, Anne turning to him. She had a smile on her face, trying to hide the slight insult she felt by the noise he made. “What?”

“Hockey is clearly better.”

“You’re just biased.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” he teases her, reaching over and nudging her arm. His hand lingers on her arm for a little bit, not really thinking about Anne’s noticeable settling into his touch. “Um,” he clears his throat, taking his arm back and praying that it was dark enough that Anne couldn’t see the red on his face, “What are your teams?”

“Men’s are the Nuggets, of course, women are the Seattle Storm, and college I go for UConn.”

“Did you go there?”

Anne shakes her head, Tyson admiring the way her hair framed her face, thankful that she was looking out the window instead of at him. “Nope, I went to CU Denver. My dad’s other brother, Johnny, went to UConn, and when I was born, that was around the start of the women’s dynasty that they have. When my dad was away on trips and mom was working, he and Aunt Lisa would watch the four of us and always have the UConn games on. I fell in love with Diana Taurasi, Sue Bird, Maya Moore, Stephanie Dolson. I grew up wanting to play basketball and be like them, so I played basketball.”

“Did you in college?”

“No,” Anne laughs, looking at the building they were pulling up to. “I played until high school, and was definitely not good enough to play in college. I still love it, though.”

Tyson smiles at her, getting out of the car and rushing to the other side to help her out, linking his arm in hers to escort her in. “I love that,” he whispers to her, walking in and thankful that he had Anne on his arm that night.

The guys weren’t necessarily on his case about finding someone the way it seemed like Anne’s parents were, but that didn’t stop the chirping about him never having a girlfriend for as long as he was on the team. They knew she was his friend, but, hey, it was better than nothing.

Anne had no idea where Tyson took her, not recognizing the building they had walked into, but she was speechless at the sight of the grand ballroom, the lighting just dim enough that she couldn’t help but feel at peace, the noise from Tyson’s teammates and their families taking that away and leaving her overwhelmed. Tyson had slipped away to hang up their coats and grab drinks, leaving Anne to fend for herself for the time being.

She knew they weren’t late by any means but based on the sobriety, or lack thereof, that everyone was displaying, an outsider would think that Tyson and Anne had shown up hours late, everyone seemingly on at least their third drink of the night, if not more. Anne worked her way to the side of the room, giving herself a good view of the bar where Tyson was, hoping that he could find her after he was done chatting with whoever it was that had his attention.

“You look almost too comfortable for someone just watching everyone on the side. Who are you here with?” someone interrupts her thoughts. She snaps her attention to the mystery man standing next to her, leaning against the wall and looking out at the crowd as they danced and sang, drank and had fun. He was the same height as Tyson, just about, probably not that much younger but the rosiness on his cheeks made him look years younger than both her and Tyson.

“I’m here with Tyson,” she tells him, waving to the guy who was supposed to be by her side that night.

“You’re the girl who spilled her coffee on him when we went to the hospital for the charity event,” Rosy Boy laughs.

Anne scoffs, “I wish that wasn’t my legacy, but here we are.”

The two of them stand and watch everyone, laughing as some of the kids pretend to chase around the adults, one of them catching someone by the leg as the man pretended to fall down. “That’s our captain, Gabe,” Rosy Boy tells her, “being chased by Naylah, Nazem’s daughter.”

“So, Gabe, Nazem, Tyson,” Anne says, pointing at the only three men of the Avalanche that she knew, “You?”

“Cale Makar.”

“Anne DeFormicola.”

Cale smiles at her, turning his body so he was facing her directly. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Anne could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks, thankful that her hair was down to cover the red that she knew had appeared on her ears. “Uh, are you and Tyson together?” Cale asks, his voice shaking as he prayed he didn’t make the mistake of flirting with one of his teammate’s girls.

“No,” Anne tells him, “We’re just friends.”

Cale lets out a sigh of relief. “Good, I, uh,” he stammers, Anne’s confused look making him nervous despite the smile that was on her face, “I mean, good, good for me. You? Us? I don’t know what I’m saying.”

The two of them laugh together, Anne seeing Tyson out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t look particularly thrilled as he watched her and Cale talking, the distance between them shrinking as the conversation proceeded.

Before she knew it, Tyson was by her side, a glass of wine in hand for her that he practically thrust in her hand. “So, how’s Cale treating you?” Tyson asks, not hiding the discontent he felt seeing Anne and Cale so obviously flirting.

Anne watches Tyson down his drink, a little too fast for her liking, especially considering Cale was obviously uncomfortable by what his teammate was doing in that moment. “Very well, we were having a good conversation.” Anne sips her wine, Cale mumbling something and slipping away. “What was that about?”

“I want you to be careful?” Tyson says as if it were obvious, even though he was lying. He didn’t want to have to see Anne flirting with his teammate all night.

“Of who, Cale? Didn’t you tell me he was the human equivalent of a puppy?” Tyson rolls his eyes, looking over to the bar and already wishing he had more to drink before having this conversation. “What’s the worst he’s going to do? Bite my ankles? Bark when he wants to go play outside?”

“Ok, you’re being mean.”

“And you’re being ridiculous.” Anne studies his face, the way he bit his lip as he tried to find his words. “You remind me of Sebby.”

“Your little brother?” Tyson asks, not really wanting to be compared to him.

“He’s really protective of me. We’re all protective of each other, but he’s especially protective of me. You’re probably the same way with Kacey, right?”

Tyson swallows hard, nodding. “Yeah.” He wasn’t even just friend-zoned: he was sibling-zoned.

“You just don’t want me to get hurt,” Anne reasons, already finishing her wine. It’s not like it was that much in the glass. “I think if anyone was going to hurt me, it wouldn’t be Cale.”

The two of them stand there, watching Tyson’s teammates dancing as the music changed to something more upbeat. On the nearest table, Tyson put down his and Anne’s empty glasses, extending his hand out to Anne in a bid to lead her to the dance floor. Anne hesitates, not really too fond of dancing, but then Tyson smiled at her, raising his eyebrows, and for whatever reason, she felt like she had to go with him.

His hand found the small of her back, holding her close enough that they could still talk over the blaring from the music, his other hand in hers as he tried to get her to move to the rhythm of the song. It’s not that Anne was uncoordinated, but she just wasn’t that great with dancing. “I would have thought you were better at this,” Tyson teases her, looking down at their feet as Anne steps on for what he thought was the fourth time.

“I will gladly go back to my place against the wall and watch you make a fool out of yourself by yourself instead,” she jokes, rolling her eyes as Tyson spins her around.

He pulls her in closer than before, the music changing to a slower song. “I don’t think you want to do that,” Tyson tells her, his forehead pressed against hers. He could kiss her right now if she let him. This was technically their second date, if they considered the coffee place their first. And Tyson did. He didn’t know why he wanted this girl in front of him so badly so fast, but there was just something about her that he had to be with her.

Before Anne could say anything, she feels someone tapping on her shoulder. Pulling away from Tyson, she sees Cale standing there, his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet. His entire face was red, clearly nervous, as he started, “Uh, sorry, but I was wondering if I could dance with Anne?”

Anne smiles at him, looking over at Tyson to signal that she wanted to. Cale was adorable, and something about him left Anne unable to say no to him. Tyson gives a sad smile, releasing Anne from his grasp. “I’m going to go get another drink,” he says, leaving his date and teammate alone to be closer than they were before. He couldn’t be with a girl that didn’t want to be with him, he thought, downing the drink he got probably too fast. At least tomorrow he could pretend that the two of them were together, pretending that he was hers and she was his.

But for now, he had to watch Anne smiling and staring at Cale, his teammate holding her so close that Tyson wanted nothing more than to be Cale.

Tyson had his back against the bar, watching Cale and Anne dance and have fun when JT came up to him. “Didn’t you bring a date?” JT was the only one Tyson had told about the fake dating plan between him and Anne.

“Yep.”

“She in the bathroom?”

“She’s dancing with Cale,” Tyson says, raising what he thinks was his third drink in their direction. He was praying that they couldn’t get any closer than they were now, but the way Anne was smiling, he knew that was what she wanted.

JT looks between Anne and Cale together and Tyson’s near angry expression as he took another sip of his drink. “Oh, I get it,” JT realizes, Tyson side-eyeing his friend. “You like her, and now you’re seeing her with Cale and you’re jealous.”

Tyson could feel himself start to panic. He did like her, but he wasn’t about to let everyone know that. “No,” he lies, JT scoffing at him. He hated that he knew him so well. “Maybe.”

“Well, then why aren’t you the one dancing with her?” JT asks, Tyson watching Anne throw her head back laughing, Cale burying his head in her shoulder, a smile just as big as hers on his face.

“She wanted to dance with him. What was I going to do, say ‘no?’

“Yes.”

“No,” he rebuts, signaling the bartender for yet another drink. “At least I can pretend to date her around her family,” he shrugs.

“Yeah, until she pretends to dump you because she’s really dating Cale.”

“Maybe in the new year you should try to be more helpful instead of whatever you are now,” Tyson snaps. “Sorry,” he mumbles into the fresh drink he was bringing to his lips, planning on downing it as fast as he got it. If he had to watch Anne dancing with Cale, he might as well be drunk so he can’t remember it in the morning.

“It’s almost midnight,” Cale whispers to Anne.

“Yeah,” she smirks, having a feeling she knew where this was going, especially judging by the way his grip tightened around her waist.

“Uh,” he clears his throat, getting nervous about what he wanted to ask her. “Who are you kissing at midnight?"

Anne can’t help but smile, his innocence endearing to her. Tyson and JT were still watching the two of them dance even though Anne and Cale were too focused on each other to notice. “I think it depends on your answer,” she flirts.

“I was kind of hoping it would be you,” he tells her.

Anne laughs, “Yeah, I got that,” she tells him, running her hand through his hair at the nape of his neck, sending a chill down his spine. “I was hoping it would be you, too,” she tells him, closing her eyes with their foreheads pressed against each other. She almost wished she had spilled her coffee on Cale instead of Tyson, not needing to pretend to date him tomorrow and instead just date Cale and date him for real. It might have been the alcohol or the night that was making her feel this way, but Cale was not a hard guy to like.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Tyson mumbles, not wanting to see Anne and Cale anymore, setting his drink down and leaving the room before JT could protest.

Soon after, everyone began their countdown to midnight, chanting while Anne and Cale stayed silent.

Anne knew Cale wanted to kiss her before the countdown was over. He was hovering against her lips as soon as someone yelled ‘ten!’ She didn’t know what it was about him, but she was ready to kiss him, not waiting for everyone to get past ‘five’ before she connected with him for a second, already wanting more as soon as they started.

Cale pulled away fast, smiling, moving his hands from her waist to cup her face, kissing her as soon as everyone around them was screaming ‘Happy New Year!’ When they finally pulled away, Cale’s entire face was red, and Anne knew that there was some color on her cheeks, too. Kissing Cale was something else, but something was missing. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.

=============

January 1, 2022

Anne and Cale danced a little longer, some of the guys and their families starting to leave.

“I think I have to go find Tyson,” Anne tells Cale, realizing she hadn’t seen the boy she came with for the better part of an hour.

“Uh, wait,” Cale says as Anne starts to pull away, Anne stopping as Cale smiles at her. He puts on her jaw, tilting her head up to kiss her again. “Can I see you again?”

Anne smiles, biting her lip. “I’d like that. But I really have to find Tyson.”

The two of them start walking around, trying to locate their lost boy. “Are you coming back with us?”

“Us?”

“Tys and I live in the same building,” Cale explains, part of him wanting to ask Anne to go home with him.

Before he can, Anne starts, “No, Tyson is staying at my place tonight. We have something tomorrow. Today,” she corrects herself.

“Oh, ok. Well, then, can I get your number?”

“When we find Tyson because he has the ticket for our coats and my phone is in my coat,” she explains, regretting giving everything to Tyson.

“Anne!” they hear someone yell, turning around to see Tyson stumbling over despite JT trying to help him up. Anne hadn’t told him not to get very drunk out of caution for having to deal with her family in a few hours, but now she was regretting forgetting.

“How much did he drink?” Anne panics, slinging Tyson's free arm around her shoulder.

“When I got to him he was already on four and I think he had at least three more while I was with him. I couldn’t tell you what he had on his own,” JT explains, the four of them getting their stuff and trying to get out while Tyson could barely walk.

Tyson mumbles something, trying to lean his head against Anne’s shoulder while they walked, despite the three-inch height difference that would have been bigger had Anne not been wearing heels. JT asks him to repeat it while he orders and Uber to get Tyson and Anne home. “Anne’s so pretty,” Tyson says, practically screaming it in Anne’s ear.

“Thank you, Tyson,” she says, trying to be as sweet as she could despite her anger she felt for him getting this drunk.

Tyson keeps babbling incoherently, none of them wanting to try to figure out what he was saying while they were waiting in their Ubers.

“Hey, Anne, hand me your phone,” JT asks, trying to reach out to her with his free hand while also making sure Tyson didn’t fall over or fall on Anne. She does as he asks, Cale standing there wondering why he didn’t just do that in the first place. “Text me when you two get back to your place and let me know how he is before you leave for your Uncle’s.”

“Yeah, of course,” Anne says, not even thinking about how he would have known where the two of you were going later.

Before Cale can ask for Anne’s phone, the Uber for her and Tyson pulls up. “Are you sure you’re good to get him back?” Cale asks her while JT gets Tyson in the car safely.

Anne nods, putting her hand on Cale’s bicep to reassure him. “Yeah, he should sober up enough to walk with just me during the drive back. Thank you, though,” she says, giving him a quick kiss before climbing into the car.

“I wish it was me,” Tyson slurs, his head on Anne’s shoulder as the Uber pulls away.

“What’s that, Tyson?” Anne asks.

“I wish it was me that was kissing you.”

Anne looks at him, his eyes closed as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “When?”

“At midnight. I wanted to kiss you at midnight. I just hope you didn’t kiss Cale. That would make me sad,” he says, letting out a yawn.

Before Anne could say anything to respond, Tyson was asleep, leaving her alone with her thoughts, and the Uber driver probably hoping they remembered this to tell their friends in the morning. Why would he have wanted to kiss her? They were just friends. They had both made it very clear that everything they were doing was just out of friendship because they both needed someone to be there for the other and just pretend they were something they were not.

This wasn’t going to be like one of those ‘fake dating’ tropes that Anne had read in books when she was a teenager or in rom coms. Those weren’t real life. That didn’t happen.

Anne gets Tyson up to her apartment, surprised that she was able to drag him out of the Uber and balance him long enough that he didn’t fall over and take her with him to the ground. She practically threw him onto her bed, getting him in position so no matter what happened he would be fine. He was asleep almost immediately, a soft snore coming from his lips.

Anne pulls out her phone to text JT that his teammate was asleep, getting herself ready to go sleep on the couch.

The next morning, Anne woke up to Tyson sitting at her kitchen table, already having helped himself to a cup of coffee. “You look like you’re feeling great,” Anne commented, Tyson clearly hungover from the night before.

“Why did I wake up in your bed and not your couch?” Tyson asked.

Anne shrugs, fixing herself a cup of coffee to join him. “You’re my guest and the couch isn’t the most comfortable thing to fall asleep on if you aren’t used to it.”

“You are?”

“I’ve fallen asleep plenty of times while I was reading on that couch,” Anne tells him, wishing she had something to offer him to eat. “Uh, when we get to my uncle’s house, there’s going to be a ton of food so if we didn’t eat now, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

Tyson nods, looking down at his coffee. He wished that he didn’t have to pretend to be Anne’s boyfriend. He already wanted to be more, but Cale was already closer to that in one night than Tyson was in how many weeks. “What do I need to know about your family before I meet them?”

Anne starts rambling about her family: her grandparents moved back to New York which was where they grew up so she hasn’t seen them in a while because they’re too old to make the trip out here and she hasn’t had time to make the trip to see them. They were going to her Uncle Vince’s house, her dad’s older brother. He has three kids, Michael, Emily, and Spencer, all of them dating someone. Then there’s Uncle Johnny, her dad’s younger brother, who has two kids, Lauren and Landon, and three grandkids from Lauren: Christopher, Lydia, and Henry.

Tyson didn’t even know if he was going to remember everything she was saying; from the food that Johnny brings just for Landon because of allergies, or the food that was designated as ‘the kid's food’ which was absolutely off-limits unless you were under the age of five years old. The Sam Adams’ beer is only meant for Aunt Lisa and Aunt Laura unless they offer it to you, but the wine is a free for all because it’s guaranteed that everyone of age brought their own bottle anyway, including Anne.

“Wait, but I don’t have a bottle,” Tyson asks, both of them getting up to get ready.

Anne smiles at him, going into one of her cabinets. “You want white or red?” she asks, holding up two bottles. “Because, as you know, I’m partial to red.”

Tyson laughs, taking the bottle of white wine from her, not even sure if he should be drinking anything given the night before. He was just lucky he somehow didn't feel worse despite how much he had. “I knew you were my kind of girl.”

They stand there for a second, neither of them sure how to react or what to do. “We should go get ready,” Anne says, bringing the bottles over to where she kept her keys so she wouldn’t forget them.

She retreats to her room, leaving Tyson to get ready out in the open of the rest of her apartment. That wasn’t a moment they just had in her kitchen, she tells herself. She puts on a pair of jeans, trying to find a shirt suitable enough for her mom to not nag her about, finally settling on a sweater that she was almost sure was Lucy’s that she stole a few months ago.

“Hey, Anne,” she hears Tyson calling her. “Someone’s calling you.”

An unknown number flashed on her screen in Tyson's hand, her forgetting she left the phone by the couch. Normally an unsaved contact was something that she wouldn’t answer, but the Calgary area code, for no reason whatsoever, told her that she had to answer it. “Hello?”

“Anne? It’s Cale. Sorry, I got your number from JT.”

Anne smiles, looking at Tyson who could hear his teammate's voice just loud enough that it made him upset. Tyson’s words from the night before rang through Anne’s mind as she finally answered him back, “Hey, no, it’s fine. What’s up?” Anne goes back into her room to finish getting ready, putting Cale on speaker as she does.

“I just wanted to check on you. And Tyson, I mean, that you were ok with him last night.”

Anne laughs at his nerves, the same ones that came through when they were first talking last night that she was thankful had faded as time went on. “Yeah, we’re fine. We’re getting ready to head out, though.”

“Any idea what time you would be done? I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner tonight?”

She could hear his voice shaking, wishing that she could say yes. “I can’t tonight, but maybe another time?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says, both of them saying goodbye as Anne grabs what she needs to head out.

“You ready?” she asks Tyson. He looked good, a simple black button-down he had paired with jeans. Why did he have to look good? Tyson nods, grabbing the wine while Anne grabbed her keys.

The two of them drive in silence, her phone plugged into her car with Cale and JT’s contacts popping up on the screen on her center console as they were texting her. “I’m glad you got along with some of the guys last night,” Tyson tells her, finally breaking the silence between them.

“Yeah, me too. Especially since someone seemed to enjoy the bar more than anything else,” she teases.

“Hey, the bartender was attractive, and giving free drinks, what was I supposed to do?”

Anne laughs, knowing that wasn’t the real reason he was there the entire night. She didn’t know what that reason was, but it wasn’t because of the looks of the person giving Tyson drinks. “What do you remember from last night?”

Tyson hesitates, really not sure what to answer. “I remember the drinks and you were dancing with Cale at some point.”

“You remember none of the Uber drive back?”

He almost did. He knew he had fallen on Anne’s shoulder, but he didn’t remember getting into the car with her. He wasn’t even sure that Anne was the one that got him in the car. “Not really, no.”

“Ok,” Anne says, partially thankful for that. She wasn’t sure she would want to relive the part of the night, nor did she think Tyson would either.

She pulls up to her uncle’s house, already seeing Lucy’s car and her cousin Spencer's sitting in the driveway. “Ready to enter the belly of the beast?” she asks him, patting his thigh as a sign of encouragement.

Tyson looks out to the house, seeing someone standing in the doorway waiting for them to get out of the car. “We’ve gotta start acting like a couple, now, don’t we?” he says, leaning closer to her across the center console.

Anne rolls her eyes, knowing that he wanted a kiss or something, anything to show Aunt Laura that Tyson was actually her boyfriend. She does kiss him, sweet and slow. Tyson was sure if they weren’t being watched, he would have gone for more, but knowing he couldn’t was killing him. He had to make the most of the time he had with Anne’s family.

When Anne pulled away, she reached up to Tysons face, grazing her thumb along his beard as his hand connected with hers. She didn’t know why, but she kissed him again, their foreheads pressed together as they sat there in her car. It was different kissing him compared to Cale. A good different, and like last night, she couldn't put her finger on why. She almost forgot where they were, startled by Aunt Laura knocking on her window.

Anne’s face had to be bright red, embarrassed that her aunt saw whatever moment, real or fake or whatever that was, while sitting in the driveway of her house. She greets her aunt as she gets out of the car, handing her the two bottles of wine.

“You must be Tyson!” she says, more excited than Anne thought she would be. “Teresa’s told us so much about you, come in, come in,” she gestures. Anne was sure that she would have dragged him in by the collar of his shirt if she didn’t have the wine in her hands already.

Tyson looks at Anne, confused. “I have no idea what my mom could have said to her,” Anne says. Tyson shrugs, grabbing Anne’s hand as she leads him into the house.

Lucy comes running up as soon as Anne steps through the door, a baby that couldn’t be more than a year old in her arms. “Hey there, Hazel,” Anne coos, taking her goddaughter from her sister. Hazel reaches out, grabbing Anne’s hair as Anne winces at the slight pain from the baby’s pull. “This is Tyson.”

“Hi, pretty girl,” Tyson says, Hazel reaching out, squirming to get away from Anne and into Tyson’s arms. “Is it ok if I hold her?” he asks Lucy, waiting for her to nod before Anne passes her off to him.

Lucy pulls her sister aside, a silly grin on her face. “He’s perfect,” she gushes, “Look at him!” Tyson was bouncing Hazel up and down, Hazel shrieking with glee with him.

“He’s not perfect,” Anne says, “but he might be close.” The sisters laugh, Lucy hugging Anne from behind while they continue to watch Anne’s ‘boyfriend’ interact with Lucy’s youngest daughter. Anne wasn’t even sure if she was really pretending as the rest of her family came into her uncle’s house.

Teresa was practically attached to Tyson the entire time, as were Skylar and Harper once Tyson started playing with them. Literally, Tyson was walking around Uncle Vince’s house with Skylar and Harper clinging to each of his legs. Tyson was the center of attention, Anne wishing that it wasn’t because everyone was just finally excited that Anne found a man.

“What do you think of him?” Anne asks Sebby, the two of them watching Tyson and Matthew talking as if there was no one else was in the room. She had heard ‘touchdown’ and ‘linebacker’ come up in conversation, meaning Matthew was going on a rant about the Broncos, something that he did way too often.

Sebby looks him up and down, pursing his lips while he thought about it. “I’m not sure I trust him.”

“Oh, come on,” Anne whines.

“He’s an athlete. And a professional one, at that,” Sebby throws his hands up in defense. Growing up, Sebby was the only one who didn’t really like sports, feeling they were a waste of time when he could be doing something like reading or studying. Sports were only relevant when his siblings were involved, otherwise, he hated them.

“Give him a chance. Please?” Anne begs, not even sure if it were necessary. “He’s not Andy.”

Sebby narrows his eyes at his sister, jumping slightly as Tyson and Matthew start laughing. “Why didn’t you mention him before Christmas?”

“If you remember, I didn’t mention him at Christmas, you did,” Anne scolds him, trying to figure out what story to tell her brother. “And, it was still new. I didn’t want to say anything if it wasn’t going to be something.”

“Is it?”

“Maybe. I think so,” Anne lies. At least, she thought she was lying.

Tyson comes over to Anne while she was talking with Sebby about his upcoming semester, his last one before he graduated from college and hopefully entered law school. He wraps his arms around her, kissing her cheek before resting his chin on her shoulder. “You think I could steal her for a second?” he asks.

