#new york islanders oneshot

[idontgiveaflyinggrayson69]

Welcome Home

Author: Nat / @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69​

Tagging: @ryanpulock​ @suitandtys​ @texanstarslove​ @charlie-theangelwrites​

Relationship: Married; Anders Lee x Fem!Reader

Summary: You welcome your husband, Anders, home after a roadie.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Smut. Unprotected sex (wrap it up kids). Daddy kink. Dom/sub dynamics.

Comments: This is my fic for @barzysunflower​ for @antoineroussel​ ‘s Winter Fic Exchange! I was SO excited to see Anders on your list because we need more Captain Daddy content and I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoy it, too!!!

Disclaimer: Reading/creating content for married players isn’t for everyone and I totally respect that! Don’t read if you don’t vibe with it, but please don’t send me hate!!!

(c) nat g. 2023 // do not repost, do not claim as your own

The worst thing about being married to an NHL player was when he was on the road. No matter how many times he had been away, it sucked every time to be left alone in an empty house. Every time Anders was away, you spent the entirety wishing he was home. You knew he had to go, that he was living his dream every day, but Anders was your everything, your best friend, you lover, your soul mate, so whenever he was away, you felt empty.

And that’s exactly how you felt this time around. It wasn’t even a long roadie, just Philly, Pittsburgh, and Washington before returning home, but it still meant your husband was away and your home felt more like a house than a home without him.

The days always went by slower without him, but, like always, he’d be home eventually. They won in Philly and Pittsburgh, but they lost in Washington, so even though it was a successful road trip, they still went home with a bitter taste in their mouths.

They flew home after the Washington game, which wasn’t a long flight, but they still got in late. You were in the bathroom going through your nighttime skin care routine when Anders came home. You heard the door open and the pups’ barks turn to happy whines as they realized their dad was home and you smiled to yourself. It wasn’t long before you heard his heavy steps come up the stairs and you waited for your husband to appear.

You heard him call your name as he stepped into the bedroom and a moment later, he stuck his head into the ensuite and softened when he saw you. “Aren’t you a sight,” he said as he leaned against the door frame. You were in just a robe, which was loosely tied and gave him a glimpse of your chest through the mirror, and, God, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world to him.

You blushed at the way he looked at you through the mirror and bit your lip, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

Anders couldn’t help but smirk as he shook his head and walked over to you, bracing his hands on either side of the vanity before he leaned in to kiss your neck, “I am nothing compared to your beauty.”

Your blush intensified as you leaned to the side to give him more room. Even after all these years, he still managed to give you butterflies. “I missed you,” you told him with a hum before you turned your head so he could kiss you properly. It was soft and slow and you cupped the back of his neck to pull him closer, craving him.

“Missed you more,” he told you when he broke the kiss.

“Not possible,” you shook your head and pulled him in for another kiss, melting into him as he deepened it. “But you smell like plane,” you told him and scrunched your nose up as you patted his chest.

“I can shower again,” he sighed and ran his thumb over the arch of your cheek and laughed when you knocked his hand away, not wanting him to mess up the skincare you just finished. “Or you could join me in the shower?”

You hummed as you pretended to think about it. “I will join you in the bath,” you replied and his smile widened as he nodded.

“A bath it is,” he agreed and cupped your chin so he could kiss you again and you smiled into the kiss, so in love with him. He chased your lips when you pulled back from the kiss, pressing another quick peck to your lips before letting you go to start running the bath.

When you renovated the house, having a tub that fit you, your husband, and his large thighs was a must, and you were fortunate to have a large enough bathroom to accommodated a tub that large.

You watched as Anders sat on the edge and turned the tub on, feeling the water until he got it hot enough for you before he put the plug in and began to strip himself of his shirt. His shoulders were big and broad and his chest had just a dusting of chest hair on it and you bit your lip as you ran your eyes down his chest before you reached out to touch him. “You’re so gorgeous,” you told him softly.

It was Anders’ turn to blush as he placed his hand on top of yours. “And all yours,” he replied, making you smirk and playfully squeeze his chest before running your hand down to the front of his sweats. “All mine?”

He groaned softly, getting hard from just your touch, “all yours.” Your smirk widened and you squeezed him through his sweats before pulling back innocently to feel the water and make sure it was the right temperature, and of course it was. Your husband knew you well. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” he breathed and reached out to give your ass a soft smack and grabbed a handful before he pressed his hips against your ass, letting you feel all of him. “You feel what you do to me?” He asked, nipping at your neck.

Your jaw went slack as you felt him hard against you. “Oh, I feel it,” you replied with a soft moan and pressed yourself back against him. “Maybe you should feel what you do to me?”

He gave your hip a squeeze as he hummed before he stepped back to push his sweats and boxers down before he slipped into the tub and looked at you with a smirk, “come on in, baby.”

The tub still had a long way to fill, the water just licking Anders’ thighs, leaving his everything on display for you. You ran your eyes down him, eating him alive like the first time you saw him before you stood straighter and slowly pulled at the tie on your robe. You couldn’t help but tease him, letting the material slip from one shoulder then the other before you finally shrugged it off and stepped into the tub and straddled him, feeling him hard against your core as you looped her arms around his shoulders. “God you’re hot,” you breathed as you looked at your husband.

He groaned softly as he watched you. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world to him and he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist before tracing soft circles on your hip with his thumb. “Not as hot as you,” he told you before leaning in and kissing you.

Anders controlled every kiss and you tried to press yourself closer, his chest hair brushing against your nipples, pulling a soft moan from you before he moved his hands down to squeeze your ass. The kisses were slow and deep as the tub continued to fill with water and once the water reached your ribs, Anders reached around you to turn it off as you broke the kiss with a whine of his name and rested your forehead against his.

“What do you need, baby?” He asked you, the corner of his lip twitching up as he kneaded your ass.

You knew that he knew what you wanted, that he just liked to hear you say it, so you rocked your hips into his as you lightly scratched your nails over his shoulders with a soft moan. “Need you to fuck me,” you breathed before you kissed him again.

“I can do that, baby, but I’ve been on the road so it’s been a couple days, hasn’t it?” When you nodded, he hummed, “turn around and rest against my chest and spread your legs for me, baby, let Daddy take care of you.”

Your lips parted at the name which only made his smirk widen as he gave you an expectant look. He wasn’t going to ask again and you knew it. You nodded and slowly turned around to rest between his legs with your head on his shoulder before you hook your legs over his knees.

He rewarded you with a soft “good girl” before he ran his hands down your body, pausing at your breasts to gently pinch your nipples before he moved down to your inner thigh as he kissed your neck. “I’m going to show you how much I missed you. I’ve been thinking of you all trip long.”

“I was thinking about you too, Daddy,” you smirked and tried to spread your legs wider as you turned your head to kiss under his jaw.

“Yeah? Tell me what you were thinking about,” he hummed as he ran his finger up your pussy, pulling a soft moan from you.

“Thought about your big blue eyes and your smile and your voice and the way you moan my name when I’m sucking your cock and how your thick cock feels inside my pussy, Daddy,” you replied and gasped when he bit your shoulder before he soothed it over with his tongue and started to rub your clit exactly how you liked it.

“God yes,” you moaned, rolling your head to the side to give him more room.

“Not God, baby, just Daddy,” he smirked and nipped at your neck again before trailing his free hand back up your chest. You could never get over how big his hands were and he gently massaged your breast before he pinched your nipple and moaned into your neck at how perfect you are. “I’ve been looking forward to this all trip. The plane ride home went on forever knowing you were home looking as gorgeous as ever and I had to wait to get my hands on my beautiful wife,” he continued before he slowly pressed a finger into you and groaned how tight and warm you were.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, never getting over to how thick his fingers were. “Been thinking of fucking me all trip, huh?” You asked breathlessly. “Should’ve said something, I could’ve sent you something to take the edge off, maybe in that pretty pink set you just got me.”

Anders groaned again as he added another finger before he curled them up before he started fucking you with them. He never knew how he got so lucky with you. “Fuck, I should have,” he agreed and bit your neck again. “Gonna have to put a show on for me later, baby.”

“Okay Da—” you started before cutting yourself off with a gasp as he found your g-spot. “Right there,” you told him, your back arching. “Don’t stop.”

Anders would never stop, not when you’re being good for him at least, and he used the heel of his palm to rub your clit as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. “Spent days thinking of my wife’s sweet pussy,” he said. “Thinking of her being a good girl for me, cumming on my fingers, on my tongue, on my cock.” You clenched around his fingers as he talked, every word going straight to your core. “Daddy wants you to cum for him,” he continued, brushing his lips over the shell of your ear before he lightly nipped at the lobe. “Cum all over Daddy’s fingers.”

You let your eyes fall closed as you nodded, your jaw slack as you moaned before you came hard, fluttering around his fingers as you dug your nails into the meat of his thighs, needing to hold onto him. “That’s it,” he praised you, finger fucking you through your orgasm, “fucking squeezing my fingers so good, baby.”

“Daddy,” you moaned loudly before you reached behind you to cup the back of his neck. “Please. Fuck, please, Daddy, I need you.”

He hummed as if he was thinking about it as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. “Give me another one and you can have my cock,” he settled on before he added a third finger, groaning loudly at how tightly you clenched around him. “Be a good girl and cum for Daddy again.”

You fluttered around his fingers, so full of them and you couldn’t be bothered to quiet yourself as you moaned, desperately gripping the edge of the tub to get your bearings.

“God you’re so fucking sexy,” he praised as kissed your shoulder. “Bet you can take four,” he said before he eased another finger in you despite your whine. “You feel so fucking good stretched out around Daddy’s fingers, baby,” he praised you breathlessly, his cock painfully hard against your ass.

Your jaw was slack as you focused on his fingers, still so sensitive from the first one. When he pinched your nipple again, it sent you over the edge and you came on his fingers, harder than the first as you gripped the edge of the tub tightly and rocked your hips against his hand.

“Good girl,” Anders praised and drew your high out as long as he could, slowing his fingers as he fucked you through it. “You’re so good for me.” His praise always made you feel warm and once you were able to catch your breath, you mouthed at his jaw, bolding biting his pulse point and pulling a low growl from him before you pulled back to tell him, “need you to fuck me, Daddy. I can feel your hard cock against my ass and I need to feel it inside me.”

Slowly, he pulled his fingers from you and squeezed your hip. “Ride me,” he told you. “Ride Daddy’s cock, it’s yours.”

The water sloshed over the edge of the tub as you turned around and straddled him, your skin flushed and eyes dark. You could feel him hard and heavy against you and you smirked as you reached between you to stroke him, watching as his jaw went slack. His groan was low and his grip tightened on your hip. “Don’t tease me, baby,” he warned you, and you knew better than to go against one of Daddy’s warnings.

You gave him another few strokes before you lifted yourself up and slowly sunk down on him. It took you a moment because of the sheer size of him, even after all these years, but you were so warm and wet and tight around him. His moan was rough and it made you flutter around him as you looped your arms around his shoulders, your chest pressed to his.

“Taking me so good,” he praised, his voice breathy and you moaned as you pressed your face into his shoulder. It took you a moment before you finally took all of him and you fluttered around his cock. No matter how many times you took him, you could never get over how big he was.

“So big, Daddy,” you moaned and bit his shoulder before riding him slowly. Anders helped guide your movements as he held your hips, slowly quickening your pace.

“Missed having a big cock in your little pussy, didn’t you, baby? Missed Daddy fucking you just the way you need,” he said with a smirk, pulling a long moan from you. You didn’t have to say it from him to know he was right.

“Fuck, Daddy,” you moaned as you nodded and you pushed him back against the back of the tub before planting your hands on his chest for leverage and set a quick pace you knew he liked, not caring as the water sloshed over the edge of the tub. “Love having your big cock in my pussy.”

You were rewarded with a loud moan as the water continued to cascade over the edge. “That’s right. You fucking love it. Take what’s yours,” he continued, looking at you with hungry eyes.

“Mine,” you told him and boldly scratched your nails down his chest. He was already yours and only yours and you knew he didn’t like to be marked, but you couldn’t help yourself as you rode him harder.

His grip tightened on your hips enough you knew there would be bruises tomorrow and crescent marks from his nails, but it only made you moan louder. You wanted every mark he’d give you, every reminder of who you belonged to.

“Yours, baby. I’m yours,” his eyes closed for a moment as he moaned. “Feel so fucking good,” he told you before he kissed you deeply. You moaned into his mouth as you trailed your hands up to his shoulders and your pace stuttered as he pressed his thumb to your clit. You broke the kiss as you moaned louder, your eyes closing as he continued to rub circles on your clit as you rode him and he groaned when you started to flutter around him.

“Daddy,” you whined, so close again.

“I know,” he nodded. “Go on, cum on Daddy’s cock, baby girl.” You moan his name as you nodded and a moment later you finally came around him, squeezing him tightly as you pressed your face into his neck. “Fuck,” he cursed, tightening his grip on your hips as he continued to guide your hips as you fluttered around him bringing him closer.

You clenched around him hard. “Daddy please,” you begged, so used and sensitive and you were sure that if he kept his pace up, you’d cum again.

“Please what?” He asked with a smirk, knowing damn well what you wanted but wanting to hear you say it.

“Daddy,” you whined again, fluttering around him.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his smirk growing. He wanted to hear you say it. Needed to hear you say it.

“Please fill me up, Daddy. Fill me up with your cum,” you whined, digging your nails into the meat of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he moaned loudly and used his thumb to rub your clit again and feeling you flutter around him sent him over the edge. He moaned your name as he came, and you clenched around him at the warm feeling of him filling you up before you pulled him in for a kiss, needing everything he’d give you. It was slower than the other kisses and you let yourself melt into it, into him, as you both rode out the high.

You gasped sharply when Anders continued to rub your clit, wanting another one from you, and you pulled back from the kiss to look at him with wide eyes but he only smirked. “I know you were closer,” he explained, rubbing your clit slowly. “One more for Daddy, okay, baby girl?”

“I—” You whined before you could get the words out and clenched down on his cock. “Daddy please.”

He only hummed, “Daddy’s taking care of you, just one more, baby.”

You closed your eyes as you rested your forehead against his, your breathes shallow as you got closer and closer, so raw and sensitive it was almost too much. Your moans turned to whines as you came for the fourth time. It wasn’t as intense as the others, but it was just as good as you came on your husband’s cock, and this time when you rested your head on his shoulder to catch your breath, he wrapped his arms around you, keeping you flush against him as he rubbed your back.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Always such a good girl for me.”

You hummed at the praise and let your hands rest on his sides, tracing small circles on the softness of his tummy which you loved so much. “The water is all dirty now. And cold,” you said once you finally caught your breath and you could feel it as he laughed.

“It is,” he agreed and slowly pulled you off him, hushing you as you whimpered when his cock slipped out of you. “Quick wash and then I’ll take you to bed, okay?” You nodded and moved with him as he reached for the body wash and a cloth.

He was gentle as he ran the cloth over you, starting with your arms, going up to your shoulders before dipping under your arms and down your chest. He paid special attention to your chest as he washed you, and when he smiled at your whimper, you gave his chest a shove. His laugh made your chest warm and he held the cloth in his hand as he looked at you, so incredible in love with you. Not a day went by he didn’t think about how lucky he was to have you.

“I missed you,” you said after a moment and softly played with the hair at the base of his skull.

“I missed you, too,” he replied softly, and ran the cloth down your back. “I’m glad to be home.”

“I’m glad you are, too,” you smiled and gave him a little shove as he squeezed your ass, making him laugh again. “Shush, and finish washing me so we can go to bed. I’ve missed my teddy bear.”

Anders scrunched his nose up at the nickname you gave him ages ago and buried his nose into your hair making you laugh. God, your laugh was his favourite sound. Or maybe second favourite behind you moaning his name. “Okay, okay,” he resigned with a nod and trailed the cloth down to your thighs and then your core, murmuring a soft apology knowing the cloth was rough and you were sensitive, and then he finally trailed the cloth along your ass cheeks. He wrung the cloth out in the water before adding some more soap and washed himself, not that he devoted himself the same attention as he did you. He’d shower in the morning anyway and he was sure he didn’t smell like the plane anymore. “Okay,” he nodded when he was done and he gave your hip a little tap. “Teeth and bed, yeah?”

You hummed as you nodded and slowly untangled yourself from him. Between your legs was sore as you stepped out of the tub, making you wince, but it was a good sore, a sore you missed every time your husband was on the road. You grabbed your towel from the rack and wiped yourself down as you heard Anders pull the plug on the tub before stepping out of it and you handed his towel to him.

“Thank you,” he nodded as he took it from you, wiping down his chest before wrapping the towel around his waist. Drops of water still ran down the valley of his chest, down his tummy and into the towel and you bit your lip as you looked at him. If you weren’t so tired, you’d fuck him again once you got to bed. “What?” He asked as he looked at you.

“Nothing,” you smiled as you shook your head. “I love you.”

He didn’t believe you, but he smiled as he nodded. “I love you, too,” he told you before stepping closer so he could kiss you. The kiss was chaste compared to your other kisses that evening but you loved it just as much. You loved every kiss and moment you got with him.

When you pulled back from the kiss, Anders chased your lips, making you laugh as he kissed you again before you tapped his chest. “Enough, okay? I want to go to bed, my hips ache, Mr Big Dick.”

“Mr Big Dick?” Anders laughed and playfully tugged at the edge of your towel so it would fall, but you quickly retucked it above your chest. “Guess that makes you Mrs Big Dick, huh?”

“Shut up,” you replied, not that shaking your head did anything to hide your smile as you wet your toothbrush and put toothpaste on it before moving the tube over to Anders’ side of the vanity and beginning to brush your teeth. Anders followed your lead and once you were both done, he leaned against the vanity as you went through your skincare routine again, the first time basically all for not after your recent activities. “You could go get the bed ready,” you told him after you washed your face but he scrunched his nose up again.

“Gotta stay and watch my girl, make sure you don’t fall on the way to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you finished your skincare and you looked at Anders as you undid your towel and hung it back up on the rack before you bit your lip and walked back into the bedroom. You snickered as you heard Anders’ groan and you knew he was hot on your heels as you pulled the covers back and got in. 

You were right, Anders was right behind you and you squeaked as he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you back against his chest before quickly going limp in his arms. His hand rested on your stomach as he kept you flush against his chest and you smiled as you melted back against him, warm, comfortable, and safe. “My teddy bear,” you whispered and covered his hand with yours.

He hummed as he kissed your shoulder, loving the feeling of you against him. Having you in his arms was the happiest he’d ever be. “I love you,” he whispered back, making you smile.

“Love you more,” you replied and when he tried to argue, you gave him a soft, playful elbow to the ribs and laughed when he played up his wince. “Good night, Anders.”

“Good night,” he sighed and kissed your shoulder again. He held you as you drifted off, spent from the night and just when you were on the brink of sleep, he added, “and I love you more.” The grips of sleep already had you so you couldn’t argue with him and he smiled into your neck as you drifted off, him not far behind you.

#anders lee #anders lee imagine #anders lee smut #anders lee x reader #islanders imagine #new york islanders imagine #anders lee oneshot #new york islanders oneshot #new york islanders smut #isles smut #isles imagine #ny isles imagine #mine #hockey rpf #nhl imagine #nhl smut #hockey smut #hockey imagine #winter fic exchange

[theemporium]

please im begging... thigh riding mat barzal smut.... please

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“Shit, baby, I gotta leave soon.”

“No, you don’t,” you mumbled defiantly, your fingers curled in his hair to tug his head back as your lips trace over his pulse point. “You have ages.” 

“I still need to get ready,” Mat murmured, but it was half-hearted at best. His hands were gripping your hips, his body sinking back into the couch as you continued to kiss along his neck. “The boys are gonna give me shit if I’m late again—”

“Tragic,” you retorted, though he could feel your smile pressed against him. 

“Baby,” Mat groaned before he ducked his head down, until his lips found yours again. “You’re a menace.” 

You pulled back, your hands dropping to rest on his chest. “Sorry for wanting to spend some time with my boyfriend after he’s been away for a week,” you grumbled but the smile remained on your face. “I think I need to have a word with the coaching team. It’s not fair that you have morning skate when you just came back from a roadie.” 

Mat raised his brows, amused. “Not fair for who?”

“For your lonely and neglected girlfriend,” you retorted.

Mat snorted. “My poor girl.” 

Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t mock me.”

“Never,” he grinned before he leaned back up to kiss you again. “Need some lovin’?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you muttered but you leaned into the kiss, your nails lightly scratching his chest over the material of his shirt. “Makes me sound needy.” 

“You are needy,” Mat countered, lightly pinching your hip. “And I love it.” 

“Then do something about it,” you retorted, hips rolling down to feel the bulge in his sweatpants. “Mat, baby, please…” 

Mat groaned, gripping your hips to stay still despite every cell in his body wanting to do the opposite. “Baby, I can’t.” 

You huffed, your hands on his chest as you moved to climb off his lap. 

“Hey, hey,” Mat murmured as he pulled you back down, your chests pressed together. “I said I can’t. I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Mat, that doesn’t make any sense—”

“Gonna make you feel good, baby,” he murmured, lifting you up enough so you were shifted off his lap and left straddling one of his legs instead. 

Your cheeks warmed at his insinuation. “Mat—”

“C’mon, I gotta leave soon,” Mat muttered against your lips as his hands squeezed your hips. “Want my pretty girl to ride my thigh before I go.”

Your brain short circuited for a small moment. 

“S’hot, babe,” Mat continued like his suggestion hadn’t completely melted your insides and washed away any coherent thoughts with it. “Pretty sure I remember you said you wanted to try it back at All-Stars—”

“I was drunk,” you defended, but your body flushed at the reminder. “And it wasn’t my fault you had your thighs out like a slut.”

He grinned. “They are all yours, baby, use them as you please.”

Your breath hitched a little. “I don’t know…”

“Shhh, just relax f’me,” Mat whispered, leaning up to kiss you again. 

You sunk into his embrace, letting the whirling thoughts in your mind come to a halting stop as his tongue swiped along your lower lip before deepening the kiss. His hands gave your hips another squeeze before he started guiding, slowly rocking you back and forth until your body was moving on it’s own accord.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, his forehead pressed against yours as your soft pants brushed along his lips. “That’s my pretty girl. Looking so fucking good riding my thigh like that. You look so gorgeous when you use me, baby.”

Your face flushed, a pathetic whine leaving your lips. “Mat—”

“C’mon, baby,” Mat cooed, his thumbs dipping under the hem of your shirt to swipe along your heated skin. “Give me something to think about during practice.”

.

#mat barzal #nhl #new york islanders #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal x y/n #mat barzal fic #mat barzal oneshot #mat barzal smut #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot #nhl smut

[jackhues]

bad reaction pt. 2 - mat barzal (au #2)

part one has been dubbed the 'bad reaction mat fic', so here's the second au of part two loll. here's the first au of part two! this kinda sucks, but it's not supposed to be a happy ending so yeah

gif not mine!

it was quiet. too quiet.

you peered an eye open, trying to listen to any sound of noise in the apartment. you couldn't.

suspicious, you got to your feet, making your way down the hall and into your son's room. finding it empty, you suppressed a groan.

if he was awake and not making noise, it meant something was happening. something you wouldn't be happy about.

you silently headed down the hallway and towards the living room, mentally preparing yourself to clean up whatever mess nico had made this time. he was a rowdy kid. always making noise, breaking lamps, or creating messes.

but he had a heart of gold.

"nico," you called out your son's name a little hesitantly.

"in here, mama!" he responded.

you followed his voice to the living room, stopping in your tracks at the sight on the t.v. screen.

it had been years - six years - and that time had seemed to do mat well. he hadn't shaved recently, growing out a bit of scruff, and his brown eyes were just as lovely as you remembered.

he was in the middle of giving an intermission interview, answering the reporter with the standard responses.

"he shoots... he scores!" nico's voice broke your trance.

nico had taken the broom from the kitchen and was holding it as if it was a hockey stick. the tennis ball he was using as a puck slammed into the leg of the coffee table, adding another dent.

you shook your head to yourself, reaching for the remote to turn the t.v. off.

"no, mama wait!" nico called out. "i wanna watch the hockey game."

"it's a repeat, bubba," you told him. "the islanders already won. besides, i thought you didn't like hockey."

"i changed my mind," he shrugged simply. "but leave it, i wanna watch."

despite your heart aching at the sound of mat's voice - no matter how monotone it was - you gave in to your son's wishes, leaving the game on. insisting on turning the t.v. off would only make him suspicious.

the last thing you needed was for anyone to find out who nico's dad was.

--

tags:@woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme ,  @svechnikovvv ,  @hockeyboysarehot , @emptyflowerpots ,  @mysticaldonkey , @lam-ila ,  @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy  ,  @kjohnson-91 , @gavinbrindley, @hischierdevils , @jackhughesily  , @panarin10 ,  @equallyshaw ,   @power2myheart  ,  @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @hischierhaze, @cinnamonpancakes , @mitchymainer , @lifeofpriya ,  @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 ,  @emsully2002  ,  @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 ,  @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj , @youunravelme

#mathew barzal #mathew barzal one shot #mathew barzal x reader #mathew barzal imagines #mathew barzal imagine #mathew barzal #mat barzal x oc #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal imagines #mat barzal oneshot #new york islanders x reader #new york islanders imagines #new york isles #naqia writes!

[buckrecs]

do you have a ceo bucky list ?

CEO!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

With Love by @jobean12-blog

Bucky might be the most powerful, successful, smartest, sexiest, most perfect CEO in all of New York but he’s your sweet and soft husband first and knows just how to show it.

Cuffing Season by @lunarbuck

Happy birthday, Mr. Barnes

SERIES

The Bienville by @indyluckycharlie

Bucky is the young CEO of his family’s publishing house. A year into the role and working his ass off, he’s finally taking a much needed vacation (upon the advice of his well-meaning family and friends). Solo and feeling a little lost, Bucky finds himself getting a little attached to the front desk receptionist, a local who grew up on the islands and dreams of bigger things.

Monster-In-Law by @holylulusworld

Your mother-in-law is the worst. She will try anything to ruin your loving relationship with Bucky. Will she succeed?

Beneath The Milky Twilight by @bucksangel

Being Mr. Barnes’ personal assistant has been tough, balancing a full time job while taking care of your younger brothers has you running yourself thin. Then, things take a sharp turn after a dinner with your boss when you disclose your financial situation.

Not Me by @simsadventures

Billionaire/entrepreneur Bucky is married to seemingly timid and meek wife, the reader. While he hates her with all he has, she tried to act her part as the wife of the big CEO. And while their relationship falls apart more and more, they both realised there might be more to the story than they previously believed. Will they be able to repair the damage that’s been done, or will they find happiness in somebody else’s arms?

Eye For An Eye by @sinner-as-saint

Battered and bruising, Y/N is out to seek sweet revenge from a man, James Buchanan Barnes, who tore her family apart 10 years ago. Y/N’s plan was simple; infiltrate his life, mess with his head, toy with his heart and leave him broken. Headstrong, she will stop at nothing, not even when it comes down to her being the villain in her own story...

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes series #ceo!bucky #ceo!bucky x reader #ceo!bucky x assistant!reader #husband!bucky #sugar daddy!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

Ditched Date: She only agreed to go on a date with him as a favor. Yet when he abandons her and she sees a familiar face and things happen what will happen? Will they make a good impression or will it have better if she had left? Yes there will be a happy ending but it will be angst.

Loki at the time will be a worker she is attached to, but never considering because she thought his flirts with just teasing. Yet when he dates her after she was ditched she thinks maybe she was wrong. The jerk co-worker can be whoever you please.

Sorry this took a hot sec to write! I tweaked just a few deets, but I hope this still satisfies you! Enjoy :)

“The Date”- A Loki/F!Reader Oneshot

After getting tired of your unrequited love for the intolerable, indubitably attractive Loki going unanswered, you finally decide to humor a co-worker and ask them out on a date. When your date loses you in the crowd, the god you last expected to see finds you at your most vulnerable moment…

Pairing: Loki x F!Reader Genre: Angst, fluff ending Word Count: 3k Content Warning: date ditching, body insecurity, Reader has sensory issues, angst

“So…you like cotton candy?” “Not really.”

Another dead end, another failed attempt at making the connection. At least this time Les asked something simple, something that made sense. Five minutes ago, the attempted icebreaker had been “So, what’re your views about that war in Pakistan?”

You deserved this, though, at least in your mind. 

 “Oh, sorry,” replied Les, looking around awkwardly as you strolled about the street festival, the sidewalks lined with makeshift booths, cheap games, oversized stuffed animals, and food stands serving only the greasiest, sugar-filled delights anyone could crave. “What about…churros?”

You twisted your lip, already regretting the choices that led you here this afternoon. “Yeah, I…I like churros.” 

“Okay.” 

Thus ended the longest, most complex conversation you’d ever had with Les Leandermann. 

Working in Stark Tower, under Tony Stark, Nick Fury, and The Avengers, was nothing short of an adventure for you, but in every epic saga, there was one piece of plain white toast among the fancier cuts and spreads, and that toast was your deskmate, Les. He was attractive, if a little height-challenged, and he came from a sweet, wealthy family of jewelers from out on Long Island. He had perfect teeth and a strong chin that several women you knew fantasized about. A few of your co-workers envied that you shared a workspace in HR with him, and that he seemed to have genuine affection for you. 

The only co-worker whose opinion mattered to you, was your only ‘office pal,’ Loki Laufeyson, the newest Avenger, fresh off of a successful plea for his life in front of an intergalactic tribunal for his sins against New York. Many of Stark’s underlings still feared him, or refused to trust a word he said, even as he integrated himself into the day-to-day life of Midgard with relative ease. 

He amused you right away, and sensing that, you were drawn to one another like magnets. At first, it was the shared feeling of being outsiders that connected you, but after a while, the feelings on your end began to change. The eyes that winked at you were suddenly a more vivid azure. The sheen in his hair took on a new sharpness, defining the jawline that you suspected could cut glass. Your ears drank in his deep baritone like a rich, dark broth revitalizing you on a cold, empty morning. It took about a month for you to realize that you weren’t exactly looking forward to seeing Loki around the office because you wanted to hear a joke.  

