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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 6 months

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Murder House

Pairing: EddiexReader

Summary: @munsonfire sent me a message with this idea a while ago. It sat for a bit and then I came across it again and realized this would be perfect for a Halloween one shot. Eddie and Reader have lost a bet to Steve and the terms were that the loser had to spend the night in the Creel house. Reader is not amused by this at all and scared out of her mind so Eddie finds a way to help her relax. Happy Halloween! Hope everyone is enjoying their spooky season just as much as our favorite metalhead would!

18+ Only Minors Go Away

“This is so stupid. I don’t know why I ever let you convince me into this stupid bet,” you muttered in annoyance, standing in front of the last place you would ever want to be, especially on Halloween.

“Oh come on.” Eddie’s arm came around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, his lips coasting over your ear as he whispered, “What better way to spend Halloween than at the murder house? You think the ghosts of old Victor Creel’s family are in there, just waiting to take their revenge?”

“Ugh!” You placed your hand on his chest, shoving him away. “You’re such an asshole! I should make you spend the night in there alone.”

“Nope, those were not the terms of the agreement. You both lost so you both have to stay. You agreed to it.”

You both turned to see Steve and Robin standing behind you. Steve stood, arms folded, an arrogant and pleased smile on his face for having been the winner of the dumb bet. Robin’s teeth clicked together as she cringed apologetically at you, arms held out to her sides, hating this for you but secretly pleased that it was you and not her who had to make it until sunrise inside the house where a man had mutilated his entire family.

“Thanks, Steve. I am well aware of the terms we set,” you ground out between clenched teeth, peeking over your shoulder at the house that loomed menacingly behind you.

Windows boarded over, paint peeling, the yard overgrown with weeds as it had sat vacant ever since that awful night almost thirty years ago, no one brave enough to inhabit the home where such evil had occurred. The house itself felt unsettled, a portal into a world of darkness and desolation, and you could almost feel the pain and the sadness that had once resided within those walls.

“Alright, well, we’ll be back to collect you in the morning,” Steve sang pleasantly. “That is, if there’s anything left to collect.” He let out a loud laugh as he turned and made his way to his car.

That had been part of the deal. Steve had dropped you off, not wanting the two of you to have a vehicle you could escape in if you wanted. Not that the two of you couldn’t walk. It wasn’t like Hawkins was New York City. It might take you a good forty-five minutes but you could make it back to Eddie’s trailer if you needed to. Steve was just being an ass, trying to make sure the two of you followed through.

“Sorry,” Robin sighed, rushing forward to give you a quick hug. “It’s just one night. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah, right,” you murmured, watching your friends drive away, leaving you and Eddie standing on the walkway, staring up at the house that was framed in the last of the daylight, sun just beginning to set. Twelve hours, from sunset to sunrise. You could do this.

“Hey, we’re gonna be fine, sweetheart,” Eddie told you, his fingers locking with yours, the familiar feel of those chunky rings bringing you some comfort. “Besides, you got me.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes, “Oh, that’s reassuring.”

“Hey!”

“Let’s just get this over with,” you groaned, hiking your backpack over your shoulder before lifting your sleeping bag under your arm and stomping toward the house.

“Baby, come on!” Eddie huffed, grabbing his own stuff, his footsteps loud behind you as he raced to keep up. “I know you’re annoyed but it doesn’t change the fact that we have to do this.”

“We only have to do this Eddie because you agreed to that stupid bet in the first place!”

“What’d you expect me to do? My manly pride was on the line!”

“Jesus Christ. Steve bet you that you couldn’t drink four beers in a row and then beat him in four laps around the track! You know he’s in better shape than you. The man was in every goddamn sport imaginable in high school. What did you think was going to happen?”

“He might be better at sports but I am way better at drinking. I figured he’d collapse halfway through.”

“King Steve? Steve of the epic parties every weekend at his house where there was always a keg? You really didn’t think he could hold his own when it came to drinking?”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip, eyes squinting, that cute little scrunch happening with his nose but you couldn’t find anything cute right now. Because of him, you were now stuck staying in the goddamn murder house. You glared at the stained glass rose on the door as if it were to blame for all of this before you turned the knob and pushed it in.

The guys had removed all the plywood that covered the door earlier before Eddie had used his expert lockpick skills to get it open. You’d stood, anxiously watching, hoping some divine intervention would be on your side, would keep them from being able to get the door opened. But no, of course not. The universe hated you, laughed in your face, mocked you because now you would be doing the one thing you feared the most.

You’d avoided this house your whole life. Friends would think it was fun to bet each other to run up and just put a foot on the porch. They’d dart as quick as they could, laughing all the way back, infused with confidence at their glorious moment of triumph. You’d never partook, never cared to prove your bravery, never understood why anyone would want to.

The stories people told about that place were horrific. How could a husband and father do such things to his wife and children? Their limbs were snapped, eyes cut out of their head, jaws broken. Some people said he was possessed by Satan himself. Some people said he had a psychotic break after the horrible things he’d seen in the war. Some people said he was just a psycho like Michael Myers.

“Okay,” Eddie relented, following you inside the foyer, kicking the door shut behind you. “Maybe I was a bit hasty not to consider all of those things but I couldn’t just let him assume he could beat me. He was taunting me, baby. I couldn’t let that stand.”

“And you had to drag me down with you?” you sighed, swallowing hard as you walked past the stairs and caught sight of the dining room, the place where the wife had been found.

“Harrington included Buckley in the bet. I had to have a second. Besides, would you really want me to have to stay here all alone? What if I got scared? Who would hold me?”

“You could have managed.”

“Damn, that’s harsh, princess. I’ll hold you when you’re scared.”

“I wouldn’t be scared if it wasn’t for you. I wouldn’t be in this damn place if it wasn’t for you.”

Eddie stepped up beside you, a loud exclamation of excitement bursting from him, “Oh shit! This is where the wife was murdered, right? They found her on that table. This is so fucking cool.”

“Cool? Are you shitting me? Yeah, they found a woman whose husband tortured her on that table and they found his two little kids in the foyer we just walked through. A father murdering his children. That’s real cool, Eddie.”

He groaned in frustration as you turned, storming away from him and headed up the stairs. You didn’t really want to go any further into this nightmare but you also didn’t want to be standing where people had been killed and you definitely wanted to get away from him. Eddie and his stupid bets, stupid manly pride, stupid excitement over everything scary, haunted, or grotesque.

“Oh…” you breathed, stepping into what had to be Alice’s bedroom. The small bed still sat, beautiful wooden headboard with a floral design, the colors long faded, a small nightstand next to it. Sitting on the bed was a sad looking teddy bear, covered in dust, as if frozen in time, just waiting for his little girl to return.

You backed up. No, you couldn’t be in that room, definitely not that room. Your back bumped into something hard, something warm, something very much alive and a blood curdling scream clawed its way from your throat as you jumped and spun, fist ready to connect with whatever was about to cause you harm.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Eddie yelled, both hands held up in front of him. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just me, okay? It’s just me.”

“You absolute jerk!” you huffed, hand that had been prepared to swing now clutching your chest as you fought for breath. “Why would you sneak up on me in a haunted house?”

“I wasn’t sneaking, sweetheart, I swear. You must not have heard me. I just didn’t want you wandering around alone. Is…is that the girl’s room?” His eyes fell on the teddy bear. “Damn.”

“Yeah, you got anything to say about how sick or cool this is now?” you challenged, arms folding over your chest.

“No. Look, it is cool to be in a house that’s been a goddamn legend in this town. Everyone talks about the murder house. I love anything creepy. But no, I don’t think it was cool that some guy hurt his family, okay?” His hand came to your waist, pulling you into him. “Come on, baby. I don’t want to fight with you all night. I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I’m sorry I let my stupid ego get the better of me with Harrington. But we’re here now, so can we at least make the best of it? I mean, big house all to ourselves, just you and me…”

Then Eddie’s lips were on your neck, tongue tracing, teeth pulling in the skin just above your pulsepoint and you were quickly forgetting why you’d ever been mad at him in the first place. He was good at that, making you forget that he’d been an asshole. Eddie played dirty, using his masterful skills to get you to forgive him in the very best way possible.

Your eyes slipped closed, hand cradling the back of his head as those lips worked magic, igniting a fire over each inch of skin they touched. He pushed your jacket over your shoulders and it tumbled to the floor of the hallway with a soft swish. The shoulder of your top dragged down your arm and his mouth followed, worshiping each new bit of skin he exposed.

“Fuck, what room you want, baby?” he mumbled over your skin.

“Huh?” you managed through your haze, struggling to think beyond the way his lips were tenderly sucking the flesh of your collarbone.

“What room? Need to get you in a room…”

You pulled back from him, eyes wide, “No. I can’t…we can’t…not in any of their rooms, Eddie. Are you kidding me?”

“Okay, downstairs then.”

“No. Absolutely not. That’s where everybody died.”

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he whined, taking your hand and placing over the obvious bulge in his jeans. “You feel what you do to me? It’s so painful. You don’t want me in pain, do you?”

“Oh, don’t try to guilt me into it. You’re not in that much pain, you big old baby.”

“Attic.”

“What?”

Eddie grabbed onto your hand, dragging you down the hall to a small door, opening it to reveal another set of stairs. Your eyes widened, heart pounding in your chest as he pulled you behind him, up the stairs.

“The attic? Seriously?” you squeaked. “The only thing worse than a basement in a creepy house is the attic in a creepy house.”

“Maybe but nobody died up here,” he stated, “at least that I know of.”

“What!?”

He chuckled, “Relax. I’m kidding. Nobody died up here, okay? Nothing bad happened up here. No one ever talks about the attic.”

The two of you reached the top of the stairs, your eyes darting around, searching for any signs of danger, anything that told you that you should run. Sheets were draped over objects, giving them a menacing look, as if anything could be under there just waiting to jump out and grab you. But if you didn’t want to be downstairs or upstairs, this was about the only option left.

“Eddie…” you began but you were silenced when his lips covered yours, swallowing whatever you were going to say, morphing it into a low moan.

His hands covered your hips as he began to walk, moving you, until your back hit the wall at the far end of the attic. His tongue licked its way into your mouth to war with your own. Your fingers plunged into his hair, tugging at it until he groaned, pulling at your lower lip with his teeth in a way that had you whimpering.

A rustling sound broke through your trance and you gasped, pulling back from him, eyes wide, searching for the source. Your fingers covered your bruised lips, frantic. Was someone up here? Had it been a mouse, a bat? None of those things sounded pleasant to you.

“Baby,” Eddie growled, finger and thumb gripping your chin, pulling your face back to his. “Nothing is here. It’s just an old house. Old houses make sounds.”

“But what if…”

“Shh,” he urged, tongue slipping over your jaw, down your neck. “I’m going to fuck the fear right out of you, baby. You won’t be able to think about anything else.” Hands roughly dragged your top down, exposing your breasts, locking your arms against your sides. “Just relax and let Eddie take care of everything.”

“Eddie,” you breathed when his warm wet mouth covered the fabric of your lace bra, his hand covering your other breast. As his tongue teased one nipple, his fingers teased the other and he came through on his promise because suddenly, you didn’t care where you were. You couldn’t hear anything but the moans and gasps from your own lips, the murmurs of satisfaction that Eddie made when he pulled the tender bud between his teeth and you cried out his name.

Eddie’s tongue trailed between your breasts, up the hollow of your throat, over your jaw. His lips smashed against yours roughly, all lips, tongue, and teeth as if he were trying to devour you. His hand slid into the front of your leggings, past your panties and he growled roughly as you inhaled the sound.

“So wet for me already. Spread your legs for me, baby.” You obeyed without question. “Good girl. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby. You love when I fuck that tight, little pussy, don’t you?”

You nodded, struggling as he slid one finger through your slick, teasing, his stroke far too gentle. Your hips rolled, needing more pressure, needing him to touch you, to fuck you with his fingers.

“Need to hear you, beautiful. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want you to put your fingers inside me, Eddie, to touch my clit, to make me come…” you pleaded. “Please, baby.”

“Fuck, you make me so goddamn hard when you beg.” Two fingers pressed into your entrance as his thumb found your clit, pressing down and you groaned, the sound animalistic, a sound of pure relief. “That goddamn sound. I want to make you do it all the fucking time.” He curled those fingers, hitting that blissful place within you that had you screeching, back arching. “That feel good? Huh? You like that?”

“Yes…oh fuck…yes…” you groaned, wishing you had use of your arms so you could grab onto his shoulders and steady yourself. Your legs were quickly becoming useless beneath you.

“I got you, baby.” As if Eddie could read your mind, he stepped into you, pressing the length of his body against yours, keeping you pinned against the wall as he sent you to levels of pleasure you’d never known existed until you’d met him.

“Eddie, please don’t stop…” you whimpered as his thumb drew circles around your clit, his fingers opening and closing before he added a third, thrusting them along your spongy walls.

“So polite for me. Don’t worry, baby. I’m not going to stop, not until you’re squirting all over my fingers and screaming my name so loud that even the ghosts will be scared away.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, legs trembling, fists clenched so tightly at your sides that your nails were digging into the flesh of your palms. You were racing up that big hill on the roller coaster, just cresting the top, about to plunge over the side.

“Come for me, beautiful,” urged Eddie. “Let all the monsters, ghouls, and goblins know exactly who you belong to.”

“Eddie…I…oh…fuuuuck!”

Your back arched, breath catching in your throat as you shuddered, the force of your orgasm rocking your body. Eddie kept you pinned between him and the wall as he worked you through it, his movements slowing, more gentle as he felt you slowly coming down until your forehead collapsed against his shoulder.

“Baby, you look so fucking beautiful when you come,” he rasped against your ear, his hands gripping your hips once again before he spun you around, pressing your front flat against the window just to the left. His hands grabbed onto your leggings and panties, dragging them down your legs to your knees, effectively confining them just as your arms were in your top. “Need to see it again.”

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, of his zipper as it dragged down the front of his jeans, your center already pulsing with need all over again, your body never able to get enough of him. You could never fully be satisfied when it came to Eddie, craving him like a drug.

“Let’s give all the monsters a real show, huh, princess?”

Then his hips rocked toward you and his cock slid into you, bottoming out in one rough thrust. You moaned, cheek smashed against the dusty glass. One of Eddie’s hands held your hip, the other palming your lace covered breast, keeping you upright as he began to move, rocking into you again and again, hitting deeper each time until you felt like you could feel him everywhere.

“How does it feel, baby?”

“So good…”

“Just good?” he grunted. “We’ll have to fix that.”

His hand came around your throat, dragging you up until your back was pressed against his chest. He stepped forward and you gasped when your breasts smashed against the cool glass. Two of his fingers forced their way into your mouth.

“Make ‘em nice and wet for me, princess,” he ordered, a purr rumbling his chest when you did as you were told. “That’s it.”

His hand slid between your bodies, the other one pressing between your shoulder blades, bending your over once again until your cheek met the window. Those two fingers pressed against the tight little hole between your asscheeks and you groaned loudly as he teased first one and then both inside, matching the thrusting of his cock.

“Better than good now, baby?”

“Jesus…” you whimpered.

“No sweetheart, but I promise you’ll feel like you’ve ascended into heaven by the time I’m done with you.” He thrust, fingers and cock, completely filling you with him until you thought you were burst from the sensation of it. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight. So good, baby. You feel so fucking good, taking me so perfect like the good little slut you are.”

You were a whimpering mess at his words, loving when he degraded you but only in the bedroom. Eddie knew where the line was and he had never crossed it. What happened during sex was different than how you were with each other outside of that. It was that level of respect that allowed you to enjoy him getting rough and nasty.

“Come for me, baby. I know you want to. I can feel it. You love when I play with that tight little asshole, don’t you?”

“Yes…fuck…baby, I’m so close. I’m so…I…”

You screamed, walls pulsing around his cock. You felt him twitch within you and then he grunted, curses falling from his mouth, his free hand grabbing your shoulder as he thrust in hard, pumping you full of his release. You mewled softly as his legs bent, fingers leaving your body, the two of you sinking to the floor, collapsing next to each other.

“Jesus…fuck…” Eddie muttered, glancing over at you, still confined in your clothing. He chuckled. “Sorry, baby. Let me get that.” His hands grabbed onto your shirt, pulling it up so you had use of your arms again.

You reached down, pulling up your panties and underwear as Eddie slowly got his own situated. One arm flung over his head as the other one reached out for you, fingers beckoning you closer.

“Come here.”

You rolled, content to curl into the safety of your boyfriend. He hummed into your hair, lips pressing against your forehead. Your fingers played with those chestnut locks you loved so much.

“That was…holy shit,” you laughed, kissing just under his jaw.

“Yeah, holy shit about covers it. Did you want to sleep up here? I can grab our sleeping bags and bring everything up.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how much sleeping I’ll actually get done but I guess up here is better than down there.”

“Oh, I can easily occupy all night if you need,” he teased, rolling you on top of him, peppering your face with kisses until you were giggling. “So, am I forgiven?”

You sighed, “Yeah jackass. You’re forgiven.”

You both gasped, covering your eyes as bright light suddenly flooded the room. Turning your head, you saw it was a bulb hanging in the middle of the attic, burning brighter than any light you’d ever seen.

“What the…” Eddie murmured.

“Eddie…” you moaned and not for a good reason this time. This was not right. This was not…nobody had turned on that light. How was some bulb in a house no one had lived in for decades, a bulb that should have been burnt out long ago, suddenly lighting up the room like the midday sun.

With a shatter, the bulb exploded and you both screamed, Eddie’s body coming to cover yours, as the attic was plunged into darkness once more.

#eddie munson #eddie the banished #stranger things eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x femreader #eddie munson halloween #halloween #spooky season #happy halloween #spooky time #spooky smut #halloween smut #smut

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lalaverdecia · 1 year

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Season Finale: Who Got ‘Sucked Off’?

Wow, what an ending. But the big question remains. Which ghost got ‘sucked off’? (Moved on to heaven)

There’s already a LOT of speculation as to who they may be. So I’m going to go over them, along with what I believe might happen in season 3.

Nigel

People are saying now that Isaac and Nigel are engaged, it made Nigel so happy it caused him to move on. (Which I will boycott the fuckin show if that’s the case) But I don’t believe that to be the truth. Not with the rules the show has already set up with how a ghost gets ‘sucked off’. And for that, we have to go all the way back to the first season.

How A Ghost Gets ‘Sucked Off’

In season 1 episode 11 ‘Sam’s Mom’, we meet Sam’s mother Sheryl who became a ghost at a restaurant after having an allergic reaction to shrimp.

At the end of the episode, she’s able to move on to heaven after having a real heart to heart with Sam, telling her how proud of her she’s always been and has just wanted the best for her. And almost immediately she gets ‘sucked off’.

Now, back to Nigel.

People are saying ‘Well now that Nigel is engaged, he’d be so happy, this would have caused him to move on, right?’ But the answer is no. Not with how the logic of getting ‘sucked off’ is already put in place. Hetty even mentions this logic in the third episode of the series. She says and I quote, “Sometimes very rare occasions, when a ghost is able to resolve a long-standing issue, the heavens open up and whoosh, they get sucked off.”

This is exactly what happened with Sam’s mother. She was able to resolve her issues with her daughter, making her ‘unfinished business’ finished. What issues did Nigel put to rest? There wasn’t any. Now, you could say the ‘issue’ was him and Isaac not taking the next step in moving in together. But if that was the case, wouldn’t after Isaac proposed and said they could move in together would this have happened? Wouldn’t he have immediately been ‘sucked off’? But it didn’t happen. So it COULDN’T have been Nigel. So who was it? Who got ‘sucked off’?

Season 3 Predictions

Who I believe might have been the one who got ‘sucked off’.

I think it’ll be Nancy. And there’s a few reasons as to why I believe it’ll be her:

She had been more prominent in season 2 than she’s been in season 1. (And yes I know the same goes for Nigel but just hear me out)

She had been in the last three episodes of season two.

She has been shown to be more interactive with the other ghosts during their daily activities.

I feel like this season has been setting up for her departure from Woodstone. Even in her debut episode back in season 1, she explains to the other cholera ghosts that she ‘wants a better afterlife than this’. How she didn’t want to just stand around all day in the basement and do nothing. She wanted to feel a part of something. To be part of a group that feels like a family and something meaningful. And lately, the other ghosts have seemed to have accepted her to just be around too. They don’t seem to have a problem with her anymore. (Well except for Hetty of course) So with the feeling of being unwanted and not accepted gone, Nancy has finally made peace and when she realizes this, she’s able to move on.

Final Thoughts

Phew, so that’s what I believe might happen in the beginning of season 3. But for now, I guess we’ll just have to wait until the fall to see for sure.

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wyattjohnston · 1 year

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until the light shines through - quinn hughes

summary: it didn’t take very long at all for laurel to realise that the world of hockey was well beyond what she could handle. there was just something about quinn that made it impossible to stay away.

note: this is set in the 2021-2022 season because i started it almost exactly 12 months ago. i’m eternally grateful to @hock-ee & @farbutnevergone for being the sounding board in the beginning of this fic, and as always to @matthewtkachuk & @laurenairay for coming in clutch and making me feel like it was worth finishing. shelb gets extra credit for reading it all multiple times and helping me fill in some gaps and catch the times my sentences ended halfway through.

word count: 17,690

playlist: good love - shawn hook | i know places - taylor swift | closer - sleeping with sirens | feel like shit - tate mcrae | you're in love - betty who

“Your Uber is here. Don’t make him wait too long or your rating will drop.”