Sebby narrows his eyes, Tyson a little thrown off by her brother’s reaction. “Sure.”

Tyson brings Anne into another room, praying that no one would walk in on them. “We didn’t talk about anything we could say to your family about how we met,” he brings up.

“I was planning on deferring that to you since I normally can’t get a word in otherwise,” she admits, even though she hadn’t thought about it before.

“That’s not fair,” Tyson says, looking over Anne’s shoulder to see someone in her family looking at the two of them. “Your family is watching.”

Anne follows Tyson’s gaze, turning and waving at Landon and Lauren. She reaches up and puts her hand on Tyson’s cheek, Tyson taking it with his own and kissing the palm of her hand. “When you see how I get pushed aside at dinner, you’ll understand why it’s fair.”

The two of them continue talking about how they were going to go on with the rest of the day, Anne telling Tyson she was fine with everything he had done so far and really didn’t care if he kept doing it. Anne, not wanting to tell Tyson, liked what he was doing. It felt right for some reason. Was Tyson right that it should have been the two of them kissing at midnight and not her and Cale?

Tyson’s drunken confession from the night before was still ringing in her mind when everyone got called to sit down for dinner. Tyson was still, unsurprisingly, the center of attention. His hand was on Anne’s thigh for most of dinner, Lucy’s eyes never leaving as Anne rested her’s in his. The usual rounds of conversation started, asking Lucy about her medical practice, Jason about Andersen’s, his restaurant that bore his family’s name, Matthew and Steph about work at United, Sebby about how he was feeling going into this last semester of college.

Then the conversation was supposed to turn to Anne, normally swamped with questions about Anne’s lack of love life. Instead, of course, the conversation turned to Tyson.

“How did you two meet?” Teresa asks, giving a smug look to her daughter, “Anne hasn’t told us anything about you.”

Tyson hesitates, figuring Anne wouldn’t want her family knowing they met when she spilled her coffee on him. “I was out with some of my teammates after practice one day,” he starts, hoping that whatever was about to come out of his mouth was good enough. “We were at a coffee shop, and I saw Anne there grabbing something before her shift at the hospital. I saw her smile at the barista when she thanked him for taking her order and,” he looks at her, taking Anne and putting it on the table for her family to see. “Something about that smile of hers I just knew I had to talk to her. I needed her in my life and I’m happy she’s in it.”

He kisses the side of her head, whispering, “we have to remember that story now,” against her skin. When he pulls away, Anne smiles at him, signaling that she would. There was no way she could forget that honestly. Why was pretending to like him so easy?

The conversation stays on him for a little longer, Anne never being asked anything. Finally, Emily stands up with Jimmy, saying they had an announcement. “We’re engaged!” she squeals, holding up her left hand with the ring that she either just put on, or no one noticed as the family congratulated her. Jimmy had proposed at midnight, down on one knee right as whoever they were with said ‘Happy New Year!’

“Another wedding!” Teresa yells, Tony rolling his eyes next to her. He didn’t hate weddings, he hated his wife’s need to spend an extravagant amount of money on a new dress and presents for the couple every time. “And then maybe we’ll have one for Anne in the next year, too, oh Tony we’ll get to plan another wedding.”

“Mom!” Anne scolds, Tyson’s face getting bright red. “That ringing in your ears is not wedding bells.”

The rest of the dinner goes on fine, Anne and her siblings off in one of the rooms while their spouses and Tyson were nowhere to be found.

“I think Tyson’s scared of me,” Lucy says, examining her nails.

“He might just be intimidated by you, Signoria Perfezione,” Anne teases her with the nickname Lucy got when she was little, her need for order prevalent from a young age.

“Yeah, he said that Anne told him how smart you were and he didn’t want to feel stupid around you,” Matthew points out.

“Well, shouldn’t he be intimidated by Anne?” Sebby asks.

“I know you’re trying to compliment me, but your tone says otherwise,” Anne says. “Why don’t you like him?”

The three of them look at their youngest siblings. “There’s something off,” he starts, Anne feeling her heart start to race. “He’s like borderline pretending to be with you.”

“Come on, man, you’re paranoid,” Matthew scoffs, Lucy agreeing.

“I mean,” Sebby explains, “He looks at Anne like he wants to be with her, not like he actually is with her.”

“You’re just over analyzing. We’re together. Probably more together than you and Collins are,” Anne fires back, part of her hating that she was lying to her siblings, the other part of her wondering how much of it was a lie.

Sebby shrugs, “Well yeah, because we broke up.” Anne’s jaw drops, Matthew raises his eyebrows in shock, Lucy the only one to scream and actually make a verbal acknowledgment of what he just said. “Yeah, the other night. She finally blew up over the whole, ‘I don’t want to move to Boston or California,’ thing and said if I wasn’t willing to move to be with her then I wasn’t good enough for her.”

“Oh, I don’t like that,” Anne says.

"Why didn't you tell us," Lucy asks.

"I see how they act about Anne never being with someone," he says, Anne glaring at him. "I'll just find someone in law school and not say anything unless they ask. Plus, I don’t want to be that far away from you guys. Why would I stay with someone who wants me to do that?” he admits.

“Aw, you do like us!” Lucy teases him, her and Matthew tackling him in a hug while Sebby yells for them to get off, yelling louder when Anne joins in.

“Hey, um,” Tyson interrupts, “Sorry, you’re having a moment.”

“No, no, what’s up?” Anne breaks off, going over to him.

“Your aunt said dessert is out,” he tells them, or, rather, tells Anne with her siblings in earshot.

“See, you’re delusional,” Lucy tells Sebby as they walk past Anne and Tyson into the next room.

Tyson looks at her confused, waiting for an explanation. “I think Sebby’s catching on to us pretending,” she shrugs, really not that worried. She and Tyson could talk later about how long this would go on, and if anyone in the family were to find out that it was fake, Sebby would be the one to keep it quiet.

She goes into the next room, leaving Tyson there by himself. “Yeah, pretending,” he says to himself.

[ipuckwithhockey]

Tattooed Idiots- N. Patrick

a/n: I went months where I couldn’t even think about writing anything and now I’ve written two things this week? OK. I was also recently talking to a friend about tattoo placement and how they regretted putting one little tattoo in the middle of their arm because it doesn’t flow with how they want to do their sleeve... It made me think of Nolan’s boat tattoo.  

warnings: none? swearing

------

“Nolan James Patrick. In the flesh. I have to say, I feel honored to be graced with your presence.”

You hadn’t seen Nolan in almost four years, but here he was standing on the deck of your mutual friend’s lake house. A post college graduation reunion of sorts was planned for this summer, and a group of your childhood friends was now gathered for a week on the lake.

When Nolan left Canada for Philadelphia you left the same town for college in New York. The two of you were close growing up, but it seemed like the older you got the further apart you grew. Neither of you really knew why, and maybe it was just the physical distance that pushed your texts and calls further apart.  In retrospect this doesn’t seem likely as you have only been an hour train ride apart for the last four years.

You didn’t spend much time at home in the summers as you worked jobs and internships in the city, and it just so happened that your visits home never lined up with his. Your secret crush on your friend eventually faded, but now that you’re looking at Nolan’s bare back you can’t help but notice that his shoulders are broader, and his arms are thicker than they were back when you were kids.

Both of you had grown a lot over the last few years. You weren’t the same shy teenage girl and he wasn’t the quiet hockey player that dreamt of making it to the NHL. Going to school in New York had pushed you out of your comfort zone and had given you a newfound sense of confidence. Introversion was always a source of common ground between the two of you, as most of your friends were more outgoing and even a bit rowdy at times. For the last week you had racked your brain of what you would say when you saw him again. Would you fall into your old habits and close relationship or would be met with someone you didn’t recognize?

“I’m the one who should feel honored, you’ve only been avoiding me for about four years.”

Nolan turns around to face you and for some reason there’s a tinge of hurt in his voice that only you can probably pick up on.

“You know what, you’re right. You are lucky.” You chose to ignore that feeling and your quick retort takes Nolan a bit by surprise. He wasn’t expecting you to be so bold. He can’t do anything but laugh and as the day goes on you fall back into your old friendship and adjust to each other’s new maturities.

Later that day the group decides to make its way from the deck down to the to dock for a swim.  As you strip off your shorts and tank top to reveal your bikini clad body, you begin to feel a bit of self-consciousness sneak up on you. That, and you feel a set of eyes on you. It’s not until later that day that you find out who those eyes belong to.

“You know, a picture would last longer” You look over from the chair you are sitting in to see a rosy cheeked Nolan sitting on top of a cooler.

“You’re probably right... always were the smart one.” As he says it, you see him wink through his round rimmed sunglasses. Did he seriously just wink at you? Is Nolan Patrick seriously trying to flirt with you or is it just the day drinking talking?

Throughout the day you and Nolan continue to tease and banter, and in any other situation you would have definitely considered this flirting. Either way, you were having a good time and a little flirting felt harmless.

Later that night you’re all back on the deck after dinner.

“I need another Claw; anybody want anything from the kitchen?” You ask as you move toward the sliding doors.

“Yeah, I’m gonna get another beer.” You barely even hear his mumbled voice, but he follows you into the kitchen and you leave your rambunctious group of friends behind you. The next few minutes are quiet as the two you move around the kitchen in silence. You’re throwing some trash away that has begun to litter the counters and finally turn to face the sink as you crack open your well-earned drink. You can once again feel Nolan’s eyes on you as he leans against the counter behind you.

“Since when are you into tattoos?” You practically choke on your drink. His deep voice is now closing in on you, and his hot breath is now hitting your neck as he steps up and leans in close behind you. His bare chest is just inches from your back that is only covered by a strap holding your bikini top to your body. And his hands. His fingers are lightly tracing the delicate tattoo that now inhabits your right side. His hands are cold from holding his beer and he’s touching you so close to your breast, goosebumps now litter your skin. If it weren’t for him stepping even closer into you, you probably would have forgotten to breathe. His body is now touching yours and your short frame in being toward over.  You can’t help but lean back into him. Taking in his warmth and his familiar scent. His breath still hot on your neck as he mumbles, “You gonna answer my question or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

You wouldn’t have had any problem doing just that, but you clear your throat and turn around to face him. He takes a slight step back, but you’re still close enough to lightly touch his his upper arm and whisper, “Well, I’ve kind of had a thing for them since this guy I used to know got a little boat tattooed on the middle of his arm.”

You look up at him and he has that sly smile on his face that you hate but secretly love.

“You know, I used to have a massive crush on this chick who used to talk about how much she hated that little boat tattoo. She always gave me shit for putting a ‘tiny boat in the middle of my arm.’ She said I’d regret it one day when I decided to get a sleeve. She was probably right, but then she left and stopped talking to me.”

You jokingly push him back a little to distance yourself, “I didn’t stop talking to you, you stopped talking to me. And you didn’t have a crush on me. I would have known. Hell, I’m the one who spent my entire life quite obviously pining over you!”

You’re not arguing, you’re still just joking, but the mood in the air is becoming more serious as the two of you come to realize what has just unfolded. Years of mutual but unknown pining between the two of you finally comes to the surface and you’re both still processing what that  means.

You look up at each other, and you can’t help but laugh. Nolan laughs too, and he shakes his head, “I’m an idiot. I had no clue you ever liked me like that. I guess I always figured you were way too smart to be into me. Guess you’re just not that smart.”

“Who says I still like you?” You say it as a joke but there’s a moment when it dawns on Nolan that you probably don’t still like him.

“Nols, I’m joking. I definitely thought I was over you, but as soon as I saw you today I knew I was still fucked. You were right, I’m really not that smart.”

Your feet are moving you back into him and you’re met chest to chest again. Your hands hesitate but eventually reach up to his hair that he has let grow out, and his eyes close as he feels your fingers lightly tug on the wisps that fall at his neck. You’re still looking up at him, admiring just how beautiful he is just as your foreheads touch. They’re resting gently against each other and his arms have wrapped around your body to pull you close. You think maybe he’ll pull away, but you feel his hand take your cheek and then you’re kissing. Nolan can’t put how good your lips feel on his into words. Mind blowing may be the closest thing to accurate.

You kiss gently and his tenderness warms your heart but feeling his bare chest against yours and his arm wrapping around your waste, you can’t help but deepen the kiss. Soon the innocence is gone and you’re desperately holding onto each other. You bite at his lip and he can’t help but moan into you. Years of pining, years of tension, are finally being relieved.

Nolan pushes you back and traps you between him and the cold kitchen island. His lips dance over your neck and you gladly adjust to give him better access. You would have let him take you right there in the middle of the kitchen if you hadn’t been interrupted by an eruption of applause.

“Finally! God Damn!”

“We’ve only been waiting our entire lives for you two to get together.”

Remarks of relief and approval come from your group of friends who are now gathered at the back door. You bury your head into Nolan’s chest and you can’t help but laugh as you realize you really are the two most clueless idiots in the world.

“We really are idiots.” You look up at him and he looks back at you, smiling,

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot.”

[space-mermaid-writing]

House Arrest [Reader X Loki] Chapter 9

Summary: You are Clint’s 'little' sister and actually a trained Shield agent. But you gave that up a few years ago and became a Chef, because you wanted a normal live. Then one day Natasha shows up at your door and takes you to the Avenger Tower for a while for security reasons.

Tags: Reader is an former Shield Agent, chef!reader, Reader Barton, 2012 Avenger vibes, everything is still alright, Slice of Life, Avengers Family, Loki has a good heart, still the god of mischief, Slow Burn, mention of food and cooking

Read it on AO3

Chapter 9: Starry night

A few days pass in which you neither see nor hear anything from Loki. In fact, it's only now that you realize how much time you've spent with him in the last few weeks. You feel stabbed in the heart and you try to distract yourself with the preparations for your moving.

The old apartment in Philadelphia is available, the renovations were completed a long time ago. Unfortunately, all the potted plants, you had had exactly three of them, have withered and you have to throw them away.

Actually, you're not so sure you should move back in here, because your old job has been taken and you have to find a new one. You could probably ask Tony Stark or Shield if they would pull some strings, but you'd rather act independently again.

You decide, until you have a new job, to stay in the Tower for a few more days and then decide where to move your furniture so you only have to organize one move.

With your skills in the kitchen, you would have no problem finding something interesting quickly.

When all these little things are settled, you decide to talk to Loki. You just don't want to part with this stupid feeling between you two.

But before you can seek him out, though, you happen to run into him in one of the smaller common rooms.

"Loki! Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Yeah, sure. What is it?"

Surprisingly, he acts openly towards you, even seems happy to see you. Maybe he regretted your last encounter, too, you think, and your heart leaps at the thought that you might be as important to him as he is to you.

You join him on the couch.

"I just wanted to make sure everything was okay between us. I'd hate to get into a fight."

He nods. "Of course. Your news was merely unexpected to me. So my reaction probably wasn't the one you were hoping for," he explains, taking your hand. "But I assure you that I wish you nothing but the best."

You smile sincerely at him. "Thank you, Loki. That means a lot to me."

"Do you know when you'll be moving out yet?"

"In a few days, when I found a new job and apartment."

"Maybe before then we can have another dinner together," he reminds you of the word you had given him, and you nod.

"I'd love to. How about tomorrow?"

"I don't have any other plans."

"Great. Then we have a date."

You grin broadly and are already mentally thinking about what you might prepare. Thor isn't in the house, so it would be a Midgardian meal. But you already have an idea.

Loki, meanwhile, still has your hand in his, gently stroking your skin with his thumb and making his own plans.

One day later, the two of you are sitting on the rooftop terrace of the Tower in the late evening. You've had dinner and are now chatting, each with a cocktail in hand. During dinner you had the idea to wait for the stars and look at the constellations. As far as that was possible in a city as bright as New York. Loki knows quite a bit about them, but wants to wait until they can be seen.

You also realized at dinner that your fears of the other day were unfounded. Loki has been a very gentleman ever since: very courteous and attentive. And if you didn't know better - because it was out of the question either way - you'd think you were on a date. It feels at least a little bit like that.

That‘s until the roof door opens and Clint steps out. He walks purposefully toward you and you look up, puzzled since he's supposed to be home with his family. You realize from his expression that there must be an important reason.

"Sis," he greets you, then turns briefly to Loki. "Sis's friend."

You roll your eyes. "Don't do that“, you murmur softly, then add a little louder, "What d’you want?"

"Bad news, I'm afraid. Agents from Hydra have turned your apartment upside down, apparently looking for something."

You look at him concerned. "Oh...what exactly?"

"That's the big question. Have you put anything in there recently?"

You shake your head. "Just a few personal items. Mostly clothes."

Clint nods in understanding. "Anyway, Fury and Hill aren't thrilled. And until we find out what they wanted, I'm afraid you'll have to stay with us for a while."

Resignedly, you close your eyes. "Of course. Standard procedure. I assume I have an appointment with Hill tomorrow morning?"

"Yep, 0900 sharp."

"Thanks for letting me know."

"No problem. I'll stick around for a few days and see if I can find out anything."

You smile gratefully at your brother, who says goodbye again and leaves. Sighing, you take a sip of your cocktail and then look to Loki, who isn't half as crestfallen about this news as you are. In fact, he seems almost pleased about it, but puts his hand over yours sympathetically.

"I hope this clears up soon. I guess you'll have to bear my company a little longer", he jokes.

You smile wryly.

"Yeah, it was too good to be true, I guess. But at least I can bother you with my presence some more."

"Your presence is never a bother, M‘Lady."

Loki raises his glass and you toast.

Actually, you’re no longer in the mood to stargaze, but you don't like the idea of squatting alone in your room either, so you stay.

To Loki's credit, he really tries to cheer you up. He tells you funny anecdotes from Asgard, and when you finally see the stars, he explains their meanings and history. You had no idea he was so knowledgeable about them.

It is already late and you are quite tired when you finally end the night and Loki walks you back to your room. It’s not necessary, but he insists on it, because his mother taught him some good manners. Well, you don’t complain about it.

On the way you link your arm with his and continue the chat. So you don't even notice that you don't meet anyone in the hallways.

"Thanks for a lovely evening", you smile as you arrive at your door.

"Anytime."

Even though you're tired, you don't really feel like going to your room yet, and Loki makes no move to leave either. You look at each other.

You can think of something else you'd like to do right now, but you're not sure how the Asgardian feels about it.

He looks for something similar in your expression and seems to find it, because he takes your hand. In response, you step closer, so there's not much space between you. He leans down to you, slowly, to give you time to turn away. But instead, you smile and lean a little closer to him, until you meet in a kiss and you close your eyes.

It's a gentle kiss, inviting but not intrusive. You think it's wonderful, and when you separate again, your cheeks are flushed and your heart is pounding.

Now it's Loki who's grinning.

"We should do that again soon”, you murmur.

"Looking at the stars?"

"Not only." Cheekily, you give him a second kiss on the cheek, then turn toward the door. "I'll be disappointed if I won’t see you tomorrow”, you say you goodbye.

"I am at your service."

Loki indicates a formal bow and waits until you've disappeared into your apartment before heading to his own.

The next morning, you wake up way too early because the sun is shining into your room and you forgot to close your curtain yesterday. As soon as your brain gets over the initial tiredness, it starts working and thinking about last night. You try to put most of it aside mentally and just be happy. It's more than you had hoped for. Even though you're not sure how Loki and you stand now, you just want to enjoy this little piece of happiness.

Your eyes fall on your half-packed things and you remember Clint's words, but even that can't dampen your spirits. Rather, you find that you've gained some more time to sort out your feelings for Loki.

You roll over and close your eyes once more as the suddenly red-hot memory of your meeting with Hill comes to you and you rise up. Now you're glad to be awake so early, because you hadn't remembered to set your alarm clock yesterday because of all the distractions. You have to thank the sun for that.

It’s almost 9 p.m. Fortunately, you still have a little time, which you use to take a shower and then have a quick breakfast on the way.

Unfortunately, the meeting with Hill was pretty rough. It included a lot of questions about you, your contacts lately, your possible knowledge. No one could understand why you were the only one Hydra was targeting now. Including you.

So you are glad when the interrogation is over. Your trips to the weekly market are also canceled for now, until they have more information, and so you are back to square one.

Well, at least not with everything. When you go back to the kitchen to take care of lunch, you find Loki there, who seems to have just made himself some tea. At the sight of him, you immediately have butterflies in your stomach again.

[troubatrain]

four times you talked about having a baby + one time you did - k. hayes

a/n: here’s a very cute fluffy 4+1 from my old blog! :)

I.

You watched Kevin on the floor, listening to the babbling toddler in front of him, laughing along with whatever his niece was trying to tell him. His sister had made the trip down to New York, and was out getting lunch with a friend while you and Kevin had offered to babysit. It was the first time you were meeting any members of his family, and you’d only been dating for a few months - but watching Kevin with his niece was doing something to you.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, snapping a photo of the two, “This is too cute.”

“You’re too cute,” Kevin says instantly, his niece walking over to you to be picked up, a grin finding its way to Kevin’s face.

You pick her up kissing the top of her forehead, “I think she’s cuter than both of us.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon in Kevin’s apartment, playing house with his niece. Watching Kevin run around his apartment with his niece was straight up endearing, and you were happy that she liked you too. She’d fallen asleep snuggled between you and Kevin, a couple of goldfish stuck to her Uncle’s shirt and she rested on your lap. By the time Kevin’s sister and her headed back to their hotel, you were absolutely exhausted - not even considering the idea of headed to your own place and opting to crash at Kevin’s.

“Do you think you want kids?” Kevin asks, plopping down next to you into bed, blue eyes looking at you full of hope.

You’d never really thought much about having kids, just thinking that at the time you were too young. It was something you wanted one day but you didn’t know when you wanted that. You’d just started your career and your relationship with Kevin was new but the way he took care of his niece and the way he always took care of you was starting to make you think a little differently.

“Yeah, one day. Don’t get any ideas though,” You scold, waving your finger at Kevin.

“I know, but one day sounds good,” Kevin says, pulling you into his chest.

Kevin lulls you to sleep that night, talking about the future he wants with you. You’d get married, Kevin would prefer in Boston but he’d let you pick regardless. Maybe you’d move to the suburbs, get a house outside of the city with a yard, so you could have some space for your future children. But he told you he’d be okay staying in the city if that’s what you wanted to do. It was romantic to hear him talk about your future like that, deciding that he would just come for the ride.

II.

Kevin’s large hands were tying your skates, while you looked down at him in his stall at MSG. It was Christmas and with Christmas came the family skate that you’d grown to love. The first year, you were terrified, considering you didn’t even know how to skate and you’d only met a handful of Kevin’s teammates.

“Do you think this will be our last one here?” You whisper, low enough so none of his teammates would hear you.

It was a thought that you’d tried to push out of your mind but there was no way you could at this point. The trade deadline was coming in a few months and Kevin was certain he’d be on the trading block. You’d pushed him to talk about it about tons of times but he kept putting it off, knowing he was nervous about a move out of New York.

“If it is, we’ll make it a memorable one,” Kevin places a kiss to your lips, pulling you up to step out onto the ice. 

You watch as Kevin skates around the ice, Marc Staal’s kids chasing after him in the intense game of tag they’d been playing, while you smile at him from the bench.

“He’s so good with them,” Lindsay, Marc’s wife, says to you on the bench, “I think they’re going to miss him if you guys go.”

You nod, know how many dinners Kevin’s had at their place long before you’d even started dating, “I know it’s going to happen but, we haven’t even talked about it.”

“You’d go with him no?” Lindsay asks, trying to gauge how you actually felt about it.

“I mean, yes, he’s the one but-” You start to say only to be interrupted by the woman next to you.