At first, it was just his blue eyes you noticed with renewed interest. Then, it was how the sheen in his hair was so bright it seemed impossibly so. You began to imagine how his lips would taste, what flavor toothpaste he used and if he let the scent of it linger on his tongue just in case a pretty suitor crossed his path. He seemed to be that ‘type’ to you--always ready for a whirlwind romance (or, if not a romance, at least a good dicking). You knew he could crush you in his arms, and the more time you spent around Loki, letting his light taunts and teasing bring him closer to you, the more you wished he would crush you under his body. 

Sadly, it was at the same time that the evil demons that often accompanied new love began to rear their ugly heads: you couldn’t stand the way you looked. How could he ever want anything more from such a homely, lumpy, average-on-a-great-day creature such as you? Especially when, looking around you, you realized that there was no way Loki would see you as anything but a sidekick, not with the likes of the Black Widow around (not to mention, Loki didn’t restrict his lusts to one gender…so really, you had everyone who wasn’t Thor or Stark to worry about up there). 

At first, you kept up hope. He was spending the most time with you, after all. However, it occurred to you in no time that maybe you weren’t looking at things the way he was, explaining why nothing was progressing between you. One day, you’d decided to test that theory…

“Lokes?” you called one afternoon, slowly walking into one of the lounges wearing a black satin dress that clung to every curve of your torso and legs. Steve Rogers’ eyes nearly popped out of his skull when you walked in. 

“What is--oh my!” he grinned immediately upon seeing you, making your skin twinge with hot excitement. “What is this?” he asked, indicating the odd attire. 

“It’s an old rag that I found in my closet last week,” you began, smiling coyly, hoping he’d take your bait. “I can’t remember why I got it, but what do you think?”

“I think you overdressed for work today,” Loki quipped back without missing a beat, winking again. “Besides, if your intent was to attract a male’s gaze, I think Rogers over here has already nibbled on your hook.”

Your shoulders immediately dropped. Damn, you thought. 

“I think you look stunning,” said Rogers, smiling broadly. You knitted your eyebrows with subtle ennui, confusing him. “What? You asked us how you look!”

“I asked YOU,” you asserted, pouting. 

“And I said already that you look overdressed,” he replied. “Whoever you plan to impress is going to see a woman trying entirely too hard.” 

Finally, you let a frustrated growl escape your mouth. “You…you asshole!” 

This surprised Loki, who raised a curious eyebrow. “Oh? What’s this?”

“You think you’re so clever, and you might be at that, but sometimes you’re remarkably stupid,” you shot out. “Do I have to fucking skywrite it? You know what….never mind. I’m done! I give up on you, Laufeyson.” 

Loki was only a little hurt by your words as he watched you leave. It was going to be alright. He already had a remedy in mind for you, and he knew exactly what (or rather, who) he needed to help him pull off his master plan.

You didn’t like carnivals at all. Not even when you were a child did you draw anything but sensory overload from the bright strobe lights, loud calls from the game stands, the hot, stifling summer air suffocating you, buzzing and ringing, and the worst part: the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. You were utterly convinced that someone was going to pick your pocket. Even the pleasant smells of frying dough and popping corn were never enough to give you any semblance of comfort or ease here. 

But so rarely did this section of New York City open to festivities, and Les looked so excited to take you to the fair, that you felt you had no choice but to oblige the man. When Loki found out about your date, that was the first point he’d brought up. 

“You’re so desperate for any date that you’d subject yourself to a personal hell for the possibility of getting some physical--”

“--it’s hardly HELL,” you reasoned. “And Les is decent and cute enough. It isn’t like you ever--”

You stopped yourself short as Loki raised his shoulders, almost expectantly, as if waiting for you to finish your near-confession. You weren’t planning on giving him the time of day. 

All you mustered was “Well, you should have asked me first” before spinning on your heels and leaving the man you would have fallen at your feet for in your wake. 

“So you don't like rides either?” asked Les, looking up longingly at the ferris wheel. 

Shaking your head, you bit your lip and explained. “I don’t like being hundreds of feet in the air with a few metal rods and a chair keeping me from becoming a puddle on the pavement.”

Sighing and shrugging, Les looked around, as if he had something, or someone, specific in mind he was looking for. “Maybe I should have listened when you said you wanted to go to supper instead.” 

Twisting your lip, you tried to keep from saying well, duh. “Maybe a funhouse? As long as it isn’t scary?”

Les stood in thought for almost too long of a moment, as if the idea of wandering in a haunted house or the like gave him an idea. “I saw a mirror maze over by the arcade,” he said. “It was just around this corner, I think.” 

The pair of you walked in silence. You didn’t admit it to Les when you suddenly felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, as if you got the feeling that you were being followed from the shadows. Alas, the crowds were so heavy that looking around would have been useless. Besides, spending any time attempting to look through the throngs of bustling carnival-goers would probably trigger your claustrophobia, and that was the last thing you needed to further ruin this quickly-failing date. 

You found the Maze O’Mirrors and got in line. Les looked you up and down and sighed. 

“You…uh…want to do anything else after this before we go back to my place?”

Quickly shaking your head, you were scanning the crowd as much as you could without getting distressed. Something felt off. Someone was stalking you. It was something that any employee of Stark and the Avengers was trained in, right down to the night janitor. Anyone on SHIELD’s payroll was at risk of being kidnapped by an enemy.

You were too distracted that you had to be herded forward as the line moved. 

“Look,” Les finally began. “Are we really doing this or what?” His voice changed its tone, and he was suddenly a bit more assertive-sounding as anger finally began to unfurl in his mind. 

“What do you mean?” you asked half-heartedly. 

“You’re treating me like your cousin, Y/N. I asked you out, and I don’t think you realize how many women in the office would commit a crime for the opportunity.” 

It was the change in demeanor that snapped you back to your date. “Uh, Les, I’m--”

“--no, I’m done with these office games,” he snapped, shaking his head. “I’m not doing this anymore. Look, Y/N, you’re smart enough, and you’re sometimes good for a laugh around the water cooler, but I don’t really like you. You’re a flake, and you’re clearly using me now.” 

Wow, you thought. How could any barbs coming from Les Leandermann hit so hard? 

“Using you? When you asked me on a date?” you shot back, raising your voice. 

“I did it as a…favor,” Les admitted. “After spending the past two hours with you, frankly, I understand why your bedsheets are so cold. You’ve complained nonstop since we’ve been here!”

Your jaw hit the floor. “Excuse YOU, Lester Leandermann, but I’ve barely spoken at all!”

Les looked behind you a moment, almost looking like he was being fed a line from somewhere in the distance. You could have sworn he nodded at someone, but when you turned your head, all you saw was the long line behind you. 

“I hope this doesn’t affect our work relationship, but I can’t see you again, Y/N. You aren’t worth it.” Les finally stepped out of line, and without turning back, began walking away furiously. 

“Les! No! Wait…you were my ride!” you cried after him, your voice drowning in the ocean of background noises. “Dammit!” you groaned. 

“Alright, lady, next! You’re holdin’ up the line!” a teenage boy with a face full of zits and a heavy Bronx accent coaxed you forward in spite of the distress you began to feel. Les may have been a jerk in sheep’s clothing who’d just turned on you rather suddenly…but you were a whole borough away from your loft…it would take hours to walk home in the dark! 

Practically shoved into the house of mirrors, you immediately regretted not running after him. You were accosted by reflections from all angles of your body, and none of them were flattering. 

Even Les can’t bring himself to fuck this fat ass, you thought bitterly. I guess all the office girls got HIS personality wrong. 

You felt warm tears prick the corners of your eyes as you quickly paced past all of the haunting images of yourself in various states of humiliation over being ditched at a street fair. You couldn’t bear to look at the judgmental faces as they followed you through the ramshackle hut. You followed the red line on the ground, dotted with arrows, telling you the quickest way out of the mirror maze. It felt as if you were walking miles. 

Finally, you leaned up against one of the mirrors, frustrated at how endless this path was, and how alone you were in this awful place. 

That was when, out of the corner of your eye, one of the reflections changed, your sorry image dissipating, and the body replacing it was the person you least expected. At first, you thought the angst that was flooding your senses was beginning to cause you to hallucinate. 

Alas, the reflection of Loki acted of its own accord and stepped through the glass, his corporeal figure now in front of you, flesh and bone. He could immediately see your bloodshot eyes, failing to hold the tears back. 

“Fancy seeing you on this side of the mirror…has he bored you to tears already?” 

You sniffed, trying to muster up just a mote of dignity. “He…he ditched. We weren’t suitable.” 

Loki scoffed, but his smug smile dropped. “I could have said that to you weeks ago.” 

“But you didn’t,” you shrugged. “Anyway, I think I’m just going to go. Would you mind not lording this over me until Monday? I need to recover.” 

You brushed by his shoulder to continue toward the exit, but Loki caught your elbow before you could get further past him. “I’m truly sorry, Y/N. He wasn’t worthy of you.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Him. You. Everybody!” you groaned. 

“WHat about me?” Loki asked, gently taking your hand. 

“I’ve been rejected by all of you!” you nearly shouted, as if the answer was obvious. 

“I have done nothing of the sort,” Loki said quietly. “I…I’m sorry if you didn’t take my teasing for what it really was. If I caused you any insecurity, I will make amends. I never meant to insult or put you off.” 

You shook your head. “What was your teasing for, then?”

Loki smiled and drew your chin upward, pulling your body in so your chests were nearly pressed against one another. Your lower lip trembled. 

“It’s my love language,” he admitted in a tender whisper. “Laughter sets my heart on fire, and there is no act more intimate to me than a private joke between two lovers.”

The words were rich and delicious on your ears. 

“I thought you were understanding my angle, but I misread the signs, which I am prone to doing when it comes to women, I’m afraid,” Loki confessed. 

“Then there’s no apology needed,” you muttered, trying to regain composure as your emotions shifted from embarrassment and sadness to confusion and lust. "But, are you sure you want Les Leandermann's castoffs? I mean, if he didn't want me, then why should--?"

Loki finally drew your face to his mouth, gently kissing you, making your ankles weak and spine shoot chills to your hips.

"You aren't his castoffs. He wasn't strong enough to handle your radiance," the charmer replied. "I vow to be more forward with you from tonight onward, but know that I've never held you but in the most admirable esteem since the day we've met. Just because you aren't compatible with that piece of cardboard doesn't mean you aren't a jewel worthy of the crown of Asgard."

You felt your cheeks go hot as he places his palm on your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

"I won't doubt you ever again," you said with relief. "And thank you for ceasing with the games. Sometimes I just can't keep up!"

He smiled down at you. “Y/N, shall we adjourn to a quieter corner away from here, perhaps some bistro in a private corner of Little Italy?”

“How do we get out of here? I think these arrows are a trick,” you asked, indicating the painted lines at your feet with the toe of your boot. 

Loki took your arm in his and walked you up to a panel of glass. Setting his palm against the pane, the mirror seemed to become a translucent doorway, easier to walk through than a wall of bubbles. 

“Do you not remember who I am?” he bragged, pulling you into the mirror with him.

The carnival was about to close when you asked to stop at the restrooms. As you did so, Loki made his way over to a fortune teller’s stall, his quick eyes sensing the elderly woman using sleight-of-hand to choose the right tarot cards to satisfy a hopeless dreamer sitting across from her. 

Someone was waiting for him there, looking anxious. “Can I have my thousand dollars or what, Laufeyson?”

Gritting his teeth, Loki hissed and rolled his eyes. “You’ll get it, Les. Norns, let me enjoy the night first!” 

“You could’ve just finally asked her yourself and cut out the middle man, you know,” groaned the shorter man. “You do realize I haven’t flirted with a woman since I came out?”

The God of Tricks shrugged and began fiddling through a small wallet he’d pulled from a back pocket, extracting a few green bills and roughly tossing them at his accomplice. 

“By the way, you oversold it, you idiot. I didn’t ask for you to insult her,” he scolded. “Just to leave her to me and make yourself scarce!”

Les twisted his lip. “I got carried away, man. Sorry.”

“Now go find some strapping man to ride the big wheel contraption with. I have a lady to woo.” 

Les smiled and nodded sincerely, quickly counting the cash and walking away from his temporary employer. 

Smiling to himself, Loki took a moment to spot you in the crowd again. You were waiting, leaning seductively up against a tent, obediently staying put for now, mulling over your happy change in fortune. 

Oh, Y/N, Loki thought to himself, tsking as he slowly began his signature saunter, traipsing the lane like he owned the entire park. You could’ve waited for me to fall at your feet, but you chose to play games. Now you’ll see just how ‘playful’ I am, Princess…

Tagging a few mutuals: @chantsdemarins @coldnique @fictive-sl0th @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress @lokisgoodgirl @muddyorbs @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @sarahscribbles

#loki #fanfiction #mcu #mcu loki #loki fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki/reader #loki fluff #loki angst #sensory overload #mcu angst #fic request

[dracaelus]

CHERIK FIC RECS

Angst (multiple levels of angst)

too close to the sun, by joshriku: 3, 683 words, charles pov, canon compliant to Jean Grey #1 (2023) (i think it's better to read the issue first, but it's not really necessary)

Jean Grey erases Magneto's mind - or so she thinks. When Charles finds his body, he brings it back to the mansion, and begins the arduous task of putting Erik's mind together. Of course, when it comes to Erik and persevering, it's always a lot more effective than he expects.

To Breathe Again (Impossibilities Remix), by Unforgotten: Erik's pov from the original movies timeline. The old men are old!!! It's a 3,879 words oneshot and it's beautiful

After Liberty Island, you think you must have burned that bridge at last. After Alkali Lake, you're even more certain. What once seemed so easy is now an impossibility, and the dream that once plagued you no longer comes.

Then Charles dies and you know: Going home was never truly impossible until now.

This is not easily described by a single genre methinks

superposition, by borninsideatornado: The racer car driver au! This one has some angst yes, but it didn't feel right to put it in the angst category bc there's so much more to it! This story is about healing. It's also about racing cars. And it's also a romance ! Charles and Erik have an amazing dynamic, but then so does Erik and Emma, Erik and Pietro (the father and son are father and son'ing!) and the entire team tbh. Really fun to read!

erik is a race car driver coming off the worst year of his life. charles xavier may be his last hope.

Time to Grow, by zarah5: 20K oneshot, Charles pov. Fluffy fix-it

In which you'll find chess dates which aren't dates (or maybe Charles is wrong about that). -- Based on First Class, this turns (slightly) AU during the beach scene.

Comedy

Fathers and sons, by M_Leigh: 6K oneshot, Hank pov. So fucking funny

“I have an – interest – in Peter Maximoff,” Erik said, somewhat grudgingly, glaring. “A – familial – interest –”

Everybody stared at him.

“In that – mutantkind is one – large – family –” Erik said valiantly, if pathetically.

“Oh, shit,” Alex said. “No way. No way.”

i guess i should say thanks or some shit: au but they do have powers, 17K oneshot, charles pov

believe it or not, charles has a well-thought-out moral philosophy. he doesn’t follow it. but he has thought it out. alternatively: charles and erik douche it up in amsterdam

Frosted hearts, by aesc & palalife: 29K oneshot, multipov, the main focus is cherik, and it comes with art!

Emma Frost has 99 problems, but a date ain't one. Specifically, she has no time to play the dating game--which is fine with her, because she'd much rather run it instead. From a set of sleek, silver and white offices on Fifth Avenue and with her trusty, stylish, and silent partner Janos Quested, Emma has built Frosted Hearts into New York City's premiere dating service, built on the principle that money, and a sufficiently rigorous psionic scan, can, in fact, buy you love.

Somewhere in Frosted Hearts's server is one Charles Xavier, genius and geneticist, with the kind of nicely-starched good looks that sell well on brochures for New England prep schools. He's also a telepath who's decided to give up pursuing serious relationships and instead spend his thirties doing what he should have done as a teenager: have a lot of sex with random people. Fortunately for him, Erik Lehnsherr, metallokinetic and engineering executive, has absolutely no time in his heart or his schedule for anything more serious than... well, absolutely nothing romantic at all.

#cherik #drac fic recs

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

An fix on the average day in the office as a private eye for Spider Noir?

First of all, it's been over three months. I am so so sorry. BUT I hope my 5k oneshot that greatly spiralled away from your og prompt makes up for it haha :)

TW for a bit of body horror, VERY brief mentions of period-typical racism and also some brief Spider God-related ickiness

Light Up Your Insides (Not Today)

The little bell at the door chimed and Peter looked up from his lunch to see a woman entering. She was maybe middle-aged, had brown skin, dark hair and a look of deep worry on her face.

Peter sat up straighter behind his desk pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"Are you--Peter Parker?" the woman asked.

Peter nodded. "That's me. Please take a seat. How can I help you?"

The woman breathed out in relief, but the worry didn't ease up yet. With only a moment's hesitation, she sat down on the chair opposite of him, but she didn't lean back.

"Mr Parker, I need your help. They say you're a good dick, and..."

She trailed off, but Peter could imagine the rest.

"My daughter, she's gone missing. The police wouldn't help me, and the--others I've asked said they were too busy, there's more important--"

Peter nodded. The woman didn't look like she could pay well, which would put others in his profession off. The coppers didn't really care, ever. And it likely wasn't helping that she was African American, either. The woman herself still looked like she was preparing for rejection--but luckily for her, Peter wasn't known for turning anyone away.

"Please tell me more about this case, Mrs...?"

"Johnson."

"Johnson. Do you want a tea? Coffee?"

Mrs Johnson shook her head. "No, thank you."

That was just as well. Peter wasn't sure if he even had tea around and he still wasn't a huge fan of sharing his coffee--not that she needed to know that.

Peter took up a pencil and a sheet of paper. "Then please tell me of your troubles, Mrs Johnson."

Mrs Johnson took in a deep, shaky breath. "It's--my daughter. Flora. She--she doesn't usually run off, she's never done it before, but--it's been two days..."

Against Peter's best attempts, he'd never quite been able to shake the images from that lab back on Ellis Island, even though it had been years. The apple had settled a lot, since then; the criminals weren't as bad anymore, not every last person with any kind of authority was corrupt and the Spider wasn't needed even nearly as much as back then. But he still couldn't help that very first thought when he heard of a black girl gone missing. New York was anything but safe, not really, especially for coloured people.

Peter did his best to keep his calm demeanour, if only because the last thing Mrs Johnson needed was even more stress. "Please tell me what exactly happened in as much detail as possible."

Mrs Johnson took another shaky breath, and Peter did his best to write along.

They had been on their way home along Lexington Avenue when Mrs Johnson had first lost sight of her daughter. First she thought Flora had simply seen something interesting and would return in a minute. But that hadn't happened.

Mrs Johnson had spent about half an hour searching the entire area before returning home in the hopes that maybe Flora had gone there on her own--to no avail. A few hours after Flora's disappearance, she had contacted the police, only to be turned away.

It had been a day by now, her husband and neighbours all aiding in her search, and Mrs Johnson had gone to the last place she had heard of for proper help: in other news, Peter.

Peter had seen lots of gruesome things in his life, and while very few of those involved children, they were the first thing to come to his mind. Especially Ellis Island. It had been a decade, by now, but...

Still, he put on his most serious yet calming expression.

"Lexington Avenue?" he asked.

Mrs Johnson nodded and sniffled. Peter handed her a tissue, but she waved him off and pulled out her own.

"I'll begin the search immediately. I will contact you if I have any more questions or when I find Flora."

Mrs Johnson nodded and swallowed. Then she set her jaw and stood up. "Thank you, Mr Parker."

"Don't thank me yet," Peter said with the slightest hint of a smile, despite the growing worry curling in his chest, and walked her to the door.

He only returned to get his coat and notepad before following right after--he had no time to lose.

-----

Lexington Avenue was bustling at this time of day. Peter looked around.

He was standing in the exact same place Mrs Johnson had described when she had noticed Flora missing.

There were no visible signs, of course not. How might a child go missing, though, and why?

Children were curious. She could have easily wandered off and gotten lost. And then what?

Peter should probably give the closest police station a visit before anything else. But since he was here, he might as well question some of the people who might have seen anything. Shop owners, the people at Pete's Tavern just a bit down the road--it was worth a shot, at least.

The shops all turned out to be failures. Peter pushed open the door to the bar--one last stop before he paid the coppers a visit.

There weren't many people inside at this time of day, but Peter could hear a few hushed conversations. Two men were at the bar, one sitting on a stool, the other wiping a glass down. They went silent the moment Peter entered, eyeing him closely.

Peter knew whom to ask first of all.

"Excuse me," Peter said, striding over to them with the most confidence he could put into his steps, stopping just a bit closer to them than would have been polite. "Where you here yesterday, too?"

"Why are you asking?" the man sitting at the bar demanded.

"Yeah," the man behind it said.

"I'm looking for a girl. About this tall, nine, African American, you seen her?"

The men exchanged a look. It was only for a second, but Peter saw it anyways.

"No," the sitting man said.

"Maybe," the bartender said.

Interesting. Most interesting.

Peter kept his face straight and stared at them.

Finally, the bartender sighed and extended his hand. "Pete Baines. I own the place."

Peter shook it. "Peter Parker."

Pete Baines grinned widely, his stance opening visibly, while the other man grumbled into his drink and half turned away.

"Ah, another Pete! Well then, perhaps I can help you. What did you want again?"

Either Pete Baines was very fond of people sharing his name, or he was a very good actor and dangerous, and be it only because he knew something he didn't want to tell.

Peter returned the smile, albeit slightly strained. "A black girl. Nine years, curly hair, yesterday around noon."

Pete Baines scratched his head. "Well, no, doesn't really ring a bell. Does it, Will?"

Will made a sound akin to a negative, without ever turning.

"Are you sure?" Peter needled. "Her mother was sure she'd seen her wander around here. Can I have a look around at least?"

Will snarled another incomprehensible thing. Pete Baines made it a show of thinking. "Well, no. We don't really get little girls here, now do we, Will? No, I'd have noticed. Sure I'll show a fellow Pete around though, eh?"

Wonderful. Now Peter just had to watch out which parts Pete Baines tried to keep him away from and go there.

Unfortunately, Pete Baines didn't try to keep Peter away from anywhere. Peter was allowed to freely sniff around the entire bar room, including behind the bar. He listened closely to his steps, but even with his enhanced hearing, nothing sounded hollow. They went to the backrooms, too. Will looked promisingly critical at this, but... nothing.

Nothing.

Peter firmly set his jaw and tried not to let his irritation show, even as the back office and several storage rooms turned out to be entirely clean, at least as far as Peter could tell. And he had gotten good at recognising these kinds of things.

And then. And then. Finally.

It was just a broom closet. It was cramped, but not as dusty as Peter would have expected. And, most importantly, Pete Baines moved into the way. It was the first room he entered before Peter, and he put himself right in front of a crate.

Wonderful. Now, should Peter let him know that he knew...?

Who was he kidding. He didn't have any time to dawdle. He needed to find Flora.

"Let me see that," he demanded.

Pete Baines furrowed his brows, but his smile didn't waver. "Yes, of course. Why?"

Peter ignored him and knelt down besides the crate. The lid was brandished with an odd symbol; Peter had the feeling that he'd seen it before somewhere.

The crate itself was empty, save for a thick layer of dust inside.

Dammit.

Dammit.

Peter breathed out slowly and quietly. Then he pulled out his camera and took a picture--just in case. It would take a while to develop these photos, but he could check the library for anything with that symbol later.

Then again, he didn't have time. In the case of missing people--especially children--he couldn't wait for even one second.

"Well, thank you," Peter said and straightened his coat.

Pete Baines sent him another smile, but it was thinner than before. "I hope you find what you're looking for, pally."

Peter just nodded. He strode right past Pete Baines and back outside; a goodbye was probably overrated by now.

Pete Baines said nothing. But when Peter passed through the actual bar again, Will glared at him well until he was gone--and apparently it was even enough to set off Peter's spider sense.

-----

Peter headed for the library next. Developing the film would take too long--longer than he was willing to wait, anyways. He had been too late too often. Way too often. Not this time, not again.

Once at the library, he... had a problem. Where to start looking?

He found a librarian and a pencil to sketch the symbol to the best of his abilities.

"This might have been an old sigil," she told him and led him down the rows of shelves. "If you find it, I'd love to hear--where did you come across it, anyway?"

Peter shrugged. "Just an old crate in a pub somewhere." He took the proffered book. "Thank you."

Then he found a quiet corner to read the brick of a book that was this lexicon of old gods and hoped that it wouldn't be a huge waste of time.

The book was old. And bulky. Even flipping through every page quickly, only glancing at the sigils, he was making very little progress. Of course, some sigils were close to his drawing and he couldn't rule them out, so he also had to properly read four greatly varying articles and copy the most important details into his notebook.

There was a child missing. He should be doing something, something--

Peter flipped another page and this was it.

This was the sigil from that crate.

Florecae. Goddess of flowers, growth and health.

He had heard that name before. He knew he'd heard that name before. But where...?

Of course. Of course. He was a damn twit. He could have known that where sigils and Gods were involved, the Legion of Darkness was his best bet.

And the chances were good that they still had their base in that building down at the docks...

Maybe it was time for Peter to get out the suit once again. Lack of time certainly called for more drastic measures like that.

If he was lucky (and hadn't entirely unlearned how to swing), he might even make it into his suit and to the docks within half an hour.

-----

The Legion of Darkness was, for lack of a better description, a joke.

Peter had run into them before, years ago, when the Spider was still needed. They were neither a lot of people, nor very threatening. Their intentions had always been on par with the name, though--and whether they did or did not succeed in raising an ancient God was irrelevant with a child's life in danger.

The rhythm of swinging past the buildings still came easy to Peter, even though he had changed a lot. He'd become a private dick, and gotten a cat, and let the Spider disappear, and even the Spider God left him alone most of the time. Even the nightmares had gotten fewer.

And yet, the moment that mask hid his face and his coat billowed in the wind as he rushed past the highest of buildings, so far above the street, it was as if all these years of living a relatively normal life didn't matter anymore. His movements were as fluid as back then, despite the age difference. His joints bent too far from one swing to the next, and the apple's smell was unusually sharp. This high up, hardly anything could harm him.

He was the Spider, and if anyone dared to touch that little girl, they were going to regret it.

Along with a slightly saltier, tangy scent in the air, the docks came into view. Peter returned to the solid rooftops, running and jumping too easily and too far for a human.

One of these buildings now must have been the one. No, this one. He was standing on it.

He set his hands down and crawled down the side of the building, but from the looks of it, none of the windows were open. Well, that was... not ideal.

Peter looked at the window below him. The room behind it was dark and seemingly empty. Ah, well, he already knew his spider-sense was still sharp.

He drew his arm back and smashed the glass. Without hesitation, he swung inside right after the shards and crouched down inside the room.

It was empty, as expected, but otherwise, too, entirely bare. No furniture, no proper floor, not even a single proper lamp.

That didn't matter. He was here to find out where the girl was being kept.

The door of the room stood open. The hallway past it was equally deserted and dark. The closer he came to said door, the stronger his spider-sense prickled in the back of his neck. There was no imminent, immediate danger, but something here was very, very wrong.

Peter laid one hand onto the handle of his gun and scanned the hallway in both directions, before turning left. His steps were silent, but his breath sounded louder for it.

He couldn't risk being noticed, not before he got what he came for.

All the rooms setting off from the hallway appeared silent even to Peter's enhanced senses. Had the Legion relocated...? No, they still had their name written on the front door, in fresh paint. (Peter honestly wasn't sure what they were trying to achieve with that, but he wasn't complaining. If it wasn't a trap--but he'd notice in time. Hopefully.)

Okay. He was still on the top floor. He'd check out the floors below and then search more thoroughly--that was probably the fastest option.

Peter had barely reached the first landing when he heard a commotion.

"No, no! I don't want to!" a girl shrieked.

"But Flora is such a pretty name. You'd be just perfect--"

Peter had no intentions of finding out who was talking or what the girl was perfect for. He jumped to the ceiling, where people wouldn't aim first of all when drilling and crawled after those voices. He didn't like not having his guns in hand, but he couldn't risk shooting before locating Flora.

"Come on," the adult voice coaxed, possibly a woman. "Be a good little girl and--"

The door wasn't locked, so Peter threw it open and fired his webs by instinct alone.

A split-second later, he could properly make out the scene: the room had been two rooms, the wall between them crudely brought down. Right in the middle, someone had drawn Florecae's sigil with white paint and in the centre of said sigil--

"Let go of me!" Flora cried out, tears spilling down her face, her kinky hair in wild disarray.

A woman stood half bent over her. She had greenish-white skin, bright hair and--

A sharp pang shot through Peter's skull and he dropped down onto the floor. He could still feel the bullet zipping past him but he turned mid-fall and threw webbing right back. Yelling started up and more guns were being fired.

Peter had to end this, fast, before Flora got hit by a stray bullet. It was too easy to get back into the flow of evading bullets based on instinct alone. It was maybe ten goons, likely members of the Legion of Darkness. Their aim hadn't gotten all that much better. Duck, run, jump--and with a kick to the jaw, the goon crumpled to the ground. Jump, run along the ceiling, shoot--another one down for the count. The energy of the fight was cursing through Peter's limbs, heightening his senses and the smell of gun powder. It had been a while since he'd been able to let loose, let his spidery side take over and ruthlessly beat a bunch of brunos to pulp, and it almost felt good. They were done for quickly.

Peter dropped back onto even ground and turned towards Flora and the woman.

Both were watching him. Flora was still crying, hugging herself.

The woman tilted her head. A smile, too wide for a human mouth, with too many needle-sharp teeth, greeted Peter. Her eyes were bright blue like the sky on an exceptionally clear day and sparkling almost as warmly as the sun. She had too many of them.

"See?" the woman asked with a voice that wasn't very loud anymore at all, but piercing right through Peter's head. "This is a totem. Does it look sad to you?"

Peter grit his teeth. The voice wasn't just piercing, it was literally inside his head--she hadn't spoken on a physical plane. And the woman wasn't even anything close to a woman. Not a human altered by queer magic--no, she was Florecae herself.