Laurel lifted her head at the sound of the new voice and the tattoo gun being pulled away from her skin.

“The Uber driver should be a bit more patient, or his rating will drop,” Annie, the tattoo artist said, lifting her head. “You aren’t even the Uber I ordered.”

The man who had walked in shrugged, taking a seat at the front of the shop. Laurel looked between him and Annie, waiting for something more than a joke about Uber drivers. Before Annie even offered an explanation, she was telling Laurel that she was going to start the gun again—the machine, that was something Annie had stressed when they were setting up.

Laurel couldn’t help but track the movement of the machine as it got to the final parts of the black cat outline being tattooed on the inside of her wrist. It was her first tattoo and she’d always been interested in the process and despite the sting of the needle she knew exactly why people spoke about it being addictive.

“Where’d you park?” Annie asked as she was covering the finished tattoo, having already taken a photo of it to post to Instagram. Laurel watched it disappear beneath the black wrap.

“A couple streets away; parking is shit.”

“If you can wait for me to sterilise the machine and everything and lock up, we’ll walk you,” Annie offered. “Won’t we, Huggy Bear?”

Huggy Bear agreed, then trailed off grumbling about the Huggy nickname.

Even while Laurel was waiting to leave, Annie and Huggy were happily chatting away. Most of the conversation went far over her head, despite their efforts to include her or provide context, so she stood beside the counter at the front of the shop and checked her phone until it was time to leave.

She laughed politely when it was appropriate for the conversation, although she wasn’t quite sure what she was laughing at, but the least she could do was pretend to be interested when they were helping to keep her safe.

“Have a great weekend,” Annie said when they reached Laurel’s car. “Just hit me up on Insta if you forget the aftercare stuff or have any questions. I’ll post the photo tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I really do love it. And thank you both for walking me to my car.”

Huggy raised his hand awkwardly and said something that Laurel didn’t quite hear so she just waved back before getting into her car.

“He really keeps staring at us,” Karina said, her face contorting in discomfort after she did another subtle glance around the restaurant to see if said guy had stopped staring. The wave he’d given her earlier hadn’t done much to assuage their unease, though it had led to lengthy conversations about which one of them might have known who he was.

“I don’t know if it’d be better or worse if he actually came over,” Laurel said, frowning down at her empty plate. “I just want him to stop staring.”

Karina waved the waiter down to get the cheque, saying that they’d be out of there soon. Laurel huffed at the audacity of men who didn’t understand what common decency was. She didn’t look back over at him and his friend, though she desperately wanted to, because she didn’t want to give him the impression that she was interested and risk him following them out of the restaurant to their next stop.

Their next step was just a bar, nothing special or interesting, just a quiet-ish place they could continue their drinking. A few other people from work were meeting them; Friday night drinks to end the week were never something Laurel would pass up.

“That’s the guy from the restaurant, isn’t it?” Karina asked, not even being casual in how she was pointing him out.

Laurel sighed, finished her cocktail, and stood up in a rush, only regretting it slightly when she felt the alcohol had gone to her head. She didn’t say a single word to Karina, who tried to catch her arm before she could get too far away and walked directly over to the guy that had been staring at her all night.

He was sitting with the man he’d eaten dinner with, and it was incredibly stupid for Laurel to confront him by herself when he wasn’t alone but Laurel’s pride often got the best of her.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” she said, not even waiting until they were looking at her. “What do you want?”

“I—uh—” the man stuttered. Laurel had to give him credit for maintaining eye contact even if he was sinking down into his seat.

“Can you stop? I have no idea who you are and it’s freaking me the fuck out.”

“We met—you were—Annie—the tattoo.”

“Oh, Teddy Bear,” Laurel said, amused by the memory, but mostly the nickname, as his face merged with the vague memory of the man who had shown up when she was getting the tattoo on her forearm.

The man sitting with him snorted.

“Huggy Bear but it’s just Quinn. Please call me Quinn,” he begged, sitting up a little straighter knowing that she at least had some recollection of him.

“Alright, Quinn, is there a reason you’ve been staring at me beyond recognising me?”

Quinn opened his mouth to answer, though nothing came out.

The man across the table, lanky and blond, stood up before Quinn could speak, and was already walking away when he announced, “I’m out of here before this gets awkward.”

Laurel watched him briefly as he left and when she turned back to Quinn his face was redder than before—though it wasn’t all that noticeable in the bar’s poor lighting.

He said, mumbled and incoherent, something that ended in pretty and Laurel had to fight the twinge that threatened to lift the corners of her mouth.

“You think I’m pretty?” she pressed, her hand resting on the back of the vacated chair so that she could lean forward just a little.

“Yeah, I—I wanted to send you a message on Insta after we met but I chickened out.”

It was reckless, probably, to say what she said next, but Laurel was a sucker for a compliment, “Would you like to buy me a drink, Quinn?”

He stood so suddenly that the table rocked, and Laurel had to catch it before the glasses toppled over. He took four steps towards the bar before hastily walking back to her to ask what she wanted to drink.

She followed him to the bar, too smart and too weary to let him just bring a drink back to her. She ordered a Tom Collins, Quinn ordered a beer, and as the bartender was making her cocktail, she leaned lightly against the bar and asked, “How did you know I was here? At the restaurant?”

Quinn’s eyes bugged and his shoulders squared, as he rushed to say, “I didn’t. I promise. I’m not stalking you—so many people would actually cut off my dick if I was.”

Laurel’s lip quirked up, wondering if it was the tattoo artist who made that threat. There was still a little part of her that didn’t trust that he hadn’t known where she was going to be but it was overridden by her interest in his awkward nature.

They weaved through the crowd of people back to their table, which was luckily still free despite their trip to the bar. Laurel sat down, leaning back in her seat and letting him lead the conversation wherever he saw fit while she enjoyed her drink.

“I’ve never had to try this hard to get a girl’s attention before,” he said, his hand running through his hair and messing up the careful mess it had already been.

Laurel tilted her head, saying, “That’s… a surprise to me.”

Quinn goes silent, instantly looking even more insecure than he already did. He coughed and said, “I suppose there are meaner ways to tell me I’m not attractive.”

“I actually thought you weren’t confident enough,” Laurel clarified, resting her elbows on the table so he knew how serious she was when she added, “I think you’re plenty attractive.”

The compliment did exactly what Laurel had been hoping it would, increasing his confidence tenfold. His chin lifting, his shoulders squaring and a smirk crossing his mouth. Laurel smirked back at him, making direct eye contact as she pulled her straw into her mouth.

Giving Quinn her phone number was an easy decision.

After waking up on a mattress comfier than she ever thought possible and smiling at Quinn who was already dressed and walking around the bedroom, Laurel enjoyed the water pressure in the walk-in shower.

When she’d walked into the apartment the night before (see: earlier that morning) she hadn’t paid any attention to where they were or what the apartment looked like. A long time had passed since she inspected apartments when she walked in; one too many had turned her off immediately and she’d rather not know until she’d had her fun. Quinn’s apartment however… she would not have had that problem based on his bathroom alone. The bathroom was always the worst.

She wrapped a towel around herself, delighted by its fluffiness, and walked back through Quinn’s bedroom so she could find him. The size baffled her, too, because the location was enough to cost a small fortune in rent each month—the thought of paying for multiple bedrooms, multiple bathrooms and a separate kitchen and dining area made her feel lightheaded. And he lived alone.

“Do you drink coffee?” Quinn asked when she found him in the kitchen.

“How often do you get a ‘no’ to that question?”

“It happens enough that I have to ask.”

Laurel’s lip twitched up in a smirk, waiting for Quinn to realise that he’d just admitted to bringing home women often enough that he had a decent sample size of those who drink coffee vs those who don’t—he was oblivious, though, just standing near the coffee machine awkwardly holding out an empty mug waiting for an answer.

She tightened the towel over her breasts and Quinn’s eyes flickered down before shooting right back up as if he hadn’t seen it all a matter of hours prior.

“I was hoping I could grab a shirt or something to wear first.”

He was startled by the question, taking a few seconds to put the mug down and nod at her. He led her to his bedroom and pulled out the second drawer in the chest.

“You can help yourself to whatever…” he said slowly. “Or anything else in here, I guess. I don’t know what you’d want.”

The twitching smirk was back, as Laurel pulled out what she expected to be a plain black shirt saying “Just a t-shirt is fine. Do you have something a bit less… colourful?”

The shirt she pulled out unfolded to show a black and yellow logo on it that very much looked like it belonged in the 80s.

“You don’t like the flying skate logo?” Quinn asked, taking it from her to stare at it in a way Laurel could only describe as longingly.

“The what now?”

“The flying skate?”

“Am I supposed to know what that is just because you’ve said it a second time?” she asked, bemused.

Quinn held the shirt to his chest, scandalised. “The Canucks logo? Hockey?”

“Oh, I’m from Florida,” Laurel revealed with a shake of her head. “I don’t know anything about hockey.”

She turned back to the chest of drawers and went about finding a plain black shirt. Hockey was something she heard about on a near daily basis but the people she spent time with regularly had long since stopped trying to convince her to give it a chance.

“I was born in Florida and I know a lot about hockey.”

Apparently, Quinn wasn’t going to let it go, though.

Laurel found a shirt, checked it for logos, and only moved back to the bed when she was certain it was in fact plain black so that she could drop the towel and go about putting on more clothes than just her underwear.

“Semantics are important here,” she said, trying to sort out of her bra on still slightly damp skin. “You were born in Florida, I’m from Florida. Where would you say you’re from?”

Quinn didn’t respond to her, just stared at her with his mouth not completely shut. Laurel cleared her throat because he was, much like when she’d walked into the kitchen, staring at her chest.

He cleared his own throat, focusing his eyes on her face, “Michigan, probably. Toronto, maybe.”

Laurel hummed as she pulled the shirt over her head, adding, when she could see him, “Both really into hockey, I thought.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Quinn twitched. “I could teach you about hockey. If you want.”

Laurel shrugged, tilting her head from side to side as she thought about it, before settling on saying, “I’ve never really been interested? Seems a bit barbaric.”

“It’s not,” Quinn said, firmly. He then hesitated and added, “Anymore.”

Laurel couldn’t help but smirk at his change of mind. She asked, partially because didn’t know but mostly because she didn’t believe him, “So, they don’t fight for the sake of fighting?”

“No,” he said, forcefully enough that Laurel’s mouth pulled shut, “there’s always a reason.”

“You’re, like, really invested in me liking hockey. Does this not go anywhere if I don’t?”

The beat of silence that followed probably only lasted three seconds but it was enough time that Laurel was working out how best to get her clothes and get out as quickly as possible. She was looking around for her top, aiming for surreptitious, when Quinn spoke.

“I play. For them. The Canucks. I’m on the team. My job is hockey.”

“Oh, no shit,” Laurel said, her laugh breathy and disbelieving. “And I just called it barbaric.”

“Does this not go anywhere because I play?”

Laurel rolled her eyes, closing the space between them. She cupped his cheeks, smiling up at him and shaking her head. She pressed up on her toes, touching her lips to his lightning fast.

“No. It doesn’t change that I was going to stay for breakfast and then give you my number.”

Karina would be so disappointed.

Christmas was finally over, another successful year of pretending it hadn’t happened, and Laurel was back to work after a lovely long weekend of ignoring the outside world. She hoped on Boxing Day that she could call Quinn for some fun, only to be told that he’d gone to Michigan to see his family.

And, honestly, what was the point in having each other’s numbers if he wasn’t going to be home?

Laurel wasn’t expecting to spend New Year’s Even with him either, she did have plans of her own, but she’d been hopeful she could leave just after midnight and be back in Quinn’s bed before the night was truly over.

He was in Seattle, apparently.

Two weeks after she left his apartment, Laurel was finally able to get back there.

“I thought, maybe, you were just really bad at ghosting,” she joked as she walked through his door, kissing him briefly and then leaning back in for a second one.

“My schedule has been kind of insane,” he said apologetically.

Laurel laughed as she shrugged off her coat, “Perils of being a professional athlete?”

“One of, I guess.”

“Did you win at least?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Quinn’s waist and looking up at him hopefully. She didn’t have any real interest in the games themselves, but she could get on board with being interested in their success at the very least.

They did win, he told her excitedly. 5-2 was the score; Laurel kept it to herself that she thought the score was quite low. She’d had a passing interest at most in basketball but that was her frame of reference for how high sports scores should be.

It was early enough in the evening that they organised dinner to be delivered and Laurel was eager to agree because she was on the second day of a New Years’ hangover and knew that bruschetta and pasta would do wonders to get her over what was lingering.

They sat down to eat at Quinn’s dining table—Laurel was positive that he’d not used it in months because of the things he had to move to clear space for them.

She was loudly enjoying her bruschetta when Quinn’s face twisted just enough that she knew he was going to say something but second guessing himself. She, not wanting to talk with her mouth full, raised an eyebrow and nodded so that he would speak.

“You’re really from Florida?”

“Orlando,” Laurel answered with a smile. “I’ve only been here since I started college in 2017.”

“I started college in 2017.”

Laurel perked up, “At UBC?”

“No, UMich. Michigan.”

“That’s why you’d say you’re from there?” she asked, thinking it was a tad odd that he’d say he was from there just because he’d been to college there. She wouldn’t say she was from Vancouver after four and a half years.

“One of the reasons, yeah. I moved to Michigan when I was 15.”

“So, you were born in Florida, you’ve lived in Toronto and also Michigan and now you’re in Vancouver?” She tried to track the movement around North America in her head. “Lot of moves for a kid.”

“Boston and New Hampshire, too. I don’t remember anything about Florida or Boston, only have a few memories of New Hampshire—mostly my brother being born and my other brother being really upset about it.”

“What are their names? Your brothers?”

“Jack is the middle child and Luke is the youngest. Two years between each of us.”

“I have a brother, Artie. He’s like 16 years older than me, though, so I don’t know him that well. Are you close with yours?”

“Yeah, real close.”

Laurel smiled at him, happy for him, even as she wondered what it would be like to have a close relationship with her family.

“Luke probably won’t be around any time soon, but we play Jack at some point—he plays hockey for New Jersey—so you might get to meet him soon. I think you’ll like him.”

A light panic threatened to break her smile but Laurel was able to keep the smile on her face well enough that Quinn didn’t react.

The tension in Laurel’s jaw was causing her a headache. It had been hours since it set in—the tension and the headache—and the only thing Laurel wanted was the cheap vodka in her apartment. Her job was stressful on a good day, and she’d known that it would be when she started her Social Work course years prior. There were some days, though, where the planets aligned and the patients were inconsolable, the families were assholes and the hospital was letting everybody down. They were the days she could do without.

She had barely stepped foot into her apartment when her phone rang and she had to resist the urge to throw her entire bag at the wall. After a few deep breaths and letting the phone ring out, Laurel took out her phone and dropped her bag onto the kitchen counter as she passed it.

It started ringing again in her hand; Laurel inhaled for a count of five and then exhaled for a count of five just to stop herself from following through on throwing it into the wall. That was a sure-fire way to get on Hayley’s shitlist and Laurel had been pretty solidly off it for long enough that she had no intentions of ruining that.

Quinn’s name was on the screen and conflict bloomed through her entire body. It wasn’t immediately clear in her mind whether she’d be calmed by talking to him or if she’d take out her anger on him. The call rang out before she could think it over.

It buzzed again, a text coming through, and she lifted her phone to read it.

From Quinn: Call me when you’re home. Come for dinner 😊

Telling him she was home and ready at any moment was easy and did relieve the tension in her jaw just a little.

Changing out of her clothes felt like far too much of an effort; she’d put enough effort into her outfit that morning anyway. It was Friday after all and there was always the possibility that Friday could turn into Friday night so she liked to look a little more put together.

From Quinn: Stay the night at mine?

And then there was that.

She’d stayed the night at Quinn’s before, though it had just been the night they met and most definitely not planned in advance. Being essentially asked to pack an overnight bag was more preparation than Laurel had been expecting this soon into their… whatever.

Hayley walked into the apartment as Laurel walked out, her eyes immediately drifting to the bag slung over Laurel’s shoulder.

“I don’t even know,” Laurel said as she hitched it further up her shoulder.

“Be safe. Call me if you need me.”

They parted with a nod at each other, their relationship with each other existing almost solely on Girl Code more so than friendship.

If it had been any other day, Laurel’s walk to Quinn’s would have been fraught with overthinking about why he was explicitly asking her to stay the night—her day had been awful enough that she was still thinking about the father of one of her patients who looked her in the eye and told her that he wasn’t ever going to take direction from a little girl.

The frigid breeze was glorious for clearing her mind.

Her headache still lingered despite the tension releasing in her jaw; it didn’t stop the big smile that grew on her face when Quinn opened the door to let her in. His smiled matched hers and she let herself be swept into a hug before she was corralled into his apartment.

The smell of food was permeating the apartment, eliciting another smile from Laurel and an expression of confused delight. Quinn bashfully led her towards the kitchen and pointed to the stove where there was a pot of Napoli sauce simmering away.

“You can cook?”

She stepped into his space, her arms around his waist as she looked up at him, surprise and awe filling her body, and Quinn was standing a little taller than normal. A little prouder.

“I have a couple things up my sleeve.”

Laurel kissed him swiftly before hoisting up the bag that was falling down her arm; Quinn wasted no time in taking it from her and disappearing into his bedroom with it. Standing in his kitchen, watching him take her bag with no weirdness or second thoughts, Laurel wondered again just what she was getting into.

They ate on the couch, Quinn switching away from the hockey game that was playing—it was unclear if that decision was made before or after her face screwed up in disinterest—and Laurel singing his praises for the pasta with Napoli sauce.

“I leave for a road trip on Monday,” Quinn said when they’d cleared the dishes and were back on the couch, sitting right next to each other. “Don’t get back until the 19th.”

“That’s a long one. Where are you going?”

Quinn opened his mouth—the only thing that came out was a long ‘uhhh’—and pulled out his phone to bring up the schedule. He said, shamelessly, “I only know when I have to be at the airport because they told us at practice today.”

Laurel cuddled up to him so that they could look at the schedule together, asking a few questions about the vagueness of going to teams named after the entire state—“You’re just going to Florida, Carolina and Washington? As if that makes sense?”

“There’s a few of them,” Quinn said, his body shaking against Laurel’s while he laughed at her incredulity. She scrutinised the list of teams he brought up and finished the conversation mostly curious about the Florida team existing in a state with a second hockey team.

“They couldn’t just call them the Miami Panthers?”

“Their arena’s in Sunrise.”

Laurel scoffed, her eyes rolling, “Of course it is. Posers.”

Quinn’s body began to shake again, his laughter so manic that he wasn’t making any noise. Laurel contorted her body to get a better look at Quinn and was enraptured by the joy on his face at her silly joke.

Kissing him is the easiest decision she’s ever made, caught with an overwhelming need to just be pressed against him. He didn’t put up any protests, not that she’d expected him to, and within seconds Laurel was in Quinn’s lap, straddling his thigh. Her skirt fanned out around their legs and she revelled in the pressure of his fingers as he pressed his fingers into the meat of her thighs. She wished she hadn’t worn tights just so she could feel his skin against hers.

Nothing felt as easy as leaning further into him, getting as close as she could physically manage and rolling her hips just to get that little bit closer. Hearing the eager noises leave his mouth—the ones mirroring those leaving hers—made Laurel even more desperate.

“Take me to bed, Q,” she breathed into his ear, rolling her hips again for good measure and gasping when his bucked up to meet them.

He did as he was told, herding her towards his bedroom with his body pressed close against hers, making her giggle as he nipped at the parts of her neck he could reach. He didn’t let up when they made it to his bed, touching parts of Laurel’s body that she couldn’t remember being touched, kissing her skin and setting every nerve on fire.

Laurel tried to return the favour, though she was distracted by the way her body was reacting to Quinn and his touches so the best she could hope for was that he was getting pleasure just by giving pleasure to her.

Her legs were weak after multiple orgasms but she was able to make her way into the bathroom, Quinn following her in soon after. He didn’t take as long as she did, happy to just rinse off, kiss her lazily, and disappear back to bed with half-lidded eyes.

All of her toiletries looked strange sitting on his counter, taking up more space than anything else on there, but she was too sated and too tired to think about it any further.

Laurel slipped under the covers, rolling her eyes a little at how quickly Quinn had started to fall asleep; he was laying on his back with his eyes closed and the duvet pulled up to his chest. Laurel lied beside him, facing him and taking him in.

“What made you ask me to stay over?”

“Long road trip,” Quinn said, mumbled and half asleep. “Was gonna miss you.”

She didn’t know whether that statement was surprising or not, or if it was the honesty it was said with that made her heart squeeze in her chest. Laurel wormed her way under Quinn’s arm and into his side, raising her head just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw before she snuggled into him.

“You can call me. While you’re gone.”

He squeezed her.

“I will."

Laurel walked from her place to Quinn’s straight from work. He’d called during her lunch break to ask if she wanted to have dinner with him—maybe even stay over again—and Laurel hadn’t been able to refuse. They’d talked through his road trip mostly via text except for a phone call when he was in Florida to confirm that he was in fact not in Miami.