“Just talk to him about it,” Lindsay says, “I’m sure you guys will be okay”

That night you’d been sitting in your shared apartment, a rerun of some terrible reality TV rerun playing in front of you. Kevin was out grabbing ice cream, insisting you spent the night off snuggled up with a movie. Your mind wanders to the conversation you’d had the family skate, and how you felt watching Kevin skate around with Marc’s kids. It was what you wanted and you knew you wanted it with Kevin but you were scared of the future. You’d been so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even hear Kevin walk back into the apartment. A pint of ice cream finding its way into your hands.

“Hey Kev?” You ask, your voice small, “What are we going to do if you get traded.”

Kevin looked confused, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, am I going to stay here or do you want me to go with you?” You ask bluntly, deciding to just get to the root of what’s bothering you.

Kevin takes a deep breath, walking out of the room and into your shared bedroom. You can hear him rummaging through a dresser, or it could have been a nightstand and step back into your living room with a velvet box in his hand.

“I was planning on doing a better job at his, you know, I was going to plan a nice dinner, make sure you’d just gotten your nails done, the whole thing but I think I need to do this now,” Kevin says, dropping down to one knee, “Baby I love you, and I want to be with you. I want to have a family with you, and spend the rest of my life with you by my side - wherever that may take me. Will you marry me?”

You nod, tears threatening to spill from your eyes, flinging yourself forward to kiss Kevin, over and over again, “Did you actually just do that?”

Kevin smiles against your lips, “I’ve been hiding that since the summer.”

You pull back smiling at the man in front of you, “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Kevin grins back at you, “I can’t wait to have a family, we could be like Marc and Lindsay with all those kids running around the ice.”

The idea seemed like a dream to you, but in reality you were getting to live that life with a man who loved and cared about you. Kevin spends the night talking about your future, the plans seeming more definite than the first time he’d done that. Settling on having three kids, and a summer wedding - even mentioning you could get a dog even though he was afraid of them.

III.

You’d ended up following Kevin to Winnipeg and then to Philly easily. You’d been making an adjustment, but Philadeliphia was starting to feel like home more and more everyday. Kevin was happy and he loved his new team - which made it easier for you to follow suit. You’d both started to become acquainted with the city and you knew this was going to be a good place for the two of you.

You bounce the baby on your lip, singing a nursery rhyme while moving around your kitchen, causing Gavin to laugh. You’d ended up babysitting, Claude’s wife, Ryanne, calling you last minute to complain about their sitter canceling their date night. You and Kevin had agreed on a night in, so you offered to take their son for a few hours. You loved Gavin, and quite honestly you spend more time at games playing with him than paying attention to your fiance on the ice.

“I think we should have a boy first,” Kevin says, sitting on the island watching you with the baby.

“I don’t think that’s for us to decide Kev,” You joke, blowing raspberries into Gavin’s cheek, causing the baby to giggle, “Right Gav, tell him, he’ll be happy with what he gets.”

“What do you want?” Kevin asks, holding his arms out for you to pass him the baby.

“A boy doesn’t sound too bad,” You admit, thinking about how many outfits you’d bought for Gavin that you’d love hanging up in a nursery of your own, “What brought this up?”

“You know, we’re getting married soon, and you just look really good singing nursery rhymes in our kitchen,” Kevin admits, “And c’mon you don’t want a little me running around?”

Kevin holds Gavin next to his face with a pout, rubbing his beard onto the baby’s cheeks causing him to giggle and wiggle in Kevin’s enormous hands. It was a sight for sure, and one that often made you think about just letting Kevin knock you up before the wedding.

“I’m not going to be pregnant at our wedding,” You scold, “I’ve spent too much time planning to not be able to drink.”

“You’ve got a good point, we’ll make a honeymoon baby,” Kevin assures you, as if you had a choice.

IV.

Newlywed life was coming to a halting stop the second you touched down in Philadelphia. The summer of bliss that you’d just experienced was about to be burst in with the reality of a new season starting. You’d bought a new place, the space in the city was far more family friendly than the apartment you’d been living in last season. There were plenty of bedrooms, and some outdoor space that still resided in the city. You’d finally finished unpacking, stepping back after hanging up the last of your wedding photos in the living room.

“They look good there,” Kevin says, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the couch, spinning you around, “You were right, I do like this place.”

Kevin wasn’t entirely on board with moving, but you knew he wanted to start a family and you wanted somewhere in Philly that you would come back to - a real permanent home. It took a little convincing but you managed to get him to crack while you were on your honeymoon.

You had one surprise that came with the house, and it sat in a box in your kitchen. Inside was a pregnancy test - that you’d taken a day before you moved down to Philly for the season. A very tiny jersey, with your now shared last name on the back, a bright number thirteen stitched onto the back. And to complete a very small stuffed Gritty that you had bought on impulse one day. You were excited to finally share the news with Kevin, keeping it a secret while you both handled all the craziness that came with moving and training camp coming up.

“I have something for you,” You say, slipping out of his arms and grabbing the box from the kitchen - dropping it into his lap, “Open it.”

You were on the edge of your seat watching him open the box and pulling the small jersey out, looking down at what was underneath it, “You’re pregnant?”

“I’m pregnant,” You confirm, placing your hand over your stomach.

“You, my wife, you’re pregnant, we’re having a baby,” Kevin blurted out, a goofy grin gracing his face, “Baby, we’re having a baby!”

You laugh, knowing this is the exact reaction you’d get out of your husband, “I take it you’re happy?”

“Easily the best thing that’s happened to me,” Kevin says, grabbing both sides of your face and kissing you over and over again. He spent the next week telling everybody he came in contact with that he was, in fact, having a baby.

Plus One

You hear a large crash, and a chorus of laughs coming from what was supposed to be your future son’s nursery. You sigh, curling your hands around the def-caf tea you’d been drinking, counting down the days until you actually start drinking coffee again, and you walk into the room, a piece of what was supposed to be a crib on the floor, and TK, Nolan and Kevin’s eyes staring at you.

“Sorry,” They all said in unison, guilt across their faces.

You give them a smile, “It’s fine guys, please be careful, and get this done.”

You decided to stay in Philly until you had the baby, the season ending when you’d hit around eight months and the stress of heading up back to Boston just seemed like too much at the time. Now, you were a week until your due date and you and Kevin had pushed everything till now in regards to setting up a place for your son. It was starting to stress you out, and honestly you were grateful for Travis and Nolan’s help, even if it was like having two kids in your house already.

You felt your stomach cramp up and a feeling in your stomach that this baby was coming, you gasp and look at Kevin, your eyes scared, “Kev - I think it’s happening.”

--

Nine hours of labor later, your son entered the world in a way somehow more chaotic than the way Kevin entered your life. Kevin did good, keeping his cool for most of your pregnancy and labor that you were honestly surprised. He finally cried, when he held your baby for the first time, calmly talking to the little boy who he loved probably more than he loved you. You got lucky, in all the craziness of what was going on, Travis and Nolan stayed back and somehow put together all of your furniture in the nursery, even leaving a few gifts behind for your baby boy.

“Thank you for this,” Kevin confesses, the two of you and your son being the only people left in the hospital room, exhausted from the day of visitors, “I mean I knew we’d get here, but I’m grateful we actually did.”

“I hope you’re still grateful when you have to change diapers at 3 am,” You say, knowing the hard part was definitely coming.

“I promised I’d do it, and I will,” Kevin assures you, intending on keeping the promise that you carried that baby for nine months and that he would take on the middle of the night diaper duties.

And you fell asleep that night like you did so many nights before, Kevin rambling about your future, all the things he wants to teach his son. How he can’t wait to teach him to skate, and how he can play whatever sport he wants - or it would be fine if he didn’t play sports at all. Kevin’s voice lulled you and your little family to sleep - and you knew he’d do that forever.

[permanentcrossfics]

Blurred Lines: Until They Met Again // h.s.

Italics sorted (someone tell me why Google Docs doesn’t love me like Microsoft Word did by letting me copy italics?)! Happy reading, all. See you next time x

“So, m’going to be back in New York soon.” Again, you said nothing, and after a beat he continued. “Just for a night or so — I’ll be flying into Philadelphia and then out to LA for some work stuff.”

“Philadelphia to New York to LA?” you asked.

“London to Philadelphia and Philadelphia to LA.”

“So—” Bless whatever and whoever it was that’d sicked the cat on you to catch your tongue before you could ask him why he was coming to New York if he was flying into and out of Philadelphia. “That’ll be nice.”

He cleared his throat again and you dropped your phone from your ear to take a deep breath, suddenly hot.

“Yeah, so,” he began, “I was thinkin’, y’know. If you’re free or you’d like to….”

You’d like to laugh, because this whole thing was wildly fucking funny. Harry Styles was dialing you for a booty call after a one night stand from months ago. Harry Styles was going to detour into the city for one night just for you, and it wasn’t because you’d had such riveting conversation last time.

“When?” Your fingers twitched at your side.

“When’s good for you?”

Read NOW on Patreon // Tumblr // Wattpad // Read the extended ending only on Patreon

So, the truth was: you’d had sex with Harry Styles and forgotten all about him. 

No — seriously. You’d had sex with Harry Styles and forgotten all about him. 

Honestly, it was all more like a fever dream than anything. It’d happened to you — with you — and even you didn’t buy it. Because why would Harry Styles go to a hole in the wall burger place in the middle of New York City? Didn’t he have people to see at much nicer places with way better food? Especially after one of his own concerts, with people wanting to celebrate him?

And the sex…. It wasn’t even the night of that made your toes curl the most. The morning after, in the forty or so minutes it took room service to get to your hotel room? He’d fucked like his life depended on it. You’d been on your belly, and he’d been in it, skin slapping and both of you wheezing and sputtering your ways to the end because in the morning hours, they might care. In the morning, there might be someone who could recognize his voice or who would wonder if you cried out his name — you weren’t the only one who’d grabbed a hotel for the show, after all. Remembering the low, rumbling groan that’d echoed in his throat as he pulsed inside you and pushed his hips just so against you made you clench if you thought about thinking about it.

He’d left, you’d left, and you hadn’t told a single soul — not your friends, not your Instagram, and definitely not your mother. Not because he’d asked you not to, or because you couldn’t, but because it was the right thing to do. Only the worst of people had busy fingers and thumbs to take fishing selfies and post stories that created more talk than their mouths ever could. And honestly? It was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened, because that was absurd. The whole of it from top to bottom was the most hysterical insanity, and if you’d read it in a blind item column, you’d laugh your way around the world and fall off if it was flat.

(But it wasn’t flat, and as it was, you’d go round and round in circles, and where you’d stop, nobody would know.)

So, you had to forget all about him. And it’d worked, too. The end of June bled almost indiscernibly with the beginning of July, the blazing sun of which made all but the most touristy of tourists want to crawl underground. August brought enough relief to make you throw your windows open and lie naked on your bed, hoping a breeze would blow through, but it wasn’t until September you knew peace.

And then you’d picked up the phone. 

It was an unknown number, and you were a 21st century person who routinely ignored any call from any number they didn’t know (and, sometimes, the ones they did). Maybe you knew — maybe that was why, despite your hiss of annoyance, you slid your thumb on the screen. “Hello?” Clipped in anticipation of either a robotic voice or a sales pitch, you barely held the phone to your ear, poised and at the ready to hang up as quickly as you’d picked up. You leaned across your sofa to grab the remote you’d thrown onto the cushions at the opposite end at the start of the film you’d put on. 

“Hey, it’s uh—” The owner of the voice on the other end cleared its throat, but you were already frozen, tense and in shock, prickles erupting on your scalp and up your arms. You didn’t need him to say who he was. Even as quietly as he was speaking, the cadence and lilt were familiar to you anywhere. As was the smile you could hear in his voice. “It’s Harry.” 

You jammed your thumb on the pause button several times until it finally took. 

“Hi.” Flat, dull, and totally uninterested, which was not true or accurate. “Hi,” you repeated breathlessly, hoping he could hear the difference. “Hi, I didn’t— sorry. I thought it might be a spam….” You took a deep breath. He didn’t care. Hell, you didn’t care. “How are you?” 

Harry’s cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “M’good,” he said. “Y’know, m’doin’ well, just… keeping busy. Working.” 

You hummed but otherwise stayed silent, waiting. This wasn’t exactly a phone call you got any day and every day, and you doubted he was calling to check in with you.

“So, m’going to be back in New York soon.” Again, you said nothing, and after a beat he continued. “Just for a night or so — I’ll be flying into Philadelphia and then out to LA for some work stuff.” 

“Philadelphia to New York to LA?” you asked.

“London to Philadelphia and Philadelphia to LA.” 

“So—” Bless whatever and whoever it was that’d sicked the cat on you to catch your tongue before you could ask him why he was coming to New York if he was flying into and out of Philadelphia. “That’ll be nice.” 

He cleared his throat again and you dropped your phone from your ear to take a deep breath, suddenly hot. 

“Yeah, so,” he began, “I was thinkin’, y’know. If you’re free or you’d like to….” 

You’d like to laugh, because this whole thing was wildly fucking funny. Harry Styles was dialing you for a booty call after a one night stand from months ago. Harry Styles was going to detour into the city for one night just for you, and it wasn’t because you’d had such riveting conversation last time. 

“When?” Your fingers twitched at your side. 

“When’s good for you?”

For a moment, everything went white with the headrush from the overwhelming power flooding you. He was waiting on you — fares and change fees probably didn’t matter to him, if he paid much for anything at all with how many airline miles he’d probably racked up in his life. 

“Next Friday?” you asked. You’d need a full two days to recover from the shock alone. “If that’s good for you.” 

“Should be,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

You smirked slightly. Trying to regain a little control? “Sounds good,” you murmured, fingernails digging into your knee. “If not this time then another time, maybe.” 

Needless to say when he texted you ten minutes after hanging up, Friday worked perfectly. 

You didn’t hear from him again until closer to the date. Part of you was wondering if he’d forgotten, but when he asked you on Thursday if you were still on, you stared at his very formal message for a good fifteen seconds just… absorbing the fact that he was coming into town just to see you. 

To have sex with you. 

He wanted to meet for dinner first — God, did you have to? It made the whole thing so much more… you both knew you were winding up naked at the end of the night, anyway.  When you looked up the restaurant, you just about died right there on your sofa. It was, in a word, expensive. The type of expensive that didn’t have the prices listed online but that Yelp was all too happy to spill. Stress mounted in you and you blinked in the dim blue light of your computer, shellshocked, scrolling through the reviews with your hand pressed tightly to your cheek. 

It was a drop in the bucket, maybe, but he didn’t have to do this. He knew that, didn’t he? 

More than once you wrote out a message to cancel — you didn’t feel well, a work thing came up that you couldn’t get out of, someone from somewhere was flying into town and you had to see them. Every time, though, you deleted it all. For months, you hadn’t thought about him, but now… you wanted to see him. Badly. You wanted to see if it was as good and normal as the first time. If it crashed and burned, fine, but at least you’d know and wouldn’t wonder what would happen if you got to see him again. 

Dinner was late that Friday night. He’d asked if you were ok with that, and while part of you wanted to rip the bandaid off, the other part knew — or imagined to know — he had his reasons, especially when the name he told you to give when you got there wasn’t his. Suddenly, it clicked — people could see you and him, together, and he was trying to take precautions to avoid that as much as possible. Maybe for your sake as much as his. 

The inside of the restaurant was dark, and you gave the name as discreetly as you could, trying not to fall right over from how your nervous knees were knocking together. Each step through the maze of tables full of diners clinking wine glasses, sharing pizzas, and cutting into massive steaks that were bigger than the plates they were on made you a little more nauseous, and you were seconds away from turning around and bolting on jellied legs when there he was. Alone, huddled behind a plant in a dark corner that was more secluded than the rest, with a basket of bread in front of him along with a bowl of butter and a bottle of olive oil. He was typing on his phone when he looked up and did a double take with your wave and feeble smile. 

“Hi.”

Harry stood slightly and only sat down after you’d done the same in the chair that was pulled out for you next to his — albeit too clumsily and too soon. 

“It’s good t’see you,” Harry said, quietly and warmly but still audible over the clang of the dining room. 

“You too.” You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. You didn’t remember eye contact being this intimidating with him — you’d had sex with him and managed it better, not to mention the conversation and shameless way you’d flirted with him during the show in a way that would show up any seventies groupie.  “Good trip?”

You should take your coat off. You should put your purse somewhere, and you should maybe try not to look like you had a stick up your ass, but all the common sense, human nature things that you’d usually do without thinking suddenly took a great deal of effort to remember. 

“It was ok, yeah,” he said with a shrug as you gingerly set your bag down and tried to get out of your jacket without hitting him in the arm. “Here, let me….” 

Harry stood and hooked his fingers into your jacket and pulled it down your arms to drape it over the back of your chair. 

“Thank you,” you said, still hot despite shedding a layer. “How’ve you been since…?”

Since we last had sex?

“Good!” he said. “Good, y’know… busy, but good. Getting some different things done.”

“Anything I can know about?” you asked, managing a smirk at last.

A mistake, because he returned it, and his looked better. “Not yet,” he said. “Couple of things might come out soon.” 

You held his gaze a fraction of a second too long, and you felt its impact. Clearing his throat, Harry picked up the menu card in front of him. He looked like he was fighting a smile, and there was a very faint flush in his cheeks. “So, the ah, linguine in vodka sauce is very good and there’s a vegan version if that’s somethin’ you’re interested in.” He flipped it over. “And the affogato—” You bit your lip to contain a smile of your own, the flare of an attempted Italian accent over his Manchester accent cutting through influences from London and America alike comical in a way it shouldn’t be— “is nice if you don’t have to be up in the morning.” 

Before you could think about it, you said, “Sounds great.” Harry looked at you from the corner of his eye, mouth twitching, and coughed into his fist to hide it. Jesus — could you say or do anything that didn’t make you seem a sort of way? “Is there wine?” 

No, apparently, you couldn’t.

He nodded, lips still quivering annoyingly. “Ordered us a bottle — hope that’s ok, it’s….” He gestured just as a waiter approached with it. 

“That’s good,” you said. 

“Sure?”

You nodded and he gave his own to the waiter who busied himself with uncorking the bottle and pouring you each a glass. Harry held his, hovering in midair when you picked yours up. 

“Oh—” Belatedly, you clinked yours with his before taking two deep sips. He didn’t even try to hide his laughter, then, and his eyes crinkled over the rim of his glass. 

“So,” he said. “How’ve you been?” 

Since you last had sex.

“Well,” you said, running your finger over your glass. “Working, mostly.” 

“What is it you do?” 

You stared, but his green eyes were wide and endless waiting for your answer. Nowhere on his face was a trace of irony or disinterest — he’d asked because he genuinely wanted to know. “I—” You stammered a bit before getting it out and he nodded, a flicker of recognition passing over his features.

“Tell me about it.” Just as authentic and sincere. 

“It’s… I mean….” 

With some coaxing from him, he dragged the details out of you — for how long, how did you get into it, was it what you’d always wanted to do, did you like it, what were the hard parts, did you think he could do that if he put his mind to it. And, eventually, you stopped feeling like your teeth were being pulled, whether in thanks to the wine, the pasta, or his charm — charm you’d known about but that was lightyears worse when it was directed right at you in the corner of a restaurant with your knees touching under the table — you couldn’t tell. He spoke about himself, too, and every now and then while listening to his slow drawl, it was hard to connect the fact that the voice speaking owned these stories. It was like you were eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation with him and being told things you shouldn’t know and had no right to know, but it was he, himself, and he was telling you of his own accord. 

“Would you like dessert?” he asked when your plates were cleared. 

“We could,” you said. “If you’d like — the affogato?” 

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Not planning to get any sleep tonight?”

The bottle of wine had been described as bold, and apparently you’d absorbed some of that along with the alcohol. “You tell me.” 

Harry pressed his lips together, rolling them thoughtfully as you smiled at him as the waiter approached, ignoring your racing heart to hold his gaze. 

“Will there be anything else tonight?” 

His ball, his call. 

With only a quick glance to the waiter, he said, “One affogato to share, please.” He turned to you again. “And the check,” he added without breaking eye contact. 

***

The hotel was intimidating — not somewhere you could ever stay on your own, and, for that reason, not a name you recognized, but you knew by the name emblazoned on the carpet outside the doors that it was the sort of hotel you should know. Hand on your elbow, Harry nodded and greeted the doorman with warmth and enthusiasm acting as the smoke and mirrors to allow you to slip into the lobby ahead of him. You paused, watching him through the glass, and seconds later he was through the door after you. 

“This way,” he said, eyes darting to the elevator bank. 

“Nice place,” you said as he waved the back of his wallet over a black magnetic pad attached to a column before pushing the call button. 

“You like it?” he asked, watching the floor numbers above the elevators. He gently took your elbow again and pulled you towards one descending faster than the others. When the doors opened, it was empty, and you both got on with him mashing the close button until the doors rattled shut and locked you both in with an almost eerie silence.

“Thank you,” you said. “Again. For dinner — and dessert. You really didn’t have to.” 

Harry pressed his floor, but his smirk was warmer and his eyes softer than they had been since you’d both left the restaurant and gotten into his car. The jittery, tingling sensation in your hands and belly had nothing to do with the espresso from dessert. 

“Thank you for coming….” Flames surged in you, up through your torso and over your chest and neck, and you held your breath as his cheek dimpled, the pointed phrase lingering between you. “To dinner,” he added, grinning wider as if he’d displayed some revolutionary wit instead of the most basic— “You don’t have to either, you know.” 

He was still smiling, but it was impossible to miss his pointed message acknowledging the power imbalance between you. You didn’t have to do this, dinner or no dinner, and as much as you knew that, it seemed he needed you to know he knew that, too. 

“I know,” you said, voice catching in your throat. “You’re welcome,” you added with a quirk of your mouth, holding eye contact with him as if your knees weren’t quaking. 

The doors opened and you followed him into the hallway, but he came to an almost immediate stop in front of a door he again waved his wallet over. “After you,” he said, holding it open. On purpose, you were sure, because he looked smug when you squeezed by him, chest-to-chest. 

Oh, wow. 

It was a suite — you were pretty sure that was the only way something this huge could be classified. There was a king-sized bed off to one side, with an overstuffed armchair and a luggage rack with his suitcase on it, and to the other there was a sitting area with a sofa, more chairs, and a coffee table. Beyond it, a chandelier hung over full dining table surrounded with chairs, and a closed laptop with a couple of books sat on top of it with the cord stretched to an outlet. Combined, all of it was bigger than your entire apartment. “Hotel room’s better than mine,” you mumbled, looking around from corner to corner, floor to ceiling. 

Harry laughed and strolled past you, gesturing towards the sofa. “Can make yourself comfortable,” he said. “I’m just going to pop in there for a bit,” he said, pointing to a door. “I’ll be right out.” 

“Sure!” you said. “Sure, take your time.” 

He disappeared through the doorway and you only just caught a flash of tile and mirror when he turned the light on before shutting the door. Seconds later, the sound of water running reached your ears, and, exhaling, you dropped your bag on the coffee table and unbuttoned your coat to drape it over the arm of the sofa before taking your boots off. You crept over to the window and pulled the gauzy curtain back. Below, cars zipped through the city streets, looking like festive ants from this height. You couldn’t hear anything except for the air conditioner — a bit chilly, but you stopped yourself from changing the temperature. You didn’t know how he liked it, and it might turn out to be… necessary.  

The running water from the bathroom cut off abruptly and when you turned around, Harry emerged. His cardigan was gone, and his face looked scrubbed clean with his hair damp and pushed back like he’d raked his hands through it. “Sorry about that,” he said, quietly, grinning as he got closer, and you caught a waft of peppermint toothpaste. “Coffee and all.” 

“It’s ok,” you said. 

Harry stopped in front of you and your throat tightened when he slid his hands up your neck, palms soft and warm. Tilting your head back, you stayed very still as he rubbed the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs with an almost intimate tenderness, and your lips parted with anticipation. You could smell his cologne and you could feel how warm he was, but when he leaned in, you inhaled sharply and turned your face. “I should probably do the same,” you murmured almost regretfully. You wanted almost nothing more than to kiss him right then — you’d been waiting all night for that and more — but you could taste the espresso on your tongue, and you wanted to be able to kiss him right. 