Don't listen to her, Peter tried to say, but his voice wouldn't carry, no sound crossing his lips. He couldn't move. He looked down, only to see colourful, blooming vines creeping up his legs. Why hadn't his spider-sense warned him? How hadn't he noticed--

Focus. He needed to focus.

Flora, listen to me. Your mother asked me to search for you. I'll get you out of here, I promise, just don't listen to her. Whatever she wants you to do, don't.

Peter's words stayed silent, but Flora suddenly looked up, directly at him, as if she'd heard him anyways.

"Don't bother," Florecae said, her eyes blazing until her features were unrecognisable beyond the light. It made his eyes water to look at her any longer. Was she getting stronger...?

The light travelled from her face down her torso, illuminating more and more of the room in what might have been sunlight, hadn't it been so damn bright. Florecae's feet lifted from the ground, thick vines and varieties of flowers spreading from where she had stood.

"You are too late, Spider," Florecae exclaimed and her voice came from everywhere around and echoed inside Peter's skull painfully. His entire body was on fire, whether because of her presence or his own spider-sense going nuts, he couldn't tell. "She will be my totem, my sacrifice to walk this plane once more. Surrender now, or be destroyed."

Peter crouched down and began to undo his laces, his coat falling just right to hide it from sight--though a goddess might see regardless. Who knew? His direct personal experience with gods was limited, and Florecae was nothing like the fever dream of getting his powers. They weren't very alike, neither in manner nor appearance. Regardless, Peter wouldn't let anyone else become a God's totem; nobody deserved to go through that hell, least of all a child.

He made eye-contact with the girl. "Run!" he yelled, and the feeling of his words rippling across a surreal, godly plane of existence instead of his physical world made him want to throw up.

Flora's eyes were wide with panic as she shook her head frantically. "If I leave the circle, I'll die!" she yelled back between sobs.

Was this really...?

Peter looked at the ground more closely. He had come inside the sigil without even noticing, and the flowers and plants were restricted to exactly that sigil. Florecae wasn't able to properly touch their physical world, not yet, not without a totem. That meant she could still be stopped. If Peter could just get Flora outside of that sigil without killing her...

A thousand glass shards were piercing through Peter's brain and he could hardly contain a scream as his vision went white. Fire raced down his limbs, more glass shards lining his lung with every half-aborted breath. He could feel his teeth shifting in his mouth, could feel the fangs he had sanded down years ago grow back, lined with venom. His head pulsated. Peter's fingers curled into claws.

When he opened his eyes, they weren't his own anymore. They weren't his human eyes at all, but eight eyes that weren't tangible on this plane, lent by the very thing that still let him wake up screaming regularly. The Spider God's terrifying presence pressed down on Peter's frail, human body, both from inside and out. It would tear him apart--and stitch him back together, mercilessly.

The God's eyes could see Florecae. They could see the blinding silhouette of the physical world and her true, mind-tearing form wherever it was that Gods resided. Peter's entire being ached to recoil, hide away in a dark corner, get away before the mere sight could burn him to ashes. His eyes were watering and his mask clung to his face like a second skin, and still the Spider God's presence tore through his organs. Some of the sigil glowed even around the Goddess's true form.

Flora didn't.

Peter gasped for a breath that wouldn't come and the Spider God's presence left him as suddenly as it had come.

He leapt forwards. His boots were still held firmly in place by vines and the like, but they slipped off his feet and he sprinted towards the Goddess, towards Flora. Flora opened her mouth to a silent scream and Peter reached her, reached for her torso and pressed her against his own body as he continued to run.

Flora was small and light. She clung to Peter's arm as he adjusted her in his arms to hold her properly.

A mind-splitting screech echoed through his ears until he thought his skull would dissolve into nothingness. One more leap and they would be outside of that huge sigil--but the air seemed to thicken, slowing Peter's movements, dragging them back in.

No. He wouldn't let it. He wouldn't let anything happen to the girl, he wouldn't let Florecae win, not this time, not ever.

Peter's free hand shot out and the web attached to the wall of the room. He yanked, and they were sent flying from that choke-hold.

Air flooded Peter's lungs. Flora was still held in his arms, head buried against his neck, sobbing, alive.

He didn't have any time to waste.

"Hold on tight," he muttered as he skidded into the hallway. From behind, he could hear the sound of shattering glass. Peter ran back up the stairs where he'd come from. Somewhere below he could hear yelling, quick steps, but they were just too far away to be a danger. He found the room he had entered through and crawled right back out, into the grey-ish, natural daylight of New York City.

One roof further, Peter dared to stop. He set Flora down carefully. She looked up at him with red eyes. She didn't seem to have any bruises or other external injuries, but he'd have to check again later. For now, he still had to make sure Florecae wouldn't come after them.

"Wait here," he told Flora, even as everything inside him protested that he couldn't leave her alone, not even for a second.

Thankfully, he didn't have to move far to see that whatever had happened in there had had... consequences. He and Flora hadn't left a second too early.

The second floor from the top was on fire. The flames were licking higher and higher, and Peter could hear faint screams from inside.

Good.

He knew the only people inside had to be willing members of the Legion of Darkness. They had kidnapped a child. They got what was coming for them. Whether they got out or burned to death--it was none of Peter's business.

He turned back to Flora. She was sniffling and hugging herself, but she was no longer actively crying.

"Who are you?" she asked very, very quietly.

Peter heard her perfectly well. He crouched down to meet her eye to eye. "They called me the Spider," he said.

"The Spider hasn't been seen for years, mum says."

He nodded. "That's because it hasn't been needed that much. Listen, Flora. I'll bring you back home, like I promised, but I need you to keep a secret. Can you do that?"

She swallowed, but nodded.

Peter hesitated. "Where I'll bring you first... I usually don't want anyone to know who I am. You can't ever tell anyone."

"I won't," she said, louder this time, apparently intrigued by such a well-kept mystery.

"Okay. I'll get you to my office the fastest way I can. Do you think you can hold on to me while I swing?"

Flora smiled, barely, and very carefully, but it was probably as close to enthusiasm as she could get after being kidnapped and almost becoming a totem. Peter had her climb onto his back and hold on tightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, which wasn't great for him but at least secure for her. Carefully, he crawled a little along the side of the building they were on, but Flora held on tight, and he could deal with her weight--it was barely anything.

Peter swung back home slower than usual. But the child on his back thoroughly seemed to enjoy herself, shrieking as the wind rushed past them.

"We're so high!" she yelled right into Peter's ear at some point, and she still sounded a little scared, but most of all... she sounded excited.

She would recover. She would be able to go back to her life, eventually.

Peter ended it all in a back alley close to his office. He set his feet back on the ground and pulled off his mask, suddenly awfully aware that he had left his boots behind. They had been good boots. Really good boots. And damn expensive, too. Well, after that fire...

"Your hair is really fluffy," Flora said suddenly, still holding on tightly.

She was alright. She was alive. She was safe. That was worth a pair of boots.

Once back inside his office, Peter deposited Flora on his office chair behind the desk, which she immediately began exploring, and rang Mrs Johnson. The only response to his news was a choked sob and and the end of said call, but he had hadn't expected much else.

"You mum will be here in a moment," Peter said. "Remember, I'm just your friendly neighbourhood dick. Don't got no powers, just a good nose for conspiracies."

Flora nodded seriously. "The Spider found me and brought me here. And left."

Peter made himself smile a little. He was tired and sore. He hadn't been in a fight that bad in quite a while, and the Spider God's sudden appearance hadn't helped things.

"She said you're a totem," Flora said suddenly. "Does that mean someone gave you to a God?"

Peter couldn't help a small grimace. "It was... no, not really. A spider bit me, a venomous one. But instead of dying--"

He didn't want to think about it, all the vivid details that wouldn't ever stop haunting him as long as he lived.

"What's it like? Who's your god?"

Peter began sifting through some old papers, if only to have his hands moving. "The Spider God gave me my powers, but it also... well, it's... I've been able to help people. But it's not nice. If you can help it, stay far away from gods."

"No, I definitely want to see more of them now," Flora drawled in a surprising burst of sarcasm.

Peter chuckled. "Let me just get you some city juice and then we make sure you're not hurt, okay?"

Flora hesitated. "Don't leave."

"I won't."

-----

Mrs Johnson didn't even bother with knocking, and Peter couldn't fault her for it. She immediately rushed towards Flora and scooped her up into a tight hug. Flora buried her face in her mother's chest.

Mrs Johnson looked up again after a moment; only her eyes were a little shiny. She tried to smile at Peter. "How can I ever--"

"It's quite alright," Peter cut her off, "as long as you and your daughter are safe." He looked at them. "I don't need money, either," he decided on a whim. He could get by well enough already.

"If you ever need anything, Mr Parker, if it's within my power..."

He nodded. "The most you can do is stay safe, Mrs Johnson. Please."

She inclined her head. "You are a good man. Thank you."

Peter almost wanted to scoff, but he made himself smile instead.

"The Spider saved me!" Flora exclaimed suddenly, just as Mrs Johnson turned to leave.

"Oh? Did he?"

"Uh-huh. He wasn't so scary." The girl nodded and looked over her mother's shoulder right at Peter.

He winked and put a finger against his lips.

She almost giggled and returned the motion.

The girl was safe now.

But Peter would go out this night again, despite his tiredness, and hunt down whatever was left of the Legion of Darkness.

He may have gotten a little inactive, but whoever messed with children would still have to answer to him.

----------

I hope you enjoyed, even though some parts may have been a bit rushed! I did get it out within the same year you asked lmao. Thanks for the prompt, anon. I sincerely hope you see and enjoy this.

#spider-man noir #peter benjamin parker #spider-man fanfic #my writing #asks #im absolutely still open for fic asks and stuff im just. veeeeery slow on them #and if the prompt is very vague my brain will run in circles until the plot is running away from me on very long legs #....... in my defense its past 1am and i just wrote the last 2-3k words in one sitting. plus editing it. until right now. LMAO

[sunshine304]

Fanbinding: Three Oneshots with Chain stitch and Hot Foil

When I first tried fanbinding, I messed up the cases and had to redo them. That was a learning experience. XD But I didn't throw the botched cases away because I figured I might be able to use them for something one day, even if it was just to try out some stuff.

And I found a use for them! I'd wanted to try out a chain stitch tutorial I'd seen on SeaLemon's youtube channel for a thin book with just one signature and a nice stitch pattern on the spine. And when I got a set of hot foil pens, I decided that this was the perfect opportunity to not just test that chain stitch but to also try for some hot foil titles!

Behold!

The fics are:

"Such a Warm Commotion" by @whetherwoman. A Fire Island fic.

"You, Asleep and Dreaming" by @megafaunatic (etymologyplayground). A The Untamed/MDZS fic.

"Something to Talk About" by @ziusik (vesna). A The Untamed/MDZS fic.

You can find all the links to the fics and the SeaLemon video in the notes!

Lots of pictures under the cut!

I struggled some with the sewing because I'd decided in my infinite wisdom that I wanted to use two threads instead of just one because I thought it look nicer. And it does look nice! But oh boy, do two threads cause some problems, like unexpected knots, wrapping around each other all the time etc. Still, I'm pleased with how it turned out!

I really enjoyed keeping up the New York theme for this Fire Island fic (highly recommended, awesome sequel to the movie!). Also, of course there needed to be rainbow colours! XD

I forgot to use initials for the beginning of the text in all three books, because I did the typesetting quite quickly and simply didn't remember to do something about it as I'd been fiddling around with the graphics for a while. XD Ah well, next time.

For etymologyplayground's fic, the hot foil doesn't stand out as clearly when the light doesn't hit it right. I don't know whether this is because of the ligh-tcoloured linen or because the foil wasn't exactly the best quality. Still, when the light hits it just right, it looks really cool!

The insides of the case don't always match perfectly to the rest of the colour design, but that's because I chose some papers that were either leftovers from other projects or ones from the thick design paper blocks I've got. It's serviceable.

I like how the design turned out otherwise here, with the illustration that I actually repeated at the end of the book, though I'm too lazy to take another picture. XD

I'm very pleased with the design of this one! The gold foil fits the cover so well (and I mean, I love that paper so much, anyway).

I like how Changyang's art works for the story that starts with WangXian travelling, and how the lotus picture illustrates the ending set in Yunmeng. I used a photography and send it through a hundred filters in PS. XD

Overall, I'm very pleased with how these books turned out, improvised though they were. I could try some new things and am so happy about the foil pens! So many more possibilities for making cover designs! I do have a few ideas already, but we'll see.

#fanbinding #bookbinding #my fanbinding #arts and crafts #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #chen qing ling #fire island #wangxian #books #my posts

[luce-speaks]

OMG Shakespeare mutual 👀🫵

I'll definitely be annoying about my thesis soon, and I'd love to hear about that oneshot if you get the chance :0 I'm so jealous already...

yeah!! i’m no shakespeare scholar but i’ve really enjoyed all the shakespeare i’ve read in school (hamlet, midsummer, othello, and romeo & juliet). also i’m playing the tellius games rn and one of the characters is shakespeare themed and he makes me crazy—

anyway, the story of this oneshot. under the readmore because this got LONG.

last year, for my birthday, i wrote and ran a murder-mystery ttrpg oneshot that i called Ghost Train. i wrote it in four days—i never want to do that again—but it was so fun. so fun that the players wanted an encore.

so i go about my business, keeping an eye out for anything that might inspire my next clever mystery plot, but nothing is striking. then, months later, i attend a community theater production of Something Rotten. about ten minutes to intermission, it comes to me.

i decide that i’m going to plagiarize Hamlet, but as a murder mystery. it works perfectly - so many people die in that play. and i’m not going to tell a single one of my players (who, coincidentally, are almost all english majors).

in keeping with the original Ghost Train, our story is set in a 1920s urban fantasy New York, in the height of Prohibition. in this version, hamlet is heir to a notorious bootlegging operation on a magic island off the coast of New York. i changed some character names to throw my players off the scent—Claudius is now Claude, Polonius is Phineas, etc. my best work was Hamlet and Horatio, now named Dayne Prince and Hamartia Horatio Frost—Marsha for short. they were lesbians in this version.

i changed a few other plot elements to make it a little more mystery-ish, but the general conceit of the story was that Dayne is convinced that Claude did the murder (because her father’s ghost told her) BUT he has a watertight alibi.

pictures of my notes. i do not remember why the gummy worm is there. i do not have a wormless picture.

anyway, one of the players had an inkling of the hamlet theme as soon as i introduced the marriage between Claude and Gertrude, but they kind of thought i did it by accident? they didn’t really catch on til a while later, when the father’s ghost was introduced. and then at the end, after solving the crime, i let them have a fun dramatic moment and intercept the infamous curtain scene just seconds before someone actually died. it was a fun time! would totally run it again sometime

#i hope this was a fun read! i am long winded when telling stories #it also reminds me of how i’ve been sitting on the notes for the original Ghost Train #really hoping to find another group to run it for sometime #cause i’m really proud of my mystery plot #and i have a custom detective ttrpg in the works that i want to test drive hehe #hamlet oneshot

[kiss4chuu]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨ request rules ୧ ‧₊˚

⋅˚₊‧ ୨ general rules ୧ ‧₊˚

↳ we only write romantic, platonic, age regression, fluff, angst, and semi-nsfw. no full nsfw content.

↳ we write in oneshot, headcanon, social media, and multi-character form. for multi-characters, the limit is 4-6.

↳ lgbtq+ relationships are fully allowed and encouraged, this includes polyamory.

↳ cross-fandom and au’s are allowed.

↳ we won’t write ships, unless it’s in a polyamorous pairing.

↳ mental abuse, physical abuse, and abuse in general within a pairing is not allowed. topics of it, however, are allowed.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨ fandoms ୧ ‧₊˚

— new jersey devils

— edmonton oilers

— seattle kraken

— florida panthers

— toronto maple leafs

— anaheim ducks

— boston bruins

— chicago blackhawks

— calgary flames

— ottawa senators

— los angeles kings

— winnipeg jets

— tampa bay lightning

— washington capitals

— philidelphia flyers

— columbus blue jackets

— nashville predators

— san jose sharks

— arizona coyotes

— st louis blues

— buffalo sabres

— pittsburgh penquins

— montreal canadiens

— vancouver canucks

— minnesota wild

— colorado avalanche

— vegas golden knights

— detriot red wings

— new york islanders

— dallas stars

— carolina hurricanes

— umich (not nhl, but i also don’t care)

— twice

↳ nayeon

↳ jeongyeon

↳ momo

↳ mina

↳ dahyun

↳ chaeyoung

↳ tzuyu

↳ sana

↳ jihyo

— blackpink

↳ lisa

↳ jennie

↳ jisoo

↳ rosé

— (g)i-dle

↳ soyeon

↳ miyeon

↳ soojin

↳ yuqi

↳ shuhua

↳ minnie

— red velvet

↳ irene

↳ seulgi

↳ wendy

↳ joy

↳ yeri

— itzy

↳ yeji

↳ ryujin

↳ lia

↳ yuna

↳ chaeryeong

— le sserafim

↳ yunjin / jennifer

↳ chaewon

↳ sakura

↳ kazuha

↳ eunchae

— ive

↳ wonyoung

↳ yujin

↳ gaeul

↳ liz

↳ leeseo

↳ rei

— loona

↳ heejin

↳ hyunjin

↳ haseul

↳ yeojin

↳ vivi

↳ kim lip

↳ choerry

↳ jinsoul

↳ yves

↳ chuu

↳ gowon

↳ olivia hye

— new jeans

↳ danielle

↳ haerin

↳ hanni

↳ minji

— aespa

↳ karina

↳ winter

↳ giselle

↳ ning ning

— bts

↳ namjoon

↳ yoongi

↳ hoseok

↳ jin

↳ jungkook

↳ jimin

↳ taehyung

— enhypen

↳ ni-ki

↳ jungwon

↳ sunoo

↳ sunghoon

↳ heeseung

↳ jay

↳ jake

— stray kids

↳ bang chan

↳ hyunjin

↳ felix

↳ lee know

↳ i.n

↳ han

↳ changbin

↳ seungmin

— txt

↳ soobin

↳ kai

↳ yeonjun

↳ beomgyu

↳ taehyun

— crash landing on you

↳ ri jeong-hyeok

↳ yoon se-ri

↳ gu seung-joon

↳ seo dan

↳ park kwang-beom

↳ kim jumeok

— all of us are dead

↳ lee su-hyeok

↳ choi nam-ra

↳ lee cheong-san

↳ nam on-jo

↳ yoon gwi-nam

↳ lee na-yeon

↳ jang ha-ri

↳ park mi-jin

↳ jang woo-jin

↳ min eun-ji

↳ kim chul-soo

— sweet home

↳ cha hyun-soo

↳ lee eun-hyuk

↳ lee eun-yoo

↳ seo yi-kyeong

↳ jung jae-heon

↳ pyeon sang-wook

↳ yoon ji-soo

— squid game

↳ kang sae-byeok

↳ seong gi-hu

↳ salesman

↳ hwang jun-ho

↳ ji-yeong

↳ cho sang-wo

↳ front man

↳ abdul ali

↳ circle, triangle, and square guards

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[idontgiveaflyinggrayson69]

Life As We Know It | Part 21

Author: Nat / @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69​

Tagging: @thirteenisles​ @matbaerzal​ @mcmo-anon​ @texanstarslove​ @matbarzyy​ @hockeywocs​ @ggggmoneyyyy​ @tysonjost-taylorsversion​ @toplinetommy​ @fiveholegoal​ @itrocksmysocks​ @joelsfarabee​ @barzysreputation​ @iangiemae​ @stlbluesbrat​ @c-tangerine​ @canadianheaters​ @jeylia-haj​ @roopehintz​ @dreamsndior​ @beauvibaby​ @2manytabsopen​ @nazdaddy​ @sorryjustafangirl​ @fallinallincurls​ @pastelpapermoons​ @hockeybabe87​ @kayt-marie​ @heatherawoowoo​ @islesnucks​ @whoeverineedtobe​ @ohpuckyeah​ @tpwkstiles​ @mf-mightyducks​ @day-dreamerr​ @ficsilove10​ @notaccurateornice​ @rapidfever​ @hoodpankow​ @oopsiedoopsie23​ @haylie-mcc​ @jostyriggslover96​ @newlibrary​ @honestreputation​ @the-philthepill13​ @justanotherfansblog​ @simpgirl-lat​ @hockeypuckspost @great-puck-work @yzas-stuff @sidscrosbyy @teenagekook @svechnikolan @lovethepreds @strong134 @dylancozzys @gravyoverall  @lena306 @caelum-the-part-time-acosmist @taiter-tots @canesjedi31 @kq9003 [let me know if you want to be added!]

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: Alcohol. Sexual references?

Comments: I know this took a million years and I’m so sorry!!! I hope it’s worth the wait!!! Thanks again to everyone who stuck with this story despite it being WAY too long between updates. And remember, Beau is an Islander for life in this story 🧡💙

(c) nat g. 2023 // do not repost, do not claim as your own

Tess loved Valentine’s Day.

As long as he knew her, Tess had adored Valentine’s Day. Tess loved all the hearts and flowers and teddy bears and the idea of love that came with it. Not to mention, Tess had never really had a serious boyfriend, one that would spoil her with chocolates and roses and tell her 365 different reasons why he loved her. Anthony would be the first, and if he was lucky, her only, so he knew that he had to do something special for their first Valentine’s Day together; he knew he had to make it worthy of her. Even if he had never really been a fan of Valentine’s Day himself.

It wasn’t that Anthony didn’t like Valentine’s Day or had any personal vendetta against it. For several years he had played the boyfriend role perfectly with dinner and gifts and flowers, he just had never really been a fan of the holiday. Valentine’s Day marketed love and buying gifts to show that love, but Anthony firmly believed that, if you loved someone, truly loved them, you should show them every day, not just one day out of the year.

You should take them out to dinner just because, buy them flowers because the tulips reminded you of them, get them the bracelet or book or knickknack because you knew they’d like it, or go out because you love being with them. Love wasn’t something to expect or market, but something that should be given whole heartedly.

But Tess loved Valentine’s Day and he loved Tess with every ounce of his being, so he would make it the best damn Valentine’s Day he could.

The Islanders were on the road the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, so he had a lot of time to think about how he’d woo Tess. Most guys slept on the plane or played on their phone, but Anthony spent every second trying to plan the perfect day for Tess. And it didn’t take him long to realize that it was a lot easier to draw up a play than it was to come up with a Valentine’s Day plan.

Tess…

Tess was loving and kind and amazing and perfect and he knew how she used to dream of a perfect Valentine’s Day and happily ever after and he wanted to give her everything. He had let down a lot of people in his life, sometimes it felt like he still was, but he could never let Tess down. Come hell or high water, he’d do whatever he could to make her happy.

The plane wasn’t enough time to make the perfect plan, especially after he asked Barzy what his Valentine’s Day plans were and he shared a way too detailed description of all the different sex positions he was thinking of for him and Connor. “You know, the best thing to give a woman on V-Day is a mind blowing orgasm,” Mat said without looking up from his phone, and he only forced his eyes away from the screen when Anthony didn’t reply.

“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s on the menu,” he finally replied.

“You guys still haven’t?” Mat asked at the way Anthony’s lips tightened and he winced when Anthony shook his head. “Damn, I really bought that pack of condoms for nothing…”

“We’re going slow,” he shrugged. “Tess asked for slow so we’re going slow, we’ll get there when we get there. I mean…” he took a deep breath. “She’s never even mentioned sex before, for all I know…”

Mat’s eyes bugged a bit, “you think?”

“I don’t know,” Anthony replied firmly. “So, we’re going slow. So, yeah, I’m not sure mind blowing orgasm is on the menu, but I could totally give her one if she wanted,” he added quickly when Mat opened his mouth.

He was quick to close it before he shrugged. “I mean,” he started. “Are you sure? It has been a while. I could refresh you on where the clit is and how to—”

“Mat.” His voice matched the sharp look in his eyes. “I know what I’m doing. And plus, I know Connor has you by the balls. She tells Tess everything and Tess tells me everything.” His smile grew as Mat’s flush did and he contently leaned back in his plane seat as Mat went uncharacteristically quiet.

Maybe one of the married guys would yield better advice for Valentine’s Day, Anthony thought as he closed his eyes. Like Nelly or Bails or Pager. They had to know how to get Valentine’s Day right if their wives stuck with them.

Anthony’s mind was still racing when they landed in Tampa, and he was distant enough during dinner that the guys noticed, so distanced and caught up in the thought of Tess that he didn’t even hear Nelly’s question.

“He’s still in the honeymoon phase,” Mat smiled brightly as he wrapped his arm around Anthony’s shoulders. “Tess consumes his every thought.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled and pressed his thumb into Mat’s ribs hard enough to make him yelp. “Like Connor isn’t the only thing on your mind.”

“Not the point,” Mat replied and tried to jab he back, but Anthony easily blocked him.

“Whatever,” Anthony rolled his eyes. “What was your question?”

Brock shared a knowing look with Anders before he shook his head. “I asked you what you were going to order.”

“Oh,” he whispered and felt his blush creep up his neck. “Um, the steak sounds good?”

“Yeah,” Brock nodded. “I was between that and the salmon.”

“Salmon would be lighter, depends on how the flight hit you, I guess,” he replied, but suddenly he was thinking of whether steak or fish would be better for him and Tess. Or maybe chicken. Or duck. Or—

“Beau,” Anders’ voice cut through his thoughts and he winced as he looked to his captain.

“I will have my head on for the game tomorrow don’t worry,” he reassured Anders.

Anders shook his head. “I’m not worried about that,” he replied. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, offer any advice if you need. I mean, it must be difficult balancing this new phase with Tessa while trying to juggle a 12-month-old, I think I speak for all of us when I say those are a handful on their own.” Those with kids agreed with a soft laugh and Anthony nodded.  

He knew he’d probably be chirped into next week for it, which is why he’d rather go to Anders or Nelly or Bails one on one, but he resigned himself with a nod, “Valentine’s Day is coming up and Tess adores Valentine’s Day and I want to make it special for her without it being cheesy.” When the table was quiet, he took a big drink of his beer and shot Mat a death glare.

It was Brock that broke the silence. “Flowers,” he said. “Girls love flowers, but not any kind, their favourite kind, that’s very important.”

“Yeah,” Anders agreed. “And you’re a pretty decent cook, aren’t you? So cook her dinner instead of taking her out, that shows you care, and girls find that romantic as fuck.”

“And jewelry,” Bails tacked on. “It sounds cliché, but they really do love it, if it’s good. Don’t get what you like, you have to get what they’d like, even if you don’t understand it. And for the love of God, there is a huge difference between yellow gold and white gold and do not make that mistake.”

Anthony blinked back at him as he nodded, “right, got it, thanks.”

“And don’t forget the condom,” Anders added with a wink and teasing smile that made Anthony rest his forehead against the table with a groan.

“One time,” he grumbled to himself. “One fucking time…”

“One time too many,” Mat cackled as he shook Anthony’s shoulder.

Once he got back to the hotel room, he stripped down to his underwear and crawled into bed and Anthony looked up jewelry stores and florists between texts to Tess while Friends played in the background. He had always liked the show, but now it was an ever present reminder of her that made him love it so much more.

Planning the perfect Valentine’s Day kept him up at night and, despite his earlier promise to Anders, it took him longer than he wanted to admit to find his legs during the game the next day, but he finally came up with a plan and he only hoped it would live up to her expectations.

Luckily, the Islanders were home for Valentine’s Day, so the day began like any other: Tess wrapped up in his arms. Sure, she had her own room and own bed, but the only place Anthony wanted her was his arms. Once he knew how perfectly she fit in them, he’d never be able to let her go. So, Valentine’s Day began with Tess waking with her face pressed into Anthony’s chest and his arms wrapped around her and she smiled as she tried to snuggle closer. He had always been the best teddy bear she could ever ask for and she felt rather than heard Anthony’s laugh as he tightened his hold on her.

“Good morning,” he breathed, his voice thick with sleep.

“Shh, sleeping,” she mumbled and buried her face into further his chest, making Anthony laugh harder as he trailed his hand up and down her back.

“Okay,” he hummed. Tess made a soft sound against his chest and he tightened his hold on her. Perfect wasn’t a good enough word to describe her, she was his everything. His past, his present, his hope for the future, his family, his everything. All that he was began and ended with Tess. And Valentine’s Day meant a day off, so he was more than happy to stay wrapped up in Tess’s arms as long as she’d allow, or as long as Sorel would allow.

Which, of course, is exactly how the morning went.

He didn’t know how long they stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms before Sorel’s crying came through the monitor, but it wasn’t long enough. He loved Sorel more than he had words to describe, but sometimes all he wanted as an extra five minutes with her mom. They had spent longer, much longer, as friends and parents than they were as a couple and Anthony was desperate for any moment alone they could steal.

He hated jostling Tess when Sorel cried, but he knew it was long past her normal wake up time and she needed to be changed and feed. He murmured an apology when Tess groaned as he slipped out of bed before he went to get Sorel, and by the time he emerged from her room in a clean diaper and outfit, Tess was up. Her hair was messy and fluffy, and she had a sleepy smile on her lip and his shirt dwarfed her frame, all of which made Anthony’s heart flutter.

“Sit,” he told her and put Sorel in her highchair. “I will make you coffee and breakfast.” He smiled before he kissed her cheek and directed her to a chair at the island.

It didn’t take long for her coffee to finish brewing and he added the milk and sugar before he slid it across the table and started making his own. “Bacon and eggs?” He asked. “Or maybe waffles and berries?” He smiled when Tess’s face light up and reached under the island to find the waffle iron. He couldn’t remember the last time he used it and he hoped it still worked as he pulled it in and gathered the ingredients for waffles, and he gave Tess a hard look she tried to get up to get the fruit from the fridge.

He prepared the berries and fruit after he mixed the batter and the waffles didn’t take long after he added them to the iron. He added strawberries and blueberries to Tess’s plate, along with a mountain of whipped cream that made her laugh and he stole a kiss as he sat it down in front of her.