None of it really made sense to Laurel. Never had she been the type of person to be in constant contact with her… with the person she was seeing, but Quinn seemed to have no concerns about taking things too quickly or seriously.

She’d asked Karina for help after the phone call, desperately trying to figure out what it all meant, whether she needed to be thinking further ahead than the next day if Quinn was going to keep things the way they were.

“You’re worrying that he likes you too much?” Karina had asked, her disbelief playful but prominent. “I wish I had that problem at your age—hell, even five years ago I would have killed for that problem.”

“It’s too serious for being twenty-two.”

Karina’s laugh shocked Laurel, who truly had not been expecting it. “Laurel, sweetheart, none of this has anything to do with age.”

That didn’t help her at all.

There was no surprise home cooking waiting for her when she arrived at his door which she was quick to tease him for mostly because he had a very nice kitchen that it definitely was being wasted with him being away so often.

“I was thinking burgers and I can’t make them half as nice as the place around the corner,” Quinn said, watching Laurel from the opposite side of the kitchen counter.

She placed both her hands on the cool marble and narrowed her eyes playfully, “Are we eating here or are you taking me out, Huggy Bear?”

“I thought you’d forgotten about that,” he said with an eyeroll, his cheeks turning a nice shade of red.

“I’ve been thinking about it since that night at the bar. I don’t—why?”

“Hughes, the first three letters. It’s actually one of the more unique nicknames in hockey.”

“Are they all surname based?”

“Mostly, yeah. I should probably be Hughesy or something.”

“Not Quinny?” she teased, leaning further across the table.

“So,” Quinn said, taking a deep breath. “Quinn is technically a nickname—it’s short for Quintin.”

Laurel’s eyes widened, her head tilting ever-so-slightly as the corner of her mouth tilted up, and she said, “Is that a family name?”

“Yes,” he said, also around a smile. He then added, walking back towards his front door, “We’re going out for dinner.”

He extended his hand and Laurel didn’t think twice before she took it and let Quinn lead her out onto the street. He didn’t let her hand go when they made it onto the street like Laurel expected. She couldn’t put into words why she expected him to let go, just flexed her fingers around his and delighted in the way he swung their hands back and forth a few times.

Quinn didn’t let go until he found them a seat inside the restaurant but they sat beside each other on a bench seat, their legs pressed together tightly from knee to hip.

“Did you declare a major?” Laurel asked, midway through a story Quinn was telling about his college experience, when she realised that she hadn’t ever asked.

“Sports Management.”

Laurel hummed, “What does that let you do?”

“Become an agent, mostly, but it’d get you on the path to managing a team, too.”

“That’s what you want to do?”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug, Laurel watched him curiously, waiting for him to elaborate. It took a while, a few fries being pushed into his mouth, before he finally answered, “I just want to play hockey.”

The conversation fell off there, Laurel just nodding even as her brain ticked over. Athletes and their short careers—their lack of preparation for life after sports—were a topic that fascinated her despite her general disinterest in sports. She recognised that if it was a conversation they were going to have, it needed to come much later in their relationship. Mostly for her own sanity.

Their otherwise quiet meal was interrupted by a birthday in the restaurant, and a raucous rendition of Happy Birthday was being sung to some poor man named Nathan who looked very much like he’d rather be anywhere else but sitting in front of a birthday cake.

“When’s your birthday?” Quinn asked when the noise settled.

“The third.”

A range of emotions crossed his face in a matter of seconds, and his voice was tighter than she’d heard it when he asked, “Of January?”

She smiled softly, placing her hand on his thigh reassuringly as she said, “Feb. It’s in like two weeks.”

The panic on Quinn’s face didn’t disappear, despite Laurel’s best efforts. “I don’t know if I’m going to be here.”

“I’m not worried about it. I don’t really do birthdays, so, if you aren’t here, it’s fine.”

Quinn checked his schedule, then, despite Laurel’s insistence that she didn’t care about her birthday, and radiated happiness and relief when it showed he’d be in Vancouver. She smiled at him, less sincerely than before, but at least happy that he was happy.

Quinn was home for her birthday.

It wasn’t something she’d given much thought to, really, because he’d been talking to her about plans for the Thursday evening—her actual birthday—and then for the weekend pretty consistently since he found out that her birthday was so soon.

It wasn’t until the week before her birthday, when he disappeared on a long road trip, that she realised that she was lucky he’d be around at all let alone be around for an entire weekend. If she had been born one week earlier, he would have been playing in Winnipeg.

When they’d spoken about it for the first time, Laurel had been telling the truth when she told him she wouldn’t have been bothered if he was away—that had changed when she realised that there was every possibility that he might have missed it. He’d made her excited for something she hadn’t cared about in years.

Laurel was dressed up nicely in her most expensive dress pants and a top that was probably too low cut—but it showed off the body chain she rarely got the chance to wear—and sitting on the bench in her building’s lobby as she waited for Quinn. Wherever they were headed to was within walking distance according to Quinn, but Laurel had no measure for how far he considered walking distance. She laid her winter coat over her lap and tapped her heels against the tiled floor.

Quinn waved at her through the glass door and she could see that his cheeks were slightly red from the cold despite the beanie on his head and the scarf around his neck.

“Happy birthday,” he said sweetly when she walked outside, and Laurel kissed him immediately, then tapped his nose because it was so cold against hers.

She tugged the scarf tighter around his neck, then lifted it up so it covered the bottom half of his face—resulting in a laugh as he spluttered bits of fluff—before she rushed to put her coat on before she lost all feeling in her upper body.

They started walking back in the direction Quinn came from, their hands linked, and Laurel bit back her comment about how she could have met him wherever they were going if he’d gone out his way, only because he’d insisted that it was a surprise.

And a surprise it was.

They arrived at Elisa and Laurel’s jaw dropped. Quinn noticed but only smiled at her as he led them inside.

It took a lot to make Laurel speechless, and Elisa could definitely be described as a lot. While it didn’t look overly fancy, not in the try hard way Laurel usually associated with fine dining, she still felt out of place as they were walked through the restaurant to a relatively secluded table.

“Have you ever been here before?” Quinn asked one they were seated and the waiter had disappeared to fetch a bottle of wine.

“No,” Laurel said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never been here.”

Quinn was quite pleased with himself, judging by the way his lips turned upwards.

When the wine arrived, Laurel wished she had any appreciation for it. It was undoubtedly better—smoother, at least—than the various bottles she’d bought over the years, but she could see other people in the room swirling it in the glass before drinking it slowly. She took an inappropriately large mouthful and hoped nobody but Quinn saw.

Staring at the menu made her uncomfortable. The price tags next to them made her skin itch and her purse hurt at the thought of what the bill would be at the end of the night. Maybe Quinn would just let her pay for her meal and not expect her to split it evenly down the middle.

“Anything you like?” Quinn asked, his foot tapping the side of hers under the table to get her full attention.

“The cauliflower sounds nice,” Laurel said, trying to keep her voice steady but she was also trying to remember to breathe so it wasn’t very convincing.

“Are you a vegetarian?” Quinn asked, his eyes wide. “I should probably know that by now.”

“No, Quinn, we had burgers together the last time we saw each other.”

“Then you can be a bit more adventurous than a crispy cauliflower starter.”

“Quinn,” Laurel whispered, leaning forward so that nobody else would hear her, “this is the exact restaurant my college friends and I would joke about only being able to afford if we became sugar babies or gold diggers. I can’t afford anything else on this menu.”

“But I can,” he said, as if that wasn’t already abundantly clear to Laurel. “I’m not gonna make you pay for a date anyway, definitely not on your birthday.”

Still leaning forward, she frowned, “You’re just going to ignore the gold digger bit.”

“If you were with me for my money, I think I’d know it by now.”

Laurel wasn’t going to debate with him in the middle of Elise that six weeks was not enough time for him to know—it certainly wasn’t enough time for him to take her to Elise for her birthday. But they were there. It would be rude to walk out.

“Next time we go out we can get tacos or something,” Quinn suggested, sounding a little worried. “But I want you to order what you really want. Live your sugar daddy dream, or whatever.”

Relaxing back into her seat, she couldn’t help but laugh at Quinn’s statement, at the serious expression on his face as he said it. She clarified with him that he was sure that he could take back what he’d said up until she told the waiter her order. Quinn assured her that he wasn’t going to do such a thing, especially not on her birthday.

The weekend following Laurel’s birthday was the All-Star Game, and Laurel was resigned to watching more hockey than she ever had in her life. It wasn’t real hockey, Quinn explained, and she didn’t really watch but it was on in the background at Quinn’s place so it was unavoidable.

When it was finally over, they were cuddled on the couch watching Black Summer when Quinn’s phone interrupted them. Laurel pulled away from him enough to let him take it off the coffee table. At first it appeared that he was going to silence it, but as he leant back into the couch Laurel noticed the furrow of his brow when it became clear it was a FaceTime call.

“Can I—” he cut himself off and his brow got even tighter, the worry so evident on his face that Laurel felt worry well up inside her.

“Yeah, go ahead,” she said softly, pausing the show and putting her hand on his thigh and squeezing just to remind him that he was there.

He answered the call, holding his breath, and answered it with, “Should I be worried?”

The man on the other end was smiling, everything around him so loud that his greeting was barely intelligible. “I don’t know how to tell you this, bud, but I think Jack and Daisy are getting married.”

“They wouldn’t.”

The camera switched around on Quinn’s friend’s side, revealing what was undoubtedly a Vegas wedding chapel with a young couple standing at the altar staring into each other’s eyes so dreamily Laurel flinched. Jack and Daisy, presumably.

“You got any other ideas about what’s happening here?”

Quinn quickly started a screen recording, even if his fingers fumbled through it and accidentally turned low battery mode on and his flashlight in the control centre first.

“Did you know about this? Before today?”

“Yeah, I knew about it and didn’t even ask you if you were showing up for it. Of course, I didn’t fucking know,” Brady argued, only to promptly get shushed by someone sitting next to him.

Laurel reached over to mute Quinn’s microphone, so that she could say, “That’s Daisy? She’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah, she’s always been pretty,” Quinn agreed, readily. Easily. “Still don’t know how Jack managed to land her, let alone keep her, let alone marry her. Mom’s gonna actually murder him. I might.”

Laurel—who had never been close to her family and always imagined that one day she would just see her family again with a wedding ring and a spouse—didn’t totally understand why Quinn was so upset. She’d heard him talk about his family enough to know that they were incredibly important to him but she still couldn’t wrap her head around it.

They watched in silence as the ceremony continued. It was generic and, truthfully, lacklustre as far as weddings went until Jack admitted that it wasn’t real, just a joke, and then landed on one knee. Laurel couldn’t hear anything from the phone that wasn’t just loud noises and the video itself was a nauseating combination of colours and movement.

“Fucking little shit,” Quinn mumbled under his breath, clearly relieved.

“Did you know he was going to propose?” Laurel asked. “Obviously not right now.”

“He got the ring about a week ago. Started planning it before Christmas but only picked it up last week. He told me he didn’t know when he was going to propose.”

Laurel hummed, leaning back into the couch as Quinn turned his microphone back on just as Jack and Daisy very much looked like they were seconds away from a full-on sex show in front of all their friends.

“I’m gonna send this to my mom,” Quinn said—Laurel wasn’t sure he could even be heard over the insanity on the other end. “I’ll call you later.”

With the call ended and the video sent to his mother, Quinn sat on the couch and stared blankly at the frozen zombie on the television.

“Are you happy, sad or mad?” she asked tentatively, giving his thigh another squeeze.

“Don’t know. I always knew that they’d probably get there before I did but didn’t really think it’d be before Jack was even 21.”

Laurel moved closer to him, pressing herself closer to Quinn; she had no idea what to say about him, about Jack, about marriage in general.

She was truly out of her depth.

Laurel was halfway out the door when Hayley stepped out of the elevator. Laurel waited at the door, holding it open so that Hayley wouldn’t have to get her key out.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess,” Laurel laughed, noting the flowers Hayley was carrying.

Hayley’s eyes fell to the bag hanging from Laurel’s hand. She said, cold and emotionless, “You have to give me notice if you’re moving out. You can’t just stop paying rent.”

“Did the money not go through?” Laurel asked, immediately reaching into her pocket for her phone to check her bank account. “I swear I saw it worked.”

“It did—calm down,” Hayley said, sweeter than she’s been speaking before. “Just—you’ve been spending a lot of time at your boyfriend’s—”

Laurel, hyper aware that she was heading over to Quinn’s yet again, hastily denied the accusation. “We haven’t been together that long. We haven’t even had the exclusive talk yet.”

“Just give me some time to find someone to move in,” Hayley said, slowly, and Laurel knew for certain that she wasn’t believed.

“Yeah, of course,” Laurel said, just as slowly, but more concerned. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

With a simple nod, and an instruction to have fun, Hayley disappeared inside and Laurel was left to walk to Quinn’s—left to overthink the specifics of her relationship with him and the possibility of those specifics being defined when she arrived at his place.

The bouquet of roses lying on the kitchen counter shouldn’t have surprised her as much as they did.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, his smile proud.

Laurel picked up the bouquet as she passed it, her heart beating so rapidly and thunderously that she could hear it in her ears. She hadn’t expected anything at all—which she realised was silly after Quinn had gone all out for her birthday—after receiving nothing of the sort from any relationship she’d been in.

“Thank you, Quinn,” whispered, stepping into his arms with the bouquet carefully tucked between them. “Is it a stupid question if I ask if we’re exclusive?”

“I—” Quinn paused before he started laughing, the vibration running through Laurel. “I’ve been telling people you’re my girlfriend.”

“You forgot to tell me, though.” She added, a little petulantly but mostly in a longing whisper, “You didn’t even ask me.”

Quinn asked, with all the seriousness of a fifteen-year-old asking their crush to prom in front of their entire class, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Warmth filled Laurel’s cheeks and she buried her face into his chest, unsure if she was embarrassed that she didn’t know or embarrassed by how giddy it made her feel.

It was late, much later than Laurel usually slept in even after a big night. She could tell it was late without even looking at her phone because her body always had a visceral reaction to waking any later than 8am.

Quinn was saying her name softly and Laurel hummed before her eyes opened—she was always instantly awake.

“You let me sleep in,” she mumbled unhappily.

“You need it,” he said softly. “I have to go to practice. You can stay here.”

“Practice?” Laurel asked, her eyes screwing shut in confusion. “It’s a Saturday.”

Quinn’s laugh was gentle and Laurel looked up to see his face soft; he didn’t have to say anything for her to know that she’d said something wrong.

“No weekends in hockey.”

“They should give you weekends.”

“I’ll give you the commissioner’s number and you can lodge a direct complaint.”

Laurel smiled at him, reeled him in by the hand and kissed him—he didn’t seem to have any complaints about morning breath but the hint of mint on his lips was a nice little zing to wake up to.

He left shortly after, unswayed by her attempts to lure him back into bed, and Laurel stared up at his ceiling wondering exactly how long he spent at practice.

She showered and then tried not to feel weird about raiding his kitchen while he wasn’t home; tried not to feel weird about being in his apartment while he wasn’t home.

Nothing in the apartment had been kept secret from her, so she didn’t think she’d get any major insight into Quinn’s life by snooping through the chest of drawers he’d been letting her pull shirts out of since the first day.

Laurel made a bagel with cream cheese, afraid to do much more lest she damage Quinn’s very nice kitchen and sat down in front of the television. As she ate, she opened her phone and noticed overnight she’d picked up a few more Instagram followers which she attributed to the photo of her birthday outfit.

Weirder were the random comments she’d gotten on a few of her older photos, all of which were the same person commenting on how chubby Laurel’s cheeks were. Prominent buccal fat ran in the family; there wasn’t much she could do about it.

Her attention was immediately drawn away, though, by a comment she saw on a new post of Daisy’s—Jack’s girlfriend who she’d followed after Quinn wouldn’t stop talking about her in stories from his life in Michigan.

She pondered it, forgot about it as she turned her attention to re-watching Desperate Housewives, and only remembered when Quinn walked through the door after practice, his hair still wet.

“Why is Elena Rubio commenting on Daisy’s Insta posts?” she asked, not even greeting Quinn properly. “Why are people acting like it’s normal? She’s really famous.”

Quinn leant down to kiss her, hovering above her where she was tucked up onto the couch.

He shrugged. “Jack played half a season with Elena’s boyfriend. She and Daisy kept in touch.”

Kneeling up on the couch cushion and leaning over the back of the couch, Laurel watched Quinn potter around for a few moments before her thoughts won out and she asked, “Do you know how insane that is? Elena Rubio has won Oscars. Plural.”

His head tilted. “Okay?”

“Is knowing famous people common? You don’t seem to think that’s a big deal.”

“Not really? People know people, and if they’re hockey fans then they’re easier to become friends with. Hockey players are sort of famous.”

“Well, yeah, in very specific circles but Elena Rubio is a household name worldwide. She’s like Angelina Jolie or Sandra Bullock.”

“Carrie Underwood married a guy who played in Nashville but I don’t pay attention to it—you could probably google it.”

Laurel did just that, sitting back down on the couch and opening her phone. The results were middling—Vanessa from the original incarnation of Gossip Girl was dating a player, there was something about a WWE Diva once being married to a player, a moderately famous model named Lola Faraday, and a bunch of other women who only loosely fit Laurel’s definition of ‘celebrity’.

The couch dipped beside her; Quinn peaked over her shoulder to see what she was looking at.

“What makes it so interesting?”

“I don’t know,” Laurel said truthfully. “You’re hot professional athletes in your physical prime, it wouldn’t have surprised me if there was a never ending list of players dating singers or models or actresses—the lists seem to be quite old, though, and filled with a bunch of celebrities I haven’t heard of.”

“Do you think I should go shoot my shot with a celebrity?” Quinn asked, tongue in cheek.

The panic that flared inside Laurel was unusual, a jealousy she couldn’t ever remember experiencing before. She hoped the panic wasn’t audible in her voice, “I can’t compete with a celebrity, so no.”

“You can compete.”

“Sure,” Laurel said with an unconvinced hum.

Quinn’s arm wrapped around her shoulder and he pulled her closer, kissing the side of her head instead of arguing against her. Laurel didn’t doubt that he believed what he was saying, even if she didn’t think it was the truth.

“Some people aren’t very nice to Daisy,” Laurel said, frowning as she scrolled deeper down the comments left on Daisy’s post. “They’re actually kind of awful. She’s not even remotely fat but they’re talking about her as if she’s literally a beached whale—that’s an actual whale emoji. Oh my god. She knows how to deal with this?”

“Uh,” Quinn hesitated. “Depends what day it is? Some days she fights back, other days she ignores it and Jack’s told me there are some days that are full of tears.”

“God, people are so awful,” Laurel sighed, turning off her phone and throwing it on the other couch so she would stop looking at it.

Settling into Quinn’s side was the only thing she could think to do, hung up on the idea of anyone going to the effort to be so unashamedly horrible.

“Do you want to come to a game next week?”

Laurel paused, putting down the knife in her hand, and turned to face Quinn. He looked as awkward as ever standing in her kitchen, his hands buried deep in his pockets and his shoulders up around his ears.

“Do you want me to come?” she asked carefully. “I’m not interested in hockey so if given the choice I will say no, but, if you want me there, I want to support you and I will go.”

Quinn’s face shuttered, his shoulders somehow raising even higher. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Quinn,” Laurel said firmly, “do you want me to watch you play hockey?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, resigned. “Course I do.”

With her most convincing nod and her kindest smile, despite her intense disinterest, Laurel assured him, “Tell me when and what I have to do and I’ll be there.”

It was enough to relax Quinn’s shoulders, bringing them back to their normal position. “It’s against Jack on the 15th; you can sit with my mom and Daisy.”

Laurel’s shoulders ended up around her ears, instead, any pleasure she’d gained from making Quinn happy disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He was still watching her, no apprehension, completely unaware that his request was far outside of Laurel’s comfort zone.

“Your mom, Quinn?” She hesitated. “I don’t—do I have to?”

His discomfort returned, tenfold it looked like to Laurel though she didn’t have much time to read his expression before he was turning his back to her and walking towards his bedroom.

“I—I guess not,” he said, though it was muffled. With his back to her, she was only able to hear it because the otherwise silent apartment was suffocating. “I just thought it’d be nice.”

With careful footsteps, Laurel followed Quinn into the bedroom but stopped in the door and watched as he moved aimlessly. She couldn’t find a single intention to anything he was doing, just opening and closing drawers, moving things around on his nightstand and tidying the bed they’d already made.

“Quinn?” Laurel asked after a few minutes of stifling silence.

“Yeah?” He lifted his head; the false nonchalance he was projecting made her uncomfortable.

“I just think it’s a bit soon,” she explained in a whisper. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

There was no sign that it actually was okay just as there was no sign that he was going to engage in a conversation that might get it there, so Laurel sighed and left him to fiddle.

It was too early for her to head to work and she wanted some sort of resolution before she disappeared. There was a realisation that it might have been their first ‘fight’ but that didn’t concern her half as much as the thought that it might have been her first ever fight in a relationship—that, despite the short length of it, nothing had ever come close to what she had with Quinn. None of that was anything she wanted to deal with inside a hospital. The self-realisations and growth inside those walls were best left to the patients she was discharging.

Not that there was anything she could do about it when finishing up the fruit salad she’d been making for her lunch—she was already planning the conversation she would have with Karina while eating it.