Harry looked like he was going to say no, and if he had you might’ve gone through with it, but finally, licking his lips, he nodded and let go of you. “Sure,” he said. “You can— go ahead, I’ll….”

“Thank you.” You smiled softly and slipped away, shutting the door behind you. Once you were in, you let out a breath and your shoulders slumped. The bathroom, like the suite, was massive, with a bathtub and a shower with a rainshower head stuck to the ceiling. Only one of the double sinks looked like it was in use, with his deodorant, a bottle of cologne, a comb, and a razor half out of a kit lying next to it along with a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. 

You gulped, staring at it, before patting underneath the counter and looking around the room. There had to be a complimentary…. Aha! The toiletry bag from the hotel was perched on a shelf over the toilet and you opened it, sighing with relief when you found a toothbrush and a microscopic tube of toothpaste. 

“Can use my toothpaste, f’you want.”

You nearly dropped the whole thing into the sink when you jumped, holding your chest and looking at the closed door. 

“I—” Swallowing your nerves, you nodded. “Thank you,” you called back. You unscrewed the gap from his tube with shaky hands and spread a bit on the bristles, and as you scrubbed, mouth foaming, you stared deep into your eyes in the mirror under the soft vanity lighting. Just sex — it was just sex. And yet, there weren’t enough words to say how surreal this was. 

Teeth, tongue, and gums done, you splashed cool water around your neck and forehead before patting dry and evaluating yourself. Legs? Fine. Stomach? Full, but not uncomfortably so. Teeth? Fresh. That was it, then. Tapping the light off, you opened the door and stepped out. 

Harry was on the edge of the bed, head hanging and hands on his knees, but he looked up when you came closer, a sharp snap of his neck, his glinting eyes reminiscent of a starving man.

“I’m sorry!” you rushed. “I’m sorry.”

“S’ok,” he said, standing. “Don’t worry about it, c’mere.”

No more pretense. No more waiting. 

Cupping your face again, Harry slanted his mouth over yours and you moaned softly, circling your arms around his shoulders. For all the anticipation, it was slow — he was taking his time kissing and coaxing your lips open, groaning his appreciation between quiet smacks while you languidly pulled your hands across his back. He was warm through his shirt and every muscle seemed to tense and release under your wandering fingers. He really was broad, too — he didn’t look it sometimes, but he was, and strong. Minty kisses matched yours, and every now and then you caught a whiff of the same rich and delicious smell you’d determined earlier was his cologne. Breaking, you pressed your lips to his jaw and then his neck, moaning when you got a concentrated dose of the scent. Harry moaned and you felt the vibrations in your mouth through his skin, and he squeezed your hips as you kissed up and down his neck.

“That’s nice,” you murmured between kisses.

“Thanks,” he said, voice strained. You grinned. “Just be—” Harry swallowed. “Just be careful, please. Sorry if that makes me a dick, but….”

Be careful with—? Oh. Marks. “Don’t worry,” you whispered with another one. “I get it.” You were on his throat when you added, “No one will know I was here.”

He laughed, full and deep, and you grinned wider. “Come back here,” he said, tilting your head back so he could kiss you again, and you stilled to return it, though every now and then one of you smiled and broke the rhythm. Drawing your hands down his torso, you stopped at his waistline and felt along until you found the button for his trousers. “Tryin’ t’get into my pants?” he crowed under his breath. 

“Made sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” you said. “Might as well do something.” 

The whole world turned when Harry spun you suddenly. You gasped, nearly shrieking with startled laughter when he dropped you on the bed, and you were still giggling when he unbuttoned your jeans and pulled your zipper down. 

“Gonna hurt m’feelings if you keep laughin’ at me,” he said, the warning softened by his grin. 

“No, I won’t,” you said, eyes rolling up with a sigh when he slid his hands underneath your shirt. You sat up a bit until he brought it up over your head and tossed it away before he bent over your chest.

You’d had sex with Harry Styles and forgotten all about it, but he was doing his damndest to make sure you remembered. 

Oh. Right. He was good at this — ridiculously, absurdly, eye rollingly amazing. Each kiss down your over your breasts was simple but carefully placed. He suckled every patch of skin into his mouth with a thoughtful hum and a grunt of conclusion, and when he reached your sternum, he sighed hotly. 

“God, y’smell good.” You laughed breathlessly and nodded your thanks as he made his way down your belly. “Smell so—” He pressed his nose to your hip and inhaled deeply— “good.” 

He said it so deeply, so slowly, so deliberately, that if you didn’t know better you’d think he’d never meant anything more. 

“I’m gonna take these off,” you said, voice sticking in your throat. You sat up and he did, too, pulling his shirt off while you stood on wobbly legs to shed your jeans. He stared, unabashedly, and it was again one of those moments that was so surreal you couldn’t believe you were living it. “Do you have condoms?” you asked, nearly toppling sideways as you kicked your ankles free. 

“In the drawer,” he said. 

He’d really detoured to New York out of Philadelphia just to sleep with you and he wasn’t even pretending he hadn’t had this in mind.

You took a step towards it but he grabbed your wrist. “Hang on,” he said. “Know you can hardly wait—”

You gasped. “Me?” You almost wanted to smack that smarmy grin off his face, and when he nodded, you reminded him, “‘When’s good for you?’” 

“Flexible schedule,” he murmured, pulling you down onto his lap. Straddling him, you held his shoulders to keep from teetering backwards, mouth hovering over his. “We’ve got all night,” he said, kneading your hips with a cocked head. “Don’t we? Not getting any sleep?”

An electric thrill shot through you. His lips were twisted at the corner in an almost coy smirk, and his eyes were endless, full of a level of confidence that made you tingle. You gasped, soft and sharp, and his smirk widened into a grin when you grasped his chin and kissed him, hard, as he dropped back onto the bed and brought you crashing with him. 

Again the world spun when he turned you over, and your eyes rolled as he trailed kisses down your cheek and neck — greedy ones with chins colliding and teeth scraping skin as he held you by the jaw to keep you still. You only barely managed to shift on your back when you felt his hand sliding underneath you, and seconds later the pressure of the band around your ribs released and your bra straps loosened on your shoulders. Harry pushed the flimsy material up over the swell of your breasts, and your mouth fell open when his closed firmly on your nipple. He released it with a soft noise before pulling it again with slightly more pressure, and one of your hands fell into his hair. 

“Leg up,” he rasped against your breast, pushing one of your knees gently but firmly. You did as he asked and bit back a moan when he fit his palm over you through your underwear, its radiating heat making you throb. Up and down he stroked, tentatively at first and then with more certainty, thumb dipping into your slit over the fabric. “Ok?” he asked. Barely able to hear him through your ringing ears, you nodded, and, with the permission, he hooked his fingers under the thin scrap of fabric with a quiet groan. “That’s nice,” he said as he explored with such a careful, barely there touch, you almost couldn’t breathe waiting to just feel something. Swallowing hard, you let out a slow, deep breath, eyes falling shut as you turned your head to the side, knuckles brushing over your mouth as your heart raced out of control. 

“Don’t have t’be quiet,” Harry said almost lazily as he descended lower and lower on your stomach with spongy, stubbly kisses and carefully opened you with his fingers. “Don’t have to—” He laughed when your legs jerked as the pads of his fingers slid over your clit. “S’ok,” he continued. “Relax for me… s’it feel good?”

You nodded, gulping. 

“Is this ok?” 

He pressed his finger onto your clit and you took a deep breath. “Yes,” you said, voice sticking in your throat. 

“That’s good, then,” he said. “Anything y’don’t want me to do you just tell me, right?”

You moaned, then, low and long, and you lifted your hips from the bed as you squirmed. “Yes,” you repeated, slightly louder and pitchier. “Yes… oh,” you sighed, toes curling when he laved his tongue over your nipple while stroking your clit, each breath deep and full, your belly warm. “Fuck!” you whispered, sucking in sharply. The last time you’d felt yourself get wet like this — slippery, soaked — had been… well, with him. 

You laughed under your breath. It’d been with him. Of course it had. “Oh!” you gasped sharply when he circled faster, gripping the back of his head with one hand while the other slapped down on his shoulder. 

“Can hear it, can’t you?” he asked. “Can hear how wet— oop—” His finger slipped out of his rhythm. “There we go,” he muttered. “Easy…. Gotta make sure your pussy’s open for me, don’t we?”

“I am,” you said, back arching. “I am, I’m….” You clenched your teeth together and your head tossed against momentarily as you dug your toes into the sheets. “Mmm….” 

“Sure?” he asked tightly. “Gonna be able to get inside?” 

“I am,” you whispered. “Please, I want you inside me.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked. 

“Yes!” You were hot, everywhere, almost feverishly, and you couldn’t stop moving, fidgeting, trying to do anything to just…. Sucking in sharply, your lips barely moved when you uttered, “Oh, my God, I’m gonna cum,” in one soft breath, digging your fingers into his shoulder more. Your whole body was tense and your stomach muscles kept clenching and releasing, the warmth in your belly spreading through your legs and up your chest. You were going to cum, you were— so close, almost laughably so. Whimpering, you pressed your trembling lips together to stifle a louder moan bordering on agony, and you were just starting to feel the relief of those first flutters when, suddenly… he stopped. 

He stopped?

“No!” you said. “No, please, no, why?” you asked breathlessly, bordering on a cry, hand clapping to his face and forehead bumping his when he popped off your breast. “Why?” 

He laughed, but it was a strained sound. “Sounds too pretty to let it end just yet,” he said. “Got… got all night, don’t we?” he asked. “Got all….” He grimaced and rocked backwards. “Shit.” 

You stared at him, sluggish mind slowly catching up. He was still in his trousers — they’d never made it off somehow — and he was very obviously hard. “Come here,” you breathed. “Come….” 

Harry grunted when you pushed them down his hips. Awkwardly, limbs tangled, you climbed over and around each other until he was on his back and you were on your shaky knees, tugging them down and off him completely. A pair of red boxer briefs fit him perfectly, hugging his thighs, hips, and the cock straining in them. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath and you felt his eyes on you when you lowered down, pressing kisses to his knees and up his thighs, his leg hair tickling your nose. You were at the edge of his briefs by the time you were feeling blindly along his waistline, and you sat up when your fingers slipped inside to pull them down. Locking eyes with him only briefly when they were tugged past his thighs, you grinned impishly before lowering down and he touched the back of your head with a barely there graze when you licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. 

“Oh, shit,” he breathed blissfully above you. From under your lashes you could see him grinning with his arm over his eyes, and you licked again and again before ducking lower and pulling one of his balls into your mouth with a delicate suck. His answering groan made your hair stand on end and you wrapped your hand around his cock, running your thumb up and down near the head. 

You had all night. Last time had been frantic, rushed, with an invisible timer that wouldn’t stop tick-tick-ticking, and you hadn’t known what you wanted, or were allowed, or how much of it you could have. Now, though, you were enjoying touching him, holding him, experimenting with what you knew and what you were figuring out from every moan and sharp breath above you. 

“Is this good?” you asked between sucks.  

“Yeah,” Harry grunted, nodding his head belatedly. “Shit… s’real good.” Gently, then, he grabbed your hand to move it higher up his shaft while you licked one of his balls. “Y’can… f’you want to—” 

Hand in his, he moved your hold slowly up and down, and the throbbing sensation that’d been lingering between your legs grew. Holding your breath, you watched him jerking himself with your hand, each downward tug pulling his head out a little more. His nostrils flared and he gulped, throat bobbing visibly, and you licked your lips, head spinning. Unthinking, you lifted up and wrapped your mouth around the tip, sucking firmly with a breathy moan, and you felt his thighs trembling beneath you for a moment as his hands faltered. Up and down you bobbed, stretching your jaw slightly more each time to try to get more, but when you felt a click, you pulled off abruptly. 

“Sorry—” You slurped wetly and laughed, horrified. “Sorry!” 

His loud laugh joined yours, warmer and more delighted than yours. On fire, you dug the heels of your hands into your eyes until he pulled your wrists. 

“Come here,” he said, still wheezing. “Come….”

You whined, stretching out next to him, and he chuckled, cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss. “S’ok,” he said, body shaking with suppressed laughter. “Got me a little wet is all,” he teased.

You grunted when he rolled you onto your back and you melted underneath him as he kissed you — first on your mouth, then your neck, your shoulder, and inside your elbow, before he pushed up and opened the bedside table. The box of condoms wasn’t the hotel’s, but what had to be his own preferred brand, and you must’ve made a noise, because he glanced at you sharply, then.

“What?” he asked.

Smiling slightly, you shook your head. “Nothing,” you assured him. 

He chortled, tearing one open and pulling out the flimsy, wet rubber. Biting your lip, you watched him pinch the end and smooth it down before he cleared his throat.  

“D’you wanna get on your…?”

You stared, waiting for him to complete his question. Harry licked his lips and jerked his head. 

“C’mere,” he said. “Turn over, like….” He coaxed you onto your hands and knees before pressing down on your back between your shoulder blades. “Little lower… there y’go,” he said when you bowed, arms outstretched ahead of you and ass high. “That good?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yes, please,” you mumbled. He laughed quietly behind you but gripped your hips and you closed your eyes.

“Deep breath in,” he said, smooth and warm. “In and out, in and—”

Face contorting, you grunted under your breath when he thrust, shallowly at first but gradually deeper until his pelvis was flush with you. “Oh, fuck,” you wheezed, back arching. It was good, but a bit of a pinch and stretch — had it been this way last time? Maybe you hadn’t noticed as much from the adrenaline rushing through you.

“Ok?” he asked. 

Still grimacing, you nodded, hands fisted in the sheets. “Good,” you managed. “Good, good… oh!” you cried out when he thrust with heavier weight, hands bruisingly tight on your hips. That right there — that was good, the angle and the depth, and if you brought your legs together just a bit—

“Fuck!” he groaned behind you. “Fucking….” 

Faster, steadier, you muffled your noises in the sheets as you rocked back against him. Pathetic — you were pathetic whining and pushing into him, but he’d left you hanging and you were trying to get it back because you’d been so close. 

“That’s it,” Harry grunted, laughing breathlessly. “Fuck my cock.” He took a rattling breath. “Fuck yourself on my cock…. Shit, y’got no idea how wet it looks right now.” He stilled suddenly and you paused, heaving.

“Harry!” you whimpered, twisting, arms too weak to lift up. 

“What?” he asked, and you could hear the smug smirk in his voice. “S’wrong?” 

You let out a keening moan, face flat on the bed, before you tightened and pushed back on him. His answering groan was guttural, and he held you fast when he went silent, only the slapping noise of your ass meeting his pelvis and the sound of the bed thunking filling the air. Good— not bad— not enough, though, either. Stopping short, wheezing, you reached behind you to tap one of his hands. “Let go,” you said, tapping it again. “Both….” 

Immediately, the pressure released and he backed up without a question, slipping out of you with a wet drop. Gulping, you forced yourself up and sat back on your knees to steady yourself before turning. “You ok?” he asked. “You good?” His cheeks were red and his chest and arms were sweaty and shining, lips swollen and bitten up, eyes dark but sharp and attentive on you. 

“Mmhm.” You pushed him by the shoulders and he teetered in his surprise before he fell on his back with a muted grunt. Hands on his chest, you swung one leg over him and lowered down to rest on the underside of his cock. His nostrils flared and his eyes bounced from your face to where you were sliding back and forth on top of him. 

“What—” Harry cleared his throat. “What’re you doing?” 

“Told me to fuck myself on your cock,” you reminded him, inhaling sharply when your clit bumped his head through the condom. “Didn’t you?” 

Again he cleared his throat and ran his hands up and down your thighs. “C’mon, love,” he muttered. “Please. Don’t leave me hanging?” 

“Why?” you said, laughing as his head fell back. “Have all night, don’t we? That’s what you told me.”

“M’fucking balls are gonna explode,” he said, groaning. “Seriously, I’m like….” 

Still laughing, you lowered your chest while lifting your hips, and with your mouth on his, you guided his cock back in. One of his hands clapped down immediately on your ass and held you there when you began to rock again, finding a steady rhythm. Sloppier, rougher, but your clit was against him and the pressure was perfect. 

“Oh my God, you feel so good,” you said between kisses. “You’re making me feel so— oh!” you exclaimed breathily.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Making y’feel good? You feel good? You feel….” Harry swallowed conclusively. “Fuck me, look at y’riding me like this!” 

The hazy part of your brain hoped it was as good for him as it was for you, because this was amazing for you. 

“Jesus, y’so….” Harry groaned, a deep, helpless sound. “Lis— listen to me,” he said. “Can y’do that? Can y’let me make it good for us?” 

You didn’t answer at first, caught off guard. 

“Trust me, darling,” he mumbled. “I can make it so good for you, I promise.”

“What? What, what—?”

“When I say stop,” Harry said. “Y’gonna stop.”

You whimpered.

“Just for a bit,” he rushed on. “Just for a bit, love, only for a moment.” He kissed you hard and quick. “S’gonna feel so good when y’cum,” he said. “I promise you, you’re gonna feel so good when you cum. Right?” 

Rolling your hips, you huffed against his mouth. You were exhausted — your muscles were sore, used, and felt like they’d been stretched taught to the point of snapping more than once from the tremors rippling through you. 

“Stop,” he whispered. Eyes squeezed shut, his cock pulsed inside you. “Stop, please—”

Whining, you came to a still, panting and dropping your head onto his shoulder, heart beating in your throat. 

“That’s good!” he said, hand slipping up your sweaty back. “Good girl, just… just for a moment.” 

“I wanna cum,” you admitted, more broken and needy than you liked. 

“Promise,” he said, patting your shoulder, “y’gonna cum. Gonna take good fucking care of you.” 

Again and again, you stopped and started, each stop happening sooner and sooner with both of you so close. You could feel how swollen you were from the repeated almosts, but even without finishing you knew he was right and that when you did finish it would be indescribably intense. He’d rolled you onto your back at one point and pulled out, trembling from head to toe with a glazed over look in his eyes as he fought to pull himself back, but by the time you were asking him to please, let you cum — you were tired, you wanted it, you just wanted to cum — you were back on top.

“Please, don’t stop,” you breathed. “Oh, please, oh—”

“So cum, then,” he groaned between his teeth. “Fucking cum.” 

A cramp shot through your foot right when every muscle in you tightened, and you were pretty sure this was the ugliest you’d ever sounded when you came since the time you had your first orgasm and hadn’t had the ability to process the new sensations, but it felt… incredible. Hot, like everything in you had snapped and crackled and was shooting through you in fizzling tingles, and seconds later, he thrust up with a strangled sound in his throat and you felt his cock throbbing in you with each stream of cum. Shaking, his head dropped back off the side of the bed and he wheezed through each breath. Dropping your forehead to his shoulder, you gulped for air, trembling, ears ringing. The whole world might as well have been spinning for how steady you felt.

“Holy shit,” he breathed at last. “That was—”

“Yeah,” you said, relief flooding you. Him too — not just you. “Gimme a minute and I’ll….”

“S’ok,” he said, patting your ass. “Can take your time.” 

***

You didn’t remember falling asleep. You didn’t remember much at all after the sex, honestly — how you’d gotten off him, or when he’d gotten rid of the condom, or if you’d even peed — although you did have a fuzzy memory of him calling down for room service and getting it despite it being after hours. 

Waking up now, though, every bone in your body felt like they’d been fused together and then cracked. You rolled over, stretching and shaking, and your arm dropped to the side and swiped through the empty sheets — warm — as you listened to the shower running. When you finally opened your eyes, it was pitch black save for the crack of light coming from the bathroom. The blackout curtains had been pulled — he must’ve done that — and you twisted to look at the alarm clock next to the bed. 

“Morning.”

Harry approached the bed, already wearing his trousers and t-shirt, hands full of the items from the bathroom countertop. His hair was damp at the ends but not washed, only his clothes evidencing his walk of shame. 

“Morning,” you said.

He grinned crookedly. “How d’you feel?” he asked. “Y’know — with all that… wine and caffeine.” He smirked as if in on a private joke and you pressed your lips together. Pointed, and not at all about the wine and caffeine. 

“Fine.” Amazing. “You’re up early.” 

Still smirking, he said, “Have to leave for the airport in a bit.” 

Already? That was… fast. Surprising, but not at all. The opposite of last night that’d felt like it’d gone on forever, but that was ending in a blink.

“It’s early,” you said, repeating your earlier sentiment.

“Headed to Philadelphia.”

You deflated. Right. “I’ll get dressed,” you said. You sat up, sheet tucked under your arms and across your chest.

“Don’t.” Harry dropped his items in his open suitcase on the overstuffed chair in the corner and a quick glance at the table revealed the laptop as well as the rest of his personal items had been swept from the suite. “Room’s mine until noon. I can call for a late check out, too, if you’d like. But you should stay — get some rest, order some breakfast.”

You shook your head. “I can’t, I—”

“Please?” he asked. “Paid for it, it should go to good use. ‘Less you got somewhere to be.” 

You didn’t — you’d purposefully picked Friday to be able to take as long as you needed to the next day, but you’d thought you’d need the time to pick up where things had left off, not to lounge in a suite without him. Sighing, you smiled softly, and he nodded his satisfaction. 

“Good,” he said as you leaned back against the headboard. “Take your time — sounds like you had a busy week.” His hands were hidden in his bag as he shuffled around inside. “This was fun,” he added quietly, the sound of his suitcase closing explosive in the silence.

“Mmm.” A vague sound, but you weren’t brave enough to say anything of substance. 

“When I fly back to London, I’m going to be stopping in Philly again,” he said. “If you’re around— maybe I can call you and see?” 

Not a dream — he was really standing in front of you asking if he could come up to see you sometime. When you didn’t respond, he looked at you from the corner of his eye, and you took a deep breath, snapping yourself out of your reverie. 

“Sure,” you said as nonchalantly as you could. “If I’m around.”

“If you’re around.” 

Jacket and cap on, Harry picked up his bag in one hand and held what looked like his passport and a boarding pass in the other. “Just gotta do one thing,” he muttered, and as he got closer, your lips parted. When he bent, though, he picked up the phone with one hooked finger and jabbed 0 with his knuckle. His necklaces dangled from his neck and he was so close his breath tickled your nose, eyes twinkling with mischief even as he mumbled a sorry. 

You were just about to playfully whisper that he did know it was a cordless phone, right, when you heard a pleasant, clipped voice on the other end. “Good morning,” he said. “M’calling because I’d like to see if it’s possible to get a late check out?” You shook your head but he ignored you. “Yeah— great, thanks. 2:00pm?” You rolled your eyes. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much, have a great day.”

“I won’t stay that long,” you said when he hung up.

“But now y’can if you want to.” 

Harry grinned even as you shook your head. 

“You have a plane to catch.”

“Kickin’ me out?” 

You shrugged and he chuckled. “Had a good time,” he said with the same quiet sincerity from before. 

“Me too,” you whispered. 

“Thank you. I’ll call—”

“Ok—”

You saw it, then — the faintest glimmer of hesitation and uncertainty, and honestly? You didn’t blame him. He’d flown in for a trip that, as far as you could tell, was for work, and he’d made a detour into the city for sex. The sex was done, and so was any physical intimacy, but it would feel… off to end the night with a handshake. 

Before you could think to say it was ok and he didn’t have to, though, he mumbled, “I’ll see you,” just as he leaned in. Short but not quick, you leaned into it, and then, just like that, it was over. 

***

You genuinely thought he’d forgotten about what he’d said. He was busy, and getting some wasn’t a priority, but when your phone rang with an unknown number some few weeks later, you paused and had half a second of questioning before picking up.

“Hello?” 

“Hello,” he returned it, sounding amused. “Y’not sure it’s me?” 

“I don’t have your number,” you reminded him. 