“Thank you, it looks amazing,” she smiled back at him.

“Not as amazing as you,” he replied without missing a beat and his smile widened as she blushed, and when his own waffled was ready, he added strawberries and banana.

Anthony tisked Tess when she reached for the dishes after breakfast. Today was her day, one of them at least, and he wouldn’t have her lift a finger, and he was in the middle of dishes when the florist knocked at the door.

The knock at the door surprised Tess and she furrowed her brows as she looked at Anthony but he did his best to shrug her off. “Can you get it?” He asked and she nodded before making her way over.

As soon as she answered the door, she was faced with a delivery boy and a large bouquet of flowers. “Delivery for Tessa?” He said with a smile.

“Uh, yeah, that would be me,” she replied with a confused expression and the guy handed her the big bouquet of flowers to her before he wished her a happy Valentine’s Day and got on his way. Tess was frozen for a moment as she held the flowers close to her before she took a deep breath in and her smile grew as she closed the door when she was able to give them a good look and smell. It was a bouquet of pink and red roses and lilies and other filler flowers and soft green leaves around the edges and, of course, beautiful white orchids.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he told her softly as he leaned against the counter and his shoulders softened at the way she smiled when she finally looked up at him.

“They’re beautiful,” she told him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied and pushed himself off the counter to step closer to her. “But they’re not as beautiful as you.” Tess opened her mouth to argue but he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “They’re not,” he repeated.

His smile grew at Tess’s blush and he got her a vase for her flowers so they could sit in the middle of the island, and they were more than happy to spend the afternoon together watching Sorel’s favourite TV shows and playing her favourite games. They were a family. Forever and always, they were a family.

When it was time, Anthony pulled everything out and started to prepared dinner before Tess could ever ask, and maybe pinot noir wasn’t the best pairing in the cookbook, but it was Tess’s favourite and her smile meant everything to him. He made her garlic parmesan chicken breasts with steamed veggies for a side. He wanted to refuse her help, wanted to make it special for her by doing everything for her, but he gave in every time she gave him her puppy dog eyes so he let her prep the veggies while he did the chicken and he couldn’t stop thinking about how nice it was to work around each other in the kitchen and how mundane it was.

Finally, the dinner was severed and Anthony smiled as he moved everything to the table. “After you,” he said and only took for himself after Tess had served herself and Sorel. And, to only mild surprise, the dinner was actually really good and Tess couldn’t stop shaking her head as she smiled.

“What?” Anthony asked with a soft laugh.

“I’m just really happy,” she told him. “I can’t count the times I thought about us spending Valentine’s Day with you and now it’s really happening.”

Anthony softened as he looked at her before he raised his glass of wine. “To us,” he said and smiled as she raised her glass too.

“To us,” she echoed and clinked her glass against his.

The rest of dinner was nice. Anthony talked about the roadie and his week ahead while Tess spoke of her plans with Connor and Anthony helped Sorel with her dinner which always made Tess look at him with soft, loving eyes.

Tess fell in love with Anthony years ago, but it was a totally different, deeper love watching him with Sorel. She always knew he’d be a good father, but it was something else entirely seeing how amazing a dad he really was. For so long, Tess had dreamt of having a family with him that it felt surreal to actually have it. There was so much love in her eyes watching him feed Sorel with a smile on his face and Tess meant every word when she said she had never been so happy in her life.

She finally had everything she could ever want.

After dinner, Tess tried to help with dishes but Anthony refused her help. So, instead she played with Sorel on her play mat while Anthony finished the dishes and then they started getting her ready for bed. Tess would have bathed her, but it was Valentine’s Day and dinner had been later than usual and Tess didn’t want to keep her up later than usual. Sorel really took after her dad and could get really cranky when she was tired so, yeah, her bath could wait till tomorrow.

Once Sorel was down, Tess changed into something more comfortable—one of Anthony’s old Islanders shirts and some sleep shorts—and she didn’t think twice about curling up next to him on the couch.

“I’ve never been a huge Valentine’s Day person,” he confessed softly.

“I know,” Tess replied and looked over at him. She had seen him through multiple girlfriends, as painful as it had been, and it had always been about what they wanted rather than about them.

“But I get it now,” he told her. “I like being your Valentine.”

Tess ducked her head as she leaned into him. “I really like being your Valentine, too, Anthony. I really like you,” she teased and Anthony kissed her temple before he gently carded his fingers through the ends of her curls, and he murmured an apology as his fingers tangled in her hair before he pressed another kiss to his temple.

When he pulled back, he held her eyes, her beautiful coffee eyes he fell in love with, before he whispered, “I got you something. I’ll just be a second while I get it.” Tess’s brows furrowed as she watched him get up and disappear into his room, but he came back a moment later with a big red gift bag and Tess’s shoulders relaxed.

“You didn’t have to,” she said softly.

Anthony gave her an almost offended look and handed her the bag before he sat back down next to her. “Like I’d fuck up our first Valentine’s Day,” he scoffed. “Now go on, open it.”

Tess laughed softly but opened the bag and she was surprised at everything in it. “Anth—“ she started but Anthony waved her off.

“C’mon, open it,” he encouraged.

Her eyes shined and the corner of her lips twitched up as she nodded and started to pull everything Anthony had stuffed into the bag. First there was a candle that smelt like vanilla. Then there was a set of bath bombs that Tess definitely didn’t think about using with Anthony and blushed when she sat them down on the coffee table. There were two sets of chocolates, and a Tiffany’s box. Just like the bracelet and the ring before, Tess’s breath caught in her throat and she looked up at Anthony. He worried his lip between his teeth but nodded and Tess looked down as she opened it and her smile softened immediately.

Had had gotten her a bracelet and a ring, it was only fitting that he got her earrings too. They were simple and beautiful, small silver, or maybe white gold, hoops with dangling pear diamonds.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispered and looked up at him. “Thank you.”

Her heart twisted knowing she hadn’t gotten him anything thinking he didn’t care about Valentine’s Day and she put the earrings down to hug him, pressing her face into his neck as she tried to pour her love for him into the hug. Anthony’s eyes closed as he melted into the hug and he buried his face into her hair. “You’re welcome,” he breathed.

Tess pulled back from the hug after a moment and cupped his jaw to kiss him softly. “You’re making me feel terrible for not getting you anything,” she told him but Anthony shook his head.

“You’re the only gift I could ever want,” he told her and kissed her again.

Tess’s thumb ran over the arch of his cheek and she couldn’t stop smiling as she pulled back from the kiss and Anthony was so incredibly in love with her. Sure, they had only really been together for a handful of weeks, but they had been friends for years and he honestly couldn’t imagine his life without her.

Tess continued to run her thumb over his cheek and the soft look in his eyes stirred something in her. Her eyes dropped to his lips and she leaned into him before kissing him again, deeper than before. Anthony was taken back but he quickly melted into the kiss and let his hand rest on her hip.

He didn’t expect the kiss to last long so he let her control it, but Tess didn’t pull back. Maybe it was the wine or the gifts or the fact that it was Valentine’s Day, or maybe it was just Anthony, but Tess didn’t want to stop and when Anthony broke the kiss, she quickly chased his lips and kissed him again. Anthony made a soft sound against her lips that sent a wave of heat through her body and Tess pressed herself closer to him, as close as she could be still sitting next to him.

Anthony kept waiting for her to pull back but she didn’t. Instead, she threaded her fingers through his hair and let her chest rest against his. She wasn’t wearing a bra, she never really had to, so Anthony could feel her breasts and the hardness of her nipples against him and he couldn’t get enough. His neck strained as he deepened the kiss and Tess made a soft sound against his lips that had his hand moving from her hip to her thigh as he pulled her onto his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs bracing her weight as her hips rested against his.

Tess broke the kiss with a gasp and looked at Anthony with wide eyes. “Sorry… Is this okay?” He asked, letting his hands rest on the bare skin of her thighs, terrified he had read her signals wrong and had gone too far.

It took Tess a moment to answer as her heart raced and her lips parted as she looked at him. He was warm beneath her and she settled her weight on his lap before she ran her hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. “Yeah,” she nodded and kissed him again, pulling a soft groan from him.

Anthony let her control the kiss for a moment before he deepened it and pulled her hips flush against his and Tess couldn’t help the moan that slipped from her lips. It was the first time he heard her moan and it went straight to his groin and he wanted to pull more beautiful sounds from her. When she didn’t pull back from the kiss, he let his hands move to her ass and he gently kneaded the soft flesh. It would be so easy to grip her ass as she—

He shook the thought from his head as he nipped at her lip and moved his hands up to her waist. Her skin was warm and she kissed him again just as deeply as before which only spurred him on as he trailed his hands higher on her rib before he broke the kiss to trail his lips down her jaw. Never in his life had he wanted someone as badly as he wanted her and Tess threaded her fingers through his hair and titled her head to the side to give him move room as she moaned softly.

Anthony felt himself start to harden and in the back of his head he knew they should stop and talk about it. Fuck, he didn’t even know if this was something she had done before, but Tess wasn’t stopping him and he didn’t want to stop. All he wanted her.

His lips found where her jaw met her throat and he grazed his teeth over her skin before he sucked softly but not hard enough to leave a mark and he hadn’t realized his hands were moving up until the tips of his fingers brushed the underside of her breasts. Tess’s grip on his hair tightened and she tensed, pulling him from his thoughts and Anthony immediately moved his hands back down to her waist and leaned back to look at her. “I’m sorry,” he told her, his jaw slack and eyes dark.

Her chest heaved and her heart raced but she shook her head. “It’s okay.”

As much as it killed him, Anthony said, “we should stop.”

“No, Anthony, it’s okay,” she told him.

Anthony’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at her and the look in his eyes sent a wave of heat to her core where she could feel him beneath her. “You sure?” He asked breathlessly and Tess nodded, a soft throbbing starting between her thighs as Anthony held her gaze and trailed his hands back up.

He let the tips of his fingers brush the bottoms of her breasts for a few moments before he slid his hands up to cup her chest. Her breasts fit in the palms of his hands and her nipples were hard but not as hard as he was. He swore he had never been so hard in his life and Tess could feel every inch of him through his sweats and the thin material of her sleep shorts.

“Okay?” He asked breathlessly and Tess nodded.

“Yeah,” she replied shakily.

Anthony gave both of them a minute as he held her chest in his hands, feeling her heart racing against his touch. Tess’s chest heaved against him and his lips were parted as he held her gaze before he pinched her nipples between his fingers.Her eyes closed as she moaned louder than before and Anthony was addicted to the sound. His bottom lip was red and worn and a moan slipped from his lips when Tess rolled her hips into his. “Fuck, Tessa,” he said breathlessly and rolled her nipples between his fingers.

Anthony had always stirred something in Tess but he was doing a lot more than just stirring and she couldn’t get enough of him. She had been terrified that it wouldn’t be good, that it would be awkward, but she was wrong. It was amazing having Anthony touch her. Her hair was a mess as she arched into him and when she ground her hips against his, she pulled a strained groan from him that made clench around nothing.

The more Anthony pinched her nipples, the louder her moans got and it was the hottest thing Anthony had ever heard and he wanted nothing more than to take her apart and see how loud he could make her. But Sorel’s room wasn’t all that far away and they couldn’t wake her. “Tessa,” Anthony breathed. “I need you to quiet a bit.”

Her hips immediately stilled and she looked at him with flushed cheeks, “fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Anthony replied immediately and pinched her nipples again, pulling a sharp gasp from her. “I just don’t want to stop so please don’t wake Ellie.”

Tess knew he was right, but it was so hard for her to be quiet when he was touching her like that and she could feel how much he wanted her. She rolled her hips down against his, creating beautiful friction which pulled a loud moan from her and Anthony tried to quiet her with his lips but he just ended up moaning against her.

Slowly he broke the kiss to kiss down her neck again as he pinched her nipples, pulling another moan from her and he was about to ask to take her shirt off so he could see her as well as he could feel her when the sharp sound of Sorel’s cries cut through the room.

“Fuck,” Anthony cursed and leaned his head against Tess’s shoulder with a groan before he let his hands fall to her hips. He was finally going to have her and of course Sorel had to ruin it. “Maybe she’ll cry herself out?” He tried and Tess nodded. But no matter how long they sat there, Sorel didn’t stop crying so Tess slowly untangled herself from him with a sigh.

Her hair was messy and her skin flushed and all Anthony wanted to do was ruin her.

“I’ll get her,” she told Anthony and gave his thigh a pat before she made her way to Sorel’s room, leaving Anthony alone on the couch. He ran his hand over his face as he sunk into the couch, his desire for her clearly visible through his sweats. He had been cock blocked before, but never like this.

And Sorel was usually so good so he expected it would be a quick check in and put down, but the minutes ticked by and Tess didn’t come back out. Anthony groaned and threw his head back against the couch before he got up to check on them, after he adjusted himself of course.

He found Tess swaying with Sorel in her arms while Sorel gripped her shirt tightly. “She doesn’t want to let go,” Tess sighed as she looked over at Anthony.

“You were pretty loud,” he replied softly. “Maybe… Maybe she thought I was hurting you?”

Tess couldn’t help but burst out in laughter as she blushed, but it… It wasn’t that far fetched at all. Ever since they got together and Anthony had been showing more affection toward Tess, Sorel had been getting fussy with Anthony and pushing him away, so it wouldn’t be that hard to fathom that Sorel did think he was hurting her mom… Even if he was doing the opposite.

Anthony sighed and stepped forward to take her from Tess, even if he had to gently pry her fingers from Tess’s shirt. “Daddy wasn’t hurting mommy, okay? Now why don’t you go back to sleep so mommy and daddy can go back to what they were doing.”

“Anthony!” Tess scolded as she gave him a pointed look but he just shrugged. And, of course, Sorel only cried louder as Anthony held her and reached her hand out to Tess until she took her back.

It took them too long to get Sorel back down, she really didn’t want to let go of Tess, but once her door was closed behind them, Anthony let his hand trail down Tess’s back as he bit his lip. “So…” he started. “Where were we?”

Tess took a deep breath and scrunched her nose up before she looked up at him and she didn’t have to say anything for him to know the moment was long gone. “It’s late,” Tess told him. “Tonight was fun, but I’m tired and honestly I think I’m getting a headache from the crying and I just want to go to bed.”

Anthony took a deep breath as he nodded, “yeah, yeah, of course.”

Tess gave him a soft smile and kissed the corner of his mouth before she gave his chest a pat and went to brush her teeth, and Anthony flopped onto the couch with a groan as soon as she closed the door.

He loved his daughter dearly, but fuck.

It had been over a year since the last time he got any and it was Tess and he could still feel her on his lap, the warmth of her against where he needed her most, and how perfect her breasts were in his hands. Tess was perfect, he had always known that, but feeling her, hearing her, having her like that… He hadn’t realized how truly perfect she was and—

“Are you okay?” Tess asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” He replied, looking up at her like a deer in headlights.

Tess laughed and gave his thigh a pat as she sat down next to him. “I asked if you were okay because you were staring out into space,” she said.

“Oh,” he replied softly. “Yeah, I’m good. I mean, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little… frustrated, but yeah, I’m good.”

Tess blushed and looked down as she fiddled with her shirt. “Sorry…” she said softly but Anthony shook his head.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” he told her. “We tested the waters tonight and it was good, right?”

Tess nodded, “yeah.”

“Then we’re good. And you should never apologize for being as hot as you are. If anything, I should be the one apologizing because I’m probably going to end up hard against your ass tonight.”

He made Tess laugh at least and she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. “I love you,” she told him after a long moment.

Anthony softened and wrapped his arm around her, “I love you more.”

“Not possible,” she told him and kissed him before he could argue. Anthony melted into the kiss and gently cupped her cheek. She could disagree with him all she wanted but Anthony had never love anyone the way he loved her and he knew he’d never love anyone else the same way.

It was Tess for him.

It was always going to be Tess,

His Tess.

She bit her lip when she pulled back from the kiss and Anthony tilted his head as he looked at her, knowing she had something in mind and already feeling like he wasn’t going to like it. “Tess—” he started but she cut him off as she patted his thigh.

“We need to tell our parents about us.”

Anthony’s groan may have even been louder than her moans and he leaned over to press his face into her lap, “please don’t talk about my mother when I’m still hard.”

Tess’s laugh warmed his chest and she gently carded her fingers through his hair. “Sorry,” she whispered. “But we do, you know we do.”

“I know,” he sighed and rolled onto his back to look up at her. “You know they’ll never let us hear the end of this, right?”

Tess breathed a laugh and let her hand rest on his chest and Anthony was quick to cover it with his own. “I know. But we need to tell them before they figure it out themselves, and my mom’s gonna know the moment she sees us. Connor did.”

Anthony ran his thumb over her knuckles as he gave her a lopsided smile, “love me that much, huh?” He laughed when she scrunched her nose up and when she shoved his chest, he tightened his hold on her hand and leaned up to catch her lips in a soft kiss. “I love you that much, too, Tessa.”

She scrunched her nose up again at the use of her full name and to still the butterflies he still gave her. “So, we’ll tell them then?” She pressed.

“How about we tell yours and leave mine till the summer?” He tried and Tess shook her head.

“Mine first, but we’re not waiting till June to tell your family. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with your parents.”

Anthony scoffed and pushed himself up to sit beside her, his hand on her thigh. “Please,” he started. “My mom loves you almost as much as I do. I could tell her we eloped and she’d just be happy to have you in the family.” Tess could see the gears begin to turn behind Anthony’s eyes and he continued, “now that I say it, we should wait until—”

“Absolutely not,” she cut him off. “We’ll tell my mom first then you’re calling your parents to tell them.”

“What if I send her a picture and turn my phone off?” He suggested, though mostly just to rile her up some more, finding her persistence adorable.

“What if I didn’t kiss you until you told your parents?” Tess replied without missing a beat and bit her lip as she looked over at Anthony, proud of herself.

“You wouldn’t,” he breathed as his face dropped. He was right, she wouldn’t. Now that she had had a taste of him, she didn’t she’d ever be able to give him up. But Tess shrugged and Anthony made a strained sound in his throat before he pulled her back onto his lap and kissed her again. “Now that I’ve had you, I can’t go a day without you, so, okay. We’ll call my mom after we tell yours.”

Tess’s smile lit up his whole world and when she kissed the corner of his mouth, he cupped her jaw and redirected her so he could kiss her properly and deeply. She made a soft sound against his lips and fisted his shirt as she felt him again. “Anthony,” she breathed a warning and he pressed his face into her shoulder with a groan.

“I know, I know. I can’t help it,” he told her. “You just do things to me.”

She blushed as she shook her head before she patted his shoulder and pulled back to sit beside him. “TV until your friend calms down and then bed,” she told him and reached for the remote. “We’ll tell my mom the next time we see her.”

Anthony rolled his eyes but nodded, “fine.”

And he was right, even after watching TV he ended up hard against Tess’s ass that night and the next morning, but this time he didn’t pull back and Tess didn’t get flustered or push him away.

---

Tess was right, Lisa knew as soon as she saw them.

It was on Anthony’s face.

It had always been in his eyes. The last couple times they had come over, he had looked at Tess with hope and possibility, but this time… This time it was different. He held the door open for her and let his hand rest on her lower back as they toed their shoes off, and his touch lingered as Tess stepped toward Lisa with Sorel in her arms, and she just had a funny suspicion.

“How’s my grandbaby?” Lisa asked as she took Sorel from her daughter and Anthony ducked his head as he smiled.

Sorel giggled and Tess smiled before she glanced back at Anthony for a moment. “She’s good. Been having some issues sleeping through the night, but she’s good,” Tess replied and blushed softly as she remembered the exact reason Sorel hadn’t slept through the night the week before.

Lisa kissed both of Sorel’s cheeks as they moved into the living room. “Issues sleeping, baby girl?” She asked Sorel in a playful voice that made her laugh again. “What kind of issues?”

“Wake up in the night, crying, that sort of thing,” Tess shrugged as she sat down on the couch and Anthony sat down next to her and gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze, though whether he was reassuring her or himself was up for debate.

“Oh,” Lisa hummed as she looked at Sorel. “Have you tried putting socks on her for bed?” She asked and looked back at Tess and Anthony.

Tess looked over at Anthony and he gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “No, we haven’t,” he replied. “But we certainly will,” he quickly added. “Thank you.”

Lisa pressed another kiss to Sorel’s cheeks and looked back at her daughter and Anthony. They were sitting closer together than normal and his hand rested on her thigh and Tess didn’t knock it away or seemed to have a dark blush to her cheeks like she’d always get. She watched as Tess pushed her hair behind her ears, a long time anxious habit, and Anthony looked over at Tess at the movement.

Lisa had seen Anthony look at her daughter a lot. She had watched his gaze go from friends to something else; watched as his eyes went from hope and possibility to confidence and sure. His thumb rubbed soft circles on her thigh and the corner of his lip twitched up as he looked at her even though Tess wasn’t looking back at him, and Lisa watched as his gaze dipped down to Tess’s lips for half a moment and his smile grew.

Lisa smiled as she settled Sorel on her lap. “So how long have you two been together?” She asked, making Anthony’s head whip toward her and neither of them had to say anything for her suspicions to be confirmed, Anthony’s deer in headlights look said it all.

Slowly, Anthony looked back at Tess and she covered his hand with hers as she smiled before she looked back at her mom. “Almost a month,” she answered, making Lisa’s smile grow.

She always knew her daughter’s feelings for Anthony, Tess had had them for years. If she was being honest, she wasn’t always fond of Anthony with him being a hot shot hockey player and all. She was terrified that he was going to break her daughter’s heart beyond repair, but she had to admit that he had really proven her wrong over the years and she was glad he did. She was happy for them.

“We came here to tell you, but…” Tess continued and looked at Anthony. “You kinda figured it out.”

“Anthony kinda made it obvious,” Lisa laughed and scrunched her nose up as Tess gave Anthony a playful shove that made Tess’s smile grow.

“I knew it,” Tess muttered and Anthony smiled as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“No, you didn’t, you thought you’d give it away,” he replied as his smile widened.

“Shut up,” she muttered and leaned into him in a way that definitely said she wasn’t mad at him.

“I’m very happy for you,” Lisa told them. “The two of you…” She glanced at Sorel before looking back at them. “You’re good for each other.”

“I try to be,” Anthony replied without hesitation. “I just want to look after my girls.”

Lisa’s smile softened as she looked at him and she kissed Sorel’s cheek before she set her down on the carpet and Anthony gave Tess an unsure look as Lisa disappeared into the kitchen, but Tess could only shrug. She didn’t know either. Lisa was only gone a moment before she came back with a bottle of wine and three glasses. “This calls for celebration,” she grinned as she set the glasses and bottle down on the coffee table and Tess pressed her face into Anthony’s shoulder as she groaned. “Well, it’s not every day my daughter starts dating an NHL player.”

“Mom, please,” Tess begged and Anthony gently ran his hand up and down her back.

“What?” She asked as she poured the wine and handed the glasses to them before she settled back into her chair with her glass and crossed her legs. “Can a mother not be happy for her daughter? And come on, I want all the details.”

Anthony laughed at the very large drink of wine Tess took and kissed her temple. “There’s not much to say,” he answered for her. “It was after Ellie’s birthday and I couldn’t stop looking at her and I just couldn’t keep my feelings to myself any longer.” His gaze softened as he looked over at Tess and she smiled despite the blush clinging to her cheeks.

They continued talking over their glasses of wine while Sorel played on the floor, and it honestly didn’t take long before Anthony ended up on the floor with her, managing only a few sips of wine between Sorel and the conversation. And once it was time for Sorel’s afternoon nap, Lisa headed to the kitchen to start preparing for dinner while Tess took Sorel up for her nap.

Anthony followed Lisa, picking up his and Tess’s glasses along the way. He was happy to help however he could and he washed the veggies as Lisa pulled everything else out. She thanked Anthony as she took the veggies from him but shooed him away when he tried to help.

She had just started to half the cherry tomatoes when Anthony took it upon himself to refill her wine glass and Lisa gave him a soft smile before she put her knife down and turned to him. Anthony’s smile slipped at her expression and he put the bottle down before he leaned back against the counter. “I meant it when I said I was happy for you two,” she started, making Anthony take a breath, sensing a ‘but’. “But she’s still my daughter, and without her father…” Lisa sighed before she shook her head and pushed her chin back up. “If you hurt her, I will kill you.”

Anthony breathed a small laugh and nodded. “If I hurt her, I’d let you,” he told her honestly. “But I don’t intend to do that, I promise.” He looked down at his hands as his smile softened. “I’ve never felt this way before, and I know we’ve only been together for a month, but I mean it when I tell you that I hope to marry her one day.”

Lisa softened and she nodded as she stepped closer to him and she gently squeezed his shoulder, “I hope you do, too. But that doesn’t change my warning. I like you, more than I ever thought I would actually, but she’s my little girl.”

His expression softened as he nodded. “I know,” he whispered. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“Good,” Lisa nodded and squeezed his shoulder again. She knew he meant it when he said he wanted to marry Tess, she could see it in his eyes, and though it was early, she meant it when she said she hoped he would. She could still remember the first time she realized she wanted to marry Tess’s father and her heart ached as she pulled back from him.

“And while I have you, don’t get me wrong I love Ellie, but I do hope that you and Tess are using protection. I’m not ready for another grandbaby,” she continued and Anthony’s eyes bugged as he flushed and he opened and closed his mouth as he looked at her, struggling to find his voice as Lisa turned back to preparing dinner.

And, naturally, that was when Tess stepped into the kitchen and she slowed in her steps as she took in her boyfriend’s flushed appearance before she looked to her mother. “What are you two talking about?” She asked slowly, not sure if she really wanted to know.

Lisa gave her an innocent smile that made Tess’s heart drop to her stomach. “I was just making sure you two were using protection,” she replied simply and Tess felt her heartbeat in her ears as she blushed.

“Mom,” she said sharply.

“What?” Lisa asked with a shrug. “One grandbaby is enough for at least another year. Then maybe you two could start trying for another. You don’t want to have them too far apart in age, you know.”

“Mom,” Tess begged, unable to look in Anthony’s direction, but Lisa’s smile only grew and she watched her daughter carefully as Anthony reached out to pull her close and Tess pressed her face into his chest, unable to meet either his or her mother’s gaze.

Young love, Lisa couldn’t help but think to herself. Such a beautiful and precious thing.

#anthony beauvillier #anthony beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier story #anthony beauvillier x oc #anthony beauvillier x reader #isles #islanders imagine #new york islanders oneshot #hockey #hockey rpf #hockey imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #mine #Life As We Know It #mat barzal

[melis-writes]

Moth to Flame [Michael Corleone x Reader series, 18+ Smut] Oneshot – The Engagement.

Read on AO3 / Chapter Masterlist. / Fic Playlist.

Oneshot based in August 1949.

“You’re going to be my wife soon and I intend to spoil you for the rest of my life.” / “I didn’t know Miss Ferrari rejected my marriage proposal for Don Corleone’s youngest son.”

With just a mere few weeks left until your wedding day with Michael, you both have been taking each and every opportunity possible to see one other–simply unable to get enough of each other. Eager to get to know your fiancé and share your interests and what you both have in common with one another, being spoiled by Michael, taken to picnics, trips in his Alfa Romeo and romantic dates are just scratching the surface of how your engagement period is going with him. Allured by you, there's a growing romantic bond Michael's never felt towards any other woman he's had in his life. There isn't enough time in the world for Michael to spend with you and as he takes you out to a restaurant with mob ties for a date, the last thing Michael expects is to find the rivalling Don of the Corleone family had proposed to you first.

[WARNINGS]: Depictions of smut & sexual themes / Heavy fluff.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: The next Moth to Flame oneshot is here and it's an amazing request by @thenightowl22! 🥰🙏🏻 I've taken a spin on it by basing it on Michael and Victoria's engagement period in late summer of 1949 as the couple spends more time with one another, excited for their upcoming wedding day and taking any chance they get to see each other. 😍 What differentiates Victoria's chemistry and love with Michael versus how Michael felt for Kay and Apollonia in the past will be revealed and of course, Michael comes to a bitter realization himself that he's not the only one in love with Miss Ferrari, nor the first to propose! 👀 This oneshot is more heavily dialogue based than others as it builds on Michael and Victoria's relationship, and there's definitely no mistaking the love and desire these two have for one another!!

1949. Your name is Victoria Ferrari, and you’re the only daughter of one of the most powerful mafia families in New York—the Ferrari’s. When the Ferrari family began to gain heavy influence and power, it struck a power imbalance with the Corleone’s. To bind the families together as one in an offering of peace, friendship and business, you are to be married to their youngest son, Michael Corleone. As you ensnare yourself in the life of a mob wife by Michael’s side, what you don’t know is his old ties with Kay Adams, your best friend from Dartmouth, and that he returned from Sicily a widower. A ruthless mob boss to be, you unravel Michael’s dark past and the brutality that has changed his personality. You find yourself adapting to your new life, betrayed by those you love most, and in high profile to Ferrari and Corleone family enemies. Falling deeply in love with Michael, you enter a life and marriage filled with secrets and darkness. Bearing his children, supporting his crime empire and following him into the shadows, you’re unable to deny your passion and desire to the new Don. When it comes to Michael Corleone, you are but a moth to a flame.

[ August 1949. ]

Engaged to you officially as your fiancé for a little over two weeks now, Michael has spent almost every bit of his free time indefinitely seeing you and being by your side.

Spending almost every day with Michael is all you want to do; endlessly and for hours on end, keeping you too excited to sleep and up early in the morning to prepare for a date with your future husband.

Both of you have spent the time span of these last few weeks getting to know one another in every regard possible.

There’s simply too much to talk about; one conversation deepening and leading to another, filled with interest and things in common you have with Michael.

Tonight is no exception from all the dates the two of you have been on but only in the sense that Michael’s made special dinner reservations in Staten Island for the both of you at Sapore di Sicilia (Taste of Sicily).

The restaurant in question isn’t simply known for its delicious, homestyle cooking served in luxury silverware or for being an Italian restaurant in the city either, but rather its darker, notorious reputation for being a mob hotspot. 