Quinn didn’t reappear until the salad was packed away and the dishes were washed but he didn’t say a single word as he started moving around in the kitchen in much the same way he’d done in his bedroom.

“Are you going to be in a mood for the rest of the day?” Laurel asked, trying to keep the accusatory edge out of her voice. “I said I’d go to the game.”

“I don’t know any other guy who’s had to beg their girlfriend to come to a game.”

“You didn’t beg, you asked. You know I’m not into hockey.”

“And you won’t meet my mom.”

A burst of panic in her chest caused Laurel to freeze and she barely managed to ask, “Can I do one thing at a time?”

“I don’t know when she’s going to be back in town.”

“I’m not ready for that.”

“Okay,” Quinn said shortly.

His phone started to ring and he didn’t hesitate to leave her standing in the kitchen. He mumbled something along the lines of Jack’s got it so fucking easy as he retreated back to his bedroom.

Laurel, at a total loss and about two minutes away from just leaving for the day, decided to drop down onto the couch heavily and check the notification she’d gotten on her phone when she was starting her cooking. It was another random comment from someone she’d never heard of, who she couldn’t see had any followers in common—this one wasn’t an attack on her cheeks but on the birthday post that people seemed to be most drawn to, on the outfit she’d felt very good about.

The comment didn’t make her feel as good.

Quinn returned much more sombre than he had been when he left. Laurel had expected a frosty remainder of the morning with minimal communication and even less physical contact before she left for work, but he sat down right beside her on the couch.

“I’m happy you’re coming to a game,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“Is everything alright?” Laurel asked, not even sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

He sighed, though it didn’t sound particularly sad, “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just didn’t expect to hear from Jack today.”

Rogers Place was daunting and Laurel wasn’t prepared.

She was late, to start with, rushing from work and through a sea of people wearing Canucks jerseys, and incredibly flustered by the time she reached the security guard and had to scramble through her purse for her ID while he stared at her, just waiting for the moment he could tell her to turn around.

The crowd was raucous by the time she was standing outside the box she’d been led to—she’d shirked the security guard when they arrived, refusing to let him open the door before she was ready. That didn’t end up mattering, though, because as she was taking a deep breath and reaching forward to open the door, someone appeared beside her.

That someone she recognised as the woman who had tattooed the cat onto her forearm. Annie, who Quinn had told her would be waiting.

“Hey! Laurel, right? I didn’t think you’d make it,” Annie said, moving past Laurel to open the door and reveal the box, and the ice.

“Hi, yeah. Annie?” Laurel clarified, even though she’d be hard pressed to mistake the tattoos and lavender pixie cut. “I got held up at work.”

“Don’t worry about it; we’ve all been there. Come in and meet the gang.”

‘The gang’ was an assortment of partners whose names Laurel immediately forgot, and a few small children Laurel did her best to avoid. They were all very welcoming, at least, and yet she got the distinct feeling that they were putting on a show for her as the New WAG.

“Have you been to many hockey games?” Annie asked when they were sitting.

“No,” Laurel answered, probably too stiffly, and she forced her hands under her thighs. The wool tights she was wearing were too hot for the suite. “This is actually my first one. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Good first game to come to; you get to watch Quinn play against his brother,” said someone who wasn’t Annie—the captain’s wife, potentially. That as a name Laurel would definitely need to learn about later.

Annie added, “I even think Jack’s girlfriend is here.”

“Yeah,” Laurel said, focusing very hard on not sounding bitter. “She’s sitting with their mother.”

“You didn’t want to sit with them?”

The focus on trying not to sound bitter shifted to not gritting her teeth. The suite really was too hot, and the attention on her was only making it worse. Laurel wished that everyone would just turn around and watch the game that had started, but every eye was focused on her, waiting for an answer.

It bothered her enough that she rushed out her answer without really thinking about it, “It’s way too early to meet his mother, and I don’t quite know how to broach the topic of Daisy.”

“What do you mean?” Annie asked, looking out over the ice presumably to where Daisy and Quinn’s mom might have been.

The captain’s wife was leaning in closer, too, as if it was something she would need to deal with—or something she would need to report back to the captain. Laurel didn’t know; she could assume, though.

“I don’t know,” Laurel sighed. The flood gates of her annoyance were opened. “Sometimes it just feels like there’s more than one Hughes brother who’s in love with her.”

Annie scoffed, loudly, in horror, “Quinn would never. She’s basically his little sister.”

“That’s what he says but sometimes it’s just… I don’t know.” Laurel tried to shrug, not only was it hindered by her hands being shoved under her legs but it was just weak in general, her attempt at playing it off falling flat.

“You have to ask him direct questions about it. Hockey players aren’t that bright.”

“That’s a gross overgeneralisation,” Laurel said, her annoyance swiftly moving on. She didn’t take her eyes off the game, even if she lost track of the puck every other second and had no idea where Quinn was or if he was even on the ice.

“They’re not; they’ll tell you that,” Annie said, laughter in her voice. “Too many hits to the head.”

“Quinn went to college and he’s not the only one.” Laurel finally looked at Annie and didn’t want to think about the fire in her own eyes. “You shouldn’t just label them all as dumb like that. It’s really harmful.”

“It’s just a joke,” Annie said slowly—the fire in Laurel’s eyes clearly worse than even she’d expected. “One that they’re in on.”

“I think they deserve more credit. I’m going to use the bathroom.”

Laurel stared at herself in the mirror and let the faucet run with cold water she wished she could splash on her face. It wasn’t the first impression she’d been hoping for. All she wanted was to meet a couple of people, learn one thing about hockey and leave without any other fuss—it had been nothing but optimistic.

In lieu of using the water to cool down her cheeks, Laurel ripped off some paper towel, held it under the faucet before ringing it out and pressing it to the back of her neck. Goosebumps ran down her arms but the relief was incredible.

The very last thing she wanted to do was re-enter the suite and if she hadn’t promised Quinn she’d stay until the end of the game she would have made her way home. As it were, she had made that promise so she put on her bravest face, opened the door and found a seat at the back from which she could still see the ice.

She remained in that same seat until the end of the third period, not even moving for the intermissions. The final buzzer went, though, and Laurel was on her feet and out the door. Navigating the crowd on the way out was worse than on the way in.

Quinn had given her a key to his apartment after Laurel reiterated that she was not ready to meet his mother and would under no circumstances be doing that outside the locker room after the game. The key felt out of place in her bag and it was a relief to leave it on the counter as she passed through the kitchen.

By the time he got home Laurel was showered, changed into her pyjamas and once again reading strange Instagram comments. He wasn’t acting any weirder than when she left for work that morning, so she assumed nobody had told him about her Ice Queen routine. Or the comment she made about him maybe being in love with Daisy.

She was more willing to share one than the other.

“How’d it go? We won for you.”

“I noticed.” That was a little heartwarming, she had to admit. “Thank you.”

In next to no time, Quinn was undressed and laying beside her. He was nothing but sincere as he asked, “How was it?”

“I don’t think I made many friends.” She stared up at the ceiling, her phone left to fall somewhere beside her.

“Why’s that?”

“Annie made a comment about hockey players being stupid and I told her she shouldn’t make sweeping generalisations.”

Entirely unexpectedly, Quinn laughed. “To be fair, we are pretty dumb.”

Laurel sat up, already feeling the annoyance of earlier that evening returning. Quinn watched her with wide, confused eyes.

“You went to college.”

“For two years. I didn’t even graduate.”

“Graduating isn’t the only metric of intelligence,” Laurel said pointedly. She turned her body so that she was directly facing him, not just craning her neck.

“Going to college isn’t either. I didn’t go to college because I was smart, I went because UMich has a great hockey program.”

He reached out for her, to take her hand across the duvet, but she moved away to hold it against her chest.

Her heart had no reason to be thumping as hard as it was, yet she couldn’t deny the stress in her voice when she asked,“So you’re just happy to let people think you’re stupid? No debating it?”

“What does it matter if a few people think I’m stupid?”

“Isn’t Annie your friend?” Laurel questioned, baffled. If any of her friends had taken to belittling her intelligence behind her back, whether it was true or not, reconsidering their friendship would be instantaneous.

“Why is it so important to you?” Quinn’s voice was filled with a simmering rage that she hadn’t heard since their fight about her going to the game. “It sounds like being smart is the only important thing in the world.”

“I’ve watched really bright kids be pushed to the side because their parents decided that all their kids were dumb,” Laurel pressed, her own voice strained, “maybe because the parents themselves aren’t very intelligent. Maybe none of them were ever given the opportunity. I’m not saying that everyone is or needs to be the smartest in the room; I’m saying it’s harmful to just say that all hockey players are dumb because guys aren’t even going to try.”

Quinn’s brows pulled together, what he said next clearly very obvious to him, “They don’t have to try. As long as they’re good at hockey.”

The ire in Laurel’s body collapsed into sadness—disappointment, maybe—and she tried to convey her desperation to him with just a look. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“Quinn, you know that this has to end. Some players will be out of hockey before they’re twenty-five, right? If they truly think they’re stupid because that’s what they’ve been told their entire life then what hope do they have of being successful in anything else? All they’re good at is hockey, right? What’s Jack going to do?”

“I don’t—” Quinn sighed. “This isn’t a fight I want to have, Laurel.”

Laurel shuffled down the bed, turning her back to him and pulling herself to the edge of the mattress.

“Okay.”

Laurel had, in a fit of guilt, agreed to spend time with Daisy while Quinn took his mother to breakfast. Jack was well on his way to the next city and Laurel didn’t want to be the reason that Daisy spent the morning alone, so she said yes to cooking them breakfast.

It was the only time Laurel could remember being ungrateful for the extra days off afforded to her at work.

Quinn didn’t even stick around to wait for Daisy to arrive so he could introduce them—though Laurel did expect that if he had, Daisy would have arrived with Quinn’s mom and defeated the whole purpose of the separate breakfast.

So, Daisy arrived shortly after Quinn left, and Laurel just stood to one side in the kitchen as Daisy talked a mile a minute, introducing herself and depositing a grocery bag of pancake ingredients and topping onto the counter.

She beamed at Laurel when it was all out and neatly organised: “Pancakes?”

“Pancakes,” Laurel agreed, much more subdued.

“I know Quinn tried to get you to sit with us last night,” Daisy said as she opened some drawers to find bowls and measuring cups that Laurel didn’t even know Quinn owned. “He shouldn’t have tried to put you in the middle of all that.”

“All what? Do you and his mother not get along?” Laurel asked, stunned at how casual Daisy was. “I don’t mean to pry, sorry.”

Daisy shook her head, “We get along great, emotions have just been really high since I—oh wow, this still isn’t easy to talk about. The—you know. Planned Parenthood and all that.”

Laurel paused. “I didn’t know. He didn’t say.”

“Oh,” Daisy said, though it didn’t seem that her own pause was because she’d revealed something she hadn’t meant to. “Jack said you were together when they spoke last week so I figured.”

“No but I guess that explains why his mood shifted so suddenly that morning. Are you—are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just feel stupid that we let it happen in the first place.”

“That’s the word of the day apparently. It probably doesn’t mean much coming from me, but you aren’t stupid. Shit happens and sometimes it’s not fucking fun. You’ve just gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Thanks, Laurel,” Daisy said with a smile so sincere Laurel inwardly flinched. “It does mean a lot.”

Needing something to do with her hands and distract herself from the entirely unexpected seriousness of the conversation, grabbed at the lemons to cut them up and juice them.

Thankfully the conversation was kept light while they cooked—even lighter when the first pancake came out burnt in a phenomenon that upset them both because they agreed the test pancake is most definitely the best pancake.

Daisy was fine, Laurel decided. That did little to assuage her worries that Quinn was in love with Daisy, of course, but it was hardly Daisy’s fault if he was. The way she spoke about Jack made it clear that she wasn’t leaving him for anyone, though, which did ease some of the concerns.

They sat down at the dining table to eat, setting it with way too many toppings for the two of them, and Laurel got whiplash when Daisy jumped back into the heavy conversation without any preamble.

“Ellen doesn’t know yet—or she might now but she definitely didn’t last night. I just thought you didn’t want to sit with us in case you accidentally spilled the beans.”

“I’m not ready to meet his parents yet. We’ve only been official since Valentine’s Day—it’s been a month.” Laurel pushed a piece of pancake through the lemon juice on her plate without looking up.

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t really think about that. Jack and I were in high school, so parents were kind of unavoidable. I’ve never had to deal with it being too soon. They’re good people, Ellen and Jim. Helped me through a lot even when Jack and I were brand new.”

Laurel nodded, still not looking up from her plate. She didn’t have anything else to say; she couldn’t argue that they were bad people when she’d never met them. She also didn’t feel like spilling her life story to Daisy.

It wasn’t a problem Daisy had, though. She wasn’t at all bothered by Laurel’s silence, just filled it easily with the revelation that her mother had passed away when she was in elementary school. Until Ellen came along, Daisy said with the most well-adjusted ease Laurel had ever come across, she didn’t have a maternal figure to help her through the day-to-day aspects of growing up.

Laurel sat in place, stewing over her own mother being physically present but emotionally distant, and wondered, not for the first time, if it wouldn’t have been easier to run away to live with her father. Maybe his third wife would have been a better mother.

Things had calmed down quite considerably after Quinn was able to spend time with Ellen. Laurel decided that the pressure he’d put on her about them meeting stemmed more from him missing Ellen more than it did from being desperate for them to meet.

Laurel hadn’t been to any more games. Quinn didn’t put any pressure on her for the other games that week—taking her comments that she hadn’t made any friends in stride, saying that they could try again whenever Laurel wanted—and then he’d disappeared on a weeklong road trip.

She was really hating road trips, and not just because she had to return to the tiny apartment she shared with someone she only liked half the time.

Missing Quinn as much as she did hadn’t become normal yet, in fact it was getting worse every time he left.

She spent a lot of time on Instagram while he was gone—the influx in followers and comments was getting increasingly more aggressive, steadily rising each and every day. For someone who had never put too much stock into what other people did or said on social media, Laurel was taking them all very seriously.

Quinn caught on when he got home and his eyes had flickered to her screen more than a couple times. There was nothing for her to try and hide, so she hadn’t thought twice about him seeing what she was doing, or even telling him about the sudden uptick.

That was a mistake, though, she soon realised, when he immediately tensed up and said, “I’m calling Annie.”

“Why would you call Annie?” Laurel asked, turning off the screen and hiding the phone behind her leg as if he’d change his mind.

“Because they’ve found you and I don’t—I need—How long?”

Laurel hesitated to answer, and settled on a not-entirely-truthful, “It’s only been a few weeks.”

“Right. We’ll get them to stop.”

And so, Laurel ended up sitting in a very nice living of a very nice house, opposite Annie and her lavender hair, her tattoos and a resting bitch face that Laurel was actually quite jealous of. It was enough to put her on the back foot immediately.

“I know that I wasn’t the nicest or whatever, at the game. I’m sorry. I get preachy and a lot of people don’t like being preached at,” she conceded, her head hanging low.

“If it was a little less preachy,” Annie said, her voice much lighter than Laurel had expected, “we’d probably agree about most stuff.”

Laurel wasn’t actually sure if Quinn had briefed Annie on why he’d brought her over; he hadn’t said a whole lot while they were driving away from downtown and into the suburbs of Vancouver. The silence left her pondering exactly what Quinn had found so serious about it all, so serious that he couldn’t even tell her why he wanted her to talk to Annie.

“I kind of need help, though? If I’m not pushing my luck. I’m gaining Insta followers like crazy and I don’t know these people. They’re commenting on my photos and my stories and sending me messages. Quinn seems to think it’s a big deal.”

Annie bristled, her back straightening so immediately that Laurel flinched. Her question was filled with exasperation and defeat, “You have a public account?”

“Uh, yeah? Don’t most people?”

Annie sighed.

“First things first—make it private. Once it’s private, you block everybody you don’t know so that they unfollow you. The photos currently on the account are already out in the world but we can at least stop new ones from getting out.”

Laurel let the words sink in, trying to make sense of them as well as trying to make sense of how serious Annie looked—the resting bitch face had shifted to determined and a little frightened.

It frightened Laurel that she squeaked out, “Getting out?”

“Fuck, you really don’t get it. You’re a WAG now, so there’s a subset of fans who care about you and they care too much. Sometimes they’re just really nice and respect that you’re human and have feelings and then there’s the psychos who send you hate mail.”

As she was speaking, Annie opened up her own phone and Googled her name—the first results, predictably were related to her tattoo artist career but as she scrolled a little further she put her phone down on the table so that Laurel could see every link that followed that was slightly off-kilter.

It was all disjointed but exactly as Annie had said. Various photos of Annie were splashed across Twitter or Tumblr, with or without Brock, and the accompanying comments that moved between complimentary and taking cheap shots at how little Annie weighed, or the ever-changing colour of her hair, or the state of her tattoos.

It wasn’t dissimilar to some of the comments Laurel had seen on Daisy’s Instagram—or the one she’d seen on her own.

With her heart in her stomach, Laurel said, “They like to go for my cheeks.”

“Your cheeks?” Annie asked, her voice and face softening.

“They won’t shut up about how chubby they are, as if I don’t know exactly how much fat is sitting in my cheekbones.”

Annie laughed, humourlessly, “They always find the insecurity. They’re real fucking good at it.”

Together they went through the long process of clearing out Laurel’s followers, blocking them all one by one. The number had crept up a lot higher than she thought it had.

Rogers Arena was no less daunting the second time.

It was a very different daunting, though, despite Karina being by her side. She wasn’t making a beeline to the suites because nobody knew she was even at the game, but trying to get to their seats moments before the puck was set to drop was a stress Laurel didn’t need.

“You can teach me what’s going on, right?” Laurel turned to Karina in a panic while still halfway down the stairs

“Yes, Laurel,” Karina sighed, fond but exasperated, turning Laurel back around and guiding her to their seats. “Just like I told you I could when you asked me to come.”

“I know, I just—I want to surprise Quinn.”

Karina reminded her, again, that there was no way Laurel was going to learn all the ins and outs of hockey from one game—“definitely not when the Canucks are playing the Coyotes.”—as they sat down in their seats. The seats that cost far more money than Laurel had anticipated; good thing she was ready to fully commit to being a WAG who knew the sport.

Despite Karina’s insistence that the game was going to be lacklustre and nothing to learn from, the Canucks came out swinging.

Laurel knew enough from what Quinn had told her that multiple goal games weren’t all that common so seeing the Canucks score two goals in the first period was exciting enough. When they scored another four in the second, with only one minor interruption from the Coyotes she was ready to truly lose her mind.

The atmosphere was infectious. Not even her constant leaning in to check something with Karina was ruining her night—like when the Coyotes were penalised for ‘too many men on the ice’ or when Quinn was sent to the penalty box was ‘cross-checking’. Watching him on the box on the big screen above the ice was funny, Laurel couldn’t deny that even if the fans around her vehemently disagreed with the call.

“He definitely fucked up, right?” she clarified with Karina after the protesting had died down.

“Definitely. He’s just our guy, so obviously the refs are wrong.”

Laurel just hummed, bemused.

By the end of the game—when the Canucks had managed to score another goal for a 7-1 victory—Laurel had to admit that she was hooked. It would be different to sit down in front of a television and watch, even sitting in the suite wouldn’t cut it, because sitting amongst so many people who were utterly invested in the outcome was addictive.

Adrenaline was still coursing through every part of her body when she let herself into Quinn’s apartment. He wasn’t home, yet, and wouldn’t be for a little while longer she knew and had given her his spare key yet again. He knew she was spending the evening with Karina but, as had become increasingly common, wanted her to be there when he got home.

She wondered frequently when the key would be handed over for good.

With so much excitement in her veins, Laurel was still wide awake when he got home. Part of her wanted to reveal the secret right then and there, that she was at the game, that she saw him get numerous ‘assists’ and the two-minute penalty, but she managed to calm herself down just enough to keep it together.

Quinn stood in the doorway to his bedroom, his tie nowhere to be seen and a few buttons undone on his shirt. Laurel watched him closely from where she was sitting up against the headboard.

“I heard there was a big win,” she said, putting her phone down and letting the duvet covers pool in her lap.

Quinn smirked, the confidence rolling off his body not something Laurel saw everyday but it was definitely something she liked.

“Big, big win,” he agreed, stepping slowly closer.

Laurel’s heart rate picked up, not that she thought it possible, and she froze in anticipation while he walked closer.

“Jack’s boys lost, though.”

Truthfully, he may as well have thrown her into the Arctic Ocean with the speed his words ruined any sort of arousal.

She gathered the duvet and slowly slumped down into the mattress. She still tracked him as he walked around the room and changed out of his suit and mourned the mood he’d so sufficiently killed.

“That’s a shame.”

He continued to talk about Jack—about hockey, mostly, but sometimes veering into random pieces of their childhood that she tried to piece into what she’d been told previously. His family’s closeness would never cease to fascinate her.

She felt herself falling asleep, suddenly drained after the realisation that they weren’t heading towards orgasms of any kind and buried herself into the covers pulled up around her chin.

“We bought a house in Michigan so we can spend the summers together.”

Laurel blinked, taking a moment to determine that she’d heard him correctly. She asked, “the whole summer?”

“That’s the plan. It’ll be so good. We’ve got so many buddies from there or who spent enough time in Michigan that they can’t wait to go back—”

Nothing else he said mattered, not even to slot anything into his backstory, because all Laurel could think about was him spending the entire summer so far across the continent.