“Is now a good time to talk?” 

“Sure?” More of a question than an answer, but he went on before you could correct yourself.

“M’gonna be flying out tomorrow,” he said. In the background, you could hear noises like zippers and snaps, and he had a distant echo in his voice that made you wonder if you were on speaker. 

“Already?” you asked.

Harry laughed, loud but very far away. “Been a month or so,” he said.

“Really?” 

“S’almost the holidays, love,” he said. 

He was right — they were closer now than they were farther away, but it felt like only yesterday you’d been sweating and sharing a meal in a hole in the wall restaurant. 

“Are you free tomorrow night?” he asked. You bit your lip and your prolonged silence must’ve made him falter. “If you’re not, it’s ok,” he said. “Just wanted to ask, cause I know I said maybe… if—” 

“You’re flying to Philly from LA and then driving to the city?” 

Harry cleared his throat. “Actually… s’more like I’m flying into the city and then I’ll head on out to Philly… after….” 

After seeing you.

It was out of your mouth before you could think better. “You could stop by mine.” Silence greeted you and you kept talking to fill its void. “If the airport— I guess it depends— but even if you flew into Jersey you’d still have to go— except— I mean—”

He laughed on the other end and you groaned.

“I owe you dinner,” you said, face warm but a sheepish, unseen smile pulling at your mouth. “You’ve treated me twice.”

“Ok,” he drawled. “F’you wanna get me dinner, I can come by yours.” 

“I’ll text you the address — I have the thread.”

“And I’ll text you my number,” he added. “You should have it.”

Twenty-four hours later, you were rushing around your studio trying to make it feel like less of a shoebox. Stupid — you should’ve just asked for his hotel. He had to have one! This was sex, it wasn’t a you get this tab and I’ll get the next one sort of arrangement. The sheets on your bed were freshly changed, pillows fluffed (fluffed — who knew you’d ever fluff pillows), and you’d swept and wiped the floors down in the living-bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom alike, but everything still felt small and not enough. You’d lit some candles to try to compensate, but you’d gone on and off with them, blowing them and relighting them a handful of times as you went back and forth on whether or not they lent a feeling that didn’t belong in this sort of situation. Now, though, they burned and flickered on your coffee table, and you were just connecting your phone to the speaker when a knock on your door made you jump and spin.

“Coming!” 

You spared a cursory glance through the peephole before twisting locks and unhooking chains, his hulking figure filling your doorway.

“Texted,” he said apologetically. “But—”

“I was just cleaning up,” you said, opening the door wider. “Sorry— come in.” 

He shuffled past you with his printed luggage in hand, and your heart sank, ensnared in nerves, as he walked into the apartment that looked even smaller with him in it. Ears ringing, you could barely hear the notes of whatever album your phone had selected to autoplay. It was small, but it was yours — all yours — and if it didn’t meet his standards, then he didn’t have to stay.

“It’s—”

“Nice place,” he said slowly, and the upbeat lilt told you he wasn’t being facetious. Your shoulders fell with relief and the tension relaxed out of your neck. “That’s a nice candle,” he added, sniffing the air. 

“It’s a little smaller than your hotel room,” you said.

“Been on tour buses, love,” he said, setting his luggage down. “There’s not really much smaller than a bunk racing across the country.” 

Smiling, you squeezed your arms as he unzipped his coat and took his cap off. “How was your flight?” you asked.

“Dunno, really,” he said, running a hand through his mostly flattened curls. Unlike last time, he didn’t have his rings on, and his fingers looked longer and more slender without them. “Slept through most of it — had a bit of turbulence over Colorado or Utah or wherever, but it wasn’t tha’ bad.” 

“Good,” you said. “If you wanna… um….” You jerked your thumb towards a door. “Bathroom’s there, if you need to clean up or anything.”

He nodded. “That’d be great, thanks. In there?” 

You stepped aside to let him by, catching the distinct waft of plane and warmth and the spicy vanilla smell you’d come to associate with him. When he closed the door behind him, you exhaled and again spun through the apartment, shoving shoes under your bed to finish your tidying before carefully pulling the coffee table away from the sofa — his legs were longer, he’d need the room. You’d just smoothed out the rug when your phone buzzed and you grabbed it, seeing both the texts he’d sent you before that you’d missed in your focus as well as the one from your delivery man letting you know the food was outside. Perfect. 

“S’a good album,” Harry said from the bathroom doorway after you locked up again. You jumped, gripping the bag with a knuckle-popping hold. You didn’t think it was possible to be quiet and sneaky in a place like this. “Sorry,” he said, snickering.

“I like it,” you breathed. “Dinner’s….” You lifted the bag on your way past him and heard him trailing after you. You set it on the coffee table and sat on the sofa as you popped the staples on the paper bag. “It’s nothing amazing.”

“That’s a review,” he teased, sitting next to you. “Now I can’t wait.”

“Shut up,” you said and he laughed loudly. “It’s just this place that’s nearish — El Diablito — they’ve got really good nachos and burritos.”

“Mexican, then?”

“Yeah.” Fuck. “Probably should’ve thought of that since you’ve just come back from LA,” you muttered.

“S’fine,” he said. “Didn’t really have much Mexican.”

You arched a brow and he coughed into his hand. 

“So, d’I get a burrito?”

You nodded and pulled a hot, foil-wrapped item out of the bag. “Careful,” you warned, purposefully busying yourself with pulling the rest of the food out of the bag as he unfolded it.

“Looks good,” he said. From the corner of your eye, you watched him adjust his grip and angle his head before stretching his jaw wide to take a bite. You looked away quickly, almost overwhelmed by how comical it’d been, but when you looked back you found him chewing thoughtfully.

“You can have some of my quesadilla if you don’t like it,” you said quickly. “And the nachos are for both of us to pick at.”

Still, he didn’t say anything, until at last he swallowed and his lips smacked several times. “S’good,” he said thickly. “Like, that’s….” He peered at the corner he’d bitten into almost in disbelief. “That’s really good.” Again he stretched his mouth almost comically wide, tongue out, and this time you did laugh. Mouth full, he glanced up at you with unblinking eyes and mumbled a muffled, “What?” through his bite. 

“Nothing,” you said, grinning and unwrapping your own food. “Go on, eat.” 

“All right, calm down,” he said. “Have the whole night ahead of us.”

[melisa-may-taylor72]

Accolades such as “greatest single long-playing achieve­ment since Sgt. Pepper” and “the most important record album ever made” fall over Queen’s latest album as easily as butter melt­ing on a hot potato—but few realize what a hot potato the album actually was in its pre-release days. It took a bevy of high-powered attorneys, some low-life finagling, and more than the usual amount of wheeler­dealing just to get the album out without its being hacked to death by defamation-of-character suits.

Guitarist Brian May explains: “I’m in real difficulty here because I’ve been threatened with libel because our old management had a good go at stop­ping the album coming out. They thought “Death on Two Legs’’ was about them. They wanted us to take the track off and we nearly had to, and in fact they got a load of money out of our publishing company be­cause it supposedly was libelous, but it’s never been proven. It’s all very stupid—they wanted to sue Freddie, the band, the publishing company, and the record company.”

All very dramatic stuff, but a band like Queen survives not on operatic finesse alone, but on gut-level melo- dramatics in the business department as well. When you produce your rec­ords, write the songs, play all the in­struments, and do everything your­self, chances are you’re going to have to pay some legal dues, too. But ah! the rewards—such as the single, “Bo­hemian Rhapsody,” hanging into the #1 spot in the British charts for seven weeks in a row!

“We’re a bit more in the public eye now, we’re starting to get recognized a lot more,” says Brian May. “We’re carrying on working just as we did before, but obviously we’re very pleas­ed with how the record’s doing. It’s sold more than a million copies in England— can’t believe it.” But it’s true: Queen’s stature in England has risen from that of The #1 teenage hard rock band to that of the-group- that-made-the-single-that-every-house- wife-knows-by-heart”.

What propelled Queen in that di­rection is their Night at the Opera album, a slight departure from what Queen fans know to be the Queen sound. The hard rock screams have temporarily subsided, replaced by ex­perimentation with different voicings of instruments and production tricks. Those who found Queen’s approach overdecibelled can relax to the quiet “ ‘39” or “Good Company” and tap their feet to “Lazing on a Sunday Af­ternoon” without fear of being gui- tarred to death. “It’s just what came out,” says Brian. “They’re offshoots of our main direction. There’s plenty of time for the rock.”

“The album wasn’t really supposed to go in the direction that it did, it was just the songs we had. While we were making it we were thinking, ‘Yeah, it is getting a bit light,’ but rather than fight against it we de­cided to do it properly and then think again afterwards. So instead of try­ing to heavy up the lighter things, we pressed on. We had a few things we didn’t use, but we’re getting more demanding of ourselves. There are a few heavy things kicking around, but we may use them on the next record.”

The two strongest forces in Queen have always been Brian and Freddie. With A Night at the Opera, where experimentation and branching out in new directions are the most obvious characteristics, the personalities of the band are often obscured by the newly emerging elements. “Some­times I feel that Freddie and I are going in different directions, but then he’ll come up with something and I’ll think, ‘My God—we do think alike.’ When I’m working on one of his things I can tune in very easily to what guitar part he wants, and vice-versa. In terms of what we’re trying to do in songs, we are moving in different directions, but I think that could be a good thing.”

QUEEN II: Critical response to the band is now almost unanimous­ly favorable in both Great Britain and the United States, which is quite phe­nomenal when you stop and think of how anxious many critics were to pan them two years ago.“I’m not going to take it too seriously,” Brian says, “because I remember what the critics said about Queen II. It would seem that everybody is beginning to like us. … very much. I can take it at that level, but there’s no doubt in my mind that sometime in the future there’ll come a time when we get slagged for everything. Queen II is still my favorite of the Queen albums, certainly the most daring. Especially for the time. I think we’re still finding our feet now, and the way I feel about the new album is that we’re searching for new directions and most of them are sort of half-formed. We’ve got the Queen II feel in some places, and in others we’ve got the Sheer Heart Attack polish. I don’t think we’re quite sure where we’re going”.

“This album, at the very least, ne­gates all the comparisons to Led Zep­pelin that we’ve been living with for the past three years. I think Physical Graffiti is amazing, by the way. I saw Zeppelin at Earls Court, and I met Pagey afterward, for the first time. It was great, he was very nice and gentle. I respect him a tremendous amount for “Kashmir” and “The Light,” for being able to put his brain on record—- it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t play a note.”

Economic criticism has been less favorable, however. A Night at the Opera was wide­ly rumored to be “the most expensive album ever made” when it was released, a point which Queen’s management denies. Nevertheless, Queen has been taken to task by quite a few English journalists for spending so much money estimated at £30-40,000—making one record. Brian has a retort: “We wouldn’t have spent so much money if the studios weren’t so bloody expensive!

The album was recorded in seven of them, sometimes three at once.” We weren’t mucking about for any of it, it was four months of solid work. It came down to having the equipment available for four months, and we didn’t begrudge the amount of time spent in the studios, but it comes to a fair amount of money. There’s a lot of things that seem light, like “Good Company,” which actually took a great deal of time and care. All those trumpets and clarinets being fashioned from guitar sounds—I took it quite seriously because I wanted to do it right, even though it was a light­hearted thing. We worked too hard for our own health, we got a bit down and depressed.”

While Queen was laying about England between record and tour, a few of them got going on some independent projects. Brian and Roger produced an R&B group’s single, but there were some record company hassles and it may be some time before the record gets released. And on the eve of the Amer­ican tour, Freddie Mercury went into the studios with a singer/songwriter managed by the Rocket Organization (which manages Queen as well) to try his hand at production. “Eddie How­ells is the guy’s name, and he’s man­aged by David Mead, and they’re do­ing a single for Warners. I’m play­ing some guitar on it.” Brian re­strained himself from going out on any limbs before the American tour in order to get himself physically fit. His health had been a crucial prob­lem on an earlier American tour, and he’s not particularly anxious to spend time in hospitals when he could be on­stage instead. “I actually get more tired offtour than ontour,”he admits. But I am in good health.”

HAIRY LEGS: Once the English leg of the tour did get started, word started to flow very quickly back to the States about Queen’s dramatic stage show—a stage show to end all stage shows, with Mercury donning short-shorts to add a bit of the hairy leg to Queen’s otherwise pristeen pre­sentation. “The show is the same, but different,” Brian says confusedly. “We’ve merely developed what we did before with some new material from the new album. It’s a bit of re­shuffling. Plus we do “Doing All- right” from the first album, which we’ve never done onstage before. And “Seven Seas of Rhye,” which we’d do in England but never in America be­fore. It’s quite a lot different, ac­tually.”

American audiences got their first chance to sample the new presenta­tion on January 27 in Waterbury, Conn., when the first concert of Queen’s scheduled 32-date, 21-city American tour got underway in the Palace Theatre. After arriving in the States at Kennedy International on January 20 and spending a couple of days in New York for interviews, Queen began five days of rehearsals at the Palace to ready their show for American fans across the country.

After Waterbury they dove headfirst into the intensive six-week tour, which featured extended runs in New York, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles before its scheduled end March 12 at the San Diego Sports Arena.

Despite the novel direction of the new album, onstage Queen proved to be the same rocking outfit they’ve always been, letting loose with the same kind of guitar-bass-drums-piano barrage they’ve delivered in the past. “We don’t do “39” or “Lazing on aSunday Afternoon” in our show,“ Brian explains. He seems a bit defensive of Queen’s rock spirit, which is kept intact in the live set by “BohemianRhapsody,” “Sweet Lady,” “Prophet Song” and the deletion of the “experimental tunes” from A Night At the Opera.

By the by, those who missed Queenon earlier tours but want to see how they’ve changed now have the means. Queen bave joined the prestigious ranks of the Zeppelins, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones whereby sorne illegal entrepreneur has issued a boot­ leg album of one of their American concerts. “I hate those things-they rarely give an accurate picture of the group,” Brian states unequivocally, and in this case he’s right. The Queen bootleg has transistor radio fidelity, and the only truly audible members of the band are Brian and Freddie. Yet the fact that a bootleg exists confirms the fact that Queen is now well on their way to the top.

CIRCUS MAGAZINE, APRIL 1975

@natromanxoff, @mephisto92, @moviestorian, @x5vale, @39-brian, @onegoldenglance, @crosmopolitan, @an-abyss-called-life, @his-majesty-king-mercury, @i-live-for-queen, @brian-39-may, @toomuchlove-willkillyou, @brimaymay, @sail-away-sweet-sister, @drummerqueenrmt, @old-fashioned-roger-boy-deactiv, @briianmaay, @l-over-bo-y, @inui-mycroft, @deacytits, @iminlovewithrogscar, @drowseoftaylor, @brianmayislongaway, @balticlover, @astrophysicist-guitar-god​, @miez-lakatz, @brianmayoucease, @jesus-in-a-life-boat, @roger-taylors-car, @silapril, @sherrifanciesfriskyfreddie, @tenderbri, @brianmydear, @thosequeenboys, @millionairewaltz-carpediem, @painandpleasure86, @bribrifrenchfry, @xlucylennonx, @a-night-at-the-abbey-road, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @madformeddowstaylor, @queenrogertaylorfan, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @queen-for-life, @rethought, @darlinginnuendo, @mymakeupmaybeflaking, @old-but-still-a-child, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @warriorteam1924, @funnydressesweirdhairanddance, @painkiller80, @thefanhuman13, @yourtieddownmother, @hgmercury39, @brimi-stardust, @thefairyfellermercury, @retroromantics, @foxmonkey, @sophiaintheskywithdiamonds, @holybrianmaywritingbear, @lydiannode, @39-yellow-daffodils , @ure-gonna-loveme-when-u-seeme, @kaykaybeachgirl, @rhysjoejoshtomfarisblog @redspecialandclogsandcurls, @briansrainbowsocks, @delilahmay39, @ohmybribri, @bless-the-queen, @infunitehearbeat, @sketchiesscketches, @everythingaboutfreddie, @doitforthevine67, @recordsoftheseventies, @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes, @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band, @beatlegirl1968, @maylorsqueen, @shearrehartatacc, @gralto, @alittlepeoplemagic, @rainbowsockbrian, @sailawaysweetbrimi

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Nora Roberts Shit Like That

PART FORTY-THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of depression symptoms, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.4K

Summary: Ella performs another exercise in spontaneity.

A/N: We've still got the epilogue left, but this is the final regular chapter. Sorry this took so long; endings give me writer’s block. Thank you so much for reading! I have absolutely loved writing this story. I hope you like this chapter! :)

By late May, summer was blooming early and warm and fragrant in Philadelphia. Ella pulled her hair back in a low bun as she padded out onto the terrace. The sun was finally going down, painting the sky a pinkish orange. In the small view of the city past the other apartment buildings, she could see the buildings beginning to light up, tiny and twinkly. Jess was already out there, with a copy of Sharp Objects in hand. He chewed on his eraser, his brows furrowed as he concentrated on the words. There were already chunks of Ella’s messy cursive decorating the pages, and she’d insisted he read it as soon as she finished it the week before. He was already three quarters of the way through.

“This book is fucking crazy, Stevens,” he said as she walked out, not looking up from the text.

“Yeah, cutie. That’s why I like it,” she told him, smiling widely and leaning against the railing next to him.

“So unpredictable,” he deadpanned.

“Whatever, James Dean,” she replied, rolling her eyes and snorting a laugh.

Smirking, he finally shut the book and tossed it back onto one of the mismatched armchairs. Following her gaze, he saw the flaming orangey sun descending behind the cityscape. With the evening light reflected against her freckled face, he could see the green flecks in her eyes when he turned to look at her.

At first, she had not wanted to go to the graduation ceremony at all. She certainly wasn’t walking across the stage in a gown. But, she decided to go for the undergrads she had been the teacher assistant for. They clapped in the auditorium, and went out with Chris, Leo, Matthew, and Mabel to try the new Italian restaurant, which ended up being decent. It wasn’t entirely unceremonious, but there wasn’t much fanfare. Jess didn’t expect Ella to want anything more. She’d ended up finishing her finals a week before the actual ceremony, anyway.

But, still, she was finally done. Chris had even ordered a cake for the table in celebration, despite Ella’s blushy protests. She doubted it would sink in for a while. She was a perpetual student, and was already beginning to feel anxious without steady classwork and homework. But she would start teaching her summer classes in a week or two, and she was planning to fill her time with art and helping out at Truncheon until then.

For the moment, though, she watched the sunset. She felt the night begin to cool down, breezes blowing past her. And Jess could practically feel her relax. Since deciding to take the job at Penn, she’d seemed calmer. He hadn’t realized just how heavily it had been weighing on her until after it was over. She was using vibrant color in her paintings again, which he hadn’t seen in what felt like years. She was coming around to Truncheon after her classes, spending nights with their friends up in the apartment. She was playing music with Leo and running lines with Mabel.

Of course, she still had days when she felt so hopeless about the state of her life, and honestly, the world, that she couldn’t even explain her sadness. But she was working on it. She was trying. It made Jess so proud he almost couldn’t handle it. Watching her, so comfortable in her own skin, made a tiny smirk form on his lips.

As though she could feel his gaze, she suddenly faced him again. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said lightly. “Just looking at you.”

“At me?” she mocked him with dramatic batting of her eyelashes and a breathy voice.

“What can I say? You’re irresistible,” he quipped with a shrug.

She rolled her eyes, trying to brush off the flush rising to her cheeks. “You have to stop saying Nora Roberts shit like that to me.”

“Never,” he shot back smugly.

“Jackass.”

“Nihilist,” he said, then pressed a kiss to her rosy cheek. “A nihilist with a master’s degree.”

“Yeah, it seems that way,” she said, her words a sigh.

“Hey, Stevens,” he began, tilting his head at her a little.

“Yes, Mariano?” she echoed, teasing.

“I’m really proud of you,” he said sincerely.

She bit at the inside of her cheek and smoothed her hands over her simple olive green dress, fidgety and blushing once more. “Thank you. I’m proud of me, too.”

Jess’s smile widened but he felt his heartbeat picking up, stomach churning with anxiety. He felt so wholly content standing next to her, so completely enveloped by love. Dimples and Bette Davis eyes and a loud laugh. So stubborn and passionate and understanding. She was the end and the beginning of everything for him, and he almost felt out of breath at the thought of what was going to happen next. He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his mouth anxiously.

“You okay?” she asked, noticing his uneasiness.

He nodded. “Yeah, Elle...yeah.”

Sighing, Jess decided to bite the bullet, rip off the bandaid. His hands were shaky with excitement. He went over to the suit jacket draped over the armchair behind him. Reaching into his inside pocket, he grabbed the small velvet box. Ella looked on in confusion, as he turned back around and landed on one knee.

A thick shadow of realization crossed her face and her mouth fell slightly agape. “No way.”

“Look, I know you don’t like the big romantic stuff. And please stop me if this all too much of a patriarchal mating ritual for you. But I love you and you love me and we love each other,” he began, looking up at her. He had told himself not to cry, but he was already starting to. With the sunset behind her, Ella looked ethereal and beautiful. “And we’re supposed to be together.”

She rolled her eyes though they were growing tearful, letting out a scoff as he repeated back his own words from years earlier. The night he had tried to get her to come with him to New York flashed across her mind, but her heart didn’t twist in pain at the memory. Instead, it fluttered pleasantly.

“You Hemingway motherfucker,” she whispered through a watery laugh, though she blinked away the tears.

He chuckled breathily, face hot with scarlet color. “I’ll take that one as a compliment. But...I think we should get married. What about you?”

A small giggle escaped her lips before she could help it and she just couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she spoke. “Y’know, most of the time, I don’t really see the point in getting married.”

Jess’s face fell for only a second.

“But that’s most of the time,” she said. “Not when I’m with you, James Dean.”

After a moment of shock on his face, he scoffed and gave a dramatic groan. “Fuck off, Daria.”

Ella shrugged. “Just thought I should give you a taste of your own medicine,” she told him, smile turning to a smirk. “But, if you still wanna marry me after that one, then I’d love to.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “Really.”

Rising quickly, he enveloped her in a tight hug and kissed her. His lips were gentle and sweet, and almost reminded her of their first kiss so many years ago. Then again, each time he kissed her was pretty much as good as, if not better than, the first time. And, to her surprise, she felt no fear. Something clicked inside her, and she was completely certain. When she pulled away to look at him, she wiped at the stray tears which had fallen on his cheeks.

“I can’t believe you got down on one knee and everything,” she said.

He shrugged humbly. “I try.”

“That you do.”

He looked away from her intense gaze shyly and took a step back, holding the open ring box out to her. “Do you want this ring, by the way?”

“Ah yes! I almost forgot!” she said emphatically. As he had spoken, knelt down, she hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away from his own. Brown and sparkling and kind.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she saw the tiny stone. A polished light purple amethyst shone in the center, and she took it out and slipped the thin gold band over her left ring finger, staring at it. It fit perfectly, and Jess almost couldn’t believe it. After having found it in a tray in the antique store, he’d thought at least some resizing would be necessary.

“I know it’s not huge or anything, but-”

“It’s perfect, Mariano. I mean, it’s fucking lavendar,” she said, flabbergasted.

Jess smirked a tiny smirk. “Yeah, well, lavender is for luck.”

.   .   .

Sat at the island with a paper open in front of him, Jess munched on his cereal. He couldn’t help the smile which was constantly tugging at the corners of his mouth. They were getting married. In all honesty, he hadn’t been entirely sure she would say yes, given her aversion to most things traditional and romantic. Then again, she had certainly seemed to come around to his idealist ways as of late, at least a little bit. And he’d wanted to do it the way it was usually done, on one knee with a ring box open in his hand. He didn’t know exactly what had possessed him to do so, but he was glad. She deserved something normal, something just the right amount of sweet.