Only accepting “special” reservations from Mafiosi and their family members alike, Sapore di Sicilia is reserved for higher ranking mobsters only—caporegimes and up.

This includes “civilians” in the family—those who aren’t involved with the “family business” so to speak but are actively aware and in support of it. 

Special dining rooms and arrangements are made for Dons and their esteemed guests for not just an unforgettable meal, vintage wine, and warm service, but for privacy as well. 

Topped off with high security, Sapore di Sicilia is a neutral restaurant in the city and one you and Michael have both frequented before alone on separate occasions. 

It’s been one of your favorite restaurants since your first visit as it didn’t take long to impress you from first bite and service alone, and you’ve been a patron for much longer than Michael solely based on how long you’ve been in the “family business” yourself. 

A part of the family business for over four years now and chosen as Vito’s successor to Sonny, Michael no longer avoids such settings and is rather more pulled to it because you—his future wife—are as much of a mafiosa as Michael is a mafioso.

Michael makes his way down the spiral staircase, tightening his black, silk tie over the collar of his dress shirt and making sure it’s tucked neatly into his waistcoat.

Michael’s dressed in an immaculate, three-piece black suit, matching socks, and dress shoes newly tailored for him.

His hair is very lightly gelled to keep it in place and style; neatly brushed back through the middle and towards his right. 

As Michael heads towards the foyer, he’s not the only one passing by the corridor as Sonny steps out of the kitchen with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two shot glasses held tightly in the other. 

Michael almost doesn’t even notice Sonny’s presence as he continues walking to the door until Sonny spots the state of his brother just before he comes to approach the living room.

“What are ya goin’ to a funeral or somethin’?”

Contrasting to his younger brother’s formal wear, Sonny’s dressed in a plain white, muscle shirt, suspenders, and a casual pair of brown trousers; a typical, relaxed outfit Sonny would wear just about anywhere if he could. 

“Santino,” Michael doesn’t bother to turn to look back at his brother but acknowledges he’s heard him. 

From the living room, Fredo peeks up from his seat on the couch to spot Michael just by the foyer at Sonny’s comment, unaware Michael was going out to see you tonight, to begin with. 

“Thought you were goin’ all dolled up for a date and now look at you.” Sonny chuckles, gesturing to Michael’s clothing with the whiskey bottle. “Makin’ a statement to that Ferrari girl?” 

Michael ignores Sonny’s comments outright, continuing to walk past. “Hello to you too.”

“Yep, he’s going to see her, alright!” Sonny raises his voice for Fredo to hear as he leans his back against the doorway of the living room. “Ya hear that, Fredo?”

“Sonny, that uh—‘Ferrari girl’—is Michael’s fiancée now.” Fredo peeps up.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sonny rolls his eyes. “I know it, the seven families know it. Where is ya goin’, Mike? Takin’ her somewhere fancy?” 

“Sapore di Sicilia,” Michael answers back without turning around to look at either of his brothers.

“Ooooooh,” Santino’s eyes flash with playfulness. “Fancy, fancy. You gonna eat more than just the food there?”

Fredo covers his mouth to hold back his laughter as Sonny chuckles to himself at his own provocative question.

Michael rolls his eyes, but it’s not as if he hasn’t asked himself the same question before.

After all, all Michael could think to himself during the first few days of your engagement when he approached you outside was to take you back into the greenhouse and bury his face in between your legs till you were practically screaming out Michael’s name.

Just a little fantasy Michael kept to himself of course, but the both of you know there’ll be room for little to no physical affection let alone anything sexual under your wedding night.

“Hey, Mike!” Fredo speaks up, waving at his brother. “That sounds like fun, have a good time tonight!”

“Thank you,” Michael replies in a monotone voice, beginning to open the front door of the manor.

“Yeah and make sure ya bring somebody with you because a girl like that certainly will. Don’t want any of her brothers decidin’ they don’t like you.” Sonny smirks, having much too fun teasing Michael over you any chance he gets. 

Both Sonny’s sense of humor and playful comments about you don’t affect Michael in the least bit, although Sonny’s general joking never did in the past either.

Regardless of who mentions your name in whatever manner, whether they’re simply talking about you, what you’re doing, something you’ve achieved, or anything of the sort, Michael’s mind cuts off in the sense that he ignores the world around him in an instant to think about you and you alone.

Nothing and nobody can get to Michael at that moment where all he feels is a sense of desire coursing through him.

Your face comes to his mind and with it, Michael remembers your charming voice, the scent of your perfume, and your soft touch accompanying Michael’s thoughts as if he’s almost in a momentary trance himself. 

Michael steps down the porch and looks up to face his Alfa Romeo parked facing the Corleone estate in the driveway. 

Al Neri who was leaning against the vehicle moves off and opens the driver’s seat door, knowing Michael has made it clear to him today that he will be driving instead.

Michael’s come to be tired of being driven everywhere by two, three, even four or five bodyguards at the same time. 

Although there’s tension between the seven families and power dynamics brewing, there remains to be no true imminent danger and if anything, to Michael it seems he’s only looking to cause trouble and look conspicuous by constantly being carried everywhere by bodyguards. 

It’s no different from you as you and Michael both agreed when Sonny muttered a comment last week saying “we already have security up the ass following us everywhere”.

Both of you—if anything—want to see each other in a casual sense, not as if two rivaling Dons are going to dinner to decide if they want to kill each other or not.

Michael gives Neri an acknowledging nod before getting into the driver’s seat. Al Neri sits in the back seat to Michael’s right instead of being directly behind him and remains quiet as his boss starts up his car.

Getting comfortable and secure in his vehicle, Michael’s driving the exact same model of Alfa Romeo he had in Sicily; the same car that his wife, Apollonia, blew to smithereens in after Fabrizio’s betrayal. 

Michael no longer remembers nor cares about the ordeal and the sight of his vehicle brings no memories to his mind; a telltale sign he’s over the incident of Apollonia’s death and every memory he made alone and with her in Sicily, driving the same car.

“Well, well.” Sonny exhales deeply, taking a seat across from Fredo. “Never thought I’d see Mike like that. He wasn’t even like this with his American girlfriend.” Sonny sets the shot glasses down in front of him and Fredo, beginning to pour whiskey into both.

“I guess not,” Fredo replies, sliding his whiskey glass over to himself. “That’s all Mike’s business, though. Miss Ferrari is a different woman.”

“Uh-huh.” Sonny puts the whiskey bottle down. “Ferrari, huh? I always admired the Don. Never thought I’d be able to see him in person or like this. Hope Mike doesn’t blow this one up then, huh?” He snickers.

Fredo glances at Sonny, a little uncomfortable at the joke he’s made before Sonny asks further, “whaddaya think?”

Fredo shrugs, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Victoria’s not anything like Kay, but I don’t know her that well.”

Sonny snorts, gulping down his drink. “That’s for sure. Mikey’s all grown now, sayin’ he doesn’t wanna be in the family business but now he wants to marry a mobster’s daughter. Nothin’ like Connie either. We’re talking a real mafiosa. In on everything too.”

“Good on him, then.” Fredo nods, knowing if anything, he was friends with Kay but remains a complete and utter stranger to you still. “I can’t really say anything on the matter.”

“Yeah, well,” Sonny plops back down on the couch, relaxing his muscles. “Let ‘em get married first and then we’ll see. That’s when the fun starts. Next Corleone bride to join our family.” Sonny licks the whiskey off of his lips. “Victoria Ferrari, huh…” 

~

As Michael gets comfortable in his seat and is about to start up the car to pull out of the driveway, he pauses for a moment when he notices a flicker of red from the corner of his eye.

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Michael turns his head to the passenger seat next to him and notices something loosely tucked between the seat.

Furrowing his brows in confusion, Michael reaches his hand over and tugs at what appears to be a silk, red hair ribbon of yours. 

Instantly recognizing it as he brushes his thumb against the soft silk, holding it in his palm, Michael remembers when he’d taken you on a drive around Staten Island a few windy days ago that you wore two of these red ribbons in your hair that day.

Without even bringing the ribbon up close to his face, Michael can already pick up the faint scent of your powdery perfume and shampoo off it. 

A surge of desire courses through Michael at the scent alone, and for a moment there Michael isn’t even aware of how tightly he holds the ribbon in his hand as he starts up his car with his free hand. 

Michael’s quick to put the ribbon inside of his suit pocket, smoothening out his jacket before his eyes focus back on the road to drive out to Sapore di Sicilia to see you tonight at last.

Michael promised to meet you at Sapore di Sicilia at 7:00 PM sharp and doesn’t waste any time doing so. 

His Alfa Romeo picks up its pace a little speedier than Michael would usually drive, but the vehicle practically glides in Michael’s hands with ease of steering and use; a car he’s come to love since he owned his first one in Sicily.

Michael keeps his eyes fixed on the road as the cool, summer breeze brushes against his skin.

His eyes only flicker momentarily to his 18k wristwatch to check for the time as he avoids driving through busy intersections at this hour to get to the restaurant in a timely manner.

From the moment Michael pulls up his Alfa Romeo to the side of Sapore di Sicilia, he can already see how heavily guarded the restaurant is without even stepping outside of his car. 

Still, Sapore di Sicilia differs in the way that even the private security look as if they’re wealthy patrons of the restaurant.

It isn’t a typical, dingy mob hideout with obvious bodyguards sorely standing out but rather an establishment based on grounds of luxury for specific special guests.

Michael parks his Alfa Romeo, not even bothering to look back at Al Neri as he hands the keys back to him.

“Sir.” Neri acknowledges taking the vehicle’s keys, quickly stepping out so he can pull open Michael’s door.

“Corleone.” One of the front guards at the door murmurs to the other by his side, eyeing Michael’s car. “Don Vito’s youngest son.”

Neri tells Michael something about joining him inside as soon as he has the Alfa Romeo parked, but Michael isn’t listening as the only thing he notices about his surroundings from the moment he steps out of his car is that neither you nor a Ferrari family vehicle is anywhere to be found.

Half of Michael thinks you’ve already arrived and the other assumes you may be running late. Either way, he ignores Neri and moves towards the entrance of Sapore di Sicilia.

“Tavola numero trentasette.” (Table number 37.) The guard to Michael’s left tells him. 

“Grazie per il vostro patrocinio.” (Thank you for your patronage.) The other speaks up.

Without as much of a glance in either of the security guards’ direction, Michael walks into Sapore di Sicilia; his eyes anticipating seeing you above all.

The restaurant is as luxurious and decorated as well as built with Sicilian architecture just as Michael’s remembered it from his last visit. 

Al Neri follows Michael from behind at an appropriate distance for extra security measures as Michael spots only a few patrons inside, despite Sapore di Sicilia having seventy-five tables scattered around the restaurant comfortably.

Tonight, only twelve Mafiosi dine inside, although the number of patrons as well as who the patrons are naturally change from time to time.

You on the other hand have arrived exactly five minutes earlier than Michael has already seated at table thirty-seven. 

The extra five minutes provided you time to quickly head into the women’s restroom and touch up on your hair and makeup just in case; both something you’ve always done on dates you’ve felt overly excited for and wanted to look your best. 

Tonight, you’re dressed in a full skirt, champagne-colored, layered chiffon dress that drapes over your collarbones and flatters your figure; an elegant piece you’re wearing for the first time. 

You’ve styled your hair into neat victory rolls that come down close to your shoulders, and the jewelry adorning your neck and wrists is that of small sapphire earrings encrusted in gold and its matching necklace and bracelet Michael gifted you on your last date with him.

“Per te.” (For you.) Michael breathed softly over your neck as he brushed aside your hair gently, clasping the dazzling sapphire necklace over your collarbone.

“Non dovevi.” (You didn’t have to.) You blushed, placing your fingers over the gems as Michael secured the necklace over you. “È assolutamente stupendo.” (It’s absolutely gorgeous.)

“Voglio fare molto di più.” (I want to do so much more.) Michael answered as he moved back to face you on the picnic blanket. “Dal momento in cui li ho visti, ho capito che volevo che li avessi.” (From the moment I saw them, I knew I wanted you to have them.)

Your face stung with blush as Michael picked up another piece of matching jewelry from the gift box—a bracelet to match the earrings and necklace. “Per la mia fidanzata.” (For my fiancée.)

“Il tuo linguaggio d'amore è fare regali, vero?” (Your love language is gift-giving, isn’t it?) You asked Michael with a shy smile.

“Uno di loro, si potrebbe dire.” (One of them, you could say.) Michael gave your hand a gentle squeeze before he pulled it up to his lips for a soft kiss.

“Grazie.” (Thank you.) You thanked him as you attempted to ignore the swarm of butterflies rushing in your gut.

“Prego.” (You’re welcome.) Michael gazed up at you as he parted his lips from the back of your hand. 

Michael’s gaze falls upon you from across the room—only at a short distance. He stops the moment he spots you, taken back by your stunning appearance as you rest your chin over your fist and gaze off to your side.

Your dazzling sapphire earrings glisten under the chandelier’s light that illuminates your face, bringing attention to the color of your eyes but Michael’s eyes don’t know where to look at you first.

Noting how beautiful your hair and dress compliment you, Michael feels an insistent pull in his heart; one of desire and striking attraction to every inch of you that pulls him to you.

Before he’s even aware of it, Michael finds himself moving towards you and it’s the motion of his movement you catch from the corner of your eye that diverts your attention to your fiancée approaching you.

Your heart skips a beat the moment your eyes find Michael and you’re unaware you’ve bitten down on the corner of your lip. 

Just at his mere appearance alone from his neatly slicked-back dark hair to the way his three-piece suit clings to his body the way you wish you were sends a swarm of butterflies rushing in your gut.

‘Michael.’ Your calm demeanor returns back to excitement as your cheeks flare scarlet with blush, feeling hot to the touch.  

You slowly rise from your seat to greet Michael respectfully, smiling shyly at him as he comes up to your table. “Mr. Corleone, welcome.”

‘Mrs. Corleone,’ Michael thinks to himself as he takes your extended hand in his, planting a kiss over it. “Miss Ferrari.” Michael’s eyes gaze into yours, “you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you. You clean up very well yourself.” You can’t help but feel the blush double in your cheeks as you both pull away to take your seats.

“And you’ve arrived earlier than me?” Michael pulls in his seat, getting comfortable.

“Did you think you’d get here before me?” You ask back, your tone of voice somewhat teasing at him.

“Maybe.” Michael rests his elbows over the table, “or maybe I was expecting you to arrive at the same time I was.”

“I make it a habit to surprise others with my appearances.” You smile back at him. “You know I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“You certainly live up to your reputation.” A ghost of a smile forms over Michael’s lips as his eyes wander over the sapphire jewelry set he gifted you adorning your ears, neck, and wrist. 

“I try to.” You let out a soft laugh, glancing up to see a waiter approaching your table and placing two small menus in front of both you and Michael.

Sapore di Sicilia isn’t a pick-and-order restaurant but rather the entire meal for the evening is chosen by whoever makes the reservations—falling to Michael on this occasion. It provides smooth and speedy service with no questions asked or conversations interrupted over a fine meal. 

Your eyes look down on the menu to read out tonight’s meal that you’ve had no knowledge beforehand of, unlike Michael who planned everything.

‘Il pasto di stasera inizierà con un antipasto di caponata al sugo di Agrodolce, piatto unico di Pasta alla Norma con un delizioso e famoso dolce siciliano di cannoli ripieni cioccolato e pistacchio.’ (Tonight's meal will start with an appetizer of caponata in Agrodolce sauce, a main course dish of Pasta alla Norma with a delicious and famous Sicilian dessert of chocolate pistachio stuffed cannoli.)

“Delicious.” You murmur to yourself in awe.

“You surprised me last time.” Michael pushes the menu away from him to the center of the table. “I briefly mentioned at our first engagement dinner that espresso flavored cannoli was my favorite kind, so the last thing I expected was for you to bring a platter of it on our picnic after.”

“What can I say?” You beam back, remembering how Michael’s eyes widened at the sight of the stack of fresh, creamy pastries before him during a picnic date. “I’m very observant and you happen to have a sweet tooth.”

Michael chuckles quietly, watching as the waiter pops a bottle of vintage red wine open, filling two glasses halfway for the both of you. “I find it thoughtful, honestly. And those,” he gestures up to your jewelry. “You wore them today.”

“I did.” Blushing, you place a manicured hand over your sapphire necklace. “They’ve become my favorite set to wear almost instantly. Thank you, Michael.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for.” Michael pulls his wine glass to himself as the waiter leaves. “I want to see you in luxury. You’re beautiful.”

Michael notices how quickly your eyes flutter as you peek down at your wine glass in shyness at his compliments. “Thank you even though you spoil me too much for my own good.”

“Get used to it.” Michael takes a small sip of his wine. “You’re going to be my wife soon and I intend to spoil you for the rest of my life.”

You giggle quietly. “Your love language is gift-giving just like you told me.”

“I’ve never heard the term ‘love language’ until you brought it up to me.” Michael holds onto his glass of wine. “But I’m not going to disagree with you now. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a material gift.”

“Time spent together and affection is mine.” You admit, blushing furiously. “They mean everything to me, actually.”

“Which unlike the gifts I’m happy to get you, your father doesn’t quite approve of the affection part near him just yet.” Michael swallows down his wine.

Michael and you have been engaged for a little over three weeks now with the wedding preparations in full swing on behalf of both your families. 

Your wedding date is set within the next two weeks, marking the end of the summer and the beginning of your life as Mrs. Corleone. 

During the first week of your engagement and specifically the early days, you and Michael spoke plenty about the upcoming wedding and when it would be planned down to the invitations, guests, color theme, cake, setting, and so forth to ensure a beautiful ceremony and celebration for the both of you.

Michael insisted specifically on getting all the details from you on how you wanted and preferred everything to be, knowing it’s very well in his power to make it happen and mark the day as beautiful and memorable above all. 

After the majority of the wedding preparations were finished, you and Michael didn’t speak constantly about prepping for it or how your home life would be whenever you two saw each other. 

You and Michael have constantly found any and every reason to talk to each other over just about anything. Deep conversations would last you two hours on end and it still wouldn’t be long enough for either of you.

You especially have come to realize and hate how dreadfully slow time passes by at work or in court, but how six to eight hours would fly by when you spent it with Michael.

Every fiber of your being wants nothing more than to savor each and every minute you have with your fiancée, and little do you know how Michael feels the same. 

“Yes, that’s true.” You giggle, “though you have me all to yourself tonight so it shouldn’t be a problem.” You peek up to see the waiter serving both of you the appetizer plate of caponata.

Michael’s eyes flash with amusement at your comment as he knows he doesn’t need to be reminded as to how Michael’s going to make up for the lack of physical affection he’s been craving from you all week.

You instantly pick up the delicious scent of the fried and seasoned aubergine and vegetables over your plate.

Seasoned and mixed with olive oil, celery, olives, capers, and tomato sauce in a rich sweet and sour agrodolce sauce consisting of vinegar and sugar. 

It’s not the scent of the dish that Michael focuses on, but rather how he can pick up your floral perfume lingering off your neck and collarbones and the fact Michael’s lips still feel hot from kissing the back of your hand.

“Then I hope you don’t mind I’ll make it up to you tonight.” Michael reaches his hand out towards yours over the table.

“Not at all.” Blushing and smiling, you hold his hand back and watch as Michael grazes his thumb over your dazzling, princess-cut, diamond engagement ring. 

“How do you feel about the upcoming big day?” Michael picks up his fork with his free hand, beginning to eat.

“Couldn’t come fast enough,” you admit shyly, biting into a piece of aubergine. “It’s all anyone’s been thinking of for these past few weeks.”

“What isn’t exactly mentioned is our honeymoon.” Michael swallows down his food. “Though that’s left to you and me personally.”

“They won’t talk about that, no,” you laugh, shaking your head as you reference both of your families. “Is there anywhere you had in mind?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Michael takes a slow sip of his wine, “it’s completely up to you to decide.”

“I feel like you already know.” You blush, lowering your eyes back to your plate. “I can’t help but want to go back to Sicily again.”

“We can do that.” Michael nods. “When was the last time you visited?”

“About three years ago or so I think,” you tell him. “Maybe four? I haven’t been back for some time now. Though I’ve been traveling with my cousins and brothers all over Europe in the past five years alone…there’s just something bittersweet about being back at home.”

“I agree with you.” Michael gazes back at you. “Sicily’s beautiful. No doubt it’s a little more different than I remember it.”

What Michael doesn’t tell you, however, is the fact that the last and only time he’s been in Sicily was in 1946 when you were there as well. “I still find it a coincidence you were born in Corleone like my father and grandfather before him.”

“Mhmm.” You give Michael a warm smile. “My family’s had roots all over Sicily for as far as we can trace back. Maybe it was fate then, hmm? That our fathers would meet?”

“That,” Michael nods, “and the fact they’d become who they are now was inevitable. All the Dons here in the United States know one another, but many forget about whose in Sicily from the moment they leave. It’s never just been seven families.”

“Exactly.” You pick up your wine glass; your other hand still laced with Michael’s. “Especially with Tattaglia and Barzini sponsoring many of their newest buttonmen and even capos from Sicily.”

“They’re nothing but trouble.” Michael replies coldly, “both of them.”

“They’ll sit tight.” You reassure Michael. “Especially with our marriage. Even they can’t argue over a family agreement.” 

“Because of our decision above all.” Michael squeezes your hand. “I’m not just marrying you for the sake of ‘family business’ bonds and last names with meaning. I wouldn’t even consider it.”

“So you knew you liked me from the moment you saw me?” You raise your brows, blushing.

“I’ve always been attracted to you if that’s your question, yes.” How Michael’s able to keep his gaze over yours at this moment where you think to yourself you can’t possibly blush any harder is beyond you. 

“But even then the both of us knew we could break off this engagement if we didn’t want to be with each other.” Michael squeezes your hand again as if to get your full attention for what he’s about to say next. “Because that’s important to me.”

“It is to me as well.” You nod at him with a shy smile. “All of this is.”

“What’s important—” Michael rubs his thumb over your fingers gently, “is that we care for each other, that we understand one another. If there was anything pulling me away at that moment, we wouldn’t be here tonight. I can promise you that. You already surprised me then since you said you weren’t spoken for.”

“I could say the same for you, couldn’t I?” You can barely focus on eating your food with the conversation at hand. “But do you think it would ultimately matter?”

“Perhaps your family wouldn’t be willing to suggest a marriage with anybody if they knew their daughter was seeing someone.” Michael lets go of your hand but let his touch linger over your skin as long as possible before he does so. “And even so, you’d tell me, correct?”

“Mhmm, I would.” You agree, taking another bite of your meal. “I’d expect anybody to in that case.”

“I wouldn’t want to take you away from someone else,” Michael notes, glancing down at his plate. “But at the same time, it’s difficult for me to say.” Michael clears his throat, knowing where this conversation is headed. 

“What about Kay?” You ask curiously, just as Michael expected. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Michael, I never would have known or expected her to be…a former lover of yours in any kind.”

“Do you blame me?” Michael’s eyes flicker back to yours.

“No.” You reply. “I blame her, honestly. She never told me the two of you were together. I’d say it’s none of my business but she is…err, was, my best friend.” You hesitate over your words, “and um… We told each other everything. It still sounds so strange to say, like it’s not true but it was just like that. We didn’t hold back on the details of anything either. I thought maybe she wasn’t sure of your relationship so she didn’t want to pour her heart out to me only for me to remember just how you’d break it or something. Maybe her parents didn’t approve of you—”

“They did.” Michael cuts in, confirming. “Perhaps not so much of what they heard about my father in the papers, but personally for me, they did. Kay can be secretive when she wants to be.”

“Then there you go.” You gesture back at Michael with your fork. “Then there really was no reason for her not to tell me. I honestly couldn’t help but feel hurt the very first time I realized all of this. She wasn’t your secret and you weren’t hers either. But towards me, I guess it was different. I’ll never understand it.”

“Does it bother you?” Michael questions.

“Not at all.” You shrug your shoulders. “You were together. That’s in the past. I’m an adult, I’m over it, it has nothing to do with me. I just wonder sometimes, but only if a conversation like this comes up, you know?”

Michael gives out a quiet sigh. “It’s disappointing for her. I did wonder for myself at first as well but I’m working for my father now, as you know. It’s different.”

“You’re different.” You smile at Michael, pointing it out.

“Yes, that’s true.” Michael sets down his fork against his plate. “And if I was anyone else truly as far detached from my family as I may have been 1945 and beforehand, then maybe things would be different. But they’re not.”

“I see.” You say back in a quiet tone. “I understand that.”

“I can’t subject Kay to any of this and it doesn’t make sense anyway.” Michael eyes his wine glass. “If the love is gone, you don’t need to make anyone understand anything.”

“No need to complicate things further?” You offer.

“Yes, exactly.” Michael agrees. 

He knows this conversation could have definitely gone sideways, but you’ve surprised him above all with how open-minded and thoughtful you are with everything.

“And you?” Michael’s quick to change the subject. “You went to Dartmouth, grew up in Sicily until you were ten, traveled Europe as you said—” you giggle as Michael continues, “and so I find it hard to believe you weren’t spoken for.”

“I wasn’t.” You cover your mouth, holding back your giggles. “Mm, not at all. The opportunities we have in life are different when you’re active in the family business, you know?”

“It’s risky then?” Michael raises a brow; a small smile over his lips.

“And not worth it.” You swallow down your food. 

“After all that time you never faltered,” Michael states more than asks any kind of question.

Michael stood up to his family in a way and became his own man by choosing to enlist in the Second World War after Pearl Harbour and again when he came home with an American girlfriend he planned to marry in a matter of months without caring about his family’s opinion let alone letting them meet Kay. 

Michael was under the belief up until the last four years he wanted nothing to do with the family business nor did he care.

Michael thought this belief would last without a doubt himself, and to be able to see his fiancée who concerned herself with nothing but her education, career, and the family business just the way you like it fascinates him. 

“It’s a little ironic, I know.” You chuckle, finishing your appetizer. “I’ve had flings here and there throughout my university years but I lacked a connection to the men who wanted to be with me. There’s no bond, no true love felt or anything like that.”

“You never got too close?” Michael finishes up the last bit of his food.

“There’s no point.” You rest your chin over your first, looking at Michael. “I may have been alone in that romantic regard but I never felt lonely. I had my friends, my sorority sisters, travel to look forward to. Always something to do. I’m too deep in the family business and so I’m in a completely different world than other people. I can’t just stick someone into it and hope it works. It’s very different for me or even my brothers.”

“Interesting,” Michael murmurs, intrigued by your point of view on how the mafia life interferes and mingles with your everyday life.

“Yes, it’s true my brothers chose to marry mafiosa women themselves, but none of my sisters-in-law or sisters-in-law to be are actively a part of it. They remind me of your sister Connie in many ways. Yet still, that’s how my brothers wanted it to be. My parents didn’t even recommend it or mention it to them, and…” Your cheeks feel hot to the touch again with blush. “I’ll be marrying you soon, but my brothers would have no problem marrying an Italian woman regardless, even if she’s not Sicilian. For some reason, it seems a little weird when it’s the other way around, depending on whose gossiping.” 

Michael’s eyes flicker with warmth at your words, and before he can respond to you, you both slightly pull away from the table as one waiter sets down the main course and takes the empty appetizer plates, while another waiter replenishes you and Michael’s wineglass to half full.

“Does it matter?” Michael speaks up the moment the waiters pull away from the table to leave. “Why anyone else thinks it concerns them is beyond me.”

“Why does anyone do anything?” You smile back at Michael, picking up your fork. 

“People like to have something to talk about.” You can sense the annoyance growing in Michael’s voice. “I had similar strange looks and teasing questions when I brought home an American girlfriend, but they didn’t last once they saw my commitment and that I wasn’t laughing with them.”

“You’re right,” you nod, pulling your wine glass back over to you. “It doesn’t bother me, honestly. I know my family wouldn’t be one to gossip over such either. This—our relationship is important to them but not nearly as important to them as it is to us, of course. If I had, let’s say—” a grin spreads over your lips—“brought home my American boyfriend Michael Corleone—” you notice Michael crack a small smile, “then there’d be no questions asked other than ‘what’s his name?’ and ‘what does he do for a living?’”

“Perfect.” Michael chuckles. “How it should be.”

Both of you dig into your main course—Pasta alla Norma—one of Michael’s favorite pasta dishes of all time. 

A delicious mix of spaghetti and eggplant is a popular, staple meal in Sicilian cuisine, dressed in tomato sauce with slices of fried eggplant in between, served with grated ricotta cheese and sprinkled with basil. 

“Mm,” wrapping a portion of spaghetti around your fork and getting a piece of fried eggplant around it, you begin to eat your meal. 

“It’s like that for my sister Connie, you know.” Michael swallows down his food, continuing the conversation. “You like it?” He gestures to your plate.

“I love it,” you blush, biting down on your food. “How is Connie, by the way?”

“Good,” Michael responds to both your statement and question. “She’s excited to get to know you better.”

“I am too.” You nod back eagerly. “She’s very sweet, and I just know we’re going to get along perfectly especially from the time I’ve already spent with her.”

“That’s good to hear for the both of you,” Michael tells you. “You may not know her husband Carlo and there isn’t any reason to either, but he’s neither tied to the family business or Sicilian. You can take that as an example. Connie isn’t a part of the family business herself, nor does she want to be or particularly cares either, but that may be the reason why she hasn’t had any prying ears or gossiping conversations about her marriage.”

“It’s different when you’re a mafiosa.” You give out a soft sigh, nodding. “I can understand that. It makes a huge difference. But does this Carlo know about who your father is?”

“Not entirely but he’s not as stupid as my brother Santino would like to believe.” Michael munches on a piece of eggplant. “I know he wants to be in on it, but my father is strictly against Carlo’s involvement. He just gives his son-in-law a living.”

“I hope that isn’t why Carlo married your sister.” Your eyes widen slightly.

“I hope he isn’t doing a lot of things.” Michael drinks some of his wine, “but we’ll see as time goes on. I can understand why you wouldn’t want the same to happen to you.”