Any interest Laurel had in learning the game of hockey or the life that came with it disappeared with the knowledge that Quinn wasn’t wasting any time in leaving Vancouver when his season was over. And it would be over soon.

She didn’t know much but she did know that they weren’t making playoffs.

The plan as she knew it was for Quinn to fly to Michigan a week after their final game but she’d purposely been avoiding learning much about it because it only made her angry.

If Quinn had noticed the distance she was keeping, he hadn’t said anything.

Her visits to his place had been limited and it wasn’t even intentional. The final games of the season, some on the road, along with some team bonding meant that Quinn’s schedule didn’t have much time for Laurel.

That wasn’t helping matters.

Laurel stood outside his apartment buildings for a few moments, trying to compose herself before she buzzed the intercom to be let up. She had to talk to him about it because the internal speculation was driving her crazy, and she’d watched her mother ruin too many relationships due to lack of communication.

When she stepped into his apartment, it was clear Quinn felt the tension between them. He didn’t lean in to kiss like he normally would, just stood to the side and let her in; she moved far enough into the apartment to hover in the kitchen but didn’t go much further.

“Why are things weird?” he asked, so direct and abrupt that Laurel was caught off guard. “I haven’t seen you in like two weeks and you’re weird on the phone. What did I do?”

“I don’t know, Quinn,” Laurel said with a huff. “This feels like a really crucial time in our relationship and you’re just going to fuck off for the whole summer. More than the summer? Leave now and not come back until, what? September?”

The immediate attack was the wrong decision, it became immediately clear, when Quinn tensed up and his face closed off completely. It was the meanest she’d ever seen him.

“I was going to be back in about two weeks,” he said, devoid of any emotion. It made it hurt so much worse to hear the detachment in his voice when he added, “To see you.”

Laurel cowered, “Why are you going at all? Do you need a break from me?”

“It’s my brother’s 21st birthday, Laurel, and I’m not going to miss it. I was thinking about asking if you wanted to come but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No,” Laurel agreed, clenching her fists at her sides, “I don’t think it is a good idea. I don’t think we’re a good idea.”

The tension defused ever so slightly, Quinn’s mask slipping just enough to show shock and a little bit of hurt before he recovered. His voice was still quiet as he asked, “Do you really mean that?”

Laurel deflated, too; every insecurity she had about relationships came to the forefront of her brain. “Yeah, I mean, what do we have in common, Quinn? We’re Americans living in Vancouver? I don’t get what you do for a living but it’s also not even just what you do for a living, is it? It’s your whole life.”

Quinn took half a step forward, then froze. Laurel wanted him to be closer but didn’t make any effort to close the gap.

“I have a life outside of hockey and I thought it included you.”

“You don’t exist without hockey, Quinn,” Laurel sighed, her voice small, “and you don’t even see it. You’re here from September to May because of the hockey season, but you’re also on the road a lot and not really here, and I’m expected to just… accept and understand that and wait for you all the time. And then when the season’s done, you want to disappear for like four months and you expected me to just follow you when you asked at the last minute. I don’t have the luxury, Quinn.”

“I know that.”

“Why did you only give me two weeks’ notice? Why didn’t you talk to me about it at all? I get that your mom dropped a hell of a lot for your dad’s work and then your hockey careers and Daisy seems to be doing the same for Jack, but I didn’t grow up in hockey or even sports—I don’t get any of this and you’ve never really explained it to me. The life, not whatever happens on the ice.”

“That’s why I wanted you to sit with my mom and Daisy—they can explain it all to you.”

“But it’s not their job, is it, Quinn?”

“Laurel, they know what it’s like to be a WAG. I have no fucking clue what it’s like. The best people to help you are the girls who live the life you know nothing about but you just refuse to talk to them.”

“I—I spoke to Annie,” Laurel countered, knowing that it was weak.

“Once. I have tried so hard to bring you into my world and you fight me at every turn.”

“What about my world?” Her question came with a renewed fire, thinking of all the parts of her life Quinn didn’t know about; all the things he hadn’t taken the time to learn.

“You won’t let me in there, either. So, I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Maybe he couldn’t learn without her teaching him. Maybe he hadn’t asked.

Laurel didn’t know. All she did know was that her heart was slowly crumbling in her chest as she tried to put on a brave face and pretend it was the outcome she’d wanted by showing up in the first place.

She ducked her head so she could walk past him, saying coolly that she was going to collect some things from his room. There was no way she’d be able to remove everything of hers in one trip when she hadn’t even brought her overnight bag but if she could at least grab her expensive skin care items and her favourite clothes that would be something.

Quinn followed her, his footsteps dull and heavy, and she felt his eyes watching her as she moved around. She didn’t snap at him, didn’t ask him what he was worried she’d steal, just focused on fitting what she could into her purse.

“I went to a game, you know?” she asked as she carefully took a shirt from one of the hangers she’d co-opted and folded it into her purse.

Quinn huffed a disbelieving laugh. “The one I begged you to come to.”

“The night up told me you were going back to Michigan, actually,” she corrected. “Sat in the crowd with Karina from work and she tried to teach me what was going on. I was going to surprise you by learning how the game worked without you having to teach me.”

“Too late for that, isn’t it? You’re the one who thinks we should break up.”

“I guess I am,” she said, a sad smile stretched across her face. “I don’t know how this is where it ended, Quinn.”

“I wish you’d told me two weeks ago that you were mad at me. Probably could have avoided this.”

Laurel shrugged, half-heartedly, “I don’t know. This shit’s always inevitable for me.”

“It doesn’t have to be, you know that.”

“Bye, Quinn.”

She left him standing in the doorway of his bedroom and didn’t turn back around once as she left, fearing that she’d beg him for anything that made it better.

There wasn’t anything that could make it better.

Laurel knew the minute she accepted that the date was a bad idea. The one piece of advice her mother gave her for getting over relationships was that “a week for every month you were together” was the proper timeframe for getting over someone.

If Laurel counted from the day she officially became Quinn’s girlfriend, three weeks was plenty of time. Half a week too long, even.

If only that had assuaged her guilt enough to not ruin the night out Brooke had organised for them. Even if the night was drinks and dancing at the same dive bar where she’d met Quinn.

Drinks and dancing were easier than any other alternative that wasn’t just sex; it was clearly just a prelude to sex, regardless, and not even a very vague one.

Laurel could handle the pretence, though, because Brooke was proving to be enough of a difference from what she’d realised was her ‘type’ that Laurel had no issues pressing up against her on the dance floor or sitting in her lap when they stopped for drinks.

By the time a lovely haze was settling over Laurel—Tom Collins had leant his name to a very nice drink—it all came crashing down.

“Why do the Vancouver Canucks keep staring at us?”

She hadn’t noticed them, had been far too wrapped up in getting Brooke to take her home, before they were pointed out to her but, sure enough, Quinn was standing across the room huddled with more than a few guys from the team.

“I dated one of them,” Laurel said with a sigh, averting her gaze before she could accidentally make eye contact with any of them. If Quinn caught her, she would die in the spot.

“Yeah?” Brooke pushed. “Recently enough that they’re still staring?”

17 days.

But she wasn’t counting.

“It wasn’t a great breakup.”

“Damn.” Brooke paused. “Does he know you also date women?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then I can do this—”

At first, Laurel melted into Brooke’s mouth—the softness was something she didn’t realise she’d missed and Brooke’s fingers had crept under her top and were applying just enough pressure to really curl the heat in Laurel’s stomach.

The beat that followed replaced the heat with led, and Laurel pushed herself out of Brooke’s lap. She had enough of a mind to fix her top and then no mind at all when she turned to where Quinn had been and made the eye contact she’d dreaded.

17 days wasn’t enough.

Quinn was moving, then, weaving his way through his teammates and towards the entrance to the bar; Laurel didn’t even feel Brooke’s hand on her wrist as she rushed to follow him.

Laurel hated dive bars and all the people in them, each and every one stepping in and out of her path as she desperately tried to stay on her feet.

A cool breeze hit her like a wall when she stepped onto Water Street, enough of a shock that she flinched and stopped in her tracks. Someone was following close enough behind her that she was forcibly moved onto the sidewalk.

She locked eyes on Quinn, standing at the gutter with his phone in his hand. He looked up from it, presumably hearing her shoes on the contact, and sighed so deeply she saw his shoulders rise and fall.

“Quinn—I—”

“It’s fine, Laurel,” he mumbled, looking away from her and down Water Street, “we’re broken up.”

“I didn’t want her to do that,” Laurel stressed, reaching out to touch his arm. Quinn took a tiny little step and her hand fell away. She whispered; then, “Especially not in front of you. I’m sorry.”

“We’re not together. You can do what you want. I’m getting out of here.”

A car pulled up in front of them; Quinn was quick to open the door.

She touched his arm again, her fingers digging into the jacket he was wearing so he couldn’t shake her off, and she pleaded, “I didn’t know you were coming back so soon.”

Laurel felt the ire pouring off him even though he barely looked at her over his shoulder, when he said, “You never let me tell you, so how could you?”

“Quinn—”

He shook his arm, forcibly dislodging Laurel’s hand. She teetered backwards as she stepped out of the way of the car door so it didn’t close on her—it really didn’t feel like that would have been a bad thing.

Instagram was a much quieter place after The Purge at Annie’s House and after months of not being with Quinn. The requests to follow her died down around July, she guessed because nobody could say they’d seen them together so she was no longer interesting.

Laurel couldn’t deny that she’d googled her own name a few times since Quinn left her on Water Street, curious to know what any of the ‘puck bunny' blogs had been saying about her—most updates post August were that she and Quinn were done. Quinn was officially back on the market.

Too many people were poking fun at her Instagram handle—‘looks like @l0nelylaurel is l0nelier than ever’ and it was all hitting too close to home.

Truth be told, 153 days was no easier than 17.

A lot of that could be contributed to the angst of waiting for Quinn to show any sign that he was even coming back to Vancouver. The season was ten days from officially starting and he hadn’t even re-signed with the Canucks.

He was still in Michigan.

Or that’s what she thought—what she expected—until his post appeared on her feed.

6 more years.

The newly christened hockey fan in her was ecstatic.

The pining ex-girlfriend was… desperate. Maybe.

To Quinn: is it too late to apologise and tell you i’ve been learning about hockey?

The lack of context bothered her and she sent a follow up text soon after.

To Quinn: congratulations on the contract. i’m proud of you

She didn’t think that context helped her case, either, but at least it was a reason to be texting him behind just missing him.

Laurel wasn’t expecting a text back with any speed. Returning to her job after a week of vacation time was hard enough; having to sign a whole new contract and join the team after they’d already been through the bulk of their training and bonding wasn’t something she could comprehend.

That was mostly because she’d heard from various Canucks fans at work about how damaging it was to the team for him and Petey to hold out so long.

She brought up YouTube to mindlessly watch something so that she didn’t dwell on her texts to Quinn, but she hadn’t even picked something when her phone buzzed and his name showed at the top of her screen.

From Quinn: Maybe there’s a table free at Elise. Heard about someone who’s big trophy wife fantasy was getting dinner there 🤔

Her heart sank.

It was a reasonable leap for him to make, she couldn’t fault him for it even if it made her want to claw at her skin and disappear into her couch for the rest of her life—but not before she made sure he knew it wasn’t like that.

To Quinn: it’s not about the contract. just didn’t know when you were back in town

From Quinn: Bad joke. Come over tomorrow after work?

The relief that overcame her was almost painful in how good it felt. Her heart was no longer sinking but instead racing faster and stronger than she knew how to deal with.

To Quinn: 💕

There was a pleasant, refreshing chill in the air as Laurel made the walk from her apartment to Quinn’s.

Haley had questioned where she was going for no other reason than Laurel didn’t change out of the clothes she’d worn to work—almost every time she’d left the house since May she’d changed into something more appropriate for a bar because, well, she was headed to a bar. They still weren’t friends but Haley worried enough that Laurel had to assure her it wasn’t self-destructive.

The bars had been pretty self-destructive. Seeing Quinn was the opposite.

She hoped, anyway.

He must have been sitting at the buzzer with how fast he let her into the building, and he was standing in his open door when she stepped out of the elevator.

“Welcome home?” she said, tilting it into a question when it crossed her mind that she didn’t actually know where he considered home. Maybe he’d just left home.

He smiled, “It’s good to be back. Come on, I pulled a few strings and have some food from Elise coming.

“Quinn…” Laurel trailed off, concerned that she’d been invited over as a joke.

“It’s really nice food and I know you like it. I really would have taken you there but I know my joke didn’t land.”

Laurel nodded, short and still uncertain. He carried on, though, guiding her into his apartment. He was acting like nothing had happened, like the last two times they’d seen each other hadn’t been disasters.

She washed her hands, taking a little extra time in the bathroom to recompose herself. He was being far nicer than he should have. She hadn’t expected him to be horrible to her—even if she’d been half concerned it was all an elaborately cruel joke—she just hadn’t expected him to welcome her in with open arms.

They ate peacefully, Laurel rather overwhelmed by how good the food was, by how Quinn had remembered what she’d ordered on her birthday. Quinn interspersed their eating with some stories from Michigan, so tentatively that he was obviously testing the waters.

She listened, grateful to have him back in front of her, delighted by the familiar awkwardness with which he carried himself.

She tried to fill him in on what she’d been up to while he was away, coming up short as she’d had no time off.

Quinn, seemingly realising she was floundering, turned the conversation in an entirely different direction on a hair pin.

“I didn’t do enough to help you get used to hockey and the life it comes with.”

Laurel blinked, stopping her wine glass as it was halfway to her mouth and putting it carefully back on the table. She said, measured, “You weren’t the problem, Quinn.”

“Maybe we share the blame but I—everyone I know goes from zero to sixty in like three weeks,” he explained, his hands twitching around his knife and fork. “Jack and Daisy have been virtually married since high school and I need to stop comparing my life to his but it’s a bit depressing when my go-to example of a relationship is my younger brother.”

“At least it’s a happy one. Mine are every relationship my mom ever blew up. I do a pretty good job replicating them.”

A sympathetic look crossed Quinn’s face, one Laurel didn’t feel entitled to, but he didn’t continue the conversation. He let go of his knife and reached his hand across the table to hold hers. He simply squeezed it comfortingly and smiled.

It lit up her entire body.

By the time they were washing up, Laurel was settling into his apartment as if she’d never left. Nothing changed since May, almost definitely because Quinn hadn’t been home, and she found her ice cream in the freezer where she’d left it and pulled two spoons from the drawer. Quinn followed her easily to the couch.

She turned sideways on the couch, crossing her legs so that she was facing him and he sat at the opposite end and also turned to face her. The ice cream container was settled onto the cushion between them, teetering precariously.

“Did you really go to a game without telling me?”

She startled, “You remember that?”

“Pretty sure I remember the entire convo word for word.”

It was a pretty quick way to bring down the mood, even if it looked like Quinn hadn’t intended it to be, the flinch that followed his words clue her into his regret.

“I did, yeah,” Laurel powered on. “You won and I had fun.”

He smiled and she smiled back, caught up in the immediate happiness that replaced the regret. Despite the happiness, he was hesitant when he asked, “Do you think you’ll want to go again?”

“I’d like to,” Laurel admitted, still smiling. “I should probably know the game, right?”

“The Devils are in town next month. Daisy might come. Mom won’t make it this time.”

“I can handle Daisy,” she assured him. “That’d be really great, Quinn. I don’t have the equivalent for social work in a hospital, but if we plan drinks any time soon I’ll make sure it’s a day you’re free. You can meet Haley if you want.”

She moved the ice-cream from between them and leant sideways to put it on the coffee table. The only thing keeping her from falling off the couch completely were Quinn’s quick reflexes and his hand shooting out to press against her rib cage.

She held her breath at the contact, at the easy way he helped her back onto the couch, and then at the sincerity in his voice as he said, “I’ll meet whoever you’ll let me meet, Laurel.”

“Letting people in is hard for me but I really want it to be you who changes that.”

He’d barely gotten out “Me, too” before Laurel was moving across the now empty space between them to capture his mouth in a kiss.

The morning after the game against the Devils—a 5-2 defeat that almost wished she hadn’t been present for—Laurel and Quinn squeezed in breakfast with Jack and Daisy before Jack got on a flight to Edmonton.

Jack was… Not what Laurel expected.

His arrival was so loud and energetic that she glanced sideways at Quinn to see how he was going to handle their breakfast being interrupted by a fan, and she took a couple of steps back just to be out of the way. Her confusion grew when Daisy walked in behind him, rolling her eyes as Jack launched himself at Quinn.

“They literally saw each other last night,” Daisy said, hugging Laurel. “It’s like this every time.”

“He’s not what I was expecting,” Laurel admitted. “Quinn’s so quiet and you are, too, that—”

“Daisy? Quiet? You pull your body double in for the game?” Jack asked, stepping away from Quinn. “I’m Jack—Daisy’s conned you.”

“I know how to read a room.”

“I’m Laurel.”

Given Jack’s entrance, the hug wasn’t entirely unexpected. She made eye contact with Quinn over Jack’s shoulder, saw the pleased smile on his face and knew that everything was really going to work out fine.

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panic-at-the-fiction · 4 months

Text

This is The Way

Summary: right after the ending season two, din having just removed his helmet. The reader comforts din as he struggles with not knowing how to go on without the child or his creed.

A/N: I just rewatched the show and I just really want to know what happened the second the screen went dark. Did anyone say something. Did he immediately put the helmet back on. Was it an awkward car ride home as they all just set silently like can’t believe we fought to save the kid and now he doesn’t even get to keep it. It’s just wrong man.

I stood watching as Luke disappeared into the elevator carrying the child away with him, leaving nothing, but an awkward silence as the door shut.

Dins shoulders tensed, his back straightened. I didn’t know how to approach him with his helmet removed.

We both knew our goal was to find a Jedi to reunite Grogu with, but we spent so much time just fighting to get him back, neither of us thought we’d have to give him away so quickly. Din continued to just stare off at the door like he wasn’t quite sure this was real.

I looked around at our assembled friends and allies, realizing no one really knew what to say. Everyone seemed to be waiting for some sort of command as to what to do next.

“Can you guys give us a minute?”

Bo Katan nodded. “We’ll make our way back to prepare the ship, you guys can meet us when you're ready. We’ll secure the prisoner while we’re at it.”

I nodded and watched them all leave down the same hall as Luke and Grogu just a moment ago. They were probably already back to his ship at this point and ready to start a new life off somewhere far away. It broke my heart to even think about it presently.

“Din?” I almost whispered, breaking the silence. He twitched, uncomfortable and unsure without his helmet on.

I walked closer and carefully placed my hand on his shoulder. He relaxed into the touch, but he still stayed facing away. “Din, it’s okay, you can look at me.”

“I’ve broken my creed.”

“I know.” I said lightly. It was against the creed to remove his helmet. He had already done it once before, but that was under dire circumstances and was done in hopes of saving a foundling, which Mandalorian deemed more important than almost anything. But this, this he did willingly for the child.

“I just… I wanted him to see me before he left. To really see me before he was gone.”

“I understand Din, it’s okay. I think it was very noble of you. It was a beautiful parting gift.”

“But now I have nothing.”

I felt a slight sting at those words. I had been traveling with the Mandalorian since he stopped on Tatooine with the child for the first time. Back then he was still running from Greef Karga. We weren’t together, but I traveled with him, fought with him. I had saved his life, and he had saved mine in more ways than one. I was his friend, and deep down I’ve always wanted something more.

“I miss him too, but you still have me. I might not be much, but I’m not leaving you, creed or no creed.”

He finally turned around, a slight embarrassment or even shyness in his demeanor. I had never seen Din’s face before. He had kind, warm brown eyes and was handsomer than I’d even imagined.

I couldn't help myself as I reached out and carefully placed my hand on his cheek, something I had done in moments of comfort even when he wore the helmet. “I always wondered what color those eyes were.” I smiled.

He placed his hand over mine. “You’re more than enough.” He paused, sighing before pulling away. “But I still believe in the Mandalorian way, I still believe it to be true.”

“Then put the helmet back on.”

“What?” He sighed, trying to walk away, “I can’t just put the helmet back on, it doesn't work like that.”

I picked it up from where it set off to the side and held it back out to him. “Then we will find the rest of the Mandalorians. You can put the helmet back on until we find them. We will ask for their forgiveness to see if they will redeem you. Whatever it is they want, we can do it. If not, you can take the helmet off and start sulking then.”

His brow furrowed as he looked at me. It was strange to be able to read his expressions. Even with the helmet, Din was always expressive, but seeing his face up close. It was like I was reading his mind, it almost felt too personal.

“We? You would do that for me? Search the galaxy for a dying race, just to help me restore my honor in a culture you don’t even take part in?”

“I mean, isn’t that what I’ve been doing all this time, helping you honor your creed by helping you protect the child?” I laughed slightly at the mention of the kid, the wound of losing him still fresh. Even if he was getting to be with his people again.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, we will seek the Mandalorians again. Together.”

I smiled, offering him the helmet back, but I could see in his eyes he was thinking about it before he took it from me.

“First there’s something I need to do.”

He crossed the distance to me, taking his helmet and pushing it off to the side. I opened my mouth to ask what was so important he needed to do it before he put the helmet back on. His gloved hands came up to cup my face as his lips met mine.