Padding on bare feet, Ella waltzed towards the kitchen wearing nothing but one of Jess’s t-shirts, body and mind light from the night before. The early sunshine of the morning bathed the apartment in a sparkling golden glow, made more beautiful by their own joy, it seemed. On her finger, she wore the ring, still new and foreign. But she felt her heart speed up a bit every time she looked down at it. She, too, had been surprised at the way he’d proposed. But, somehow, it managed to feel perfect. It wasn’t over-the-top, but it felt like Jess. Earnest and charming.

He didn’t hear her, too engrossed in his reading, until she pressed a kiss to the top of his head on her way by. He winked at her when they made eye contact, and she rolled her eyes playfully in response as she put on some tea and coffee.

“Hey, Jess?” she asked, leaning over the counter across from him, mimicking their days at Luke’s Diner.

“Hm?” he said, looking up from the news with eyebrows raised.

“Do you wanna get married?” She bit at the inside of her cheek, slightly anxious.

“Well, considering I just proposed to you yesterday, I’d say yeah, I wanna get married,” he replied, teasing and slightly confused.

“No. I meant today,” she continued.

He chuckled a bit, but then saw she was serious. “Today?”

A smile blossomed on her face and she shrugged. “Yeah. Why not? Let’s just go down to the courthouse. We could call up Chris and everyone, to see if they wanna be our witnesses. ”

He gave a surprised scoff, raising his eyebrows. “Pretty spontaneous of you.”

She shrugged, a small smirk on her lips. “I learned from the best. I mean, do you really wanna spend all that money? I don’t really care about having a wedding. The whole tradition seems pretty antiquated to me, anyway.”

“Agreed,” Jess replied, nodding. “Except, what about Luke and Lorelai? And Lane?”

“I mean, we’ve all been to weddings. They’re pretty much the same every time. We can send them a card or something. I just wanna do it, Mariano,” she said, eyes wide and starry with excitement. “I don’t wanna wait. I mean, we’ve been together, more or less, for like, seven years.”

“Minus about four years in the middle there,” Jess pointed out, chuckling.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Like you weren’t pining for me that whole time, loverboy.”

“Hypocrite,” he shot back. “You really wanna do this””

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” she said, with the most certainty possible. It made Jess so happy he almost wanted to start crying.

“You sure you don’t wanna plan it out and everything? I know how much you love planning,” Jess said. His heart was racing in his chest at her proposition. But, he was waiting for her to second-guess it, for her feet to turn cold. He didn’t want her to doubt her decision later, even if the idea of marrying her immediately made him beyond ecstatic.

“I love you more, though,” she said. “But I only want to do it if you want to also. What do you say, James Dean? Is today our wedding day?”

His smile grew, and he was practically beaming. “Yeah. It is.”

.   .   .

After a couple hours waiting on cold, hard wooden benches in the lobby of the courthouse, with Chris snapping as many pictures as possible on his fancy camera (which he bought inexplicably) and Mabel fussing over whether she had done Ella’s makeup well enough, the six of them stood in the air conditioning of the courthouse’s makeshift chapel. In her hands, Ella held a bouquet of thirteen yellow daffodils Jess had picked up from the supermarket on the way. Her stomach was doing flips, her smile was beginning to hurt her cheeks. Despite the spontaneity of the decision, she was beginning to feel like she had been waiting forever. The period after arriving at the courthouse when Leo had to sweet talk one of his friends from high school, who worked as an administrator at city hall, into giving them a marriage license without the customary 24-hour delay had been agony. But they had pulled it off.

They had all made an effort to look presentable, though Ella could hear her mother’s voice in the back of her mind calling them ragamuffins. Jess wore a simple white button-down with black pants, along with his only pair of real leather shoes and a belt to match. Over it, he wore the suit jacket Ella had been so shocked to see him in when she’d first come to Truncheon’s open house. No tie, of course. The only white dress Ella owned was covered in a pattern of black flowers, and she found the traditional sentiments about virginity behind white dresses to be troubling, to say the least. Instead, she opted for a plain navy blue dress with spaghetti straps, made from satin. It was the fanciest piece of clothing she owned, bought for a party at Truncheon two months earlier that had ultimately been cancelled due to a phantom March blizzard. If she had known at the time that it was to be her wedding dress, she would have laughed in disbelief.

On her feet were her old black ballet flats. She felt as though not wearing them would violate old time’s sake. Her hair was curled and pinned half-back. Her makeup was minimal, with small winged black eyeliner and muted pink lip gloss, a little less than she would have done on herself. But Mabel had practically squealed with delight when Ella asked her to put together the wedding look. Her heart swelled at the sight of Matthew and Chris standing behind Jess, and the thought of Leo and Mabel behind her. After so long feeling out of place, Ella thought she was exactly where she was supposed to be, with the exact right people. If she didn’t know any better, she would have called it destiny. But, at the idea, she wanted to roll her eyes at herself. It was Jess’s job to pull out the Hemingway bullshit.

Jess. As he stood across from her, she could see the ghost of the boy she’d met at the diner back when she was a frustrated high schooler. Back when he had been an angry kid. She thought of love at first sight, and how silly it was, and how whole-heartedly he believed in it. A jewel of fondness sat warmly in her core, and her eyes shone brightly with affection. Even back then, he had given her some sort of lively joy when her world was flat, filled with monotony, drudgery, grief. He had shown her how life could be, if she stopped holding onto her pain so tightly. And she liked to think she had shown him a thing or two, as well.

He looked so grown up. Still, it often struck her how much he had changed. The stubble on his jaw, the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled his slightly crooked smile, or, of course, smirked. His more respectable haircut and his more mature way of dressing. But there would always be a part of him that was exactly the same as it always had been. The foundation that sometimes cracked but never crumbled. The two of them against the world. She thought, not for the first time, of how wholly she trusted in him, more than she ever had before. He felt safe. She felt like she had known him for all eternity. And she felt so sure of marrying him that it was staggering. She swallowed thickly as the officiant gave his dull spiel about legal commitment, which he probably gave to some hopeful young couple every day. Blinking back the happy tears, willing them not to fall and ruin the makeup Mabel had worked so hard on, Ella did as the officiant said and passed her bouquet to Leo behind her. She and Jess joined hands. For some reason, the gesture seemed a bit cheesy, but she did it anyway, not without a sardonic smirk. He gave her fingers a squeeze of reassurance, winking at her, reading her expression expertly. She almost snorted a laugh, but bit the inside of her cheek to stop it. The officiant asked who would like to say their vows first, and Ella immediately spoke up.

“I will,” she said, looking over at the man and then back into Jess’s eyes. “You’re the writer here and I have no interest in following whatever you’re gonna say.”

Jess laughed a little, along with the rest of them, and nodded. He took in a deep breath, still shocked at what was happening. For the life of him, he could not remember a time he had ever before felt so content. The small, nagging voice in his mind told him he didn’t deserve her. She was perfect, after all. But then, she wasn’t, was she? She was stubborn and pessimistic and sometimes stuck in her ways. He loved those things about her, too, even if he sometimes didn’t like them. He had loved her the moment he saw her, and still did, even after finding her flaws. And she loved him, even after finding his. The thought made the voice in his head go completely quiet, for the first time in a very long time. The broken pieces of the puzzles which made them up just happened to fit together exactly, and that was all that mattered, he decided. And he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t nervous about her falling out of love with him. He wasn’t worried about her realizing he wasn’t enough. Instead, he felt complete. He felt ready.

Ella cleared her throat, biting the inside of her cheek again. Then, after taking a moment to compose herself, she began: “So, here we are, Mariano. I’m really happy we decided to do this today, but that means we didn’t have time to plan what to say beforehand. And, like I said, you’re the writer here. So, I’m just gonna try my best...like we always do. We try for each other. I promise I’ll keep trying forever. Because there’s not been one second since I met you that I haven’t wanted to be with you. I miss you whenever you’re gone, even if you’re only gone for a minute. Even when I fucking hate you, I want you with me. Because you are the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m home.”

Pausing for a moment, she blinked back her tears again. And she disentangled one of her hands from his, to wipe away the dampness on his cheeks with her thumb. His face reddened with embarrassment, but still, the small smile was ever-present on his lips. She clasped her hand in his once more, and continued.

“I love you, simple as that. I didn’t even believe in love when I met you. But then you came and fucked that mindset up royally. You gave me a bed when I was drunk, and you wrote notes in the margins of my books, and you showed me the Hudson River. And a million other things. I have never known a person who is more kind and intelligent and generous and thoughtful. And such a smartass,” she added, and everyone laughed.

She shrugged playfully, and squeezed his hands in return. “You’re the fucking best. You’re it, cutie. I know you know how I feel about that hopeless romantic bullshit you’re partial to. And I never thought I’d believe in soulmates. But, today, with you, I do. Because you’re mine, James Dean. And I’m yours. You once told me we belonged to each other, and I think that’s true. So, why not make it official in the eyes of the law?”

Again, they laughed. But Jess had to choke back more crying at her words. And he had to prepare himself for what he knew was coming. She had always been the better public speaker. He was so nervous he could barely contain himself, despite her beautiful vows. In fact, maybe even because of them. She wasn’t the writer, but she’d pretty much nailed it, he thought. For a fleeting moment, he felt sick from the anxiety. What if he fucked it up? But, again, she squeezed his hands.

And he felt more sure of himself as the officiant passed the torch to him. He cleared his throat, sniffed, and met her ardent hazel gaze. At once, he felt like it was just the two of them.

“I may be the writer, Stevens. But in just a minute everyone will see why I didn’t go into public speaking,” he began. She shook her head a little at him and giggled, urging him to go on. “When I came back to Stars Hollow for my mom’s wedding, all I could think about was you. You were everywhere in that town, even when you weren’t. I wanted to tell you how much I loved you, and I didn’t know how. Granted, the plan I came up with to tell you definitely wasn’t the best. But, while I was there, Luke gave me this book to help me...learn about open communication.”

She let out another laugh and her cheeks were mirthful roses.

“Hilarious, I know,” he deadpanned, and she kept giggling. The sound made his grin widen. “Anyway, I’ll spare you the details, even though you’ve been asking me for them for years. I always wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Pretty much since the minute I saw you, honey. Even if you can’t relate to that Hemingway stuff, as you so eloquently put it. But there was one part in the book that made me decide to tell you. The narrator’s talking about the divorce of these two middle-aged tragedies named Philip and Judy. The narrator says Philip would have figured out how much he loved Judy if he had asked himself a few questions.”

Pausing, he averted her gaze for a moment. “I can’t believe Luke isn’t here to see me put this shit in my vows. I’m sorry, Eleanor.”

She chuckled through the happy tears welling in her eyes. “It’s okay, cutie. It’s perfect.”

He cleared his throat, nodding slightly. Taking his hands out of her grip, he reached into his jacket pocket to pull out an old, folded book page. He opened it, looking down, and began once more. “He should have asked himself the following questions: ‘Whose phone calls or visits are never unwanted or too long? Do you see her face? Who would you most like to have in your life to ward off moments of loneliness? Do you see her face? When you travel, who would make your travels more enjoyable? Do you see her face? When you’re in pain, who would you most like to comfort you? Do you see her face? When something wonderful happens in your life, with whom would you first want to share the news? Do you see her face? Whose face appears to you?’”

After the recitation, he folded the piece of paper back up and tucked it inside his jacket.

“Did you keep that this whole time?” she asked, blurting out the question before she could stop herself. She was overwhelmed with affection at the gesture, and for the moment, she could see no one else besides Jess as he stood across from her.

“Yeah, I ripped it out before I gave the book back to Luke,” he explained, lowering his voice, conspiratory.

She laughed. “Thief.”

He shrugged, unaffected. “Que será, será.”

Stifling another laugh, she nodded and composed herself. “Just checking. Go on.”

He retook her hands gently. His joking air disappeared and all at once, he was feeling the full weight of his emotion again. Clearing his throat, he hoped to ward off the shake in his voice. “I saw your face every time, Elle. Every single time. I wanted you to be that for me, and I wanted to be that for you. Because you’re beautiful, and you’re brilliant, and you’re the most unselfish person in the world. And I don’t want to spend one more second not married to you.” Then, after taking a deep breath, he finished: “Eleanor Stevens, I have been in love with you since I was seventeen.”

A smile so wide it hurt her spread across Ella’s face. She shook her head at herself as she began to cry just a little harder. Before she could think to say anything else, she pulled him in to place an affectionate kiss on his lips.

“Hey, we’ve still got a few paragraphs to get through, kids,” the officiant scolded them gruffly, though not unkindly.

Images of a flannel-clad diner owner back in Connecticut appeared in Ella’s mind. She caught Jess’s gaze, and he seemed to be thinking the same thing. She bit her lip, and then put her head to his shoulder, laughing loudly. His arm wrapped instinctively around her waist. Standing there, leaning on each other, they shook happily with messy giggles.

[pls-let-me-out]

Invisible String

23rd of December

“Will?” Niccolò mumbled, as the other climbed in the bed. His words were slurred by tiredness and sleepiness. “Did you talk with your family?”

Will nodded, hugging the blankets around himself. It was warm enough to fall asleep in a second. He didn’t want to, not yet, not when they had so little left, so he kept his eyes open, just for a little while. He could only make out Niccolò’s shape in the darkness of the room.

“Yeah. They’re doing fine.” Will’s throat was still dry, his breath uneven.

Niccolò’s voice was little and soft when he said, “Will, have you been crying?”

Will nodded. For a moment, the air around them turned stiff and awkward, then Niccolò turned on his side, and held out an arm. It was scary, how Will didn’t think twice about it, before diving right in. His body fit perfectly against Niccolò’s. It hurt Will’s heart in a way he had never experienced before.

Slow, soft, gentle. Everything Niccolò’s fingers were, when they sneaked to Will’s curls and massaged his scalp.

“Do you miss them?” His words tasted of the minty toothpaste they used.

Will nodded. “Yeah. I just–I think that–can I tell you something else?”

“Of course you can, principino.”

Will took a deep breath. “I don’t talk to my parents anymore. My father is a thoughtless bastard, as you’ve gathered. My mother just–I don’t think she really sees me. I’m just the result of her relationship with my father, and they didn’t really have the best thing going on. They fought a lot, fucked up a lot. But they were soulmates, so they had to stay together, you know? They had to make it work, because it’s your soulmate or nothing. If your soulmate can’t love you, then no one can.” Will sniffled. He snuggled closer to Niccolò, the hand around his hip tightened. “And people look at them, and keep saying that it’s true love, how they finally renounced the pieces of each other they loved, because they were ruining the rest. And maybe it is, maybe that’s what true love is about. But it still hurt me, you know?” His throat was dry when he swallowed. “I’m sorry I hated you before even knowing who you were.”

“You hated me?” There was no hurt in his voice, but Niccolò was good at hiding his emotions.

“I did. I thought you would treat me like my dad treated my mother, or how my mother treated my dad. That we would ruin the people around us. I thought we’d make something horrendous.” The realization hit him suddenly. Or maybe not suddenly at all, as it was a thought that had been building up in his head for days. “I don’t think we did, though.”

“And that’s good, right?”

Will closed his fist around Niccolò’s shirt. His warmth passed through the soft fabric, Will wanted to bury himself in it, let it warm him from inside out. “It is. What did you think about soulmates?”

For a moment, Niccolò’s fingers stilled. “I liked the idea, someone to love you no matter what.” His voice had never been so vulnerable before. “My father and Persephone are soulmates, much to her mother’s displeasure. But he had three children out of wedlock. Bianca was the eldest of us, before Persephone came in the picture. Mom got pregnant with me little before she and my dad broke it off. They did before he and Persephone found each other, but he got scared or some shit, and met Hazel’s mother.”

Will caressed Niccolò’s collarbones. He realized he was doing it only when Niccolò’s breath hitched. He blushed, but didn’t stop. Niccolò didn’t ask him to either.

“I thought Hazel was Persephone’s child,” Will revealed.

Niccolò skin was covered in goosebumps. He hummed. “She is barren. That’s why I’m heir to the throne. She sees a child in Hazel, sometimes.”

“But you lived in Venice not in Elysium when you were little, didn’t you?”

Niccolò took a deep breath. “With my mom and sister. Sometimes Bianca traveled to Elysium. I never did. Persephone could like Bianca. Everyone could, really. She was kind and gentle, but fierce. She couldn’t stand injustice. She wanted to be a lawyer, study the law.��

Will smiled in the darkness. “What did you want to be?”

“Prince. And when I couldn’t be, I wanted to be a pirate.”

Will chuckled around a yawn. “You are prince now.”

“Because there was no other choice. I wanted–when you said you’d be a doctor to make your grandparents proud, I was a hypocrite. When I was younger, I only wanted to be prince so that my father would be proud of me. So he could look at me, and think I wasn’t a total waste of space. And the people of Elysium wouldn’t only see their king’s bastard child in me.” As he talked, Niccolò’s fingertips tapped on Will’s hip. “I lived in exile, and after they took my sister from me, they took me, too. My mother’s body was long since cold when I moved to Elysium. They just made me pack my bags, and now we don’t talk about the fact that I used to have a whole other life.”

“Do you miss it?”

“I don’t remember enough to do that. I spent so much time not thinking about it, that when I try to now, I just can’t recall more than bits and pieces.” His breath shook. “I remember running down Canal Grande in Venice. The sun on my back, and my own laugh. Bianca’s smile when she turned and looked back at me. Our mother shouting. I don’t even know if that memory is real, or if I was so lonely, I created it.” He stayed silent for a long moment, and Will thought he had fallen asleep. “If that was real, then I miss it. If it wasn’t, I miss it anyway.”

Will rubbed his cheeks away against the mattress, hoping Niccolò hadn’t noticed.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” Will said. “About my parents. About who I am.”

“I know.”

Will’s whole body went stiff. “You know?”

“I know you haven’t told me something. You don’t have to tell me, though.” Niccolò passed his fingers through Will’s hair. “I’ll trust you, if you’ll let me.”

Less than an hour earlier, Will had talked to Drew about Sherman, about dating someone else, but the thought stayed far from his head as he snuggled even closer to Niccolò.

“Thank you,” was all he said. And then he felt something tug in his chest.

Longing. More. He wanted more. He was hugging Niccolò in his bed, and they were alone, and Will hadn’t wanted to find his soulmate, but his soulmate was Niccolò and he had never stood a chance against something so big. His walls had crumbled down, and he had been too blind to notice.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Will said, his words whispered against Niccolò’s skin. “We shouldn’t do this when there’s not a chance for us.”

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll wake up and we won’t do this anymore.”

“It’s already tomorrow.” Will sniffled. “I used to play a game with my brothers, when our–my parents fought loudly. One had to choose a letter, and the others named a city and an animal with that letter.”

Niccolò hummed. “P.”

Will bit the inside of his cheeks. “You need to?”

Niccolò took a moment to understand, and when he did, he broke out laughing. “Stop being an asshole.”

“Alright. I’d like to live in Philadelphia, with a, uh. What animals are there with the letter p? Uh.” Will furrowed his eyebrows, pouting in the dark. “You ruined the game.”

“You just suck.” He groaned, as though he were lifting something heavy. “Paguro.”

“What?”

“It’s an animal with a p. It means, uh, hermit crab.”

“Such a cultured man.”

And Niccolò laughed. They kept on talking for a bit, and Niccolò said he’d like to live in the outskirts of Austin, Texas, and be a farmer. He wanted to have an alpaca.

“What are you laughing at?” Niccolò asked when the silence was broken by Will’s raucous laughter.

“You just make me laugh.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

“But like, are you laughing with me or at me?”

And Will laughed again.

 “Persephone called me. There’s a flight booked for you on the twenty-sixth of December. Four in the morning.”

“Oh.”

“There’s still three days before that, though.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“We should do the gift exchange. Between the two of us. We’ll be here on Christmas, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then do your worst. The one who picks the worst gift wins.”

 Mornings had never felt as long as the one they spent apart. From the moment they stepped out of the house, Will’s mark began burning slightly.

“I think the bond has settled,” Nico said when they met up in the restaurant for lunch. “For me, at least.”

Will spoke in a breath. “Me too.” He smiled, but it turned bitter quickly. “It’ll hurt when we separate.”

“What if we don’t?” Nico asked. His heart thrummed in his chest, as he leaned forward a little, his elbows on the table. “There will always be a place for you in Elysium, you know?”

“My life isn’t there,” Will said. “I–I don’t want to be a doctor, but I also don’t want to–I have my life in New York.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Nico smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “It was just a stupid idea, anyway. I mean, it will hurt, but it’ll pass eventually. We won’t even remember it’s there.”

“I will,” Will said softly. “I won’t just forget about it.”

Nico didn’t have anything to say to that. They ate in silence.

 24th of December

“You can say it when you want something,” Reyna said. “It doesn’t make you selfish. And even if it does, it’s okay to be sometimes, for the things that are worth it.”

Nico clutched the phone tighter. “He doesn’t want to come to Elysium.”

“Convince him somehow. Or you could go to New York, frequent university there. It’s an option.”

“But then what? University doesn’t last forever.”

“What you have with Will, could that be forever?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes–sometimes I think it might be. As a friendship.”

“Are you saying that because friendship is all you both want, or because it’s what people expect of you?” Her soft smile was heard even through the phone, and was reflected in her tone. “It’s your life, live it as you deem, not as people tell you.”

“I know. I just–I don’t even know if he could ever like me like that.”

Reyna huffed. “Self-deprecation isn’t a good look on anyone, Nico. Does he know you like him like that?”

“Oh my God, I don’t like him!”

She groaned, but almost sounded like a laugh. “Nico.”

“Alright, he doesn’t of course. We talked about it once, and we both said we weren’t ready for a relationship. Maybe he even has someone back home.”

“Have you seen articles recently? Because I sure as hell hope he hasn’t, or that if he has you two have talked about it. Someone said you have a girlfriend, probably to cover up the possibility of you and Will choosing to have a romantic bond.”

“He wouldn’t like that. His parents were soulmates, and they fought a lot and–he just wants to be friends.”

“It seems to me, like you’re hiding behind well-crafted excuses.”

“It’s true.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t, I’m just saying that you’re using it as an excuse. You like him, and what if he likes you?”

“Even if he did, we could never be together. He lives in New York, Reyna. He doesn’t want to leave New York, and I can’t leave Elysium. With the bond settled, things just get harder. It will hurt every time we talk and every second we don’t.”

“What is your biggest fear right now, Nico?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you sure?”

Nico took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “Losing him, I guess. I’m afraid of losing him, and missing him for the rest of my life.”

“It will be hard, but I think you two can do it. I think you can work out a way to be together. You are not the first soulmates to have completely different lives.”

“So I should talk to him.”

“Of course you should.”

“Yeah. Right. Talking. I can do that.”

As it turned out, talking wasn’t so easy.

 In the afternoon they took a walk through the city. Everything made Will smile, to the point his cheeks must have hurt. If they did, he didn’t say. Nico realized he was following Will around like a lost puppy, but he didn’t know what else to do. In the morning they had been given a Christmas tree, and now Will wanted to decorate it. Nico huffed and sighed, calling him an overgrown baby, all the while hiding a smile.

“It could become a tradition,” Will said. He had his hands in his pockets, and refused to look up from the stand of handmade Christmas balls they were in front of.

“You ordering me around?” Nico asked, cocking an eyebrow. He clasped his hands behind his back, leaning forward to take a peak to the stand. It was covered in red balls. Even through all the layers he could feel the heat radiating off Will’s body. Even more so when the other leaned back, resting against Nico’s shoulder.

Nico’s breath hitched.

“No, spending Christmas together. No wait, you probably have galas or something. Sorry.” He scoffed.

Nico couldn’t see Will’s face. He immediately missed the his warmth when he stepped forward. With his heart thumping in his chest, Nico did the same, hooking his chin on Will’s shoulder, with the pretense of taking another look.

“I will miss them for you,” Nico said, speaking so quietly it was a mystery how Will heard him.

He did, and tensed up. When he spoke, his voice was as soft as cotton balls. “Would you?”