“Money and power can change many things, relationships included.” You smoothen the front of your dress. “And that changes first… That’s why I’ve been telling myself that what’s the point of trying to subject someone to that and then ask why they’ve changed?”

“Maybe that’s why your brothers chose their spouses the way they did.” Michael slowly sets his wineglass down.

“Well, none of them are working in the family business but they’re actively aware and supporting it which is very important to them.” You say back with a shy smile.

“Power move.” Michael comments.

“Definitely is.” You continue eating your meal. “When it comes to marriage and supporting families, like us.”

“I don’t want it to only be that way.” Michael gazes at you. “You know, the potential I see in our marriage and relationship in the future alone through how I’ve gotten to know you as my partner.”

“You know I feel the same way.” Blushing, you extend your hand again over the side of the table; Michael’s just as quick to touch you back and squeeze your hand gently.

“Should you have any doubts…” Michael finishes his pasta.

“No.” You interrupt, pushing away your empty plate. “I don’t have any doubts. Do you…?”

Michael locks eyes with you. “No. Not at all.”

Unable to hold much eye contact with Michael’s smoldering gaze, your cheeks flare up in blush as you quickly look away. “Then there we have it.”

Finding your reaction amusing, Michael leans down to peck a sweet kiss over your hand before both of you pull back to your seats as the waiters approach to serve dessert.

Placed before the two of you as the final, third course are a plate holding a medium-sized, flaky chocolate and pistachio stuffed cannoli. 

Still blushing from Michael’s kiss over your hand, you can feel your heart continuing to race in your chest as you attempt to distract yourself from your fiancé by taking off a bit of cannoli with the edge of your fork.

Michael begins to eat his cannoli quietly for a few moments as the ambiance of the restaurant consisting of soft chatter from other patrons and a soothing, melodic tune played by the Italian band outside surrounds you and Michael.

It’s only a moment later that you look up from your dessert, mentioning, “you’ll have to tell me more about your favorite foods and the like, you know? I wanna know it all so we’re not eating Clemenza’s meatball recipe night after night.”

“Right.” Michael lets out a quiet chuckle. “Enjoy cooking?”

“Very.” You bite down on your cannoli, tasting the sweet cream and pistachios over your tastebuds. “Back at Dartmouth, I told my roommate to let me handle the cooking alone. I brought all my favorite family recipes and cooked and baked so much we barely even thought of eating out once in a while.”

“Mm,” Michael swallows down his dessert, “then speaking of,” he gestures down to his cannoli with his fork, “cannoli is a staple in our household, but espresso flavored is my all-time favorite.”

“Really?” Your eyes light up. “I’ll keep that in mind. Cannoli is my favorite dessert too, and I don’t care how common that may be.” You whine a little, staring down at your dessert. “It’s just so delicious with tons of variety, buuuuut, I have to ask… Do you cook?”

“Me?” Michael raises both of his brows. “If repeating Clemenza’s recipe to feed his capos when nobody’s home or reheating baked beans over a fireplace during the war counts as any kind of cooking.”

You laugh, indulging yourself in conversation with Michael—completely oblivious due to Michael’s relaxed body language paying full attention to you that Michael’s already caught someone else’s eye in Sapore di Sicilia.

From across the restaurant seated in the private, corner booth, Michael’s already been well aware of who's been sitting next to two of his capos and watching his dinner date with you—Don Alphonse Ricci.

It’s almost typical for Michael to notice Alphonse making the same appearances as a bad habit.

Dressed in a light overcoat despite the warm weather, a black fedora, and a three-piece suit while smoking a cigar, Alphonse’s loud voice dining out is luckily drowned out by a mixture of other chatter, dishes rattling in the kitchen, and the band’s music from outside.

Unbeknownst to you, Michael’s been keeping his eye on Alphonse all evening, but it isn’t until now that he notices Alphonse’s attention is set and focused entirely on you and all of you.

You’re not the only woman in the restaurant, but you are the only mafiosa. 

With your current conversation coming to an end perfectly as you both finish eating your cannoli, Michael’s quick to lovingly clasp your hand over the table. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some fresh air with you.”

“Oh, please.” You blush, beginning to rise from your seat with Michael. “With the beautiful weather tonight and the band outside, I wouldn’t want to spend the entirety of our time here unless you did.”

“Tonight’s not about me, darling,” Michael murmurs, lacing hands with you and leading you out towards the back of the restaurant. “It’s about anything you want.”

Michael escorts you out into the warm evening air, ignoring Alphonse’s looks and that of his capos now watching you both as if you two were under surveillance. 

You let out a soft exhale the moment you and Michael walk outside, and you find yourself squeezing his hand.

 You raise your head up to see stars twinkling above in the navy sky, peeking between the grapevines wrapped around the restaurant’s outer gazebo. “It’s absolutely beautiful out tonight.”

Michael’s eyes gaze up, noticing the fresh dangling grapes off the vineyards that Sapore di Sicilia has always been known to handpick and craft their own dessert wines from that you both enjoy drinking.

If anything, the perfect weather with only a bit of a refreshing breeze flowing around the two of you sets the perfect tone for your date with Michael tonight. 

“You won’t get a better view of it all from here.” Michael continues walking with you a little further from the band where the two of you’ll have more privacy to speak without having to raise your voices over the music or stray too close to the restaurant’s exit. 

“Have you had the opportunity to come out here before?” Michael unlaces his hand with yours only to wrap a loving arm around your waist and pull you closer to him.

“Out here? Not as much as I’d have liked to,” you shake your head, feeling your heart rate pounding in your chest from Michael’s touch alone. “Sapore di Sicilia has expanded so much more than from the last time I came here with my family. This is worth it for the view alone.”

“I agree.” Michael’s eyes dart from one star to the next. “Though I suppose we can thank both of our fathers for most of the expansion, hmm?”

“Yes, we can.” You giggle. 

“The notions of being one big family, our roots and history in Sicily…” Michael sighs quietly, walking with you around the courtyard of the restaurant. “It’s resulted in places like this that are far from home, but remind you of it.”

“There’s a sense of tranquility in that, isn’t there?” You shyly look at Michael.

“I can see that, yes.” Michael nods, leading you up to the small gazebo perched in the corner of the courtyard. “Here, I want to show you something, darling.”

Walking up the steps of the gazebo, Michael places his hands over the ledge and points upward into the sky. “See that? That’s the best view from here.”

“Oh my God.” You murmur in surprise, noticing all the twinkling stars scattered so closely around one another. “That’s gorgeous.”

“I remember a sight like this in Corleone.” While you’re distracted looking over the ledge, Michael takes one step behind you only to embrace you with both arms from behind, resting his chin over your shoulder. “Do you miss home?”

Cheeks flushed scarlet and hot to the touch, you place both of your hands over the top of Michael’s to insist on more of his affection. “Always. I’ve gazed up at these same stars time and time again.”

What you can’t feel pressed up against your back is how Michael’s heart rate has increased to being this close to you, picking up the soft scent of your powdery perfume and the shampoo in your hair.

Michael knows he rarely has time spent alone with you like this, and it’s a complete rarity in itself for him to spoil you in the physical affection you practically writhe and beg for. 

“You have a home there,” Michael lowers his tone to a soft whisper, referring to your family villa in Corleone, “and you’ll have one soon enough with me here. Just the two of us.”

“Until then,” you exhale softly, intertwining your fingers with Michael’s. “I wish this moment would last forever.”

“There’ll be better ones to come.” Michael plants a soft kiss on the side of your neck, causing you to shiver in delight from his touch. “Especially ones where your father and brothers aren’t side-eyeing me for showing my future bride affection.”

You burst into giggles, “they’re so old-fashioned that it’s almost funny.”

“I agree.” Michael chuckles quietly, knowing he’s already had a fair share of the traditional courting from his experience in Sicily just to get a seat next to Apollonia at Sunday breakfast.

You both know it’s more of a respect thing than it is rigid tradition. Holding hands, and having Michael kiss your hand, or your forehead and give you a hug are allowed and even encouraged to cultivate love and show one another affection.

What’s beyond inappropriate and downright disrespectful one might assume is kissing, groping, hot and heavy embracing in front of your family or around any stranger outside for that matter. That’s common sense to you and Michael, but it only amplifies how much he wants to do those things to you as soon as he gets the chance to in private.

When Michael was courting Apollonia back in Sicily, it was much more serious and ingrained in the culture.

Michael didn’t mind it and learned a thing or two about Sicilian customs for engagement and marriage, but it frustrated him because he couldn’t get near his future bride to get to know Apollonia better or even just go on a walk together without her entire family trailing around them. 

Apollonia was already extremely shy, so getting any words out of her was squeezing blood from a stone, so Michael may have even assumed wrongly then that having some time alone with her would ease the shyness. 

It’s refreshing to Michael that you aren’t shy and can carry on a conversation with him for hours. It doesn’t just feel like time is meaningless and flies by when you’re together for yourself—Michael feels the exact same and doesn’t hesitate to mention it.

“I feel like I never have enough time with you,” Michael murmurs, pulling his hands back to your hips. “It’s almost ridiculous. The date is over before it even starts.”

You laugh quietly with a nod. “You’re telling me. I don’t even want to know what time it is now. I just want to enjoy this all with you.”

“Mm, me too.” Michael presses his lips over your shoulder, leaving more lingering, hot kisses. “I’ve been impatient for our wedding since the first week of all of this. I want to be able to have more time with you even just to talk about anything and everything. I’m trying not to focus too much on what’s to come.”

“And why’s that?” You reach your hand back, caressing Michael’s face and feeling light stubble against your fingers.

“Because,” Michael kisses the back of your hand softly. “I need to appreciate the time I have with you now before it's gone. You…” He pauses, inhaling the smell of your perfume by the nape of your dress. “You give me a fresh perspective. All I want to do lately is see you, nothing else.”

“Me too.” Your breath hitches as you feel the tip of Michael’s Roman nose grazing against your nose, searching for a spot to kiss your skin again. 

Michael squeezes his eyes shut, only feeling his arousal double towards you. Michael holds himself back from letting his mind wander further for the sake of his arousal being noticeable through his clothing yet he can’t help but imagine if the courtyard was empty—if he knew nobody would come out or even bother to look as to what he would do to you.

‘God…’ Michael guides his hands down your side, wanting just to raise your thigh over his arm and slip his hand through your panties to tease you.

All Michael can think about is how he’d want you to rest your head back against his shoulder, moaning softly as his slender fingers toy with your wet clit. 

He’d spread your dewiness around your entrance and continue teasing you until you couldn’t take it anymore, and then Michael knows if you wanted him to—if both of you could get away doing it outside—he’d gladly unbuckle his belt.

He’d let his erection spring free, let you stroke him while he angles his cock towards your pussy and moans in your mouth through a hot kiss, taking your virginity gently and thrusting upward to fuck you.

Feeling his cock slick through your tight wetness would drive Michael into a frenzy, insistent on teasing and pleasing you, almost desperate to hear you moan out his name even if you two are in public. 

Michael knows he wouldn’t stop there either. He’d quickly fix your dress and take you over to his car, driving it further away from the restaurant before burying his face into your pussy in the backseat. 

Michael knows he’d gladly and eagerly make love to you for hours tonight alone, and that nothing change for what’s to come. 

His arousal, attraction, desire, and love he has for you is a powerful enough force within him that even Michael loses sense of himself around you. He has you as his fiancée now, and he will always want you. 

Michael guides your hips to turn you to face him, letting his fantasy remain nothing but a fantasy. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, closing off any space between the two of you as Michael gazes at you expectantly in silence. 

Blush triples in your cheeks and you can swear to yourself Michael must have noticed by now how flustered and giddy you are from all the affection. 

Michael can already see the inviting look of excitement over your eyes, and he doesn’t waste time making a move toward you.

“If I could have it my way,” Michael murmurs in a low tone, pressing his forehead up against yours. “I’d have already made you mine weeks ago.” As if Michael’s about to say more, his lips remain only mere centimeters away from yours.

Your eyes flutter shut as you can feel Michael’s warm breathing against your lips. His lips brush over yours and just as you two are about to join in a kiss, it’s Michael who turns his face and pulls away from you first.

You blink open your eyes, looking up at Michael in disappointment and surprise from expecting a kiss only to see a look of sheer annoyance cross his expression, but it’s not towards you.

“He’s doing this on purpose.” Michael pulls you to his side, turning to see Alphonse Ricci stepping outside with one of his capos, smoking a new cigar.

“Found me already, huh?” Alphonse calls out from where he stands at a distance from you and Michael at the gazebo. “Your senses are sharp, Corleone. Must have been a skill you picked up at the war.”

“Is this necessary?” Michael raises his brows at Alphonse, refusing to cater to any notions of respect to the street rat others consider a “Don”.

“Relax, angel face.” Alphonse rolls his eyes, beginning to walk up to you both as his capo follows. “I’m just surprised to see Miss Victoria Ferrari here of all people, not you. I see enough of types like you whenever I’m by a university campus.” Alphonse directly mocks Michael, seeing him as unintimidating and definitely not a threat regardless of the fact Michael’s graduated college four years ago and is a major part of the family business now.

Michael doesn’t react to Alphonse’s leering comments, simply keeping one hand holding yours as Alphonse stands by the entrance to the gazebo. 

“I was going to say if I knew Don Ferrari’s daughter would be here, I would have personally made sure the restaurant put on a proper greeting for someone of her stature, right?” Alphonse steps forward, completely ignoring Michael holding your hand nor waiting for you to extend yours.

“Miss Ferrari,” Alphonse takes your free hand, giving it a kiss as he makes eye contact with you. 

Michael almost feels his breathing come to a halt, seeing red the moment he sees Alphonse’s lips make contact with the back of his hand. A surge of jealousy courses through him, spiking up his possessiveness with anger in his eyes towards Alphonse’s bold move. 

“That wouldn’t be necessary, Don Ricci.” Feeling awkward from Alphonse’s presence alone, you take the first opportunity possible to pull your hand back. 

Michael exchanges a glance with you, hiding his surprise from Alphonse but the look in his eyes tells you it’s news to him that you know Alphonse Ricci. 

“Mhm, I see.” Alphonse gestures to the glittering engagement ring over your finger. “He must be my replacement, yes? One you said ‘yes’ to?”

‘Replacement?’ Michael glowers back at Alphonse, disgusted by his sudden forwardness. 

“That’s too bad,” Alphonse confirms it for himself without your answer, clearing his throat. “But where are my manners? I’m pleased to see you here, Miss Ferrari. Sapore di Sicilia is a fine, beautiful establishment and it suits you even though I didn’t understand your company here at first.” Alphonse’s eyes flicker to Michael’s. “I didn’t know Miss Ferrari rejected my marriage proposal for Don Corleone’s youngest son.”

“That’s unfortunate news for you, I take it.” Michael squeezes your hand in reassurance, raising it to clearly show off the engagement ring. “She’s proudly my fiancée.”

“Let me be the first one to congratulate you then.” More of a mocking tone is present in Alphonse’s voice than anything congratulatory. “But you definitely weren’t the first to ask for her hand in marriage.”

You force yourself not to roll your eyes in front of Alphonse’s face for the sake of avoiding any further conversation with him, but from the looks of it, it seems Alphonse is much too entertained by his own mocking comments towards both of you to consider doing anything else. 

“She’s beautiful, you know.” Alphonse gestures toward you, only irritating you further. “She’s a Ferrari daughter, so you’re very, very lucky.”

“You repeat yourself often.” Michael points out.

Alphonse chuckles, brushing off the comment. “It’s just that it surprises me that someone like her would consider choosing a spouse who only dipped his feet in the family business a mere four years ago, so you’ll have to excuse me if I find it a bit hard to believe.”

“If you have any doubts of me coming to succeed my father, you can always arrange a meeting to speak with the Don himself,” Michael suggests sarcastically.

Alphonse furrows his brows in confusion, losing his playful demeanor. It suddenly strikes him that he’s had no such knowledge of Vito choosing Michael as his successor rather than Santino, and even offends him that such news would spread but hasn’t even come to his ears. 

‘Why is he surprised?’ Even you ask yourself this out of surprise as Alphonse’s face gives away his own shock and disappointment.

“That would be best,” you add to Michael’s suggestion right after.

Without another word, Michael leads you out of the gazebo and past Alphonse as if he was never there, to begin with. Ignoring Alphonse and his capo’s presence altogether, you and Michael hold back on a conversation until you’re further down the courtyard to speak freely without Alphonse or his men overhearing.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you know him,” Michael speaks out to you first; his tone of voice is neither disappointed nor upset, but rather curious.

“He’s just his daddy’s puppet.” You roll your eyes. “Taking advantage of the title of ‘Don’ to make himself out as something he barely deserves the respect for. It’s hard not to know someone like him who so badly wants to be known."

Michael chuckles at your comment, nodding. “I agree with you. Spending time with one another is no…” Michael glances at the time on his wristwatch with a small sigh, “exception to even him. I despise this.”

You giggle softly, stopping by the side of the restaurant. “I’m beginning to think you really don’t want me to go home, Mr. Corleone.”

“I’d rather you come home to me instead,” Michael murmurs, taking both of your hands in his and raising them up to glance at your engagement ring. “You never told me Ricci proposed to you before.”

“Michael,” you blush, shaking your head. “If I told you the list of every suitor I had proposing to me, we would just be talking about that forever. It’s completely irrelevant and unimportant to me because I’m not going to marry a mafioso just because I have the opportunity to, and it certainly wasn’t meant to be.” You squeeze Michael’s hands, “because I’m with you now.”

Just as Michael parts his lips to speak back to you, you both hear your chauffeur honking to signal he’s ready to pick you up.

“What was it about time going too fast?” Michael murmurs in annoyance, glancing towards the front of the restaurant.

Laughing, you embrace Michael tightly and rest your head over his chest, making Michael feel as if his heart has skipped a beat just hearing your laughter and feeling you against him.

A rare smile forms over Michael’s face, but his eyes aren’t filled with the same joy and enthusiasm yours carries as you laugh quietly against his dress shirt. 

Just as your laughter comes to an end and you slowly pull away from Michael the two of you gaze up at each other quietly. Only a mere few seconds pass, but it feels like a welcomed eternity for both of you.

It takes nothing from Michael now to make you blush furiously, and both the romantic and sexual tension between the two of you is at an all-time high.

‘I’m always going to feel this way about her.’ Michael’s body aches for you. He finds himself bewildered by your beauty, obsessed with everything and anything about you.

Michael knows he could kiss you a million times, hold you in his arms, make love to you until dawn every night, and still hunger for more. Every part of Michael belongs to you—craves you. 

It’s almost a dangerous feeling of intoxication through the love Michael feels for you, and you know for yourself that if you had even the slightest opportunity of being alone with this man you’d make love to him for hours.

Michael takes a step forward to approach you and cups your cheeks with both hands. You tilt your head up a bit to face him and give in entirely, feeling Michael’s hot lips colliding against yours in a deep kiss.

You pull Michael in as close to you as possible by his shoulders, reveling in the sweet kiss so much so that you feel your lips will ache if he pulls away.

Your chauffeur honks again but you and Michael ignore it, simply lost in the kiss and enjoying every moment of it before slowly parting away from each other.

Michael knows if he had the time and left to it, he’d gently push you up against the wall of Sapore di Sicilia and gladly let your tongue intertwine with his. It’d only be moments until he’d ask to take you home and then Michael wouldn’t let you walk to his car—he’d scoop you up into his arms bridal style and let you kick off your heels for comfort.

Michael’s eyes roam over a peek of your cleavage from your dress. He knows if anything he’d love to slowly inch it off of you, exposing your beautiful body to him inch by inch. Whether Michael would be impatient enough to do it in the car or wait until he’s taken you home is another question altogether.

Sharing a bottle of wine, curled up naked against one another over silk sheets while Michael’s firm hands touch your inner thighs as he murmurs just how good he’s going to make you feel in Sicilian to your ear all remains nothing but a fantasy, for now, you’d both wish to indulge in.

Stunned by the kiss and both questioning yourselves as to why you pulled away, Michael licks his lips just to taste you over his mouth. “Miss Ferrari,” he breathes out, “I want to see you again tomorrow.” 

Blushing furiously and touching your lips, you nod. “I’ll be at New York University as a guest teaching a lecture. You want to see me then?”

“I don’t care, it doesn’t matter to me. I just want to be there to see you.” Michael tells you.

“Yes, okay.” You nod, feeling as if your heart will burst out of your chest at any moment from how hard it beats. 

Michael rolls his eyes as he hears your insistent chauffeur honk for the third time in less than five minutes. 

Giggling again, you place both of your hands over Michael’s chest and peek up at him. “Thank you for everything, Michael. Tonight was incredible and I think both of us can agree on that.”

“Mm, you’ll have to pardon the last-minute, uninvited company then.” Michael tilts your chin up. “Maybe they really do just let anyone in here.”

You laugh at his comment, “it’ll never dull the memory I have of you here, though, and now that you’ll come to see me on campus tomorrow, you know I won’t get a wink of sleep tonight from the excitement.”

“And who says I’ll be able to?” Michael raises a brow. “I’ll still have something to remember you by until then.” Michael reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out your hair ribbon and holding it out to you on his palm. “Last week’s windy drive wasn’t in your favor, but I found this in my car.”

“Keep it.” You beam up at him. “It’ll be a cute little keepsake for you until we get married. That way—” you playfully pink Michael’s cheek, “—you’ll always have a piece of me to remember me by and think of.”

“I think of you all the time.” Michael gazes into your eyes. 

“Not nearly as much as I think of you, honey.” You lean up, planting a sweet kiss over Michael’s cheek “Mm, goodnight, Mr. Corleone. As much as I don’t want this evening to come to an end…”

“Better not stay here with me for too long then,” Michael tells you, “otherwise I’ll really have to tell that chauffer—” Michael hears yet another honk, sighing, “—that he won’t get to drive you home at all tonight. Come on,” he takes your hand and begins to lead you out towards your car. 

Clasping Michael’s hand with a shy smile, you walk with him to the front of the restaurant side by side, regretting every step you take knowing your date night with Michael has come to an end.

Your chauffeur peeks up from leaning against the side of the car, opening up the back passenger seat door as you and Michael walk up to the vehicle. 

“Drive safe, please,” Michael tells your driver before facing you. “And goodnight, Miss Ferrari.” But all Michael can think of is calling you “Mrs. Corleone” instead.

“Goodnight, Mr. Corleone.” Your cheeks sting with blush. “Thank you for tonight and for everything. It was wonderful.”

“My pleasure.” Michael kisses both of your hands before watching you comfortably get into the back seat. “Take care. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be waiting.” You place the palm of your hand onto the window as Michael does the same as your vehicle starts up and pulls away, leaving Michael to watch the trail of your car until you’re fully out of sight and onto the road.

Having waited around the front entrance of the restaurant, Al Neri follows Michael to his car only at a short distance but instead of Michael turning to him to ask about Alphonse’s whereabouts or the men that accompanied him tonight, Michael ignores Neri outright.

Sitting in the driver’s seat of his Alfa Romeo with only the decorative outer lights of the restaurant shining through the windshield and illuminating Michael’s face, all he has on his mind is you and nothing but you.

‘Goodbye, Miss Ferrari.’ Still mesmerized by your presence and affection for tonight’s date, Michael barely focuses as he puts a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, still able to smell your perfume on him.

With his free hand, Michael reaches back into his suit pocket to take out your hair ribbon, gazing at it while he lights his cigarette.

“As much as I don’t want this evening to come to an end…”

For a moment as Michael starts up his vehicle, he takes a deep drag of his cigarette and keeps your ribbon tucked back inside his pocket.

The rest of the drive home may as well be nothing but a dream as Michael takes his time and avoids shortcuts. Anything to make the night last longer and come closer to an end by the time he reaches home so he can see you first thing tomorrow morning is all Michael wants.

“I don’t care, it doesn’t matter to me. I just want to be there to see you.”

Alphonse Ricci couldn’t take the splendor and enjoyment out of your date tonight with Michael even if he tried. Any semblance of annoyance or bitterness towards his appearance isn’t even on Michael’s mind, to begin with.

To Michael’s relief when he pulls up in the driveway of the Corleone family estate, almost everyone’s asleep and nobody even hears Michael unlocking the front door.

Still smoking the remaining half of his cigarette, Michael shrugs off his suit jacket and clutches it in one hand before he heads up the spiral staircase and to his bedroom to retire for the evening.

From the moment Michael enters his bedroom, he feels a warm summer breeze flowing in through his open window and causing the curtains to lightly flutter over the walls. 

Taking a deep breath and another short drag out of his cigarette, Michael’s careful to take your hair ribbon out of his suit jacket before setting it over his armchair. 

He keeps it tightly held in one hand as he unbuttons his waistcoat and dress shirt down entirely, exposing his chest hair and smooth skin under the glow of the evening moon.

Michael runs a hand through his hair, sitting on the edge of his bed and facing the window. It’s refreshing to feel the summer air over his face, again bringing the scent of your sweet perfume to Michael once more.

‘I’m in love with her.’ Michael admits to himself as he looks down at your hair ribbon in his hand, unable to stop thinking about the kiss you two shared outside the restaurant. 

The feeling is alien to Michael in the sense that he’s never felt such a powerful pull from a woman before in his life. 

With Kay, it had always been about having things in common, enjoying her company, her sense of humor, how eager Kay was for affection, and how she could ease Michael’s mind with her conversation. Kay was a breath of fresh air from the life Michael knew back in New York, but her naivety, her nosiness, and refusal to accept Michael’s new lifestyle meant Michael knew he’d have to distance her and his fading love for her proved that.

With Apollonia, Michael was wildly attracted to her in the physical sense where all he wished to do was possess her, but the shy woman curled up to him in bed during their short marriage had nothing in common with Michael, and didn’t understand the new reality of his life or his family, and dulled the romance as Michael realized the powerful desire was one-sided and only based on brief lust.

The feelings of affection, adoration, lust, and admiration Michael has for you are all in the name of love. Michael knows this feeling is new to him, and it’s one that his mind and body know too that regardless of how many years pass, it will never leave him.

In what one can describe as a beautiful longing, what Michael feels for you will haunt him for the rest of his life whether he has you with him or not. He’ll never forget the look in your eyes, the touch of your skin, the way your smile forms, your soft laughter, and the way all Michael can think to himself with you is that you’re everything he could have wanted.

You fell into Michael’s life at the perfect time and the two of you still remain baffled by it. Had you met him years ago, perhaps neither of you would have been interested in one another, but the strings of fate have you bound to this man in such a way that the thought of not being able to be with Michael or ever see him again is too agonizing to bear.

Michael knows there’s a long night ahead of him until he sees you tomorrow. He wants to sleep it off and have the next day greet him at once, but Michael knows he’ll never be eager to go to bed unless you’re lying in it next to him.

#the godfather #godfather #al pacino #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone fanfic #godfather au #michael corleone smut #michael corleone x reader smut #michael corleone #moth to flame fanfic #the godfather x reader #al pacino x reader #godfather x reader #alfredo james pacino #melis-writes

[jackhues]

bad reaction pt. 2 - mat barzal (au #1)

part one has been dubbed the 'bad reaction mat fic', so here's part two loll, also there's two ways i want this to go, so they're going to be aus of each other. here's the first one!

gif not mine!

mat was having an off-week.

that's what the whispers around him said. he was having a bad few days, and wasn't playing up to his usual standards.

nothing was wrong. it was just an off-time for him.

but mat knew it was deeper than that.

the moment you told him you were pregnant, his brain had shut off. the two of you had a silent, but mutual agreement, of having no kids. at least not until you had your lives figured out — whether you were going to spend it together or what.

when he heard you two were having a baby, he got mad. mad at you because out of all the girlfriends and flings he'd had, you were the last one he expected to baby-trap him.

but when he came home, late that night and for some reason completely sober, you were already gone.

the clothes from the dresser, the hair ties you left lying around despite mat's complaints, the jacket that had been sprawled on the back of mat's chair for a month now — every trace of you was gone.

and that's when he realized you weren't baby-trapping him.

that the pregnancy wasn't something you'd wanted, but something that had just happened.

that's when he realized he'd let you go.

"oh fuck," he muttered, rummaging through the drawers before finding his phone. in a rush, he'd left it at home.

he dialed your number, holding his breath and it reached voicemail. he tried again and again, even requesting your location, but it was radio silence on your end.

he dialed your younger brother, sighing in relief when he picked up the phone. his relief was short-lived as your younger brother didn't sound happy with him.

"the hell do you want?" he growled. "stop calling y/n, she doesn't want to talk to you."

"look, i fucked up, okay?" mat admitted. "i know that. i messed up, and i — i just want to explain to her. please. if she — if she wants nothing to do with me afterwards... i get it. i just want to talk to her. please."

maybe it was the desperation in his voice, but your younger brother sighed. "she's at my house. you have five minutes to speak with her, or until she kicks you out."

mat thanked him, running out the door and to your younger brother's apartment. when he finally reached, he knocked, leg bouncing as he wanted nothing more than to talk to you, to see you.

"she's in the room," your younger brother said, opening the door. "you have five minutes, and don't you dare make her cry."

mat gulped, rushing to the room. the door was open, and you were sitting against the bed, watching the princess diaries on the projector.

he winced. if you were watching the movie on the projector — it was bad.

"y/n?" he called out, voice cracking slightly.

your eyes widened as they met his, a part of you not believing your brother when he was mat wanted to talk to you.

"can i — can i explain myself?" he asked quietly.

you paused the movie, motioning for him to come in. "you can sit there."

he sat on the chair, trying to convey how guilty he was.

"i'm so sorry," he told you. "i — i was scared because this — what we have — it was realest thing i'd had in a long time. and i was scared that you were going to baby-trap me, and i'd fallen for it. i shouldn't have reacted they way i did. i should've listened to you and talked to you, and helped you through this. i want to be there for you. i'm here for you now. as long as you let me."

you were silent, digesting his words.

a part of you wanted to be mad at him, but you understood where his fear came from. he was a professional athlete, of course that would be one of his first thoughts.

you'd had over a week to come to terms with the pregnancy, while mat had barely had a day. you didn't blame him for his reaction, no matter how much you'd hated it.