Shock set in first, followed by confusion in the first split second before I felt myself completely dissolve into him. My arms coming up around his neck, his hands traveling down to my hips locking me in tightly.

All those months on the razor, pining filled with awkward tense moments interrupted by the child. All those times when the heat in the room was intense, but neither of us saying or doing anything to act on it. Now the Mandalorian was kissing me like I was his dying wish.

When the kiss ended, both of us only pulled away enough to lean our foreheads together.

“I’ve been dying to do that.” He said almost jokingly.

“Oh yeah, what got in the way?” I quipped, getting him to laugh.

I left the warm embrace of his arms and reached over to grab the helmet from where Din had pushed it off to the side. He caught my arm as I did so, pulling me back to face him.

“Before you hand that to me, you need to know I’ve always loved you. Since the first day you stepped foot on my ship and I saw the way you cared for Grogu and me. Since the first time I saw you with a blaster, I have been fighting these feelings, knowing I can’t give you everything you want. If you agree to come with me to find the Mandalorians and I have my honor restored, I can’t remove my helmet again. I can’t offer you everything you deserve.”

I smiled, almost feeling tears coming to my eyes. “I love you, Din Djarin and I love you with or without that helmet. I’ll be happy to take any piece of you as long I get to be with you. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, as long as I know you love me, that will be enough. I know how much that creed means to you, how much your people mean to you, and I will never ask you to give it up when there’s still hope you can have your honor restored.” I picked the helmet back up and extended back to him. “This is the way.”

He nodded, taking the helmet and finally placing it back on his head, completing his armor once more. “This is the way.”

#mando x y/n #mando x you #the mandolorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandolarian #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction

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my-soupy-brain · 1 year

Text

Magnetic

(Photo found on twitter)

Description: Jason sees you in the crowd at the S3 premiere and decides to extend an invitation to get to know you.

Relationship: Jason Sudeikis x reader (f)

Smut: Nothin'. Just building a story, fluffy stuff. Chapter two though, watch out.

---

You weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary.

Your friend, Charlie, had said something funny, really funny, and you threw your head back and laughed with your whole body. Tears had escaped the corner of your eyes, and you dabbed them away with your cold hands.

Standing outside the Ted Lasso season 3 premiere event had you a little over giddy anyway, seeing some of your favorite actors and cast members. And you and your friend somehow scored tickets on this chilly Los Angeles night.

As you tried to get ahold of your laugh — that joke really tickled you — Charlie nudges your rib cage.

“Hey…hey, chill out. Look. He’s looking at you,” he half whispers.

Still laughing you ask him to repeat himself.

“Jason. Sudeikis. Is looking at you,” he says, pointing in the direction of the riser where he’s being interviewed.

“Nuh-uh, how can you even tell? Christ! Look how many people are here,” you gesture around. But when you do, you noticed it’s thinned out a bit. Still, you can’t really wrap your head around that he’s looking at you.

“Dude, what if he wants to ask you out?” your friend prompts, which gives you the giggles all over again. You're almost angry that Charlie would suggest such a thing, given your crush on this man.

“Yeah! Yeah. Me. He’s looking at me and he’s gonna whisk me into Hollywood, yeah, okay,” you mutter, rolling your eyes and now doubling your laughter at how ridiculous it seems.

But Jason tilts his head and smiles, almost in reaction to seeing your fit of joy again.

“I’m serious. He’s…watching you…” your friend presses.

You shoo the thought away until you look back at Jason at making eye contact. And you can feel it, the way he bashfully looks away, his hand at his mouth like you’ve seen him do many times in interviews.

You smile wide at him, because why not? If he is looking, you may as well let him know you admire him too.

As he ends the interview and steps off the platform your heart deflates a little. He steps down to ground level and talks to a woman with an earpiece. She nods, clipboard in hand, and disappears in the throng of people.

You smile, a bit deflated to have lost sight of him. After a few moments when you turn to talk to your friend you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi, I’m Samantha,” the earpiece woman says. “I’m a production coordinator for the event. This might seem like an odd request, but Mr. Sudeikis wanted to extend an invitation to you and your friend to the after-party.”

You feel like you’re taking crazy pills.

“That, of course, is if you want to. It’s optional. But he wanted to invite you.”

Your friend nudges you out of your trance before answering, “Absolutely, we’ll be there.”

“Great!” Samantha answers brightly. “Here are a couple of passes to the screening as well, the party will be afterwards.”

As she turns to leave you’re still stunned. Your friend snaps you out of it.

“Told you he saw you.”

—

The screening was amazing. Getting a first glance at the new season has you so excited for the rest of the episodes.

You make your way to the party and are greeted with an open bar, and you and your friend make a bee-line to grab a cocktail. The night is so overwhelming already, you need something to take the edge off.

You feel…out of place. A lot of people know each other so you’re thankful you at least have a friend to keep company. But soon Charlie is off mingling with people and you’re left on your own, listening to the music while you lean on the bar.

“Need another drink?” you hear a familiar voice to your left.

And he’s there.

Right there. Smiling. His hand out.

“I’m Jason, don’t think we’ve met yet,” he says, his eyes attentive and waiting for a response.

“H-hi, I’m…I’m… y/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m such a-a fan of your work,” you manage to stutter.

He chuckles. Is he…blushing?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. I saw you outside, as the crowd wore down and I figured if you two were sticking around, you were worth extending the invitation,” he says, still smiling.

Oh that smile. Are you kidding me?

“Yeah, uh, thank you! Thank you. This is incredible. I’m a bit over my head here…” you answer, looking around the room. “I’m nobody from nowhere in a room with you? Tim Cook? What the hell is going on?”

Jason laughs again. His hand on your shoulder.

“We are nobodies from nowhere too, I promise. Glad you decided to come.”

You laugh, a full-bodied laugh, at the statement. It’s a little ridiculous but for some reason it just tickles you. He laughs with you, admiring how happy you look, hearing that laugh up close.

Finally.

You stare, a beat too long you worry. You take a sip of your cocktail.

“Let’s grab a table?” he offers and you nod, floating behind him.

This is a dream, right? I’m gonna wake up. Something stupid is gonna happen, like a river of gravy is gonna topple through those doors. Then I’ll know it’s a dream.

He looks so handsome, even more handsome up close. You’re staring again. Stop staring!

As you sit at a back table in a corner booth, Jason slides in closer to you. You feel his leg bump yours.

“You looked like you were having a good time out there,” he leans in to say over the music.

You smile, twirling the straw in your drink.

“It was incredible. Never thought I’d get tickets to this. Just being that close, and then to get invited to the screening!”

He’s watching how animated you are, talking about your evening. He smiles at how happy it’s made you.

“So what brings you to LA? Just here for this, or are you a Californian?”

You smile and laugh again. Is he trying to…get to know you?

Where’s that gravy river?

“Ah, no. My friend Charlie lives here, he invited me. I’m from the Midwest actually.”

Jason perks up.

“Wow! So nice to meet someone from home,” he answers brightly. “I kinda had a feeling? It’s like Midwest people call to each other. Accents, manners — we all find each other somehow.”

You laugh again, playfully grabbing his arm, tears spilling again. Oh God, you grabbed his arm. Abort! Abort!

But before you pull it away, he places his other hand on yours. He’s laughing because you’re laughing.

“I appreciate a good laugh,” you say, wiping the tears away.

“I can tell! I love that about you,” he replies, a look of honesty on his face.

Before you start to speak, someone has arrived at the table.

“Jason, hi. Sorry, we need you over here for a photo op,” another woman with a clipboard says. He nods, a bit deflated.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” he says, winking as he slides out of the booth and goes across the room.

You’ve totally lost track of Charlie. You’re alone. You watch Jason shake hands, take photos with people. He laughs. You love how hard he laughs.

Seriously. Where is that gravy river?!

Your drink is finished and you’re still waiting but aware he may be called away, whisked around the room to the VIPs in attendance. As you’re about to head back to the bar to find Charlie, Jason slides back into the booth with another cocktail in hand.

“Saw you were out,” he offers, holding his glass up to cheers. “Midwest manners.”

You clink your tumblers together and smile. “Thank ya kindly!”

As the night dwindles down, you realize that other than a few times he’s been called away, he’s mostly spent it with you. A few costars stopped by and you got an introduction to all of them, but mostly it’s been the two of you, just chatting.

When the bar announces last call and the DJ winds down for the evening, you thank Jason for a lovely evening.

“I’m so honored to have been part of this, thank you so much. It was amazing to meet you,” you say.

“I’ll walk you outside,” he offers, his hand at the small of your back.

As you make your way out the back door, you find it…quiet. Empty. A chilly night but full of stars. Figuratively and literally.

“Wow, what a night! I can’t thank you enough. What a beautiful night,” you murmur, looking up at the night sky.

“A beautiful night with a beautiful woman, can’t beat that,” Jason replies, staring at you with a grin.

You blush wildly, unable to answer.

He steps closer.

“I mean that,” he says lowly, making your body shudder. Oh, God, he’s so handsome…

That gravy river is gonna sweep you away in three…two…

“Would it be okay if I kiss you?” he asks, a step closer.

You nod, nearly frozen in place. “Yes, I’d like that.”

He pulls you into his arms, smiling as he leans into you, your lips meeting sweetly at first, but deepening. His left hand cradles your neck and face as he pulls away.

“I have been waiting…all night to do that,” he murmurs breathlessly.

“Me, too.”

#jason sudeikis fanfic #jason sudeikis x reader #saw this photo and couldn't help it #chapter two coming soonish #what is this man doing to my braaaaain

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harry-on-broadway · 1 year

Text

Ring in the New Year: A Tying You to Me Extra

Word Count: 4.2K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M

A/N: Jan. 7 isn’t too late to post a holiday/New Year’s fic, right? 😅 Wishing everyone a Happy New Year and I’d love to hear what you all think after reading. Enjoy!

***

December 2022

“Sorry! Just a second!”

Quinn pulled the sheet mask off of her face and toddled towards the door, careful not to smudge the polish that was still drying on her fingers and toes as she dabbed the excess serum into her skin. She’d started her spa night while she was waiting for her takeout and thought she’d have enough time to finish her routine. Clearly her delivery driver was running ahead of schedule.

“Almost there,” Quinn shouted over top of the incessant ringing of the doorbell. “Hello,” she said as she opened the door. “How are —“

“Delivery for a Quinn?” Harry said, squinting at the receipt stapled to the bag.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked, stunned. “You’re not supposed to be home until tomorrow.”

“Oh, well I can leave and take this with me,” Harry said, turning around on the stoop.

“Don’t you dare!” Quinn yelled as she threw her arms around him, feeling his body shake with laughter.

“Did you miss me or something?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Well, let me get a proper hello in then,” Harry replied, setting the takeout and his carry-on on the front steps before enveloping Quinn in a tight embrace and kissing her on the lips.

Quinn tried and failed, to keep the tears from spilling over as she returned the kiss. “What happened to LA? I thought you had to wrap things up?”

“Finished ahead of schedule so that I could get home to you.”

“Harry,” she said, sniffing.

“I know,” he said, pulling her close. “I know.”

As incredible as the past six months had been for the both of them, it hadn’t been an easy ride.

After Quinn packed up her life in New York City, she’d had a few weeks to get acclimated to her new home in London with Harry – and to see him sell out Wembley – but soon after he’d packed his suitcase and headed off to tour the world. Harry touring wasn’t anything new, but it was difficult for Quinn this time around, being in a new city, with her only tether gone. She’d made the most of it, thankful that Harry’s circle had welcomed her with open arms and that her own family and friends had made trips to visit throughout the summer. The change in circumstances hadn’t really hit Quinn until Harry’s New York residency began in August though.

He was in her city, without her, and the longing she felt was indescribable, a feeling that only intensified when the new season of SNL began, and she realized that she’d be able to watch it on the TV for the first time in years.

Harry had his own struggles too. As much as he loved working and staying busy, being on the road could be grueling and lonely, even when surrounded by friends. She could see the toll it was taking during their late night FaceTime calls, and it was especially heartbreaking to be apart from him during the highs and lows. But after months of counting down he was finally home.

“Maybe we should go inside?” Harry mumbled into Quinn’s hair. “It’s a little cold out here.”

“I don’t think I ordered enough for two,” Quinn said, frowning at the plastic bag as she picked it up.

“It’s fine, we’ll share.” Harry shook off his coat as he followed Quinn into the entryway. He took in the scene before him. “You’ve really turned this place around,” he said with a mix of happiness and awe.

“I know you said to make myself at home,” Quinn called from the kitchen. “I might have gone a little overboard.”

“No, it’s perfect,” Harry sighed.

He’d spent years trying to cultivate the perfect sanctuary in London, but even with all of the hoops he’d gone through to make it his, it had always felt like something was missing. As if one more coat of paint or piece of artwork or furniture would make it right. But in his absence, Quinn had managed to solve it.

Framed photos had joined the paintings on the walls, the snapshots a mix of photos of the two of them, with some of his own family and friends in the mix. Shelves had been filled with Quinn’s own books and trinkets, as well as items of his own that had been living in storage for the past five years. Blankets he’d first seen in her apartment were thrown on the couch beside his favorite pillows, as if they’d been meant to be there all along. This – a home with the woman he loved – was all he had ever dreamed of. And now it was his.

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked, poking her head out from the kitchen as Harry wiped away the few tears that had escaped.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just happy to be back home with you.”

Quinn smiled. “I know how you feel. Now go get comfy while I finish getting dinner ready.”

Harry retreated upstairs to shower, and when emerged, skin damp and clean, hair pulled back in his favorite clip, he found Quinn placing plates on the coffee table.

“What’s on the menu tonight?” he asked as he flopped onto the sofa.

“You didn’t look at the bag?”

“Food wasn’t the first thing on my mind, love.”

Quinn flushed. “Well, I ordered some Chinese tonight, and we are supplementing it with leftover Indian from the other night and some Mediterranean apps I picked up yesterday.”

“Wonderful,” Harry said, piling rice and vegetables onto his plate. “Want to watch Housewives?”

Quinn nodded and clicked the TV on, but the show was soon forgotten as she and Harry got lost in conversation. She’d already heard almost every story he told her, and he was well aware of all of her new coworkers, but there was something different about hearing the story around bites of food, sitting next to each other, rather than listening to it through a tinny phone speaker. She’d felt his absence so acutely, but didn’t realize how much she’d missed him until this moment. As he was telling her about a prank Pauli had pulled on him, she suddenly reached out and grabbed his free hand, squeezing tightly. Harry kept talking, but didn’t hesitate to return the gesture.

When the food was finished and dishes relegated to the sink to be washed tomorrow, they curled up on the sofa, conversation continuing until Harry started to yawn. Quinn initially ignored it, but when it happened, again, again, and again, she couldn’t.

“I think we should head upstairs, Harry,” she said gently, scratching the base of his skull. “You’ve had a long day. Hell, you’ve had a long year.”

Harry grinned as he shook his head, fighting another yawn. “I’m fine,” he said. He was like the toddler Quinn used to babysit, refusing to sleep for fear of missing something.

“We’re going to have three weeks like this,” Quinn said. “We’ve got plenty of time to catch up. You are allowed to sleep.” She stood up and reached for his hands. “Bed. Now.”

“I’m not one to argue so whatever you say,” Harry said with a sleepy grin, allowing himself to be pulled up. He followed Quinn upstairs quickly brushing his teeth before collapsing onto the bed.

When Quinn had finished her skincare routine, she joined him under the covers and he pulled her close so that their legs were intertwined and they were nose to nose.

“Goodnight,” Quinn whispered as Harry closed his eyes.

“Love you,” he murmured before sleep overtook him.

***

Quinn stirred as the faintest glimpse of morning light filtered between the new curtains she’d hung in their bedroom. It was far too early to be awake, but she reached for her phone and squinted to read the time. It would be a few hours before they’d even need to think about getting up and she placed it back on the nightstand before getting comfortable again. As she relaxed against the pillows, she felt Harry, hot and hard against the small of her back, still asleep. She bit her lip and tried to focus on anything other than the feeling of Harry beside her.

When she’d envisioned their reunion over the months, she hadn’t necessarily expected sex to be the main event, but she had planned on it happening at some point. Preferably sooner rather than later, based on what she was feeling at the moment. She shifted again, trying to ignore the ache between her thighs when she felt Harry stir beside her.

“What’s wrong?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Nothing,” Quinn murmured.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Harry said slowly, realizing what had happened below his waist. “Just ignore it and it will go away.”

“We don’t need to do that.”

“Oh?” Harry opened one eye. “Tell me more.”

“Well to start we could do this,” Quinn whispered as she brought her lips against Harry’s throat, running her teeth against the sensitive skin, feeling him shiver at the sensation.

“What else?” he asked, swallowing thickly.

“Maybe a little of this.” Quinn continued to move her lips along Harry’s throat, making her way up to his face, relishing the way his stubble burned against her skin. While her mouth moved against his face, she brought her hand to rest on top of the bulge in his shorts, feeling his cock straining against the thin material. She gently stroked him. “Some of this too.” She could just make out the soft sound of Harry whining as she continued to work him with her fingers. Quinn turned her head so her lips could find Harry’s. “It’s been a while,” she whispered against them as his hips bucked into her hand. “Too long in fact.”

“Too long,” he stammered, too overwhelmed to say much else. They lay there Harry breathing heavily as Quinn repeated the pattern she knew would bring him to the edge, until he suddenly halted her hand.

“Wait,” he whispered. “You too. If you want.”

“Yeah,” Quinn said, quietly, not wanting to break whatever spell had fallen over the bedroom.

“This?” Harry asked, sliding his hands inside the waistband of her underwear, easily finding her clit.

“Uh huh,” Quinn sighed, shifting to provide a better angle for him, and sharply exhaling when his fingers found the exact spot she was yearning for him to reach. “Right there baby.” She held onto his wrist to keep him in the spot she needed. She felt herself grow wetter with each pass of his fingers, until she stopped him.

“Together,” she mumbled.

“Yeah?”

She nodded, and Harry paused what he was doing to pull his briefs down his legs as Quinn tossed her own bottoms to the side. Free from obstruction, Harry rolled onto his side, wrapped his arm around Quinn and pulled her close. As their pelvises aligned, Quinn opened her legs to allow Harry to fit between them. They were nose to nose, chest to chest, the closest they had physically been in a long time, but Quinn still needed him closer. Without warning, Harry thrust into her, pulling a moan that felt ear splitting in the silence of the bedroom.

“I’ve still got it, huh,” he said against Quinn’s hairline, feeling her stretch around him.

“Shut up,” Quinn said as he thrust even deeper, causing her to moan again.

It was hard for them to find a consistent rhythm in their position, as Harry stopped and started, but Quinn didn’t care. All that mattered was that Harry was next to her.

She’d experienced all kinds of sex with him over the years. The rushed and hurried fuck when one of them was in town and had a few free hours. The seemingly never ending weekend session that saw one orgasm flowing into the next until they all blurred together. The lazy morning sex that was few and far between where the only goal was to feel each other in the present moment. But this was different. It was far and away the most intense sex she’d ever had and she could feel everything. Every breath, every movement, every emotion. It was exhilarating.

The room was silent save for the sound of skin moving against skin and the pants, grunts, and moans that came from both of them, but it was the most connected she’d ever felt with Harry. Seconds later she felt him spill over inside of her just as the wave of her own orgasm washed over her.

“I thought it would be different this time,” Harry said moments later, speaking into Quinn’s shoulder when he’d finally slowed his breathing.

“What are you talking about?” Quinn asked as she circled her nails around a freckle on his back.

“Tour. Being away from you.”

“Oh?”

“I thought it would be easier. Knowing I didn’t have to worry about you. Knowing that you’d still be there, even when I was gone too long.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“No. It was even harder, knowing that I was missing this. You here, in my bed, my kitchen. On the sofa, walking up the driveway. It felt like I had something to look forward to when I came home for the first time in forever. I was just counting down the days.”

Quinn felt pride swell in her chest knowing she was the one he was longing for, but she dismissed Harry’s words. “You better be careful, your mother and Gemma wouldn’t want to hear that.”

Harry grazed his teeth against Quinn’s bare skin and she giggled at the ticklish sensation. “Don’t worry. They know you’re my best girl,” he whispered against her skin.

***

While Harry and Quinn’s holiday festivities quite literally started out with a bang, things slowed dramatically in the following days.

It started with a single sneeze, then another, and another. The scratchy throat and fatigue soon followed. After fighting his own battle in the weeks prior, Harry knew what was coming and delicately tried to steer Quinn towards a doctor’s visit and rest, but she stubbornly refused, attributing her symptoms to a busy work schedule and a dust allergy. But when the fever arrived on the third day, she couldn’t deny it any longer.

“Harry,” she croaked from where she was wrapped in blankets in bed. “I think I’m sick.”

“You don’t say,” he said sarcastically as he brought her some tea. “I thought it was stress and allergies.”

“You can’t be mean to me when I’m sick,” she pouted. “I was nice to you.”

“Yes, you were, love,” he sighed, smoothing back her hair. “Now drink this and try to get some rest.”

Quinn spent the next week drifting in and out of sleep migrating from the bedroom to the couch whenever she had the energy. Harry was a conscientious caregiver, cooking whatever she was in the mood for, providing a constant supply of hot beverages and medications, and staying as close as he could. She felt a slight improvement on Christmas Eve but she and Harry both agreed it was better to skip the large gathering and play it safe, settling for FaceTime calls instead. It was more of the same on Christmas, though Anne and Gemma and few others found time to pop over for a quick visit in the stretch between Christmas and New Year’s, swapping gifts and baked goods.