“I don’t like them much to begin with.” Nico cleared his throat, the tension unbearable. Will’s fingers were shaking. Nico stepped back, taking his wallet from his pocket. “So, which ones would you like?”

 They didn’t speak much. They found themselves in a café a while later, with steaming cups of hot chocolate and coffee on the table. As soon as Nico was recognized, they were gifted cookies.

“Something I never understood,” Nico said, trying to break the tension. “Is why they always gift rich people with food.”

Will choked on his hot chocolate, falling forward on the table. He laughed so hard other costumers turned to look at them. Glare at them, more specifically.

“You’re such an old man,” Will finally said, shaking his head. He sighed heavily. “God, my grandmother will love you.”

“Oh, you plan on introducing us?” Nico asked, learning forward, a small smile on his face. “Let me tell you, every mother and grandmother hates me before knowing I’m rich. They think I’m a gangster.”

Will snorted, in a way he would later realize didn’t make him more attractive at all. “Oh, shut up. You’re a marshmallow.”

Nico clasped his lips. “Wow. That I’ve never been called.”

“I find that hard to believe. Don’t you have pet-names with your girlfriends?”

Nico furrowed his eyebrows. “Girl…friends? Like, girls who are my friends?” Reyna’s words came back to him in full force, as he watched Will tilt his head to the side. “You mean like a…a…?”

“A romantic partner who is a girl?” Will tried. His eyes roamed around the room, before setting back on Nico. He tapped his fingers on the table, at the same rhythm as the music passing on the radio. “Don’t you have one now?”

Nico turned red in less than a second. “I don’t. But, like, I also won’t. Never. I won’t ever have a girlfriend.”

“Oh my God, do you still do arranged marriages?”

Will seemed outraged, and for a moment Nico wondered if he was being serious. Was he always so dense? It took him a moment to remember that yes, he was. With no doubt at all.

“Will, I’m gay.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up so fast they should have fallen from his forehead. “Oh.”

He furrowed his eyebrows even more. God. God, had Nico fucked up? Why did he have to listen to Reyna of all people? What did she know? God. Fantastic. Perfect. He would never, ever–

“Is that how you know French?”

Nico looked at him for a long moment. Will, and the smile he was trying to suppress, his lips half-upturned but not completely, and his eyes, they shone so bright, and–

“Oh my God, are you being serious right now?”

And Will laughed.

 Will threw himself over Niccolò on the couch. He could start thinking about the future the next day, or the day after. They had turned on the lights on the Christmas tree, and they were now flickering with red, green and yellow.

Niccolò huffed, letting his hand fall between Will’s shoulders blade. “God, are you always so hot?”

Will put his chin on Niccolò’s chest, batting his eyelashes coyly. “Are you always such a flirt?”

“I–” He turned red, his Adam apple going up and down. “I meant warm. Not, like, hot as in sexy. I mean. I mean, you–it’s not like-”

Will laughed. “Sometimes I forget you’re shy.”

Niccolò’s whole face transformed into a frown. “That’s because I’m not. Fuck you, Will.”

Will laughed some more. Niccolò was avoiding his eyes, so he propped himself on his elbows, getting in Niccolò face with a blinding smile.

It was almost anticlimactic the way it happened.

Will was laughing, until he wasn’t. Niccolò was sputtering, until he wasn’t. They had been on their own, until someone had thrown them together, closing them in a house in Livigno. They had been strangers, until they weren’t.

Will had despised the idea of soulmates, until he hadn’t. Because with Nico, with Nico he could envision it. Waking up together, planning a life together. Having a dog, and then another, maybe even a cat. Walking down the streets together, holding each other’s hand. Traveling Europe train by train, without having a route.

For once in his life, he could imagine it all.

Nico had a light stubble from the day, and Will wanted to touch it, run his fingertips over the curves of Nico’s face. Touch his skin where it wasn’t so perfect, where Prince Niccolò met Nico. Remind himself that, after all, Niccolò was just Nico, who liked black coffee and sputtered when he was nervous.

And then they were on the ground. Will’s arm had given in under the weight of his body, and he fell to the ground. Nico’s limbs were tangled with his, so they fell together. Nico’s head touched the carpet with a loud thud.

“Oh my God!” Will shrieked. He tried to stand, but only entangled himself further in the blanket that had been covering Nico. “How’s your head? Oh my God, can you even hear me?”

Nico groaned, making no move to stand. He covered his face with his hands. “With the frequencies you’re speaking at, I’m also probably losing my hearing.”

“Fuck, I’m getting you some ice.” He bolted to the kitchen, and a new sound of despair echoed through the house. “Do we even have ice?”

 Nico took his phone out of his pocket, and sent a message to Reyna.

I almost kissed him and fucked up.

She responded after a few moments.

I bet you didn’t talk about it.

Nico huffed.

You don’t say.

With some dizziness, he stood and reached the kitchen. He sat on the counter, watching Will roam through the freezer, and only come back with a bag of iced peas.

He must have not heard Nico, for when he saw him sitting there he completely paled, almost dropping the peas.

“Careful, those are sacred around here,” Nico said.

Will nodded, with a little smile on his lips, that didn’t seem natural at all.

Nico chewed on his lower lip. How did he bring it up? Sorry I tried to kiss you, I was just vibe checking? Was that something normal kids these days said?

“You know about the soulmate ceremony?” Nico blurted out, reaching forward to take the bag of peas from Will’s hands.

“Yeah?” Will prompted, sitting on the other stool and swinging his feet.

“Well. We’ll have to choose a color palette. One day. When we actually have it.” Nico nodded. “Well, that was it. All I had to say. Yep.”

Will snorted through his nose. “Is that really all you have to say?”

Will leaned forward, taking the wrist of the hand in which Nico was uselessly holding the bag, and brought it to Nico’s temple. Nico adjusted his grip on it. Will’s hand seemed to linger forever, and if Nico were honest, he would have admitted he wished it would.

“No.” Nico’s heart stopped beating. It literally stopped beating, then did so hard it broke his chest. “It’s not all I have to say.”

“What else is there, then?”

Oh. Oh, Will’s eyes. They had resumed their puppy resemblance, or maybe puppy eyes should have just been called Will’s eyes, because Nico was pretty sure he had invented them. There was no other explanation of why he would ever look so good with them.

“Before the ritual, we have to decide what we should be. Platonic or romantic.”

“You’re gay, I’m bi.”

Nico’s breath resembled a sob. “Yeah.”

“But you’re a prince.”

“Yeah.”

Will’s eyes were still so sweet, even with the hurt so clear in them. “We don’t really have a choice then, do we?”

“I can’t offer you a relationship.” Nico shook his head; he couldn’t bear Will’s knowing gaze anymore. He looked away. “If I keep seeing you, then I’ll fall in love. But even then, we’d have to sneak around, keep being in secret.”

“Just–I just have a question. Why can’t you be gay? Are your parents homophobes?””

“Not my parents. They know. But it would cause problems if I were to create a scandal. My sisters, my mother, my father’s past… everything would be thrown right back on journals. I have to keep quiet, so I can live peacefully. And I can’t ask that of you. You deserve to be loved in the open.”

Will’s smile turned bitter. “So do you.” Slowly, oh so slowly, his hand covered Nico’s. His skin was soft and warm, much like he was. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Our happiness doesn’t overlap, does it? I’ll be a prince for the rest of my life, famous forever.”

“I know.” Will gripped his hand tighter, and Nico let the peas bag fall to the counter. He tried to smile again. It looked more like a grimace. “Star crossed lovers, aren’t we, my darlin’?” He tilted his head to the side, causing the blonde curls on his head to move, and the perfume of his shampoo to expand through the air. “If you could be selfish just for this one moment, this one night, what would you do?”

Nico didn’t hesitate. He stood, and cupped Will’s jaw. Was Will’s mark pulsing as his own was? Could he feel the sparks where they touched? Nico leaned forward, and kissed him. The first kiss was little more than a lingering peck, but it was followed by another, and another again. They separated, keeping their foreheads resting against one another’s. One of Will’s hand was on Nico’s shoulder, the other on the small of his back.

Their breaths mingled. Nico was sure that, if he looked away, he’d never have the force to meet Will’s eyes again. So he didn’t. He didn’t have to either, because Will kissed him again, and it was heated and perfect, and their marks were really pulsing this time.

 Spending Christmas Eve with a stranger hadn’t been on Will’s to-do list. As he lays in bed later the same night, he wonders whether Nico has ever been one at all.

 25th of December

Will has never spent a Christmas quite like this. He sits in front of the TV, with Nico’s chest against his back, Nico’s own back against the sofa.

“What time is the flight, again?” Will asks. His voice is low, a bit raspy.

“Five in the afternoon. They’ll come pick us up around three, I think.”

Will rests his head on Nico’s shoulder, dropping a little to the ground, and looking up at him.

“We have to open the gifts,” Nico says. He makes to move, but Will is quicker, and puts his hand on Nico’s knee, stopping him mid-movement. But Will doesn’t know how to start when his heart is beating like this, and Nico looking at him like this. “Will?”

“Remember when I said my name wasn’t William?” he asks.

“Yes. What has that to do with now?”

YouTube is open on the TV, and Taylor Swift’s Christmas Tree Farm playing quietly. In the music video are some photos of her childhood, and Will finds the force of turning to look at Nico by seeing little Taylor fall in a pile of snow.

“If I tell you the truth, will you forgive me for not telling you sooner?”

Once again, Nico doesn’t hesitate in cupping Will’s cheek with his hand. His touch is so tender it shouldn’t be legal. Eve and Adam must have felt like this, when they ate the forbidden fruit. “Everything that happened between us, happened with me knowing you were keeping something from me.”

Will nods. “But I–it might change what you think of me.”

“Unless you tell me you’re an assassin sent to kill me, then I don’t think we’re in that kind of trouble.”

“My name.” Will wraps his fingers around Nico’s wrist, keeping it there. He wets his lips, almost laughs at the way Nico blushes. “You know Apollo’s real name?”

Nico furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. He still seems so confused. “No? Don’t they say it’s one of Hollywood’s best kept secrets?”

The warmth of Nico’s skin against his and the softness of the carpet underneath them are the only things keeping Will’s head above the waters his mind has turned into.

“Lester Papadopolous. That’s his name.”

Nico still doesn’t understand. “Were you a groupie or something?”

“God, no, I–listen.” Will sits straighter, without even thinking of letting Nico go, with the fear of his touch never coming back. “People don’t know where his children ended up, right? But he had a lot.”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t really keep up with Hollywood gossip or whatever, but I don’t get where you’re going with–”

“My name,” Will interrupts him. “My name now is Fitzwilliam Andrew Solace. But it used to be Fitzwilliam Andrew Papadopolous.”

Nico is silent for a long moment. His hand slips from Will’s cheek, passing through his fingers, wrapped too loosely, and to the ground. It makes the same thud his head has the night prior. His face is unreadable.

“You are his son,” he finally says.

God. Why is his voice so carefully blank? Will doesn’t want them to be careful around each other, not after they’ve got so far.

Will nods. “His and Naomi. They–I didn’t really want to stay after what happened with Lee and Michael. I had a big fight with my father.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it makes sense.”

What? What makes sense? Will wants to scream, tear his own hair out, but he can’t. He’s not a child anymore.

Will sniffles. “Well, we can open the gifts now that that is in the open, anyway.” He claps his hands, willing the knot in his chest away. When he can’t, he starts ignoring it. “Just felt like you should know and everything.”

He uncrosses his legs to stand, but Nico’s fingers wrap around his wrist. This time it’s him trying to keep Will close.

Nico takes a deep breath, and talks so fast he could be an undercover rapper. “You know I don’t think any different of you for that, right? And I hope I didn’t do anything to make you feel pressured to tell me, although I am glad you did, and I think it might help to know in the future.”

Will stares dumbfounded at him. “Future.”

“Yeah. I still want to know a lot about you.” He turns as red as the jumper Will has found in the back of the wardrobe, and forced on him. In Will’s defense, Nico hasn’t put up that much of a fight, and red really suits him. “Even when we go back to platonic. You’re wonderful as Fitzwilliam Andrew Solace, I’m sure you were wonderful as Fitzwilliam Andrew Papopolous.”

Platonic. They were good when they were, so the thought shouldn’t hurt Will so much.

“Papadopolous.”

“Yeah, that.”

Will laughs. And then he cries.

 It’s dark outside when a car pulls up in the driveway. They have already brought their luggage downstairs. Nico’s phone pings with a new message, and after he checks it, he stands in front of the window to wave at the driver. In silence, they put on their coats. Will has left his gloves in the pockets. Nico takes one of the scarves from the coat hanger, and then puts the other on Will. They stand there for a long moment, looking at each other, no one wanting to go out, meet the outside world again.

“I’ll miss you,” Will says, so quietly he isn’t sure Nico will hear.

“So will I,” Nico responds. And then it’s silent again.

Will wraps his arms around Nico, and the other reciprocates. Will swallows, shutting his eyes and willing the tears away. Why does it feel so much like a goodbye?

 26th of December

Will’s siblings and Drew are waiting for him at the airport. He smiles, laughing at Drew and Kayla’s intertwined hands, wishing he and Nico were allowed to do the same. He looks down at his finger, the way the artificial light catches on the ring Nico has gifted him. As they pass the Brooklyn Bridge, he looks East, and in the way the sun shines on the surface of the river, he almost thinks he will forget Nico.

[bebepac]

Food Fail (Happy Birthday Robin! 2020)

This is the first time I’ve ever written a birthday Fic and it’s in honor of a friend of mine @dcbbw​​ !!!!  Happy Birthday my friend!!!!!!  

When I first joined the fandom back in January, when I was searching for fics to read, she was one of the first people when I searched that came across.   I started reading her stories.  When I wanted to  write my own, and was nervous and anxious, she helped give me the confidence to write. 

She’s a very talented writer, and is incredibly humble.  I am happy to call you my friend.  I really hope you have a wonderful day today. 

So I wrote this about a food you do not like.  SUSHI.  Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!! 

I hope you enjoy it.  See what I did there.  LOL!!!!!!

I used my characters from Pops Place, as you can tell.

I also used @shitthepizza​​​ About Pizza prompt # 5:  “I am always in the mood for pizza,” which will appear in bold.

Jaiden Brooks is my own character, all other characters belong to Pixelberry. 

This is not the next chapter of Pops Place.  But it fits into the series.  To check out the series Pop's Place Masterlist

Summary:  Mia goes out with the gang for dinner.  

Warnings:  Profanity.  That’s pretty much it.

Word Count: 1202

Tagging: @queenjilian​ @bbrandy2002​ @indiacater​ @janezillow​  @islandcrow​ @mom2000aggie​ @gkittylove99​ @gabesmommie1130​ @sophie-and-shizuku​​ @kingliam2019​​ @queenwalton​​ @cordonia-gothqueen​​ @texaskitten30​​  @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​ @queen-arabella-of-cordonia​​ @lodberg​​ @hopefulmoonobject​​ @kimmiedoo5​​ @sanchita012​​  @mrsdrakewalkerblog​​ @cordonianroyalty​​ @batgirlassociationofgothamcity​​ @hopelessromanticmonie​​ @marietrinmimi​​ @blueaster-blog1​​ @lovablegranny​​ @ac27dj​​ @classylady1234​​ @loudbluebirdlover​​ @atha68​​ @nikkis1983​​ @furiousherringoperatortoad​​ @sevenfuckslefttogive​​ @ladyangel70​​ @burnsoslow​​ @axwalker​​ @debramcg1106​​ @marshmallowsandfire​​ @choicesficwriterscreations​

Song Inspiration for this fic:  “Milkshake” by Kelis

https://youtu.be/pGL2rytTraA

I don’t own rights to the music. or quoted lyrics later on.  

"Hey if you want to, you and Daniel can meet me at Pop's and we can ride together downtown."

"Oh my GOD Jaiden thanks!!! I absolutely hate driving in downtown Raleigh with all the one way streets and parallel parking."

"But Mia, you seriously have the smallest car in the world to parallel park."

"It's North Carolina, not New York, no one parallel parks here, you pull in. I didn't have to parallel park for my driving test."

"Well I'm from New York and we parallel park."

"Well you go right ahead Mr. New Yorker!"

"Then I will show you how it's done Miss Southern Belle, after we …. He cleared his throat and continued in the worst southern drawl ever, “drink sweet tea and eat apple cobbler in the parlor Ma'am.”

Mia burst out laughing.  

“Shut up! You know I’m not like that, and I definitely don’t sound like that.”  

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand your dialect.”  

“YOU TALKING TO ME?”  Mia said in her best Robert De Niro voice.  

Daniel looked at the two of them bickering back and forth. He looked surprised. 

 “Hmmm… that was pretty good.”  Jaiden said to her nodding.  “You could get by in the city with that.”  

“Thank you.”  Mia flashed him a smile.  

“So, I'll pick you guys up around 6:20?"

"That's perfect."

When they were in the car.  She kept noticing Daniel staring at her.  

“Whaaaaat?”

“Um… so are you going to tell me what that was, or do I have to guess?”

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

“Girl…..“

“Daniel What?!?!?!”

“Are you and Jaiden a thing?”  

“Uh no. We’re just friends.”

Daniel gave her a look.

“I don’t flirt with my friends like that.”  Daniel raised his eyebrow at Mia again.

“We were not flirting.”  

“You two are definitely something-ing because, I could cut the tension with a machete.”

“Nuh uh.. It’s not even like that Daniel.”

“I’m just saying Mia, you need a theme song for this summer, and I got just the one.”

Mia smirked at him.

“Mia’s milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they’re like, it’s better than yours, damn right it’s better than yours, I could teach you, but I have to charge.”

“Okay Daniel.”  

“You better wear something cute for your bae.”  

“He’s not my Bae.”

“Okay, then he’s a friend that definitely wants to see you naked.  Girl, can I live vicariously through you this summer? Cuz you’re pulling all the men so far.”  

“Yeah and they all the winners,  “Drake: I have a long distance girlfriend, but yeah let’s hang out too,  and Liam: Mr. I’m pretty sure you did something shady to get me to look your way and discredit Drake but he screwed that up on his own.”

“And Leo: Mr. I have given you a nickname but no one else can use it, and let’s get you crazy drunk.”    

“Okay… already let’s get you home so we can get ready and get back for dinner.”

When they arrived  back right around 6:15, they pulled up seeing Jaiden leaning against his jeep.  

As they walked up to  Jaiden’s jeep she heard Daniel softly singing.

“La - la - la - la - laaaaaa… the boy is waiting….”

She punched Daniel.  

“Should I even ask?” Jaiden looked at the two of them.

“No you should not.”

He opened the door for Mia letting her get into the car. 

“Your jeep is nice.”  

“Thanks, it took me getting straight A’s and graduating 3rd in my class to get it.”  

“So you’ll be at Cordonia U in the fall then?”

“Why would you think that?”  

“Because you live in Prestonwoods.”

“Yeah, I don’t get all that you’re either Prestonwoods or you’re everyone else crap.  We actually toured both.  I liked Hartfeld better.  That’s where I’ll be this fall.”  

“Me too.”  

“Cool.”  He glanced in Mia’s direction.  Mia was wearing a red  dress and white sandals.  She looked really cute.  

“Watch and learn Mia.”  

Jaiden flawlessly parallel parked between two cars.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”  

“You know what… I’m locking you in the car.  I’ll go enjoy dinner with Daniel. You’ll have air and sadness for dinner Mia.” Jaiden laughed.  Mia couldn’t help her smile on her face.

“Oh my god!!!!  Air and Sadness?!?!  I really like you Jaiden.  You put her in her place.”  Daniel chuckled.  “Mia needs a guy that is as funny as she is.”  

Daniel noticed them both stare at each other in silence.  

Yep… he thought… there are definite sparks there.

“I’ll get the door for you Mia.”  

“Where are we meeting everyone at? I’m starving.”  

“Sushi Blues Cafe.”

“Sushi…. As in raw fish?”  

“There are cooked sushi rolls.  Have you had sushi?”

“I’ve never tried it.. I like my fish fried and battered, with tartar sauce, and either lemon juice or vinegar, thanks to Pops.”  

“So I’ll get a Philadelphia roll,  it’s cooked  with smoked salmon, avocado, cream cheese. Most people who are newbies to sushi like it.  So I'll share mine with you. I’ll get two so if you like it, you can have your own.”  

When they got into the restaurant the only seats left were on the end of the table.  Daniel sat in the next to the last seat, and Mia sat on the end being left handed, and Jaiden sat across from her.  She noticed everyone else was there.  Hana, Penelope, Maxwell, Olivia, Leo, Rashad, Neville, and Liam.  No Drake.  He probably doesn’t do Sushi.   Can’t blame him.  They passed out menus.  Mia looked nervous.  She ordered a green tea, and when the server came back for her food order, she couldn’t remember what roll Jaiden said he was going to get.

“She’s with me,” Jaiden said.  “We’ll get two philly rolls.”  

She smiled at him.  “Thank you,” she mouthed to him.

“You’re welcome.”  he whispered back.

She stared at her plate.

She poked a piece of the sushi.

“It’s not going to attack you, Mia.”  

“And this is cooked?”

“Yeah.”  

“You’re sure?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Do you like spicy stuff?”

“Not really.”

“So that green stuff, stay away from that then. That’s wasabi.”  

“Ginger?”

“Meh…”

“Yeah, we won’t mess with that either then.”  

“So put some soy sauce on a piece.”  

Mia mimicked him.

“And just one big bite. Eat it.”

He popped it in his mouth and chewed.  

“It’s good, now your turn.”  

Mia did as he did.  She dry heaved.  

Jaiden almost fell out of his chair, because of the look on Mia’s face.  It was clear…. Mia was not a fan of sushi. Both Jaiden and Daniel both were roaring in laughter.  

“Chew it up, or spit it out.  Do something Mia!!!!”

Liam looked in their direction in all the ruckus they were causing.  Liam wished he was sitting with Mia, they looked to be having so much fun.  

Mia managed to swallow the piece of sushi.

“Want another then?”  Jaiden  asked seriously for a second, then burst into laughter again.  

“No thanks.  I’d almost would have rather had the air and sadness, you offered earlier.” 

When it was time to leave and the check was passed out, Jaiden paid for Mia’s share even though she didn’t really eat anything.

They walked  down the street together.  

“So… how about a pizza?” Jaiden asked.

“I’m always in the mood for pizza.”  

“Let’s go get you some dinner then Mia.”  

Mia smiled as Jaiden led the way back to his vehicle.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 8: The Light]

Hi y’all! Thank you so much for reading and supporting my writing. Each and every message/reblog/comment/etc makes me smile, and it’s a dream come true to get to share my work with you! 💜

Chapter summary: John shares a secret; Y/N excels at Scrabble; Brian makes peace; Roger suffers a misstep.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, medical stuff, pregnancy (not who you think!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

Medicine teaches you to be fiercely skeptical of things that seem too good to be true. Bodies fail—completely and inevitably, though the timing may differ—and patients lie. Medical records don’t, fingerprints don’t, track marks up the underside of an arm don’t, blood and paternity tests don’t, oftentimes the eyes don’t; but given half a chance, people will lie themselves right into the grave.

Those bruises, doc? Got ‘em from a nasty fall down the stairs. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck!

Nope, never done drugs, not even a joint, I swear on my mother’s life.

I’ll give it up, I’ll go to rehab. Never again. I promise. I don’t want to die.

Doc, I don’t care if the timing doesn’t seem quite right. My husband IS the father. There’s been no one else!

That doting fiancé is flirting with the nurses. Those grown-up children who fluff pillows and dab away tears are asking about the will. That wife is never going to testify against her abusive husband. That addict is going to relapse again...and again...and again. Are there exceptions? Of course. But if you get in the habit of trusting people—of believing all those tantalizingly attractive, hopeful lies—it’ll break your heart six ways to Sunday. There is no perfection in medicine, and there are very rarely miracles.