"come here," you patted the bed next to you, allowing mat to sit. "i don't blame you for your reaction. honestly, i should've spoken with you earlier, and we could've talked it out together. but that's what we're doing now. we're communicating, and we're okay."

hearing that sentence come out of your mouth, mat tried not to cry.

he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead. whether you kept the baby or not, he was going to be there for you from now on.

he swore it.

-

tags: @woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme ,  @svechnikovvv ,  @hockeyboysarehot , @emptyflowerpots ,  @mysticaldonkey , @lam-ila ,  @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy  ,  @kjohnson-91 , @gavinbrindley, @hischierdevils , @jackhughesily  , @panarin10 ,  @equallyshaw ,   @power2myheart  ,  @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @hischierhaze, @cinnamonpancakes , @mitchymainer , @lifeofpriya ,  @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 ,  @emsully2002  ,  @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 ,  @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj , @youunravelme

#naqia writes! #mathew barzal #mathew barzal x oc #mathew barzal blurb #mathew barzal imagine #mathew barzal imagines #mathew barzal blurbs #mathew barzal one shot #mathew barzal oneshots #mathew barzal oneshot #mat barzal x oc #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal #ny islanders #isles x reader #isles imagines #new york isles

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Action/Adventure Masterlist

Links Last Checked: November 17th, 2023

A Dementor's Kiss (ao3) - parttimestoryteller

Summary: Phan, kickthestickz and multiple youtubers at hogwarts! Dan Howell, a shy third year slytherin, is befriended by fifth year hufflepuff Phil Lester. Dan is quiet and alone, with little faith in his abilities, but with the comfortable and kind-hearted Phil he will learn to flourish in the wizarding world. This is a chaptered story with each chapter a oneshot in its own right.

A little pixie dust (ao3) - TheWholesomePerv

Summary: Plot: This is the story about four adorkable YouTubers (Phil Lester, Dan Howell, Louise Pentland, and Carrie Hope Fletcher) and their adventurous journey into the magical world of Walt Disney, to save Tyler Oakley out of the hands of mean villains. It's a story of friendship, of adventure and of love! You just need a little pixie dust and a happy thought, then you're good to go!

Butterfly (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: Phil Lester, a lonely writer, finds a dying boy with beautiful black wings on a cold, rainy night in a dingy alleyway. He recognizes the boy as one of the winged men hated by human society. They are considered to be wild, ferocious beasts, but Phil's sympathy forces him to help the boy.

What happens when the boy, considered to be a wild beast, gets too attached and follows him home with an innocent, dimpled smile?

Care to Dance (ao3) - Pilferingstarlight

Summary: Sequel to A Life so Changed. If you haven’t read it I strongly recommend you check that out first.

August, 1921. Nine years after the fated sinking of the Titanic. Phil Lester, though having miraculously survived the event, is miserable and depressed, tormented by nightmares and constant heartache for his lost love, Dan Howell. In an attempt to put some distance between him and what has been haunting him, he moves to New York where culturally, the Roaring Twenties are in full swing. But it is one night at a lavish party held at a mysterious mansion on Long Island that his life completely changes, and everything he has come to know gets turned on it’s side. (Again.)

Eight One Five (ao3) - parttimestoryteller

Summary: spy AU: Dan’s an underage intelligence operative and he’s on a mission. It’s pretty routine; befriend the bad guy’s kid, collect enough information for a conviction and beat some people up. Move on out and abandon the identity assumed. Things get complicated when Dan turns out to be a little too good at befriending Phil Lester. Sometimes good and evil isn’t black and white, and Dan has to decide which lives he can allow himself to ruin.

Elenya (ao3) - parttimestoryteller

Summary: Lord of the rings AU!! (bc it’s about bloody time @phandom) A stable boy from Rohan with a sword thrust into his hands meets a Galadhrim Elf head-on in the Battle of Helm’s Deep. Phil finds himself saving young Dan time and time again, but before the battle ends Dan will find his feet (and his sword grip) and return the favour. Can a light spark in the darkest of nights?

Lion Heart (ao3) - Babel_Fish

Summary: Phil and Dan have been in a long term relationship since they met, though only their close friends know for sure. Things are going very well for them professionally and privately. Something comes out of the blue that rips them apart. They have to find each other will they be able to survive the obstacles thrown in their way.

Motion Picture Soundtrack (ao3) - Young_Rouge_Rose

Summary: Daniel James Howell is a lawyer and a music lover, an unhappy one. He has a distinct plan of where he will be five years from now. Philip Michael Lester was not included in this plan and yet in five years, he moves from an unknown stranger to a permanent fixture in Dan’s life. He is an indie-horror movie director and Buffy enthusiast. Wherever he goes strange things seem to follow. With Phil, all chances of normality are blown out of the water and for once Dan can’t bring himself to care. He is too caught up in books, bears, three-legged cats, and motion picture soundtracks.

Sea of Love (ao3) - troyiesivanie

Summary (tw): Dan and Phil grew up together in Australia and took frequent late night outings, now that Dan has his licence a trip to the beach ends in a way they never could have imagined.

Sirenia (ao3) - potatoesarenotforsex

Summary: Phil is a marine biologist, called in to work on something unusual found off the coast of Australia. Dan is the last thing he expected to find.

Six Ravens (ao3) - iihappydaysii

Summary: Dan meets Prince Philip at a cyberbullying campaign, but what starts as a working relationship grows complicated when Dan realizes he’s falling for the prince and maybe, just maybe, he’s not alone in his feelings. (Part One is complete and is a full story on it's own. Part Two is still in progress)

something extraordinary, i'm sure (ao3) - celestialfics (orphan_account), creativityatbest

Summary: Dan accidentally summons a water-leaching demon while trying to cook his noodles one day, and luckily for him, Phil arrives just in time to help (and maybe hit him over the head). Adventure and magic ensue.

the demons that bring us together (ao3) - itsmyusualphannie (itsmyusualweeb)

Summary: Dan knew he should be doing his patrols of London, especially with Valentine still on the loose, but he gets sidetracked and when he goes to a downworlder cafe, he meets Phil. The warlock isn’t like most downworlders. He is kind and caring, and weirdly enough, attracted to Dan.

The Electricity That Went Out At Dusk (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Or the one where I give everybody powers, x-men style, and watch the awkwardness unfold.

The Infinite Possibility of Us (ao3) - Young_Rouge_Rose

Summary: It began as all good stories do, with an inciting incident. Dan’s just so happened to be almost getting hit by a car, watching a man die before his eyes and somehow falling into a web of alternate realities. Just your usual morning inconvenience. He just wanted a coffee, and to make Phil happy. Now all he wants is to get back home, back to his world, his life, his Phil. Little does he know Phil has found himself in a similar predicament, and what is stranger still is that in all other worlds they seem to be together. Maybe this is the universe trying to tell them something.

The Lovers’ Gap (ao3) - coldphannie

Summary: Dan’s on the greatest adventure of his life. He’s joined by his best friend, Phil. He learns a lot about serving his kingdom, and what’s more, he learns to fall in love.

Phil isn’t his though. Phil is someone else’s.

The Reflection Of My Heart Has Your Smile (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Phil Lester, the legacy of generations of psychic powers, can see things that others can't. He can see the brown haired boy in the mirror, the one with eyes so beautiful it makes his heart beat faster. Dan Howell, who doesn't know his family, is trapped behind a mirror in another world, rapidly falling for the blue eyed, black haired boy who made it his mission to be his friend. But when worlds collide, can they learn to survive in a hostile land, help their friends, and get back home? All while falling in love?

Fantasy/Magic AU, feat. Phil's Grandma, magic mirrors, other worlds, and a whole lot of phan!

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #au #action #action masterlist #adventure #adventure masterlists

[raysofcrosby]

NOW THAT I FOUND YOU – M. BARZAL

requested: yes | no

warning(s): cursing, slight mentions of sex, but other than that, nothing.

word count: 5,868

authors note: welcome to my new series :) i have no idea how long this is going to last, but i’m pretty excited for it. so, first things first, considering what i have planned for the character of jeremy, i didn’t want to use a real rangers player. so jeremy is a fictional dude on the team. i think that’s it for now, i’m not really sure what else i can think of about this series. so, oh well, enjoy :)

my masterlist | stuff i have planned | who i’ll write for | requests

"I can't take it anymore!" Tito said, storming into the locker room and stomping his way over to his cubby. "I am literally going to take her to the Brooklyn bridge and throw her into the Hudson."

Mat looked up from his skates and over at his best friend as he plopped down into his cubby, huffing, and puffing as he got undressed. He looked over at Anders, who was looking at Brass...the three of them all sharing confused looks at their locker neighbor. "Uh, you okay over there Tito?" Anders asked, looking at Mat for at least the slightest hint as to what he could be rambling on about.

"No clue," Mat mouthed, shrugging his shoulders and looking back down as he continued to tie his skate.

"No, I'm not okay," Tito tossed his sweatshirt into his cubby and stepped out of his joggers. "Does anyone want a newly 22-year-old female college student? Because I have one and I'm not opposed to passing her off before I result to murder."

"I'm pretty sure that is illegal, buddy," Jordan said, walking by and patting him on the shoulder. "Both are, actually. Like, highly illegal."

"Oh, God Tito," Matt said, coming out from the bathrooms. "What are you bitching about now?"

"She ironed my underwear." Tito tugged on his pants over his compression shorts and sighed, shaking his head.

"What?" Mat laughed, reaching behind him and grabbing his compression shirt.

"Y/N...she ironed my underwear," he stood up and turned towards his cubby, pulling a pair of ironed boxers out of the duffle he had carried in with him and turned back towards the guys. "I went to grab a pair this morning and I was greeted with this! They're stiff, feel powdery and quite frankly smell like shit–"

"Are you sure that's the soap and not just your horrible hygiene?" Matt joked, tossing a water bottle at him.

"Manchuk...Matty," Tito smiled, turning in their direction. "How do you two feel about having a live-in nanny? Her cooking skills are subpar unless even worse if the recipe comes off of Pinterest. She consumes more wine than water– but she's great with kids."

"I'm just finding it hard to believe your only problem with Y/N is the fact she ironed your underwear," Jordan said, shaking his head. "What's the catch?"

"Yeah, there's got to be something else that has you considering pre-meditated murder," Matt chimed in with a loud laugh.

"I NEED TO GET LAID, all right?!" Tito yelled, tossing his ironed pair of boxers back into the duffle bag. "I need to have hot, drunken sex with a stranger who lets herself out in the morning! I need to get laid so fucking bad, but I can't do it with my sister in the room across from mine! It's gross."

The locker room was silent as his teammates just stared at him. Mat wanted to laugh at his best friend but didn't want to do it at his expense. Sure, he'd been there a time or two, what young guy in his 20's hasn't. But never had he yelled about it to his teammates in such an exaggerated fashion. "Have you thought about telling her that?" Mat asked, grabbing his practice jersey and sliding it on over his head. "Y/N's pretty reasonable, I'm sure she'd agree to go to a friends or something for the night."

"Oh yeah, let me just go ahead and tell my little sister, 'hey, do you mind getting out of the apartment for the night? I need to get my dick sucked. Thanks, don't tell mom!'" Tito sat down to put on his skates, giving Mat a sarcastic look. "Does that sound good to you, Barzy?"

"I don't know about Barzy, but that sounds great to me," Matt laughed as he tied his pants. "Why is she staying at your place? I thought she was in Uni? Doesn't she have a dorm?"

"Nope, she followed her doucheface of a boyfriend down here and he convinced her to stay in his apartment instead of getting a dorm." He stood up and reached into his locker, grabbing his practice jersey. "Next thing I know, she shows up at my door crying, saying they broke up and she's been at my place ever since."

Mat remembered that night. He and Tito were pre-gaming, finishing off their drinks, and waiting for the uber to arrive. They were coming off of a high, absolutely destroying the Maple Leafs 5-0 and that high followed them home. Everyone on the team was going out– it was a well called for a celebration, even the guys with families at home. Normally, the team would pregame together before taking ubers over to whatever club or bar they decided to take over for the night. But those who did have kids at home wanted to stop at home and say goodnight to their wives and kids before heading out.

They were talking about whether or not they wanted to wait up here for the uber or wait down on the street when a knock barely made noise about Tito's playlist. Mat thought he had heard something but wasn't sure if he had confused it with the bass or not. So, he brushed it off. It wasn't until a small break in the song when the two of them could hear three rapid knocks, followed by the sound of your voice coming from the other side of the door, did they know that you were there.

Mat was closest to the door, so he was the one who walked over and looked through the peephole. He knew it was you just based on the sound of your voice from when you knocked, but, it didn't hurt to be safe and check to see who was at the door– that way Tito couldn't blame him if he let a random into his apartment. He recognized the hoodie you were wearing, it was the Beauvillier Islanders hoodie that Tito had gotten you for your birthday just this past summer. Mat told him it was a stupid gift, but Tito laughed, saying that it was his way of tricking you into finally wearing something in support of him since you had stopped wearing Islanders gear the moment you started dating Jeremy last fall. A Rangers player you had met on a girls' night out in the city. "A mix of interests" as your excuse, and Tito was bothered that his sister wouldn't wear his team's logo anymore– but instead, the logo on their top rival.

It was a mess, but one that Mat never, ever wanted to get involved with.

But there you were, dripping wet from the thunderstorm that had been hovering over the city from the moment he walked into Barclay to play. You had the hood on your head and you were avoiding eye-contact with the door– but he knew it was you. So, he opened the door with no hesitations, barely getting out a simple hi before you brushed by him and darted down the hallway, a door slamming behind you.

Tito, in true fashion, paused his music and stomped after you, mumbling about how you were just going to stroll into his apartment, that he pays for, and slam his doors without even saying hello. Mat remembered laughing, just because the Beauvillier sibling dynamic was an interesting one. He came back a few moments later, shoving his phone into his pocket and walked over to Mat. He said that he couldn't get much out of you but the fact that you and Jeremy had broken up and he needed to pay the cab driver downstairs $40 for driving you from Manhattan.

Tito was a good brother. He could be a huge pain in the ass, sure. You and he had had more than your fair shares of endless, rigorous chirping fights that most of the time, left Mat standing there just looking between the two of you like he was watching a match. But still to this day, Mat could never understand why Tito didn't seem all that bothered about how abruptly you had walked into his apartment. Tito had you and Francis, and more often than not, always brushed you off as one of the guys thanks to your tomboy upbringing. Mat had a sister and she's dated one too many assholes for his liking, so he could spot it from a mile away.

Your face was swollen and red and he was more than positive that you had cried the entire car ride there.

And you've been living at Tito's ever since.

"I'm serious, I need her to leave," Tito was following behind him as they left the locker room to head out to the rink. "And I can't just kick her out."

"You literally just talked about shoving her into the Hudson," Jordan laughed, shaking his head. "I think you can do something as simple as, 'hey, maybe you should find someone to stay with for a while.'"

Tito just rolled his eyes as he stepped out onto the ice, skating beside Matt. "I'm serious Barzy, I think she's driving me insane."

"It was one incident, Tito," Mat said, shaking his head. "Y/N isn't that bad."

"It wasn't just one incident," they cut the corner, Mat pushing himself ahead. "She almost burnt down my kitchen trying to make breakup cupcakes. She's redecorated my bathroom with bath bombs and make-up, she even got rid of my Shrek shower curtain!"

"To be fair, that's your guest bathroom and that Shrek shower curtain was hideous"

"Regardless! She's slowly taking over my entire apartment and turning it into her...her...her stupid lovesick breakup reno project!" He tossed his arms up in the air, letting them fall back down and almost hitting Brass in the head. "Oops, sorry bud!"

Mat laughed as they cut another corner, shaking his head. "Have you ever tried talking to her?"

"No, because then she'd get her puppy eyes all going and I'd feel like even more of a douche for wanting her out." He huffed, shaking his head. "I need an excuse, something to just...get her out for a few weeks until I can find her someplace to stay for the rest of the year. Then plead with her housing office to find her a dorm."

"I don't know what to tell you, man." Mat said, skating ahead.

"I'll come up with something, I'm sure I can cash in a favor somewhere." Tito sighed, as the two of them joined the rest of their team at center ice for stretching.

Mat just laughed, shaking his head at his best friend. Sure, if he was in the same position, it wouldn't exactly be his ideal living situation to have his sister living across the hall– but he definitely wouldn't be as against it. At least, he didn't think so.

~

"I've figured it out."

Mat felt his foot slip against the wet tile and his heart practically jumped out of his chest as the slipping feeling. He held his right arm out, holding himself steady against the tile before ducking his head beneath the shower head, letting the conditioner rinse from his hair. He looked over his shoulder to see Tito standing at the opening of the shower area, freshly showered with a towel wrapped around his waist. "Yeah, can we not talk about this right now?"

"I'm just letting you know, I figured it out." Tito smiled, nodding before walking away from the shower.

Mat shook his head, spitting out some water before turning off the water and grabbing the towel he had hung up just to the right. He wrapped it around his waist, shaking his head as he ran his fingers through his hair to get all of the excess water out. He almost dreaded making his way back towards the locker room. Tito had been pestering him all practice, trying to make him come up with ways he could kick you out.

Fake an insect infestation? No, then he'd have to leave his apartment too.

Figure out a way to get some flooding in her room? But then he'd have to hire someone to clean up all of the water.

Every outrageous idea possible had crossed his mind and Mat had to listen to it for the entire practice. As if the practice itself hadn't been draining on him, listening to him go on and on was even more.  But, he was playing the best friend role, and did say he would help him on one condition– it didn't involve hurting your feelings.

"Great, you're here, now listen–"

"No to the insects. No to an animal break-in and we already decided that pouring water on her stuff and saying a pipe was leaking wouldn't work," Mat said, sitting down in his locker and looking at Tito. "What in the hell could you have come up with now?"

"Remember how I said I could cash in a favor?"

Mat nodded, standing up and grabbing his street clothes as he turned his back to Tito. "Yeah, did you figure it out?"

"I sure did."

Mat stepped into his boxer briefs and dropped the towel as he picked up his joggers. "All right? And who's the poor sucker?" Tito hadn't replied as fast as he had been and Mat would be lying if he said it wasn't a little concerning. He tugged the waistband of his joggers up before turning to see Tito smiling at him. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm looking at the poor sucker who owes me a favor." He had his classic shit-eating smirk on his face, the kind cameras always zoomed in the moment he checked someone hard.

Mat blinked once, twice, three times before the reality set in. His brain was racing through every recent time he spent with Tito, never once remembering an event where he said that he owed him a favor. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You owe me a–"

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you said," Mat put his arms through his sweatshirt, tugging his down and over his head before running his fingers through his hair again. "But I don't know what you're talking about. When did I ever owe you a favor?"

"When I saved your ass that night at Nest when you were picking up the redhead but that hot tinder girl with blue hair you invited showed up." Tito stood up and walked over to Mat, still smiling. "I performed the perfect, switcharoo maneuver so that the redhead never noticed you took tinder girl home."

"You took the redhead home! How is that helping me?" Mat turned towards his locker and grabbed his phone and Gatorade, shaking his head. "Besides, that was two years ago."

"It was a win for both of us! You didn't get totally bitchslapped in the club and I got laid," Tito followed behind him, staying on his heels. "It may have been two years ago, but you still said, 'Tito, man...I owe you one.'"

"I don't–"

Tito cut him off, standing in front of him as they stood in the hall. He crossed his arms, his smile falling from his face. "And now I'm cashing it in. You're helping me get Y/N out of my apartment."

Mat rolled his eyes, resting his hands on his hips. "And how exactly am I supposed to help you with that? You've literally exhausted every plausible option." When Tito didn't come up with a reply, Mat just shook his head and brushed by him.

"I've got an idea bro, I swear," He jogged up behind him as they walked out of the arena to head towards the parking lot. "But, you're probably not going to like it."

As the crisp fall air greeted them, Mat could hear the voice in the back of his head telling him not to entertain Tito. A gut feeling deep inside that this wasn't going to work out– none of Tito's ideas ever worked out. "What is it?"

Tito hesitated, unsure just how his best friend would reply. Sure, he's had plenty of other crazy ideas before– but this one might just be way out there. But he didn't care, he was a young, physical and thriving man in his early 20's– and at this point, he didn't care about logical reasoning. He just desperately needed to get laid. And if that meant brushing his sister off onto his best friend, he'd do it.

"You're going to pretend you're utterly heartbroken from some break up and can't be alone–"

Mat stopped in his tracks, whipping around to Tito with wide eyes. "Dude what the–"

"Y/N is a total empath and when I tell her all about your emotional turmoil and that I don't know how to help, she'll no doubt step in. Then I'll just figure something out to keep her out of my apartment and boom, problem solved."

"Problem not solved!" Mat yelled, waving his hand at Tito. "Your problem literally has about a million plot holes in it!"

Tito closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sighing before opening them and looking at Mat. "I'm going to need you to hear me out before you say no– which, may I remind you, isn't an option anyway."

Mat took a deep breath and sighed, knowing damn well that somewhere down the line, he'd regret this very moment he even gave Tito the chance to explain. Even his initial explanation seemed so fucking stupid that there was no way it could ever work out. But maybe, if he allowed him to explain, he'd realize just how unrealistic his plan was, and just drop the entire idea then man up and tell Y/N to stay with a friend. "Fine," he stopped at his car, unlocking it so Tito could get into the passenger seat. "But you're buying lunch."

~

This was such a bad idea– he knew it would be. From the moment the suggestion left Tito's mouth the first time, Mat knew it wouldn't work. There's no way it could. Hell, even Liana said it was when he called her for advice after his lunch. And as far as common sense goes, he likes to think that Liana has a lot more

Tito's plan stayed the same– Mat was supposed to play brokenhearted and after lunch, the two of them would go over to his apartment, where you would be home from class. Tito would comment on how Mat 'hasn't been the same' and make a joke about how the two of you should just live together in your misery. You, the empath that you were, would take an interest in Mat's "broken heart" and offer to help in any way. Tito, knowing Mat was actually in the middle of turning the third guest bedroom in his apartment into a man-cave/gaming room and how much you love decorating, I.E. his bathroom, would suggest that maybe you could help him with that too.

It wouldn't work, Mat was convinced of that from the moment the entire idea left Tito's mouth. He'd known you almost as long as he knew Tito, meeting you the summer after the 2015 IIHF World U18 Championship. You were only a year younger than them both and for the three weeks that Mat had stayed with your family, he felt like he got to know you pretty well. You guys weren't best friends by any means, but you were definitely good friends. Your friendship growing when you decided to transfer to Fordham and when you weren't hanging out with Jeremy or your classmates, you were with Tito, Mat, and their teammates.

Needless to say, he was confident walking into the apartment knowing that there was no way that you would fall for this horrible excuse. You wouldn't leave your room in Tito's apartment to come and stay with Mat because he was "too brokenhearted to function." But leave it to Tito to think that you would fall for it. He tried not to break character, he really did. But how the hell was he supposed to pretend to be brokenhearted from a failed relationship, when he's never felt that?

He's had relationships before, sure. Break-ups? Absolutely. But none so bad that he felt like he wanted to drink himself into a slumber or just hide under the covers for the rest of time. He had outlets to get out any negative emotion. He had hockey and he had the boxing classes he attended with Tito every now and again. Besides that, he never had strong feelings for someone to the point where he was feeling what you were feeling.

As predicted, you had agreed to go with Tito and Mat over to Mat's apartment to see just what he had to deal with. He felt a twinge of guilt when you started to ask the simple questions:

How are you feeling?

Do you want to talk about it?

What happened?

He and Tito hadn't gotten that far in the plan– creating a backstory, which should have been another sign that this was never going to end well. So, on the ride to his apartment, he just stuck with short answered replies– "fine" "not yet" "it's still too soon." And he wanted nothing more than to smack Tito in the passenger seat, who was trying his damndest not to laugh.

When they got to the apartment hours later, Mat led you to the third guest room, showing you just everything he had. In a corner on tarps, he had three cans of paint, all unopened and a bunch of painting supplies. In the middle of the room, boxed furniture he'd been too lazy to move. He was barely focused on what you were saying when he felt his phone vibrate and saw Tito nodding at him.

Tito: see? i told u. total diy/renovator. you could get free labor out of this.

Mat: one problem there, bud. she doesn't seem too keen to get out of your apartment. all she's done is offer to take me to lunch for the next week to 'talk about my feelings'

Tito: okay? go talk about your feelings.

Mat: I DON'T HAVE ANY FEELINGS

Mat: I DON'T HAVE A RECENT EX-GIRLFRIEND

"Are you two okay?" You asked, almost scaring the two boys. Mat shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket, staring at you with wide eyes. You had an eyebrow raised and looked awfully suspicious of them both.

"Do you guys want dinner?" Tito asked, already heading towards the door. "I can order some pizzas from down the street."

"That's okay," You said, following him towards the door. "I've got this new enchilada recipe I wanted to try and–"

"No!" Tito couldn't be any less obvious that he didn't want you to follow him, his raised voice causing you to step back and look at him in shock. "I uh, I mean...I already ordered them. Barzy and I talked about it...right?"

Mat glared at Tito, wishing deep down that this plan would fail, but knowing that he couldn't leave his best friend out to dry. "Yeah...we did." He turned to you, crossing his arms. "Hope that's okay."

"No, it's fine," you replied, nodding. "Pizza is good."

Tito clapped his hands together and smiled. "Great, I'll be right back!"

He couldn't have run out of the apartment any faster, leaving you and Mat there standing in the middle of the room. This wasn't part of the plan and Mat was pissed. He stared at the door, contemplating telling you about your brother's ulterior motive to all of this– but it wouldn't hurt Tito...it would hurt you. So he decided against it and turned to you, sighing. "We can go wait in the living room for him to come back."

You nodded and followed him out of the guest room, walking down the hallway. "Can I have something to drink?"

"Water? Wine?" He asked, waving you over to the couch as he stopped in the kitchen. "Tequila?" God, how he wanted a drink. At least it might alleviate the headache Tito's antics were causing.

"It's Monday," you laughed, leaning against the back of the couch. "I guess I could go for some wine."

"White or Red?"

"You have both?"

He laughed, turning around and placing two unopened bottles– one of each. "My mom likes red, I like white. It's her leftover bottle from when she was here a two weeks ago."

"I'll take a glass of white, thank you."

He nodded, putting the bottle of red back into the fridge before moving towards his cabinets and opening the drinking glasses– reaching up to the top and grabbing two wine glasses. When he turned back around, he looked over at you, ready to say something, but he stopped.

You were still leaning against the back of his couch, left arm draped across your stomach as the other held onto your phone. You were chewing on the inside of your cheek, your eyes glued to the screen. He normally wouldn't think anything of it, except for the look on your face. Even from where he was standing, he could notice the frown and the way that your eyebrows were burrowed towards each other. He noticed your fingers on your left hand were fidgeting, plucking at your Fordham long sleeve. Everything about you standing there was just...small, quiet– radiating energy that said, 'I don't want anyone to see me.' Which, in all of the years that he knew you, was the complete opposite of who you were.

He couldn't help but wonder what the hell Jeremy did to screw you up this bad.

He poured your glasses, putting the cork back into the bottle, and made his way to you. You were so lost in your phone, that it wasn't until he cleared his throat, that you realized he was standing there.

"Oh," you stood up a little straighter, putting your phone into your front pocket before taking the wine glass from him. "Sorry, I was just..."

"No need," he said, waving you off. "I don't need an explanation." He walked around the couch and sat down, nodding at you to join him.

You sighed, taking a sip of your wine before sitting down beside him, sinking back against the cushion. "So, Tito hasn't tried taking you to a strip club to help you out of your breakup funk?"

Mat laughed, his head leaning back against the cushion. "No, he hasn't," he took a sip of the wine, tilting his head to the side. "I don't think he'd leave if he did."

"He tried to offer to drop me off at that knockoff Magic Mike, two days ago." He looked at you like you had two heads, his mind spinning in circles at just how long Tito has been trying to get you out of his apartment. "It didn't work, it's not my scene."

"Male strippers?"

"Male strippers that aren't the cast of Magic Mike," you joked, laughing softly as you stared down into your wine. "I don't know, I just haven't really been in the mood to do anything besides go to class and sleep."

He wasn't sure how to reply. Even with Liana, he'd never really been that open with talking to her about his relationships or hers. That was a no-touch topic in their siblingship– only ever talking about it, just to say that they were seeing someone new. Never what happened during or after. Not to mention, he was supposed to be like you, heartbroken. He tried to copy your mannerisms– slumped into the couch, relaxed face– he even went as far as to try and tell himself to copy the tone in your voice.

But all he felt was guilt for playing into Tito's scheme and a genuine need to talk to you about what happened. He just didn't know how to go about it.

Your phone rang before he could ask you the dreaded 'how are you feeling' question, and you sighed, digging your phone out of your pocket and putting your wine glass down on the table. "What, Anthony?"

Mat held back his laughter as he took a sip of his wine. One thing was for sure, your attitude towards your brother hadn't changed from pre-breakup. He looked at you, your eyebrows knitted together as you brought your hand up to your forehead, rubbing it. "What do you mean? Is my stuff–" you sighed, closing your eyes. "No, you won't get electrocuted if you–"

He reached out, bumping his elbow against yours and raising an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

You looked at him, shaking your head as you pulled your phone away from your ear. "He forgot his wallet at home and went back to the apartment– I guess something leaked and my bathroom and room are flooded."

Mat had to act like he was surprised, but if anything he was pissed. This was the one scenario that they didn't agree on– simply because it wasn't fucking plausible. "Well have you talked to him? Maybe there's–"

Your head fell back against the cushion and you closed your eyes, sighing. "I didn't leave a faucet on, I didn't even go into my bathroom before we– can you stop interrupting me?"

He could hear Tito rambling on through the other side of the phone, no doubt barely giving you time to talk because he didn't want you to fill in the gaps of his fake story. "Well, where am I supposed to go?"