As New Year’s Eve approached, Harry could tell Quinn still wasn’t back to normal, even though she was trying to make it seem like she was.

“Why don’t we stay in for New Year’s Eve,” he gently suggested that morning.

“No! We already have plans and you were so excited to see everyone.”

“I can see them later. I have plenty of time before I have to head out again.” Harry looked at her pleadingly. “You know you need the rest and I was honestly looking forward to a night in.”

“After spending how many ‘nights in’ with me this past week?” Quinn asked, before a coughing fit took over. Harry raised his eyebrows in a “told-you-so” gesture. “Fine,” Quinn acquiesced. “We’ll have another night in.”

They ordered takeout and cozied up in front of the TV pausing their movie marathon just before midnight to watch London ring in the new year. “I think this is the first time you’re my New Year’s kiss,” Harry said thoughtfully, as he pecked Quinn on the lips. “And I sure hope it’s not the last.”

“Me too, H,” Quinn said, kissing him back. Harry turned off the television and reached for Quinn’s hand to lead her upstairs. “What’s your resolution going to be?” she asked as they climbed the stairs.

“I can’t tell you that or else it won’t come true.”

“Harry, it’s a resolution, not a birthday wish.”

“Still, I don’t want to take any chances.”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Well, since I don’t believe in that entirely made up rule, I’ll tell you mine. I want to try to spend less time on my phone, commit to cooking more, try to make time for myself every day. Oh! And candy. I might try to cut back on the candy.”

“That is an ambitious list.”

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“I never said that. I know you’ll accomplish anything you put your mind to.”

“I’ve trained you so well,” Quinn grinned.

They climbed into bed, setting their alarms and waking to watch the ball drop in New York City, what Quinn said was the official start of 2023.

“Happy New Year, H,” Quinn said, sleepily, curling back into Harry’s side.

***

“You could help me, you know,” Quinn said, glancing over her shoulder at Harry. “Leaving your girlfriend to do all of the heavy lifting isn’t the best look.”

“I’m supervising,” Harry called from the kitchen as he poured two cups of coffee.

“Uh huh, sure,” Quinn shot back, sorting through the plastic cartons and tissue paper that housed the ornaments and other decorations the eleven months of the year they weren’t on the tree. “What should I start with?”

“The porcelain ones in the front,” Harry answered, handing her a large cup of coffee. “It’s probably best to wrap them first so they don’t get broken.”

When they’d woken up after their New Year’s celebration, Harry had informed Quinn that he was a staunch believer in the tree coming down on the first day of the year, a way of starting fresh. So after a quick breakfast, Quinn got to work, pulling baubles off of the tree, securely wrapping them, and depositing them back in the large Rubbermaid container that would soon be stowed away until the next year. Deconstructing the tree was surprisingly more fun than setting it up. Ahead of the holidays, Quinn had rushed through the activity, just trying to get everything in its place ahead of Harry’s arrival home. But with Harry it was more of an event. He had stories to tell about each ornament and memories to share about the Christmases of his youth. By the end of his story about how his childhood dog ate an entire ham one Christmas, Quinn’s face hurt from smiling and laughing so much.

With nearly two boxes full, Quinn started to pull the lights and tinsel off of the tree when something caught her eye. “Harry!” she cried. “We forgot a present!” There was one solitary, medium size box sitting in the corner on the backside of the tree. “I hope it’s not one for your cousins. We’re not going to see them for months.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Check the label. Maybe it’s a different gift.”

Quinn picked up the box and turned it around to read the gift tag. She looked up at Harry. “It’s for me,” she said slowly. “From you.”

“Hmm, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Maybe you should open it.” Harry looked at her over the rim of his coffee mug.

“Harry–”

“What? You don’t want it? I’ll take it back then.” He stepped around the containers to grab the package from Quinn’s hands but she yanked it back before he got his hands on it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it.”

“OK, then. Open it.”

She looked at Harry. Outwardly, he was just the same as ever – eyes sparkling, fringe flopping out of his claw clip. Dimples popping proudly on his face, nails chipped from where he picked his nail polish off. But there was just the slightest thing that was amiss. His eyes wouldn’t focus on her, instead almost imperceptibly darting between Quinn and the box in her hands. His fingers, which had been occupied by holding his mug, were suddenly fidgeting with a hangnail Quinn hadn’t noticed before. Was she not supposed to have seen this present?

“OK…” she said slowly. She carefully slid her finger under the loose edge of the wrapping paper, tearing it cleanly off to reveal a plain and sturdy cardboard box underneath. “Is this the puppy I asked for?” she joked, trying to ease some of the tension that had suddenly filled the room.

Harry offered a small laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How did you know?”

“Intuition.”

“Always were the brains of the operation, weren’t you?”

“Something like that.” Quinn pulled up the flap of the box to reveal a much smaller velvet box nestled inside. She felt fluttery all over, and couldn’t tell if it was from panic or elation. “Harry,” she said shakily. “What–?” She was at a loss for words.

“Just open it and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

She looked up, and found him staring at her, equally jittery. Quinn nodded, and plucked what could only be a jewelry box out of the larger vessel. She flipped the top open to find a cheap ring, a discount store trinket you’d give to a child playing dress up. She’d never thought of herself as a someone who’d need the biggest and best ring to convince her to say yes to spending the rest of her life with someone she loved, but she was surprised that Harry, as thoughtful and over the top as he could be, would present her with this.

“I love it,” she said, drumming up what she thought was an appropriate level of enthusiasm. “Thank you, baby.”

Harry closed the last bit of distance between them and took Quinn’s hands in his own. She could feel the slightest tremble in them, which made her grasp them tighter. “You don’t have to pretend you love it,” he said with a gentle chuckle.

“No! I do love it. I’m just a little confused.”

“I know we’ve had our ups and downs but what we have is one of the longest relationships I’ve ever been in,” Harry started. “You’re here with me now and we’re together and we’ve had some conversations about…” he gestured vaguely. “...this and us. And…” He trailed off again, looking at a spot on the wall behind Quinn. “When I think about who I want as my co-pilot, my partner in crime, my best friend, it’s you. It’s only you.”

Quinn blinked hard, trying to fight the tears that were brimming.

“And unless I’ve really misread things, I think you feel the same way.” Quinn nodded, which Harry took as a sign to continue. “This isn’t a proposal,” Harry clarified. “I know you didn’t want one to come out of the blue, but this is me proposing that we think about it. Get engaged to be engaged, if you will. We still have time to figure it all out, but I want you to know what my intentions are. That I love you. And that I want to spend the rest of my life with you if you want the same.” Quinn stared at him. “OK, that was it,” he said laughing nervously.

Quinn stood up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around Harry’s shoulders. “Yes,” she whispered, pulling him as close to her as she possibly could. “The answer to it all is yes.”

Harry pulled away and tilted her head back so his lips could find hers. As he kissed her, Quinn lost all sense of herself and where she began and Harry ended. Her face was wet and she couldn’t tell if it was from her tears or Harry’s, but it didn’t matter, because they were together. And they would be. For forever. He was hers and she was his.

“So are you going to actually put a ring on it,” she teased when they broke apart.

“Whatever you want,” Harry joked as he pulled the ring out of the box and slipped it over her knuckle. The bright blue gemstone twinkled in the light and Quinn laughed at how much it clashed with the other simple jewelry she wore. “Don’t worry,” Harry said, kissing her temple. “I’ll get you something nicer when it’s time.”

“I don’t know, I kind of like this,” Quinn murmured, placing her ringed hand on Harry’s chest.

“Whatever you want, love,” Harry said. “I’ll give you whatever you want.” He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “To spend another year with you,” he said. “That’s what my resolution is. And you’ve made it come true”

As the pair stood in the living room, amidst the boxes and clutter and partially packed up decorations, Quinn looked at Harry, the man she loved. “I have a feeling this will be our best year yet.”

***

talk to me! || story inspo

taglist: @rivercran @daydreaming-laur @oh-honey-styles @nevertoooldtodancelikeamaniac @tbslhrry @andwhenshesays @haute-romance-quotidienne @hslllot @luvonstyles @woody32271 @ambee789 @very-berry-harry @last-saturday-night @confusedbansheee @kakaym @daphnesutton @bableliketable @lauloupi @kkrenae @sing-me-a-song-harry @soup-sex-and-sun-salutations @sweetwanderlust05 @deepestsweetsarbiter @kahluamystery97 @thurhomish @honeybluebirds @daydreamingofmatilda @indierockgirrl @be-with-me-so-happily @a-strange-familiar @mleestiles @theekyliepage @b-reads-things @behindmygreyeyes

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles ff #harry styles series #harry styles x ofc #harry fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fan fic

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goginaporter · 2 years

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gina is not ricky’s second, or even third, choice. she is his first.

I have seen a lot of comments, especially as this season has unfolded, that gina isn’t ricky’s first choice, or that he would choose nini over gina given the chance, etc. this isn’t true. the show establishes through many scenes and moments in each season that those statements are false. when we first see ricky and gina connect, it’s as “outsiders” who get each other, as ricky says. I might have to make a separate meta on the relevance of how ricky describes each of them and what it means for their characterization, but I digress. they are able to connect over this shared status. it is important to note that ricky also decided to stop pursuing nini + respect her boundaries at the end of 104/in 105. this does not mean he was seeking to replace nini’s presence in his life, just that rekindling a romantic relationship with her was not in the cards for him anymore at that point in the season. anyways, ricky and gina become close and quickly form a tight bond. many people claim that gina served as a rebound for ricky in these episodes but the show makes very clear what rebounds look like for ricky. he says in 101 that “he talked about nini the whole time” when he was hanging out with various girls that summer. throughout the course of rina’s s1 friendship, nini is not brought up at all until the finale and it’s all but guaranteed gina is never coming back, but we’ll get into that. a complaint nini brings up in the breakup scene in 2.08 is that she feels like she is nini of “ricky & nini” rather than being her own person. I think that the ricky we saw in s1 with gina was ricky as his own person, as opposed to ricky of “ricky & nini” and he displayed significant growth during this time.

gina’s leaving in 1.07 plays an important role in the idea of choice. after hanging up with her mom, she walks into ashlyn’s kitchen to gather her things, where ricky is waiting for her. he tells her “I’ll call you?” not willing to let her go. however, gina knows ricky struggles with people leaving him + she knows the pain of being left. because of her care for him, she does not want him to feel this pain. she tells him, “honestly, you heard what happened. I don’t think there’s any point in calling me anymore, do you?” and leaves. ricky is obviously not satisfied with this answer and rushes after her, leaving the party. before he leaves, he runs into nini, who tries to reach out and connect with him, which would’ve been everything to 1a ricky. however, he brushes her off and presumably runs after gina. I would argue that this is one of the only moments where a choice between nini and gina is presented to ricky and he chooses gina. obviously, there is a lot more nuance at play than that, but it is an interesting moment nonetheless. anyways, this entire encounter is the first moment that gina removes herself as an option. she does not want ricky to miss her or struggle to let her go.

this doesn’t stop ricky, and in the next episode, we see him frantically texting gina even as they stand in their burned down theater. he is worried about her and wants to continue contact, even in the face of the possibility (guarantee at that point) that they would never see each other again. yet again, gina not responding to his messages is another boundary she sets up to make the loss of their friendship easier on ricky. in her mind, it hurts less for him for her to cut him off than for them to try to hold on to a long distance friendship. she does respond to his messages later on in the episode, which I personally think is tied to ej getting her the plane ticket and her seeing this as a chance to give ricky a proper goodbye. however, at this point, it has been well established that gina a) does not want ricky to worry over her, even if it hurts both of them, him in the short term (she thinks) and her in the long term and b) is not coming back. this is the crux of this argument. ricky cannot make a choice between someone who does not want to be chosen to save them from hurt + presumably cannot be there physically. at this point, there is no choice between gina and nini because gina has removed herself as an option.

gina returns to east high on opening night and the first time that ricky sees her is on stage. he is awestruck and rushes backstage to get the opportunity to talk to her. when they see each other, it’s a combination of nerves and awkwardness and relief. the first thing he says is “still can’t believe you’re actually back,” to which gina replies, “one night only. don’t blink, you’ll miss me.” this again establishes the fleeting nature of her return. in one of the only uses of a confessional in this episode, the camera cuts to ricky, where he says that it’s tough seeing gina again. in a short time, she became one of his closest friends (and something more that they never addressed). in fact, he says it feels like she “never left.” he says a lot more, but ends with saying something is different. this scene serves two purposes: showing the impact that gina has had on ricky’s life and showing that he’s regressed into “who he always was,” a ricky where the only option is nini, and gina’s leaving is the catalyst for that. I can talk a lot more about the implications of this scene and the other talk that they have in the s1 finale but I want to talk about the flashback that we see in 2.06.

by the end of the night, ricky has confessed his love for nini. unbidden by the need to choose, he leans into what feels safe and comfortable and accomplishes in what he set out to do at the beginning of the season. interestingly enough, this moment is directly juxtaposed by gina entering the room just seconds after nini leaves to say her goodbyes to ricky. I think the most important line in the scene is when gina says, “I wouldn't quit on us if I wasn't moving away. so now, I’m gonna give you a really tight hug and then I’m gonna walk away with my head held high.” tears are in both of their eyes (and mine) as they hug and the scene ends. I think the wording here is so important. gina cares about ricky and wants to let him know that her walking out of his life is not by choice. again, lack of choice in this situation! it’s also interesting to note that the scene ends with the hug, not with gina leaving.

this is getting scarily long so I just want to add one thing from s3. ricky tells jet, after helping gina set up a promposal for ej, that he can’t believe he let Color War slip through his fingers (obviously meaning gina). ricky regrets not being able to choose gina in the past, and every action he’s done in this season has been him putting gina first, choosing her first in everything. he’s been robbed of this choice in the past and refuses to let that happen again.

#ricky bowen #gina porter #ricky x gina #rina #hsmtmts #rina hsmtmts #gina x ricky #gina porter x ricky bowen #ricky bowen is in love with gina porter #i don't know what's scarier #the length of this #or the fact that I didn't say everything i needed to say #ricky has been so selfless this season #and this is driven by his love for gina #which is also selfless #he never wants to make her feel like she isn't a priority #he loves her so much #okay done with tags #rina endgame

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justjensenanddean · 2 years

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Jensen Ackles | JIBCon, Solo Panel, (Rome, Italy, August 28 2022)

(x)

Jensen panel. Will he do any more theatre? No, that was a huge mistake. A musical? “A musical??? ” (x)

Would Jensen do more theater work? “Nope, Few Good Men was a mistake, that was 120 pages long and I was on like 100!” And musical? “Um, maybe” You sing so well, and act! “Yeah, I can do both…” (x)

He likes challenges, so maybe… but he doesn't plan that far in the future (x)

Jensen recently saw Music Man with Hugh Jackman. Was blown away. It was a lot of fun. Made him think if he wants to do that. Answer? “Nah. I’d have to do jazz hands.” But we’ll see. He doesn’t know what he’ll do in 6 months. (x)

He loves directing because it makes him think in a different perspective and it’s challenging. So maybe to the musical. The only musical he’s ever done is West Side Story. (x)

One thing Jensen doesn’t miss is being trapped in the Impala with Jared after Jared had a burrito. Yellow Fever is an ep that comes to mind because it was funny through and through. But funniest scene is “the whole show”. (x)

Jensen panel: Every scene over the past 15 years was the funniest scene #jib12 (x)

(x)

They were able to do risky storylines and go meta thanks to the fans. Because we stuck with them. (x)

Q about iconic lines. Does he realize they’re iconic when he reads the script or when he films them? Both. Sometimes it will come up filming. SB was more on the page but one day Kripke was in set & he & Kripke brainstormed lines on the spot. #jib12 (x)

There’s a freedom to be creative. Healthy work environment, The Boys is not a toxic set “of which there are a lot of”. Sometimes he doesn’t realize a line will be iconic, other times one will not hit. (x)

Jensen thinks the writers just wrote SB that way and hoped he can deliver. Doesn’t think Kripke demanded it. Kripke came up with “can’t go in dry” on the spot. Jensen mentions Paul Reiser had a lot of iconic lines too. (x)

The audition scene for SB was the scene with The Legend, Paul Reiser. So many good lines. (x)

The legend dialogue was the audition scene for Jensen. (x)

How was it being Dean again? “Like slipping into an old pair of sneakers. Just leaning against that car again…” There will not be a lot of visible Dean in it though. They reshot some of the Pilot. John Schowalter (sp?) stepped in 4 Sigriccia.He’s excited for us to see it. (x)

Favorite beer in Family Business? He doesn't know, because there's a rotation of beer types and he hasn't been home for 2 months... but he likes Grackle (x)

Fave beer on tab? Since he hasn’t been home in 2 months, he doesn’t know what’s on tab right now, but the Grackle is always on and it’s his go to. “But don’t drink too much of it, it’ll get ya.” (x)

(x)

‘Is it time for apple juice? Someone let me know when it’s 12’ (x)

Does he want to be the lead on another long running show? Yes, he has no problem with it. A few projects in early development with him as lead, particularly a movie he’s excited about. But he doesn’t talk about things until they’re a sure thing, so no teasers. (x) He just likes good stories, to entertain. That’s his thing. (x)

JENSEN TALKED ABOUT THERE BEING PROJECTS. AT LEAST ONE MOVIE. AND THE LEAD ON A TV SHOW. NOTHING FOR SURE YET. BUT THEY'RE SITTING DOWN AT TABLES. HE JUST DROPPED THAT BOMB? (x)

‘I would take a lead again, if the story was right’ (x)

Jensen wants “apple juice” and two of the three bottles are actual apple juice. “You tricked me. What is going on here.” (x)

‘It’s actually apple juice - you tricked me!’ (x)

At his first con in the UK, a multi fandom con, he thought he was just a face in the crowd and Jensen and Wayne were overwhelmed with the reception. First time Jensen thought “we might get another season” (x)

How is Jensen practicing his voice drop? He never had any proper training, never did any work, it just naturally went down. It’s JDMs fault. “He’s so cool. I wanna be him when I grow up. I’m still waiting for that.” (x)

Jensen says that in the first season of SPN admired Jeffrey Dean Morgan so much that he wanted to be like him when he grows up. (x)

He doesn't think his singing voice has changed that much over the years, his speaking voice has changed more. And he never took singing lessons or anything like that! (x)

#Jensen Ackles #JIB12 #JIBCon2022 #Jensen: Panel Highlights #ah Jensen in a movie... I will enjoy that so much #*

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ricard-blythe-ffxiv · 4 months

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Dinner and a Surprise

Rare was the day that snow did not cover the grounds of the Blythe estate - such was the way of most of the properties within the city of Ishgard, but it made for a spectacular sight during the Starlight season. At the direction of Catherine Blythe, the staff were well versed in just how to decorate the grounds to become a sight to behold, welcoming those who might visit during the season to the estate.

Within the estate the Lady Blythe, as she often was on the eve of such events, like the Starlight family dinner was busy seeing to it that final details were seen to - flitting around from room to room and speaking with various staff members.

Her son and husband? They were busy seated within the sitting room, Gerald reviewing whatever the newspaper had to say for the day, and Ricard enjoying a glass of bourbon and barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes and check the timepiece that was currently neatly tucked into his vest. “Checking again isn’t going to make your mother’s guest arrive any faster.”

“The woman is a business associate. I don’t understand what in the world prompted mother to invite a business associate to a family dinner of all things…”

Gerald barely lowered the edge of the paper, narrowing his eyes at his son. “Besides the fact that she doesn’t believe you? Then we’ll say because she thinks it will be entertaining. And keep in mind, Ricard…Lady Gray could have said no.”

Ricard lifted his glass to his lips as he heard one of the staff move towards the door and his father shrugged a shoulder easily. “But, it would seem, she has decided to grace us with her presence after all, hm?”

She had been greeted at the door, snow decorating her raven locks before they eventually melted away upon entering and being surrounded by the warmth of a well tended Ishgardian home. Cordelia was hardly sure what the evening would bring but there were a multitude of reasons she had accepted Lady Blythe’s invitation, one of them being that the woman couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make the younger Blythe sweat a little.

Rounding the corner to the sitting room where she was guided, the specter of a woman likely seemed a bit out of place with her dark crimson and obsidian black fabrics. Even still, she donned a faint smile as she entered and nodded lowly in greeting. “Lord and Lady Blythe, Ricard.” She began, greeting each of them directly, assuming that the man sitting with Ricard had been his father. “Thank you again for the kind invitation into your home.”

Catherine paused what she was doing, giving some additional directions to staff it seemed, to smile in Cordelia’s direction. “Ah, Lady Gray, welcome. Please come in and make yourself comfortable. This is my husband Gerald -” She waited a moment for Gerald to pick up on the hint before disappearing after one of the staff once again.

Ricard gave a small shake of his head followed by a chuckle. His mother never was able to sit still long during any ‘formal’ event.