And so during those first few weeks with Roger—as you watch him from the reeling crowd, from the other side of the tour bus, from across the restaurant table, from the tiny viewfinder of the Canon F-1—you can’t stop searching for the cracks, the shadows, the lies, the dark malignancies breeding beneath the surface. Because everything about Roger Taylor is too good to be true. He’s bright and he’s loud and he’s brilliant and he’s always smiling, always warm. He careens backstage after every show—you keep bracing yourself not to be disappointed when the novelty wears away, when it ends, but it doesn’t—pushing aside roadies and reporters, shouting “Where’s the love of my life? Where’s my Boston babe?” with the most absurd grin you’ve ever seen until he finds you, collides with you, scoops you up and spins you in ungainly circles as your toes skim the floor. Then he cradles your face in his scarred hands and kisses you, breathes you in, tells you everything about the show (even though you were there to see it) in a rush of pure, manic adrenaline. And you stumble into some dressing room together—or a hotel room, or a taxi, or a limousine, or an elevator—and finally it’s your bare thighs his palms are gliding over, your tongue tasting the Heineken and craving on his lips, and it feels impossible for that to ever change. Roger is too good to be true, that’s undeniable; but when you watch him with those doubtful, cautious eyes, you can’t find anything but light.

He wakes up at 6 a.m. to join you on a bayou tour in New Orleans, taps his cigarette over the moss-covered sides of the boat, points out the alligators with leathered skin and ancient yellow irises lurking in the depths. He walks Fremont Street with you in Las Vegas and makes you choose his numbers for the Roulette wheel, for his fate. He snaps photos of you on a sun-drenched balcony in Miami, roaring cobalt waves crashing in the background. He takes you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, the Art Institute of Chicago, the National Aquarium in Baltimore, the Philadelphia Zoo, Myrtle Beach and the Saint Louis Arch and the Santa Monica Pier. Because he was telling the truth when he said he could show you the world all those months ago when Queen was at Top of the Pops; he was telling you the truth about the list that’s etched into the rushing scarlet chambers of his heart.

When the American leg of the tour ends and the band gets a brief reprieve in London, you move into Roger’s paltry, disorganized flat and scrub away all the remnants of his past life: dust and empty cigarette boxes and women’s socks, ashes and copies of Vogue, a tube of lipstick that isn’t yours. You don’t complain, don’t even frown; you’re under no delusions that something eternal can be founded on resentment, on lies. And so you clear out the clutter and open the windows so sunshine and crisp spring air can breathe through the apartment, so you can both start fresh along with the bellflowers and delphiniums and roses and the tawny newborn ducklings scampering behind their mothers. You hang photos from the tour and John’s sketches on the refrigerator, place your Canon F-1 and pink conch shell from Ostia on the nightstand, litter the drawers with your own socks and makeup. You teach Roger how to sew (although he’s not much good at it) and how to treat blisters (although you’ll always be there to do it for him); and in return Roger teaches you how to trust, how to believe, how to stop searching desperately for faults in the light.  

On the second day of April, Queen boards their flight to Tokyo. Brian settles into a plushy, billowing blanket and loses himself in an astronomy magazine; he’s an engaged man now, an honest man in the eyes of society at large...and, far more importantly, his parents. Freddie pens lyrics in his notebook, humming disjointedly, napping like a cat when the mood strikes him. Roger snacks constantly and tries to get John chatting, but John is particularly subdued today, preoccupied, prone to gazing unfocusedly at the clouds that drift by outside and wringing his hands.

And you think, as you peer down into the glistening sapphire waters of the East China Sea: Brian’s a willow tree, Freddie’s a lightning storm, Roger is wildfire...but what is John?

Something deep, something beautiful and strong and constant and hidden.

The ocean, you decide as Queen’s private plane soars over the quicksilver waves that conceal the abyss. John is the ocean.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

John is lying on his back under a small grove of cherry blossom trees outside the hotel, sketching grey outlines of petals and arcing branches in a new notebook. He hasn’t given any sign that he heard you coming, doesn’t turn his head to see you. You freeze, startled.

“How’d you know it was me?!”

“You have very distinct footsteps. Dainty, yet purposeful.” He sets aside his notebook and sits up, crossing his long legs. “Why didn’t you go to lunch?”

“Because you didn’t. You turned down ramen, and you never turn down ramen. I was worried. Plus someone has to make sure a roving posse of screaming Japanese girls doesn’t carry you off.”

That makes him laugh. The Japanese fans are inexplicably obsessed with John; or maybe it’s not so inexplicable, maybe they just have a better eye for quiet, unassuming wonders. “Always so thoughtful.”

You sit down beside him, open a pack of chocolate-flavored Pocky and offer John a piece, frown when he lights a cigarette instead. “That’s really bad for you. Seriously. You should quit.”

“At last. One thing you and Brian agree on.” He exhales a gale of smoke and peers up at the cherry blossoms.

“John?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t break up with Veronica, did you?” Chrissie and Mary didn’t mention anything about her tearful devastation, and you suspect they would have had John gone through with it.

He sighs. “I did not.”

“And...are we feeling...okay about that...?”

He twirls the cigarette nervously between his fingers. After a silence, he surrenders. “Look, I haven’t told anybody yet, but I’d tell you first anyway. So here it goes.” He glances over at you guiltily, gloomily, wishing he could disappear. “I didn’t break up with Veronica because she’s pregnant.”

Your jaw falls open. A half-eaten stick of Pocky rolls out of your mouth and onto the grass. She’s what? She’s WHAT?

“Please don’t be disappointed,” John pleads. “I’m disappointed in myself enough for both of us, believe me.”

“I...I...I’m not disappointed, John, I’m just...” You blink at him. “Oh my god.”

He nods, acquiescent. “I’m in complete agreement.”

You shake your head, gaping at him, stunned; and suddenly you don’t like what you’re feeling at all. Because it isn’t just shock and horror, it isn’t just apprehension. You hate the thought of him touching her, of her delicate white hands on him, of innocence stripped away and memories impressed into muscle, into soul.

Because you know she’s not right for him. Because you know he doesn’t love her the way he should. Because you want the best for him and always have.

Oh, there’s a comforting rationale; but is it true?

And then: You fucking hypocrite. Since when do you get an opinion on who anyone sleeps with?

“It must have happened in January,” John says miserably. “Right before we left for the States. She didn’t want to tell me over the phone...I guess maybe she thought if she did I’d never come back. So she told me as soon as I landed in London. And here we all are.”

You stare down at your shoes, trying to compose yourself. “What are you going to do?”

“There’s only one option.”

“Actually, there are quite a few. But I know you’d never consider them.” John’s father died when he was ten, and he never talks about it; which is precisely how you know it’s a wound that can’t ever heal, a gash that goes straight down to the bone. He would never leave his child, never banish them to some dusty, repressed corner of his consciousness while he moves on with a blissfully unencumbered life. You whisper: “I’m so fucking sorry, John.”

That snaps something in him, something he was choking back. He buries his face in his hands. “What the fuck am I doing?” he moans. “I’m twenty-three years old, I’m broke, I turned down loads of jobs, good jobs, as an electrical engineer, I’ve somehow become the bassist in an increasingly famous rock band...I mean, how the hell did this happen? How did any of this happen?”

“It’ll be okay,” you insist with newfound resolve. I have to save him. I have to protect him.

John rolls those soft greyish eyes, hopeless, distraught. “Sure.”

“It will be, I promise you. The tour is going great. I had my doubts about the band when I first met you, I’ll admit it, I didn’t know if there was a future for Queen. But you’ve made me a believer. You’ve made millions of people all over the world believers. The money will keep rolling in, Queen will finally start seeing some of it, you won’t be broke forever. You’ll have two more months on the road and then we’ll be back in London, and it’ll be on to recording the next album, more shows, more money...the hard times are almost over, John. You can do this. And I’ll help you.”

His brow furrows. “You will?”

“Of course. If it’s easier for Veronica, it’ll be easier for you. So I’ll be extra friendly, take her to appointments when you’re busy, help organize the wedding, babysit the littlest Deacon whenever she needs me to. We’ll get through this. I’ll be there to help every step of the way.”

“You’re happy, aren’t you?” he asks suddenly. “You and Roger. You aren’t going anywhere.” He’s reading you closely, sifting through your words and forced smile for something deeper.

“I’m happy,” you assure him. “You don’t need to be concerned about that. I’m staying with the band, I’m staying in London. Whenever Queen is home, that is.”

He nods, but perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. He finally accepts a piece of Pocky from you and takes a bite. “Then I guess we’ll plan for a summer wedding.”

“You could do a double one with Brian and Chrissie.”

He laughs so hard he almost inhales the Pocky, then doubles over coughing. “I think Bri would rather slit his own throat, but a charming thought. Thank you for that. Bravo.”

You smile at John, genuinely this time. “You’re going to be an amazing father. I hope you aren’t worried about that part of it, at least.”

“Will you be their godparent?”

“What? Me?!”

“Yeah. Because, you know...” John averts his gaze. “You’d be the person I would want to raise them if something happened to me and Veronica. You’re the most dedicated, stubborn, capable, nurturing, remarkable person I’ve ever met. You’re my best friend. And maybe Roger’s your best friend and you’re his, and that’s all fine, that’s alright, but you’re still mine.”

“Roger is a lot of incredible things, but he’s not my best friend.” You lie flat on the grass and lace your hands behind your head, tracking the weightless snowy clouds as they float by above. When did we become adults? When did all of these rules catch up to us? “I would be honored to be your child’s godparent.”

John plops down beside you. “Don’t tell the others yet, okay? I want to wait until the tour’s over. I don’t want them to panic and think I’m leaving and try to replace me or anything.”

“They wouldn’t try to replace you, John.”

“No?” he asks doubtfully.

“No. Roger knows it, Fred knows it, I think even Bri knows it.” You reach out and weave a lock of his hair through your fingers as cherry blossom petals tumble in the breeze. “You’re irreplaceable.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sod,” Freddie mocks. “That’s the best you could do? Really? Sod?”

Roger flings up his hands in frustration. “Freddie, I’ve got like a million Cs!”

“You could have done cod,” Brian notes, sipping a cup of hot tea. “Cods, actually.”

Roger glowers down at his Scrabble tiles. “Fuck.”

“And I’m so delighted he didn’t!” You place your tiles, expanding on sod to make rhapsody. John high-fives you and records the points in his notebook. Freddie and Brian groan in defeat.

“What the hell is a rhapsody?!” Roger snatches the Official Scrabble Dictionary off the table and flips through it.

“It’s a, like a...” Freddie waves his cigarette, scattering smoke through the air. “It’s like an epic poem. Or an opera. With lots of bizarre, different parts all pieced together.”

“That sounds made up.”

Freddie cackles. “Darling, it’s a real thing, I swear!”

Roger locates the pertinent page in the Scrabble Dictionary and his shoulders slump. “Goddammit. Fucking...too smart...nerdy...college-educated...girlfriend.” He drags you into his lap and kisses your temple. “You’re lucky you’re cute. I don’t usually tolerate being conquered like this.”

Bri smirks from behind his teacup. “I rather think you conquered her, Rog.”

“Oh, a rare good one from Bri!” Freddie trills as everyone laughs, although John soon busies himself with clearing empty bottles and cigarette butts off the table.

“Yes,” Roger agrees. “Against her superior judgment, I finally won her over. Only took eight months. Which is approximately...wait, let me count...seven and a half months longer than it has ever taken me before.”

You trace your fingertips across his stubbled cheeks, his soft lips, his little dark blond tufts of sideburns. “No one knows how to say no to you, do they?”

“It’s impossible. I’m too charming. Blindingly heroic. Perseus in the flesh.” He kisses your forehead and steadies you, his hands on your waist, as the brakes squeal and the tour bus lurches to a halt.

Freddie leaps to his feet and claps. “Alright, darlings! Off to the new digs we go. Deaky, hand me my shoes, they’re under the table...yes, right there...and toss over Brian’s hideous clogs as well.”

You help the roadies and the band drag luggage into the hotel (no small feat, as the elevator is out of order), unpack your toothbrush and hairbrush and a floral-patterned dress for dinner, giggle as you listen to Roger’s feral, raspy singing in the shower. It’s something about loving a car, how perfectly on-brand for him. Then Roger goes to fetch Freddie and John for dinner while you find Brian. Bri is collapsed on his bed in a striped t-shirt and jeans, freshly-washed and dewy, gazing up at the ceiling in a daze.

You tap gently on the doorframe. “Bri? You want to join us for dinner? There’s a sushi place a few blocks away that’s a local legend, apparently. Lots of veggie options too.”

He looks over at you. You haven’t spoken about the argument since you had it two months ago. Brian sometimes grimaces or smirks or rolls his willowy viridescent eyes, but he never says anything; not to you, and not to Roger as far as you’re aware. “I’m sorry,” he says simply. “I may have been out of line before. Incorrect, even.”

“No need to apologize, Bri. I’ve forgotten all about it.” You haven’t, but there’s no reason for Brian to know that.

“I just want what’s best for you. For you to be happy.”

“I know, Brian.” You cross the room and take his long, moon-white, artful hands in your own. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be in the wedding party, won’t you? I know Chris will ask.”

“Of course. And I’ll proudly wear whatever dreadfully tacky and uncomfortable bridesmaid dresses she picks out.”

“Even if they’re a frightful shimmery green?”

“Oh god.” You swallow noisily. “I’ll still do it. And then burn the photos.”

Brian chuckles as he climbs out of bed. “In a stroke of luck, I suspect she’ll ask you to take the pictures. So you can avoid being in them as much as you’d like. And conveniently lose the unflattering ones.”

You study him thoughtfully. “Are you happy, Brian?”

“I am. Chrissie’s excited, my parents are thrilled, they’ll be sitting in the front row with the proudest smiles you’ve ever seen. Next comes a proper house, and children, and all the rest of it.” But something in those mellow olivey eyes is resigned, melancholy. His words from two months ago echo in your skull: It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.

“Do you still think about New Orleans?” you ask softly. About the woman he’d fallen in love with there before you ever met Queen, about the utopian passion he never quite stops searching for. Everyone has demons, secrets, shadowy trenches like cracks in porcelain; you’ve learned all about Brian’s. What about Roger’s? What about mine?

He shrugs, staring out the window at the dusky skyline of Yokohama. “Maybe I’ll always think about New Orleans. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to grow up and start taking responsibility.”

“Responsibility,” you reply cynically, before you can stop yourself. “Is that all love is about anymore?”

“Not for you. Not for Roger. You both want your freedom, your adventure, your true and uncomplicated love. And you’ll get to keep it.”

For now. But you don’t say that. Instead, you smile appeasingly and gesture for Brian to follow you out into the hallway.

The others are waiting by the door to the stairwell: John in a smart grey suit, Freddie in his black-and-yellow jacket, Roger in sunglasses and a ridiculous leopard-print vest he’d dug out of a trashcan somewhere and precariously tall boots.

“At last, Nurse Nightingale and my darling Brian!” Freddie chirps. “Come on, I’m positively famished, and also I’ve bet five pounds that I can consume more sake shots than Roger and I could really use the dough.”

Roger pushes through the door, leading the way. “Prepare to lose!”

“Roger, please,” you implore. “New livers don’t grow on trees, and I can’t give you half of mine. I’m the wrong blood type.”

Roger laughs as he bounds down the steps, then whirls to grin up at you as he walks backwards. “Relax, Deaks will share! You’re type A, aren’t you John—?”

Roger’s heel slips and he plummets down the flight of stairs. He tumbles as the four of you shriek in horror and bolt after him, slams into the wall of the landing, ricochets off of it and plunges down the next flight as well. There’s blood, you think frenziedly as you descend, screaming Roger’s name. There’s blood all over the steps.

Roger, crumpled on the maroon-streaked landing, slowly unravels and groans. He glances down, appraises himself, then hammers his left fist against the concrete wall of the stairwell, roaring in raw agony and rage. “No no no no no no!”

“Roger—!”

And then you see it.

Roger’s right arm hangs uselessly, unnaturally, his snapped radius bloody and splitting through the skin.

[thejollyroger-writer]

wherever we’re together, that’s my home

4x21 canon divergence where Rory says yes to Jess’ offer (as she should have)

Rated G.

Special thanks to @shireness-says​ for being the greatest beta in the world 

-- -- -- 

Nothing about her night has gone as planned. A terrible date set up by her grandmother. Avoiding drunk drivers. Calling Dean, of all people. And then, just when she thought the universe couldn’t throw anything else at her, who but Jess Mariano showed up at her dorm room. Not even Dean’s anger was enough to convince her to send him home — until he confessed his love to her. She wishes she was surprised, or even upset. 

But she was certainly confused. 

"Don't say no just to get me to stop talking or make me go away, only say no if you really don't want to be with me!" 

"I don't — I don't know, Jess! I can't just move to New York with you! I have a life here, I have friends and classes and my mom and…" 

"Dean? Do you have Dean? Is that why we can't be together?" 

"Come on, Jess! This isn't about him, hes—" 

"Just say it, Rory! If Dean is the one you want to be with, then I'll leave. I won't say another word and I'll go back to New York and never bother you again. Is that what you want?" 

"No!" She doesn't know where the word comes from. Is that what she wants? It doesn't even matter, because there's no way she can be with Dean even if she wants to be. He's married, but he's still… her Dean. Safe. Wonderful. Nice and loving and caring and — 

Married. She couldn't be with Dean. There's no way for her to be with him. But Jess… 

Of course part of her still loves him, even if it's a part of her that she tries to repress into the deepest, darkest corners of herself. 

But he's here. Now. Standing in front of her. Telling her that he's ready to be serious. She almost laughs out loud at that thought: Jess Mariano, serious? 

"What if you change your mind?" she whispers. 

Every muscle in his face softens. She doesn't think she has ever seen him like this, and she takes this moment to look at him, really look at him. He's changed since the last time they talked — not the night of the carnival, the night he told her… the night he left her again, but before that, before he left for California. He's grown since then, his hair has gotten longer, he's a little taller, but he's still Jess. She can't deny that he looks good, that the time away was good to him. 

"I'm not going to change my mind, Rory," he says, his voice soft. He's staring at her, his eyes bright in sharp contrast to every other part of him, and she can't help but believe him. "I told you. I want to be with you. I'm ready to be with you." 

"Just not here." 

"Yeah," he mutters. "I can't — you know I wasn't made for this small town life. Philadelphia, L. A., New York, those I could do, but I can't do Stars Hollow again, I just can't." 

“But I was made for small town life, you know that. I belong in Stars Hollow, it’s a part of me. I can’t just leave it behind.” 

"Rory, please." 

"If you want to be with me, you have to have the small town life that comes with it. You can't have one without the other." 

"Then come to New York for the summer. Just try it, for me. Try it for us." 

He still hasn't moved any closer to her. She's watched him reach out a few times, start to try to touch her, but he hasn't. 

She wants him to. She wants this, and the realization of it hits her like a brick wall. She wants to try. Everything about it is terrifying — living in a city, away from Star Hollow and festivals and Luke’s and Lane and… and her mother. Her moving to Yale was a big deal for them, how is she going to take this? 

But it’s not about her mother. It’s not about the town or Yale or Dean or her mother. It’s about her and Jess and being together. Wherever they go, together. 

Finally, she smiles. Reaches out for his hand. 

"New York. For the summer." 

He smiles. It's bright, radiant, happy, and it makes her heart beat faster in her chest. But it's nothing compared to the excitement she feels, the happiness that washes over her as she steps into the space between them, gently resting her hand against his cheek. 

"Yeah," he whispers, the corner of his cheek brushing against her hand as he smiles. 

"I've never been to New York." 

"I know." 

"Well, that's not true, I went with my mom and Sookie and Paris when we saw the Bangles but—" 

"Rory?" 

“ — we didn’t get to see that much of the city, except when we had to go rescue Madeline and Louise from that party—”

“Rory!”

"You're rambling again." Or, she was, because — why? Because she's nervous? That's usually why she— 

"Yeah." 

"Can you please shut up? I would really love to kiss you." 

She smiles again. "I think I can do that."

It's soft, just the way she remembers when she allows herself to recall what it was like when they were together. But there's also something else, something new, something… mature? Can a kiss be mature? She can't think of another word for it, mostly because she's more than a little distracted. 

Because… they're kissing. She's kissing Jess, in her empty dorm room. She's kissing Jess. And it's… it's good. It's more than good. It's great. It's wonderful. It's, well — perfect, really. 

She makes the first move, she thinks. She's unsure, really, because one second they're in the middle of the common room and the next second they're not, and he's pressing her against the wall, one hand on the back of her neck and the other on her waist, his thumb softly finding the bare skin above her waistband. 

"Can I… take this off?" she whispers, not daring to remove her lips from his, and she begins to unzip his jacket, the worn leather soft under her fingers. 

"Rory," he mumbles, pulling his lips away but leaving his forehead pressed against hers, his fingers toying with the end of her short hair. "I'm here now, you know. I'm all in, for as long as you'll have me. We don't have to — whatever you're comfortable with is all we —" 

"Breathe, Jess, please." She laughs, and she's worried that she's hurt his feelings until he looks up from the ground, until he smiles at her, his hand on her cheek. 

"All I'm saying is that we don't have to, you know, rush things. Whenever you're ready, I'll be here." 

"I am ready, Jess," she says, and realizes as the words come out that that's exactly how she feels. Everything about this is right, her and Jess and, okay, maybe not in her empty dorm room at Yale, but being here with him, wrapped in his arms and her lips pressed against his after he fills the space between them once more, and they're right back where they belong, here and together. 

"Yeah?" he smiles, and it's bright and happy and lights up the dark dorm room. 

She doesn't need words to answer him, pushing his jacket off his shoulders before tossing it onto a nearby box. 

And she was right. Even in her dark, empty dorm room on her not-dorm-room mattress, being with him is perfect. It's sweet and special and just seems so incredibly Jess but there's something more mature about him, a huge step from the last time something almost happened when he stormed out of that stupid party but the fact that he cares about her is obvious every step of the way with his whispered "are you sure"s, even with his lips pressed against her skin. 

"I have to call my mom," she mumbles, barely realizing the words even fall out of her mouth as she lays next to him, her fingers in her hair. "I like your hair like this." 

"Woah, Rory, wait," he laughs, wrapping his arm tighter around her back. "What? What is going on in that trainwreck head of yours that the first thing you think about after that is your mother?" 

"Well, I told her that I would let her know when I was ready to… you know… and now that we've, well, yeah, I need to tell her." 

"But right now?" 

"No, of course not right this second, but I have to go home before we go to New York." 

He groans. "Rory, no." 

"I have to take some of these boxes home and get some of my clothes and stuff."

"Rory."

"Did you really think I was going to leave Yale, move to another state with you, and not have to visit my mom?" she asks, leaning up on her elbow to look down at him. 

"I mean, I hoped. All your boxes are packed."

"And I go home all the time." 

He smiles at her, really smiles, and she realizes just how happy she is. Just how happy he makes her. How much she wants this, to be with him and spend the summer trying to make them work. She never got closure before — back when they were two completely different people. Even if she did want this back then, he would never have been able to offer it to her. This wasn't who Jess Mariano was when he was a teenager — and she truly hopes it's who he has become. 

"We're really gonna do this?" she asks, and instead of the fluttering of happiness the thought brings to her, Jess' smile falls instantly. 

"Why? Are you having regrets? I understand butterflies, Rory, but I told you—" 

"Jess," she whispers, setting her hand on his heart and feeling it pound under her fingers. "I'm not changing my mind." 

With this, his smile reappears, washing across his face, and he reaches down to thread his fingers between hers. 

"Good. I told you, Gilmore, I'm here for this. For you." 

"And we're moving to New York." 

"Just keep saying it until you believe it." 

"I'm not going to believe it until we're there." 

“Then let’s hit the road.” He picks up one of her boxes before leaning across it to peck her cheek with a kiss.