Gerald had set his paper aside, an older version of Ricard…there was little doubt the younger Blythe was related to these two individuals - with salt and pepper hair, a full beard, and kind blue eyes, stood and offered a small bow before motioning towards the nearby open chairs. “As my wife said, please, come in and make yourself comfortable. Dinner won’t be ready for a little bit yet and Catherine has a tendency to not sit still until it’s time to actually sit down. Join us for a drink?” Gerald turned, narrowing his eyes at his son who caught the look and set his glass down before standing to adjust his jacket and vest.

Ricard took his time wandering over, with his back turned to his parents he allowed his gaze to drift over the length of Cordelia’s form for a moment before quirking an eyebrow and giving a lazy grin, followed by a small bow. “Welcome, Lady Gray.” He offered his arm - motioning towards one of the open seats, “Shall we? What can we offer you in terms of refreshment?”

Cordelia nodded to Ricard as he approached and bowed, taking note of his grin as she flashed a brief smirk at him. She looped her arm around his own and held to it as they passed through the room until she took the empty seat he offered her. “Mm, wine, red please?” Her gaze flicked about the room curiously, taking in the decor before her attention settled on Gerald and then Catherine. “Your home is beautiful. Surely Lady Blythe will join us for a drink as well?”

“Thank you, I’m sure Catherine will appreciate the compliment, should she ever stop and sit for more than a few moments.” Gerald shrugged easily. “But this is the way she is. She’ll slow down just before we move into the dining hall for dinner. Best to just let her be for the time being.”

It didn’t take long for a staff member to arrive with her glass of wine, and a second staff member to stoke the fire, leaving the three to speak and drink at their leisure. “So, Lady Gray - my son says that you’re a business associate of his, which would mean that by extension you are a business associate of mine, since we work together. Not that I plan on asking about work all evening long. Tell me - does your family do much in the way of celebrating Starlight?”

Ricard sat nearby, nursing his drink, content to listen in on the conversation for the time being.

She offered an understanding and curt smile, glancing over to the ever moving woman with a slightly raised brow before deciding to let her be and provide her full attention to the Blythe men. Accepting the offered wine, Cordelia sipped it gingerly, savoring the rich taste of the flavors and pressing her lips together once the glass was lowered. “Ah, well it would seem we are, in that case.” She flicked her gaze to Ricard briefly before continuing further with Gerald’s questions. “I don’t have much in the way of family anymore, unfortunately, though even when my parents were alive they weren’t much for holidays. A dinner, similar and yet much quainter than this perhaps but nothing grand.”

“Quaint and quiet would be appreciated and perhaps the more appropriate route, as it’s often just the three of us.” At this, Ricard did speak up, leaning back in his seat, his glass lazily cradled in one hand. “But heaven forbid mother do anything ‘small’.”

“I wasn’t asking you, son. I’m well aware of how your holidays have been celebrated.” Gerald shot his son a scolding look before turning his attention back to their guest. “Tell me then, Lady Gray, how did my wife convince you to attend this evening as she - as much as I don’t want to admit my son is correct - rarely does anything small.”

Cordelia held silent for the moment, bouncing between father and son as they spoke. “Well…” She began, pausing long enough to return the wine glass to her lips to allow for a brisk sip of the crimson liquid before breaking into a soft chuckle “...Admittedly, she simply asked. Starlight may have never been big in my life or my family’s life but I’m not above trying to enjoy it.” At this, she shifted to set her glass aside to a nearby table, hands smoothing out the fabrics of her gown after she settled back into her seat.

“Well, we are happy to have you and I hope it will be a relaxing and enjoyable evening for you. Despite the way my wife is currently scampering about, and the way Ricard speaks of it, I assure you it is quite a quiet affair.”

Ricard hummed at that, an eyebrow quirking as he raised his glass to his lips, taking a loooong sip.

“Fine, generally a quiet affair.”

Another sound - this one in agreement - came from Ricard as he motioned for a refill.

She was beginning to thoroughly catch on that Ricard was enthused about the evening’s events, Catherine wasn’t wrong about it having ruffled his feathers. “I have no doubt it will be an enjoyable evening.” Reaching for the wine glass once more, she indulged in another taste. “You said that you and Ricard work together in the same business? What other endeavors is your family involved in?”

“We run a financial institution, primarily. Focusing on advising and assisting our clientele in managing their funds. My father did the same before me, and should Ricard ever manage to settle down and have children of his own, the expectation would be that one of his children would follow in the same footsteps. It’s a well established family trade.” Gerald glanced over towards his son for a moment. “He’s always had an eye for details, and so it was easy for him to pick up on what was required.”

Ricard piped up for a moment. “My father is the ‘lead’ partner of the firm, at the current time. I would be considered the ‘junior’ partner. Though, in reality we both have the same responsibilities in regards to our clients. Well - ” He offered a quick nod towards Cordelia. “As you well know - my work for you is in that arena.” He gave an easy, conspiratorial grin before lifting his glass once again.

There was a slight twitch to her features, lips tugging into a smirk before she mirrored the movement of bringing her own glass up to finish the contents. “Ah, yes I do. I must say, I have been quite pleased with the services I’ve received thus far. I’m sure the business will do well under his lead when that time comes.” She nodded once, returning the glass to the table and shaking a head, putting a hand up to say not to a refill.

That earned a chuckle from Gerald, “Take care not to over-inflate his ego, my lady. We may not be able to fit into the dining hall, if you do.”

“Oh, his head doesn’t get that large, dear. Only perhaps half the size of the dining hall.” It was now that Catherine wandered back in, seemingly settled and took a seat next to her husband. “I trust that these boys have been behaving themselves, Lady Gray?”

Cordelia had parted her lips in preparation of retort to Gerald when her attention was pulled away. Her eyes quickly flicked to Catherine upon her arrival, watching her cross the room to finally take a seat with the rest of her family. “Oh, of course, the best behavior. We were talking a bit of business but I believe perhaps the shop talk reached the pinnacle just now. I hope you’re well.”

“Quite. And very glad to hear that someone is behaving.” Her gaze narrowed in Ricard’s direction.

He shrugged lazily. “Ye of little faith, mother. I’m always well behaved.”

Catherine was starting to respond when there came a noticeable knock from the front hall, her brow furrowing in confusion before she glanced up at Gerald. “We’re not expecting any additional guests, are we dear?”

“Not that I know of…”

Ricard, being the nearest to the hall, set his glass aside and stood. “I’ll see what’s going on…just a moment.” He offered a quick nod to his parents and to Cordelia before stepping out into the hall walking down a ways before he spotted several staff gathered and where his was quickly met by a panicked Victor - one of his staff from the Milner estate- just inside the front door, pale-faced and stuttering, barely able to get words out, much less meet his gaze.

“Master…master Blythe! Delivery at the Milner…Milner estate. Terrible, sir…cannot…sir, I cannot….”

“Calm down, man…will one of you get the poor man a drink to steady his nerves, see if we can make sense of what he’s saying?”

It was entertaining enough watching the Blythes interact, Cordelia had little to interject as they went back and forth, though the air stilled around her as the sounds of the panicked man filled the hallway and echoed toward the sitting room. She glanced at Catherine and Gerald with a furrowed brow, shifting uneasily in her seat before pushing to stand.

Instinctively, she wanted to follow behind Ricard, curiosity and admittedly a bit of unexpected concern rising in her chest, but she lingered a moment having not wished to involve herself in matters that did not already do so. But still, her feet slowly began carrying her toward the door to the hallway. “Ricard? Is everything alright?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” He glanced over his shoulder for a moment before turning back to Victor, quickly handing him a glass of bourbon when it was offered to him.

The poor boy knocked it back in one swift gulp, not recognizing what it was and sputtering for a minute or two before finally catching his breath.

“You’re supposed to sip it, Victor.”

“Never…never had hard liquor, sir.”

“Seems I’ve been remiss in your education then…” Ricard tried not to roll his eyes before motioning for the younger man to try again. “Well? What’s got you all worked up.”

“...There was a delivery at the Milner estate, sir. I…I…can’t say it here in the hall…”

“Then whisper it to me, Victor, just tell me what the hell is going on.”

The younger man squirmed for a long moment before nodding and leaning in to whisper into Ricard’s ear. As he did so, Ricard stilled, eyes going wide as his jaw and fists clenched tightly. “You’re sure?”

“Yes…yes sir. The poor maid vomited everywhere when she opened it…”

“Return to the estate, make sure the maid is well compensated and sent home - with an escort, check in with Delwyn and his team. Send word for them to return. I’ll be returning to the estate as soon as I can.”

“Yes…yes sir.” Victor turned and quickly exited the manor without another word.

Ricard exhaled slowly, shoulders tight, anger radiating off his form as he turned towards Cordelia, taking her by the hand and guiding her into one of the side rooms - well out of earshot from the staff. “...A box arrived at the Milner estate earlier this evening. It contained five sets of eyes, Cordelia, and a message. Those eyes belonged to my men…the men who were tailing Damien.”

Cordelia was surprised by the sudden removal from everything, she had watched on from a distance but couldn’t make out much of what was said but knew it wasn’t good. But this, this is not what she expected nor had she been prepared for it. Her lips had parted, though for once she was initially at a lack of words.

“You’re sure?” She asked, her hands coming to rest on her hips, brows furrowed even further as her own anger rose. “Twelve be damned, of course it was him. That fragile little man…” her gaze floated off from Ricard as she cursed under her breath and silently went about options silently in her mind of how to handle the situation at hand. “What do you want to do?” The question came abruptly, short and sharp in tone.

“I don’t know if he’s the one who did the deed…though how he would’ve had the information or found the men without additional help…No, there’s Cress involvement written all over this.” He growled under his breath. “Tailing is no longer an option. I need to fuck with something a little closer to home.”

His tongue dragged across one of his canines slowly. “Tell me, Cordelia…what do you know about little lord Gray’s financial history…?”

Her arms moved now to cross over her abdomen with a heavy sigh. “Of course, it’s unlikely his hands did the deed, I’m not sure he has the stomach for that…” Cordelia tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. Lips pressed together in a hum, her tongue running over her teeth to make a soft tch. “Not much of his personal history. Ambrose offered him a monthly allowance, it aided in keeping up his staff and the stables for the Chocobos… I cut off the allowance for the stables, allowed the continuance for the house staff. I’m really not versed in how well his breeding and racing does.”

She paused, moving to take a few steps around the room in thought. “He once was helping with the shipments of our goods and materials which offered another line of payments but he’s since been… replaced.” Her eyes glanced to Ricard on the final word before she continued. “He’s recently come to me in search of a truce, an end to the bickering I suppose. Which I took at face value as I’m sure he’s been scheming something else. Though, Ricard, I’m not sure I want to meddle with a deal with the Cress family.”

Ricard exhaled sharply before running a hand through his hair, pacing as he collected his thoughts. “Then what would you have me do, Cordelia?” He motioned vaguely towards the window. “I had every intention of leaving well enough alone and never mentioning the name Cress again, but I informed Vahalia of what was found and now I have five dead men. It’s difficult to just overlook.”

He paused, turning to look at her, “And if I pause - because tailing is no longer an option, I won’t lose my entire network for this man - then what of our arrangement?”

The two were pacing the room in tandem, the ever growing tension felt in the air and yet Cordelia was as calm as ever. “ I don’t know what you should do,what we should do. Not yet anyways.” His follow up question caused her footsteps to stop, slowly turning to face him with a slightly raised brow. She was honestly surprised that was a concern of his at the present.

“I was unaware that our arrangement held a priority.” She started with a muted tone, gauging his demeanor as she stepped toward him. “However, considering the events as they have followed, I would absolve you of the contract, offer your final pay that is due. What you choose to do personally after that will have no connection in the business we previously have conducted. Unless you have other suggestions.”

“I make sure my clients are taken care of, Cordelia. So while yes, at the moment making sure my remaining men are seen to - this arrangement needs to be addressed as well.” He gave a long exhale, his eyes closed for a moment. “I don’t leave matters half finished…I’ll have to scale back for a time…rebuild - ” He paused as there was a knock at the door, followed by the voice of one of the staff.

“Master Blythe…sir, your father is wondering if everything is alright…”

“Fine…we’ll be right there…”

Cordelia had begun to offer a response when the knock came to the door, she allowed for the exchange before opting to continue. “Ricard… I think the job is done.” Her voice was lowering now, still calm and with little emotion almost as if she were attempting to reassure him, in her own way of course.

Ricard stopped, his jaw clenching tightly.

“I do have a backup, an option I’ve been holding on to in case we needed something … or someone closer to him. I just need someone willing to do it and that’s not you, not only would you be easily found out but quite frankly I’d rather not have you cozying up to kitchen staff for information. I can figure out the finer details and get back to you on that, if you wish to be involved but I see no reason for you to continue to put yourself in a reasonably unsettling position simply for your need to see out terms. It was my contract and if I deem it concluded then so it should be.”

“…if that’s what you want.” He started to speak again before another knock at the door interrupted him again.

“Ricard…honestly son, if you wanted privacy…”

“That’s not…” he sighed before moving to open the door to find his father on the other side. “There was a business concern that came up, as you can see - there’s nothing inappropriate that happened in the last several minutes.” He stepped back, motioning to his clothes, and then towards his guest.

Gerald quirked an eyebrow, suspiciously. “As you say, son…but best return soon, your mother already has…questions.”

Cordelia gingerly reached out to graze Richard’s arm, trying to bring him back to the moment. “We can discuss this further after dinner or perhaps even tomorrow once we have had time to consider options. Let’s not keep your mother waiting.” She straightened her posture and adjusted the fabric of her gown, smoothing it out delicately.

“Of course…” He nodded, motioning for Cordelia to head out first, and narrowing his eyes at his father as the pair walked behind and back towards the sitting room where his mother was waiting rather impatiently.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What was that about?”

“A business issue, that’s all. Nothing that needs to be discussed right this second, again.”

Catherine looked…unconvinced, but chose to let it go. For the moment, anyway.

“Apologies for the interruption, Lady Blythe, it seems work doesn’t pause for holidays, hm?” Cordelia chimed, entering the room with a calm demeanor with unreadable features to easily give off the illusion of nothing being wrong. Her hands clasped together at her lower abdomen as she glanced over her shoulder to Ricard. “No more business for the evening.”

Ricard shrugged easily, moving to grab a glass and filled it quickly with bourbon, taking a long sip before offering a nod. “Right, no more business…not for tonight at least.”

Catherine hummed before taking a sip of her wine and standing gracefully. “Well, fortunately for you two, whatever business you had to see to helped you avoid small talk, we’ve been informed that dinner is ready…shall we?”

Gerald clapped a hand on Ricard’s shoulder before offering his wife his arm, waiting for Catherine to take it before leading her down the hall.

Ricard gave a long exhale before turning to Cordelia and doing the same. “Here goes nothing?”

Cordelia watched as Catherine and Gerald made their way from the room before moving to hook her arm with Ricard’s, giving him a pointed look and inhaling deeply. “Considering everything we’ve dealt with thus far, I’m sure dinner will be simple…” she murmured under her breath to him as she allowed herself to be led behind the other couple and toward the dining room where she would come to take the seat she was offered.

“Either you and I have very different definitions of simple, or you’re highly optimistic, Lady Gray.” Ricard’s gaze cut to her for a moment.

The dining room itself was lavishly decorated - the table laid out and the staff prepared to meet the four guests as they entered. It was clear the staff was well trained, and that entertaining was something that Catherine and Gerald did regularly (even if Ricard seemed to drag his heels about it). Course by course was brought out - one seamlessly transitioned to the next, and while it did appear that at least a time or two Catherine had a rather poignant question right on the tip of her tongue either a staff member appeared just in time to cut it off (unlikely) or Gerald knew his wife well enough to know when to to intervene (the more likely of the two).

Either way - Ricard wasn’t upset when the desserts were brought out, quietly making a mental note that he owed his father…something. A box of cigars or an expensive bottle of bourbon - he’d figure the details out later.

Catherine set her fork down before reaching for her small coffee cup, casting her son a curious glance before turning her attention to Cordelia. “I hope all has been to your liking, Lady Gray.”

Just as Cordelia had hoped and anticipated, the dinner went rather smoothly in comparison to how the night had begun. She had far been done with the dessert, setting her own utensils aside to also take up her own coffee and indulging in a warming sip. “Yes, of course. We are all still intact and enjoying a lovely dessert, couldn’t ask for more.” Her tone was teased at playfulness as she returned her cup back to the table before her and glanced to Ricard. “Right, Ricard?”

Fingers lightly drumming against the side of his own cup, his thoughts traveling a malm a minute as they had been most of the evening, his gaze snapped up at the sound of Cordelia’s voice. His mother’s questions he could almost guess and answer by heart - Cordelia’s he actually paid attention to. He chuckled, with a small smile before turning to his mother with a nod, “It was wonderful, as always mother - you truly have outdone yourself this year.”

Gerald, watching the exchange, turned to his wife before reaching for his cup. “Satisfied, dear?”

Blue eyes, much like her son’s glanced between those seated at the table, taking on an all-too familiar mischievous edge as she leaned back cupping her coffee cup between her hands. “So, then…can we expect you to attend more events should we be hosting them, Lady Gray.”

That earned her an exasperated sigh from both her husband, and especially from her son.

“Mother…”

“Catherine, enough. The young lady was kind enough to join us this evening - but they have both stated that they are business associates and nothing more. IF they were courting that would be one thing, but they are not. Leave the matter be. While Lady Gray is welcome to join us at any time,-” Gerald turned towards Cordelia with a nod, “- and you are.” He then turned back to his wife, “She is certainly under no obligation to continue to answer this line of questioning.”

Cordelia initially sat in silence, glancing between the family members with a raised brow, lips tugged into a bit of a smirk. Eventually her gaze fell back to Ricard, a knowing look in her steel gray hues as she looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “I understand your desire to have Ricard marry, Lady Blythe, the need for continuing a family name is ever present and a heavy burden.” She began, setting her cup to the table and turning her attention back to Catherine. “I am only just over a year widowed and Ricard seems to be enjoying being a bachelor for the time being. Then again, it is none of my business, of course.”

Blue eyes maintained that mischievous edge behind her coffee cup. “But it could be.”

“Right. Well, on that note, mother, I believe Lady Gray has made her stance very clear. I know I’ve made my stance very clear so - I think it’s best that we wrap up the evening before you try to convince anyone to enter into anything binding, which, everyone seems to be in agreement, will not be happening anytime in the near future.”

Ricard’s eyes narrowed at his mother as he adjusted his vest, clearly preparing to make his exit.

“It doesn’t completely negate the possibility entirely though…”

“Keep pushing, mother…keep pushing…” he turned to Cordelia, “Lady Gray, may I see you home this evening - since you’ve endured this line of questioning for this long?”

The dark haired woman cleared her throat and placed her hands to the table, pushing back from it enough to stand. “Mm, of course.” She moved to follow Ricard, though paused to flash a faint smile to Gerald and Catherine, her eyes falling to linger on the latter. “Should things change, surely you will be notified.” Her tone was low and likely not meant to be entirely serious, but she couldn’t help but look at Ricard with a smirk before winking in his direction.

She was enjoying this.

Ricard watched the exchange, head tilting ever so slightly as he stood, waiting for Cordelia by the door. His gaze drifted to his mother for a moment, who was watching the pair with clear interest.

“Oh…I’m sure I will. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Gray.” Catherine turned to Ricard for a moment before the pair exited. “Ricard, I expect we’ll hear from you soon, yes?”

“Of course, mother…Lady Gray.” Ricard turned, offering Cordelia his arm before turning to lead her from the room, and from his mother’s ever watchful gaze.

As Cordelia finished crossing the room, she looped her arm with Ricard’s before regarding the Blythe’s one last time. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lord Blythe, and thank you both again for inviting me into your home.” When she turned back to Ricard and they exited the room, she gave him a knowing look and offered a shrug as she continued to hold her devilish grin. “Could have gone worse.”

“You realize you’ve added fuel to the fire, yes?” He nodded to staff as their coats were brought to them. After assisting her with hers, he slid his on and offered her his arm again. “One might start to think that you enjoy having me around, the way you were teasing my mother.”

She chuckled quietly as he helped her with her coat, fingers then went about fastening the buttons to ensure she was snug. Scoffing, she took his arm yet again. “Perhaps I’m simply enjoying putting you on edge. Then again, I never said I didn't enjoy having you around.” Cordelia’s point was always hard to decipher, her tone often muted and without strong infliction. This time was no different.

That earned her a small scoff, though he managed to keep it down until they’d stepped outside. “There are other ways of putting me one edge besides ramping up my mother’s hopes of pushing me into a relationship, Cordelia.” He exhaled tiredly. “And while that is amusing and all…at some point we’ll need to sort out that other rather pressing issue…eyes and all….”

The cool breeze tickled her cheeks as they now stood outside his family home, the tip of her nose quickly turning a light pink. “Ah, yes…that is a dilemma.” Her free arm reached around to rest her hand to his forearm. “One we should discuss once you have taken me home and I am a bit more comfortable.”

Ricard nodded, guiding her through the well-known streets of the city towards her estate and keeping his head down, but eyes open and scanning, significantly more on edge now than he had been at the beginning of the evening. “Of course - though how comfortable you’d like to be, that I leave to your discretion…this is going to be a rather long discussion.”

“After tonight? I would say rather comfortable.” Cordelia retorted promptly as they continued their trek through the cold Ishgardian streets toward the promise of a warm home and perhaps a little more.

Collaborative writing with @promethea-silk

#collaborative writing #the perceptive smartass #the weaver #it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye #or five someones in this case

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