Mat chewed on his bottom lip, bringing the glass up to his lips as he knew this was when Tito was suggesting that you stay with him. He couldn't look at you because the guilt was taking over. He could tell you were stressed and obviously, Tito hadn't been exaggerating at just how bad you were after the breakup with Jeremy. And if he looked at you any longer, the guilt would swallow him up and he'd cave in and tell you everything.

"No, I'm not asking–" you sighed, taking a few deep breaths and exhaling before speaking again. "Because Anthony, it's rude! "

Mat felt like reaching over and grabbing your phone, ending the plan then and there. But again, he knew that the Beauvillier sibling dynamic was a lot different than any other one. Tito knew when to stop pushing, you were his sister after all. So, he sat next to you, sipping on his wine and waited for you to ask the question they'd been pushing you to do all along.

"Can you just...ask, please?" His eyes went wide the moment he heard the emotion in your whispered reply. "I can't just...move everything, I don't even have everything. It's all at Jer–" you stopped yourself, sitting up and hunching over, resting your head in your free hand. "And he said that's all that was available?"

He kept sneaking looks at you from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge whether or not the emotion in your voice was leading to tears. He brought his phone out of his jacket, opening to type a message to Tito.

"Fine, I'll...I'll just ask," he froze as you turned to him, holding your phone away from your ear. "Hey Mat?"

He placed his phone face down and away from your sight of vision you couldn't see that he was about to send a text to Tito. "Yeah?" Yikes, that wasn't casual enough. "What's up?" Better.

You were holding back tears and for the first time, he could see the dark circles beneath your eyes, still peaking out from whatever make-up you had put on that morning. Yeah, this plan wasn't good– this on was definitely a punch in the gut. "Do you think I could stay here? I don't have much and I–"

"Yeah, no," he cleared his throat. "No, I mean yeah...you can. I've got the guest bedroom."

You nodded, looking away from him and brought the phone back up to your ear. "There, happy?"

Oh, you have no idea how happy Tito was, was all that Mat could think as he brought his phone back out. "Can I at least come and get some stuff to– Yeah...okay. Yeah, see you."

You hung up the phone and your head fell back against the cushion, eyes closed. Mat looked at you, wondering whether or not he should dare to see if you were okay. He started to reach a hand out to nudge your arm when his phone vibrated.

Tito: IT WORKED! I'M FREE!

Tito: well...at least for the next week i am. i’ll need to figure out another excuse for the extra week i guess.

Mat: dude...i don't think this is a good idea. y/n's like...really emotional right now.

Tito: AND I'M GOING ON A TWO WEEK DRYSPELL.

Mat: okay, get laid tonight and let her come back.

Tito: nope. i'm using all seven days of this time and look on the bright side, now you'll get the guestroom done faster than you planned.

Mat: are you at least coming back with the pizza?

Tito: no, just her clothes. caroline is coming over in an hour.

He laughed in disbelief, shaking his head as he looked at you– still lying in the same position from when you hung up the phone.

Mat: dude, you so owe me one.

Tito: 👍🏻

Mat put his phone back into his jacket pocket and turned to you. He was sure that the movement on the couch would have been enough to get you to open your eyes– but you didn't budge. He reached out and nudged your arm and you opened your eyes and turned to look at him. "What do you think about Chinese?"

"Let me guess, he's not getting the pizza?" You asked, drained of any energy.

Mat bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. "No, he said they were packed," the lie was a lot better than telling her the truth. "If you're not feeling Chinese, we can go to Chipotle?"

"I don't know," you sighed, picking up the wine glass and taking a long sip. "Do you think we'd miss him?"

Not in a million years. Even if they did, he'd just drop the bag of belongings in front of Mat's door, no doubt.

"I'll buy you a large guac and a large queso," He smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "Free of charge."

"You had me at large guac." You looked at him and then back at your wine glass, downing the rest before placing it back onto the table and turning towards Mat. "Besides, he's the one who didn't bother to offer me the couch in the new 1 bedroom he'd be staying in until everything is fixed. He can wait a few extra minutes if we're not back in time."

Mat just nodded, standing up with you and playing into your mood. "Yeah, fuck that guy."

You laughed, and for the first time since he walked into yours and Tito’s apartment...he saw you smile. He felt proud of himself for being able to cheer you up in some way. And maybe, he thought, if Tito wasn't going to look out for you...he could.

It was only for seven days, how bad could it be?

#mathew barzal #mathew barzal imagine #mathew barzal writing #mathew barzal oneshot #new york islanders #new york islanders imagine #new york islanders oneshot #new york islanders writing #hockey oneshot #hockey imagine #hockey writing #my writing

[matwith1t]

A/N: I’ve been constantly surrounded by wedding talk so here’s me venting via fic!! A good vent!! It successfully brought me out of my writing slump!! Very happy for people celebrating marriage!! ‘Tis also been a while since I’ve written, so I’d love any & all feedback! Work is kinda slowing down, so I’m hoping to have more writing time / being more active on here ✨ Thank you all for your kind messages!!

Summary: Snippets from your relationship with Mat that lead up, and all come together, to one of the most important days of your life. 

MASTERLIST | Mat Barzal x Reader | LET’S CHAT 🥂 |

Warnings: None!! // WC: 7.2K // Fluff

Brittle leaves crunched under your boots: burnt orange, smokey red, and canary yellow. The earth created its own mosaic amongst leaves as you breathed in the thin, crisp chill autumn air.

A biker passed on your right and the hand in yours––gloved fingers entangled together––pulled you closer into his side.

Tilting your head back, slightly constricted by the borrowed scarf wrapped multiple times around your neck, you smiled softly, “How much longer?”

You could see his laugh, swept away by the wind in an instant, “We’re almost there.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“I mean it this time.”

A snort sounded from you, “Surprisingly, that doesn’t ease my doubts.”

Mat squeezed your hand firmly through his glove, “We just have to walk over this bridge,” he nodded his head toward the creek, a wooden bridge built for traveling across, laid just ahead. “And after that, it’s a five minute walk.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, eyes gazing at his side-profile. Despite growing up in Canada, Mat did not fare well in cold weather. And New York held no care for his low weather tolerance. While the complaints came endlessly from him, you could only admire the way the tip of his nose flushed in a rose color from the wind. His cheeks also shared the same  tinted blush. Or, you found yourself admiring the flecks of hair that stuck out from his beanie.

The bridge creaked under your footsteps, along with more crunching leaves. The reflection of golden and red hues painted the stream of water that flowed steadily beneath the bridge. And then you looked up at the sky. Cream colored clouds swirled into the powder blue sky. Two magpies flew through the air together.

Stillness.

Everything you felt in this moment came from the pure feeling of contentment. Content with the brisk weather. Content with the relaxation this Sunday morning walk brought you. Content with the man walking next to you.

Content in love.

Exiting from the thoughts in your mind and returning to reality, your vision shifted from the sky to an even more beautiful sight of Mat with a small, affectionate smile that made his eyes shine bright.

You offered him an apologetic smile, “Sorry, the trees looked nice.”

You didn’t say anything about how the distinct feeling in the air reminded you of the love you felt for him.

Mat shook his head, disregarding your apology, “If you want, we can stop and look at the trees.”

“We’ll be late.”

Again, Mat shook his head and tugged your hand over to the wooden rail of the bridge. He dropped your hand and raised his arm to pull you into his side. On instinct, your head rested on his chest and you breathed in a scent more enrapturing than the outdoors on an autumn day; him.

The two of you stood in silence admiring the natural colors of nature. And while you wanted nothing more than to encapsulate the colors of the leaves, the sound of water trickling over rocks, and the scent of autumn mingled with Mat, all you could focus on was the rhythmic beating of his heart.

Once you acquired enough sights and senses of the setting to keep locked up in your memory forever, you told Mat that you thought it would be best to keep walking to the coffee shop. When you received no response from him, you shifted under him and looked up at him through your eyelashes. And like how he stared at you when you appreciated the colors on the trees, he was already looking down at you with that same affectionate smile.

But there was something different about this smile. Maybe because you stood closer to him, and could carve out a detailed print of the small dimple in his left cheek. Or maybe, you felt the way his heart rate increased under the palm of your hand. Perhaps it came down to the gentleness his eyes radiated.

“We should probably get going,” you said.

“We should.” He responded, but made no movement.

Neither of you wanted to leave, but you knew he didn’t want to arrive late.

You curled into his chest, burying your head into his jacket as his arm wound tightly around you. The gentle kiss he pressed to your forehead caused a swarm of happiness to swirl around your entire body.

Mat pressed one more kiss on your forehead, and whispered, “Let’s go.”

He picked up your hand, led you over the bridge, as you tried your hardest to retain everything about the moment you shared on the bridge.

True to his word, it only took five minutes to walk to the coffee shop from the bridge. Mat raised his eyebrows in an I-told-you-so brag, as he held the door open for you to walk through. With a roll of your eyes, you softly punched his shoulder in jest, but plucked your glove off the second you entered the store to slide your fingers between his.

You spotted your mother immediately, dragging Mat between tables until she looked up from her phone with a smile. Dropping his hand, you pulled her  into a hug the moment she stood up.

Breathing in the scent of your childhood, you apologized, “Sorry we’re late.”

Your mother squeezed you tight before letting go, resting her hands on your shoulder, “Barely. Only by five minutes.” She smiled at you before turning to face Mat, her smile never faltering, “It’s so good to see you, Mat.”

Mat wiggled his nose, sniffling away the dryness, as he smiled at your mom, “Not as good as it is to see you.”

“Always the charmer,” your mother rolled her eyes with a laugh and stepped forward to embrace him.

Once pleasantries were out of the way, Mat offered to get everyone’s drink. After a failed protest from your mother, you knew better than to argue with Mat. But he already knew your order and would have bought your drink no matter what.

And with a smile, he took off his beanie as he walked to the counter.

You sat in silence with your mother for a few moments as she stared at you with a knowing smirk. You tried your hardest to keep a blank expression, but then memories of standing on the bridge flooded your mind. You broke eye contact with her, head turned down to face the table, as you felt your body heat up and a smile break through on your face.

“I––“

“Not a word.” You snapped your head up to see your mother with an even larger smile than yours.

You could see how difficult it was for her as she tried to keep her thoughts to herself. Accepting your request, she nodded her head. But you could see the thoughts in her mind swirling about in the eyes you inherited from her.

Your mother glanced quickly to the right––you followed her eyes––and saw Mat tapping his card on the contactless device. She leaned forward, “Can I say one thing?” She sounded like a child on the school yard with a secret that everyone already was privy to, except yourself. Again, she glanced over and saw Mat trying to pick up all three drinks from the counter, “Please?”

Timing it so that she wouldn’t have much time, you waited until Mat had the drinks securely in his hands. And that’s when you nodded to your mom, releasing her from her own torment.

“You look really happy,” she whispered, “And so does he.”

No words articulated how stunned you felt at her astute observation. And your mind wandered to the bridge; and you smiled again, confirming your mother’s words.

“Here we are…” Mat said as he passed everyone’s warm drinks around the table. He took a seat at the head of the table, sitting between you and your mother.

Conversation started with your mother asking Mat about hockey. Even though you had dated Mat for a little over five months, it was the most natural ice-breaker. Mat then proceeded to ask your mother how things were at home. And from there, conversation flowed naturally with jokes sprinkled around.

“I came across this at your grandmother’s house,” your mother dug around her purse as she explained the reasoning for meeting up, “And I thought you’d like to have it.”

She pulled out a white box, corners tattered, but the lid slid easily off the box and revealed an oval necklace. Eyes wide, you looked up at your mother who gestured you to pick it up. You set the box aside on the table, slowly cupping your hand underneath the gold plate, and lifted it up to examine.

No more than half an inch in width, encrusted around the edge was a Celtic knot. But the necklace felt a smidge heavier than anything you had worn around your neck. You looked up at your mother again, but this time out of curiosity.

She smiled and nodded down to the necklace, “It’s a locket.”

Vision darting back down to the necklace, you saw a hinge slightly protruding from the left side. Hastily, you wedged the nail of your thumb between the two connecting locket pieces. And with a faint snap, the locket opened.

On the left, a black and white photo of your grandfather cut to size. And on the right, a black and white wedding photograph of your grandparents.

“It’s an old antique locket,” your mother said, “Your grandmother said you could have it.”

Unsure of what to say, you carefully shut the locket. Staring up at your mother, she looked happier than ever. You tore your vision away from her to look at Mat. He shared the same expression as your mother.

“You should wear it,” your mother laughed softly.

You nodded, “That would be––Yeah––A good idea––“ You unclasped the chain, but struggled to find it behind your neck, “––Mat? Can you help me?”

As if he wanted you to ask him for help, he stood up from his chair so fast he nearly tumbled out of it.

His cool fingers brushed away the small hairs at the nape of your neck, not wanting to catch them in the chain. His knuckles brushed ever so slightly behind your neck. And when the clasp connected in the back––the cold locket landing right below your collarbone––he softly stroked his thumbs down your neck once…twice…three times, before removing his touch all together and returning to his seat.

His hands caused shivers to run through your entire body.

“Be careful with it,” your mother warned, “It’s something old, so be mindful where you wear it.”

You picked up the locket, rubbing it between your thumb and index finger as you looked up at Mat.

He had that same smile on his face. The one when you looked at the trees. The one you saw up close and could make out the richness of his dark eyes filled with happiness; adoration.

Circling your hands around the warm coffee cup that didn’t hold a flame to how Mat made you feel, you took a sip of the drink and shyly returned his smile.

Something old.

––

Jiggling your hand on the door handle of Mat’s apartment from the outside, it came to no surprise that the handle easily moved downward. Breathing out an irritated, heavy sigh, you pushed through his front door, ready to chastise him about how he should take more safety precautions and lock his door.

As you opened your mouth to call out to him, a blaring beep beep beep of the fire alarm ceased your moment.

Setting your tote bag on the ground, you shut the door––locked it––and walked further into his place. The haziness clouded your vision as you waved your hand to clear away the smoke. The further you walked, the worse the smoke became. And like his unlocked door, it came to no surprise that the culprit who set the fire alarm off currently sprinted across his apartment––opening up every window––as he left the burning frying pan, that continued to unleash heavy black smoke, on top of the stove.

Standing frozen in bewilderment, you felt a rush of air as Mat whizzed past you to get to the living room.

A moment later, you felt another rush of air, and Mat stood in front of you, “Hi.” He grimaced, but quickly bent down and pecked your lips, “Give me one second.”

He sprinted off again.

You stayed still in the hallway, barely processing Mat’s greeting amid the commotion.

Blinking, your mind finally registered that the fire alarm continued its harsh sound, and headed straight for his kitchen. As quickly as Mat ran around his place opening windows, you dashed for the kitchen, turning the stove burner off. Without thinking, you knelt down to take a dish towel out from beneath the sink, and wrapped it around the handle of the frying pan.

The black, char-like burning remnants of food smelled repulsive. Extending your arms to their full-length, you leaned back as you carried the still smoking pan out to Mat’s balcony. With the pan set on the ground for the outside to handle, you ran back inside to the fire alarm.

Mat looked hazy through the smoke, but you could make out the scrunch of his worried brows and wild eyes, “What’d you do?!”

“I took the pan outside,” you waved the dish towel in front of the fire alarm, praying it would clear up the air.

“It was still burning!” Mat joined you at the fire alarm, with his own dish towel, and began to rapidly wave it.

“Exactly!” You raised your voice over the alarm, “The first thing you should’ve done was turn it off––“

“You carrying it was dangerous,” he matched the volume of your voice, “You shouldn’t have–––“ the fire alarm stopped, and like his shoulders, Mat’s voice dropped, “I should’ve done it.”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Can’t do anything about it now.”

He wanted to say more, you could see it in his eyes, but he closed them. Inhaling a deep breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled the same time he opened his eyes.

A soft gaze with a familiar smile; like the one he gave you at the bridge half a year ago.

“How was work?”

Your shoulders sagged as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, “Not the best, actually.”

Knowing you never liked to talk about work after you had a rough day, he stretched out his arms and you took it as an invitation to walk forward. The dish towel dropped from your grasp as your arms wrapped around his waist. He held you tight, head buried into the crook of your neck, as he placed gentle kisses at the base of your throat.

The stress of work would stay with you, but standing in Mat’s arms as he comforted you, made all of the outside forces of your relationship less daunting.

“Let’s order takeout,” Mat mumbled and you felt his words reverberate against your skin, “I tried baking that dish you like. Got the recipe from your mom, but as you can see…”

His voice trailed off at the end and you stifled out a small chuckle.

“Takeout sounds perfect.”

After a few more moments of silence standing in each other’s arms, Mat called your favorite restaurant in his neighborhood and ordered dinner. And within the hour, you sat on the couch with Mat––your calves stretched out on top of his thighs––with takeout containers on your laps, as ESPN plays softly on the television.

Conversation ebbed and flowed as the two of you ate dinner, and when Mat leaned over your legs to place his empty container of the coffee table, he drummed his fingers on your kneecap; lost in thought.

“Be right back,” he lifted your legs up easily, placing them where he sat seconds before, and walked into his bedroom.

Before you had any time to think why he disappeared, he returned empty-handed. Lifting your legs up, he sat back down in the place he was before, and rubbed the fabric of your jeans that covered your shins. Remaining silent, you wanted to ask about the contemplative look on his face, but like how quickly he re-appeared from his room, he beat you to speaking before a thought formed in your mind.

“You know that place I was looking at in Dumbo?”

You nodded. You had visited the loft with him a few months back.

A renovated two-bedroom artist loft with exposed brick, and a few walls painted an off-white. Oak hardwood floor covered the entire place; you envisioned a light colored, blue and cream, handwoven rug placed in the center where Mat wanted the living area. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, with a steel-framed skylight to bring in natural light.

The place was perfect.

And with Mat’s anxious eyes and lip biting, your mind thought the worst. You removed your legs from his lap and leaned up, and placed a hand on his thigh, “Did you not get it?”

Bewildered at the conclusion you jumped to, Mat blinked a few times, lowering his head before looking up at you; a hopeful smile.

“I got it.”

Your eyes widened and you threw your arms around his shoulders, “Oh, Mat! That’s amazing.” You felt his arms wrap around you, and you lifted your head to look into his eyes, “When do you move?”

Instead of the excited spark that lit up his eyes, they reverted back to the anxious look. He rubbed small, comforting circles along your back as he swallowed, “That’s what I want to talk about.”

Your heart stopped. Why would moving be something he wanted to ‘talk about’ with you. The loft was a bit further away from where you lived now, but you didn’t mind extra travel time to his place if you meant you got to see him. It was still Brooklyn.

Trying to conceal your nervousness about where the conversation could lead to, you reached up and brushed his fallen hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear, “What do––I mean––Yeah?”

He smiled softly again and grabbed your fidgeting hand, sliding his fingers between yours, “You like the place, right?”

“It’s nice,” you said. Voice tight.

As someone who tended to retreat into their mind at any given time, you truly wished your thoughts fared better than worse case scenarios. Mat was going to move; and he was moving further away. For certain, you could pinpoint the moment you materialized a future with him. Unfortunately, you weren’t a mind reader, or else you would have spared yourself the hurt that would’ve mangled your soul and not progressed a relationship with Mat.

Distance was somewhat common in your relationship. The distance between your current apartment now, and his. Distance whenever he left for a long road trip for away games. Physical distance was ever present since the beginning of your relationship, but never have you felt any emotional distance. Yet again, you were only knowledgeable about how you felt.

Mat never liked to admit defeat, but maybe he was giving up on his stubbornness; and him creating more physical distance was an easy excuse.

A tug on your sleeve released your mind from tortuous thoughts, “Move with me.” He said in one breath, hand tightening around yours, “That place––We can live together.”

Your head snapped up, staring into hopeful eyes, your guilty mind retracting all previous doubts your friends planted in your head whenever they asked why you two didn’t live together yet. Pleasantly, it wasn’t what you expected to hear from him, “What?”

Mat winced. “If you want?”

His voice raised an octave, cringing at himself for sounding so unsure of his request.

He wanted to live with you. He wanted you to move into a new place with him; not move into a place that he already claimed as his. He wanted to create a shared space, one where you had just as much input as to what cabinet pots and pans laid in. A decision on what bed sheets to purchase together. A place where you come home to him, and he to you.

“You want a home with me?” You said. Voice tight; this time, not out of fear, but from trying to hold back the scratchiness at the back of your throat, caused by your teary eyes.

Mat rolled his eyes at you like it was the most obvious observation in the world. He shifted on the couch, hand reaching into the back of his jeans, pulling out a silver key.

“I want so much more with you, but we’ll start with a home.”

Something new.

––

More often than not, Mat’s family traveled down to New York to watch him play hockey. And in the year and a half you had dated him, the Islanders only played a handful of games against the Vancouver Canucks. Playing against the Canucks in Vancouver always elated him, since it was an easy way to travel home to see family and friends.

The last time he played up in Vancouver, the Islanders lost, but he came back radiating pure joy.

I might’ve been on the other team, Mat mumbled into your hair, your head buried into the crook of his neck as he trapped you in a one-arm side hug, but I definitely got the loudest cheers. And on the car ride back to your shared apartment––home––Mat promised to bring you up to Vancouver for a game.

And now, standing a bit misplaced at baggage claim in the Vancouver International Airport, you checked your phone once more at Mat’s last message: Be there in 15 minutes. Saw some friends at the bar and lost track of time.

He said that twenty minutes ago.

Before you took off from J.F.K. Mat told you he and some old friends were going to a bar in downtown Vancouver before your flight landed. You said that it would be no problem to figure out the public transportation system, but Mat promptly responded with––What kind of boyfriend would that make me if I didn’t pick you up. He constantly reassured you that picking you up would be no problem.

But now, you couldn’t help but dissect every anxious thought running wild inside your mind about how you took him away from friends he didn’t see as often as you.

You fiddled with the bag hanging off your shoulder, fake checking to make sure all of your possessions were inside the bag; as if strangers in an airport cared about anything but their own belongings. In the middle of one of your fake checks, your phone buzzed.

Traffic was worse than I thought, but I’m right outside now.

A smile pulled at the corners of your lips, shoulders dropping with ease, at the thought of reuniting with the person you loved most surpassed your previously anxious notions.

One hand gripping the handle of the suitcase, you followed the signs that directed you outside. After a few moments of looking for Mat’s car, you saw him. Leaning up against the passenger door of the car, arms crossed over his chest as he scrolled on his phone.

As if he sensed another presence, he lifted his head, and his eyes immediately landed on you.

A near identical smile mirrored his face; full of affection, a satisfied look in both of your eyes now that you only stood feet away from each other. And when you reached him––luggage forgotten––the smiles exploded off each other’s faces as your arms circled around his waist.

A deep breath in––you couldn’t tell if it was yours or Mat’s breath––filled your body with comfort. A sense of belonging, a connection that unequivocally felt like your home; fulfillment.

Mat kissed the top of your head, “Missed you.”

“I missed you more.” You said, taking another deep breath of him in.

“Impossible.” Mat laughed as he tightened his arms around you before letting go.

He took your roller bag bag by its handle and picked up your carry-on bag, slinging it over his shoulders, as he brought them to the trunk. You followed him. After not seeing him for nearly two weeks, standing in his presence felt rejuvenating, and you couldn’t think of an excuse to not be with him.

Once he closed the trunk, he spun around. His eyes, still full of fondness, but now shared the company with a look of desire. Absent-mindedly, you followed the invisible pull you felt towards him and stepped forward.

Mat gently placed his right hand on the side of your neck, fingers positioning themselves at the base of your neck, cradling your head. Your eyes closed. Foreheads pressed together. You barely felt his breath fan your face before his mouth found yours. Your hands rested on his chest, one of your hands finding a home right above his heart. His left hand gripped your waist, tender and assertive; a paradox. Your flat palms slowly curled around his shirt, gripping the fabric tighter every time Mat deepened the kiss; more of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.

Nearly two weeks apart shouldn’t have felt like an eternity. You had been separated from him before––had been separated for a longer stretch of time––but something about this felt different. You couldn’t place a why or a how of the peculiar feeling, but it didn’t matter in this moment. Mat’s kisses impeded your ability to form a coherent thought, except for one word; more.

His right hand barely slipped underneath your shirt, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your skin.

More.

His lips continued moving over yours, poignant and demanding kisses.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip before pulling away, his mouth wandering to your jaw. Then to your neck, causing your toes to curl. And now, delicate lips repeatedly pressing against your clavicle as if muttering a sacred prayer, while your thoughts were anything but scared; another paradox.

Your fists unclenched his shirt the moment he removed his lips from your skin, lifting his head up to stare at you. Skin prickling, body flushing, you did your best to smooth the wrinkled spots on his shirt. Everytime your hand brushed a spot near his heart, its beating quickened.

“I think I definitely missed you more,” Mat smirked.

With a roll of your eyes, you fell into him again; a barely there press of your lips against his before rounding the car and slipping in the passenger seat.

The drive to Coquitlam was longer than you expected, but Mat filled the car ride with stories about his childhood. And soon enough, he was making familiar turns through his neighborhood and the car was parked in front of his childhood house.

His mom hugged you first when you walked through the door.

“It’s so good to see you again,” she wrapped her arms tight around you, swaying side-to-side a few times. “Mat, take her things up to your room,” she looked at her son over your shoulder.

Without any complaint, he easily carried your bags up.

His mother led you into the kitchen, asking questions about your life in New York. You helped her take out some snacks from the fridge, setting it up on the granite countertop of the island, as the two of you caught up since the last time you’d seen each other. Mat came down shortly, grabbing a glass of water and sat on a stool next to you, listening as you spoke with his mother.

You glanced at him a few times––eyes dancing between his mother and you––as he kept silent, enjoying witnessing you and his mother build upon the pre-existing relationship. Every once in a while, he spoke up, but he mainly observed.

When Mat’s mother excused herself to retrieve something she found in the attic, Mat snuck a few more kisses with you. It felt very juvenile; fast and head spinning kisses that lingered on your lips as he periodically broke away, head turning towards the hallway  to make sure his mother wasn’t anywhere near. And then he would go in for more kisses.

You heard his mother walking down the stairs before him and pulled away. But his lips traveled a path up your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You had no desire to stop him, but when you knew the footsteps were just about to round into the kitchen, you pressed your palms against his chest and pushed him back.

Mat sat up straight, away from you, but your hands were still pressed against his chest when his mother nonchalantly walked in with a box.

She either didn’t see anything or didn’t want to say anything, so she kept quiet as she placed the box on the counter and opened the lid.

A musty stench emitted from the box that contained blue ribbons, gold and silver trophies that gleamed beneath the bright kitchen lights, old hockey team photographs with worn down edges, and a few mis-matched skate laces.

“I thought you got rid of all of these,” Mat spoke in awe, rifling through the contaminants of the box.

“A few people in the family wanted to sell them on EBay.” His mother’s tone was comical, but softened when Mat whipped his head up with horrified eyes. “That was a joke.” Then added, “I would never give these away, they’re your memories.”

He nodded, like a small child listening to a lecture by a parent, and then went back to rummaging.

He’d pick up a photograph, a red ribbon––or anything else he found worthy of a story––and give you an entire lesson on it. His mother spoke up occasionally, keeping Mat in check with some of his overly embellished stories. But mostly she kept silent, observing with prideful eyes; shining between her son and you as she witnessed the love you both had for each other.

“Don’t forget about this,” his mother dug around the box and pulled out a single, slightly dirty hockey skate lace. She dangled it in the air and handed it to Mat, “Your grandfather’s.”

Mat chuckled as he held the lace on both ends, extending it to its full length. He turned to you, “I brought this everywhere––”

“Religiously,” his mother piped up.

Mat nodded in agreement, “It was my good luck charm. I don’t know why, but whenever I had it, something good always happened so I brought it everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” Your eyebrows raised.

“First hockey tryouts, spelling-bee’s, championship games,” his tone serious. He dropped his gaze back down to the lace and twirled it around, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I thought it was lost.”

“It’s been in this box the whole time,” his mother said with a comforting smile. “You should lace one of your skates with it for the game.”

Mat shook his head ferociously, “Can’t risk it.” He had recently bought new laces and the Islanders haven’t lost a game in the two weeks he’s had the laces. But the more he looked down at the lone lace, the more he yearned. He picked his head up, eyes boring into yours, “You bring it to the game.”

“What?”

“It’ll be good luck,” he handed the lace over, and you had no choice but to take it, “Obviously you’ll just borrow it for the game, but I want it to be there. And I want you to hold onto it.”

You twirled the old lace that held so many memories for Mat––that most likely shaped him into the man he was today––and it felt like a weight of responsibility. You gulped, “I’m sure your mom would want to hold onto it.”

Mat’s mother curled her hand on top of yours, encasing the string in your grasp, “You should hold onto it.” She patted your hand and picked up her glass of water for a sip, “It’s just for the game.”

Eyes wide in worried, you looked over at Mat who only seemed to marvel in the aspect of you holding onto his old lucky charm. You looked over at his mother again, who eloquently smiled at you and Mat.

“If you need to borrow it for anything else,” she took another sip of water, “Let me know.”

Something borrowed.

–––

As skilled as he skated on the ice, Mat had an awful sense of rhythm when dancing.

You sucked in another deep breath, eyes screwed shut, as his black dress shoes stomped on your blue heels.

“Sorry.”

Opening your eyes, you noted genuine regret on his face, but that didn’t discredit the pain that zipped through your toes, “That’s the sixth time you’ve stepped on me.”

Sheepishly he ducked his head, pressing it against your forehead. With a hand on your hip, he pulled you closer to his chest; and with his other hand holding yours slightly in the air, he squeezed it, “I’m really sorry.”

You breathed out a small laugh, not caring about how many times he stepped on your feet. Even if he continued to step on your toes thirteen more times, you would choose everyday for the rest of your life to relive this day––with him––again.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, releasing the hand on your hip for a moment to twirl you around the center of the room. The song you both chose together continued to play, although you couldn’t hear it with how loud you could hear the beat of your heart through your ears.

Camera clicks.

Family, friends, and loved ones crooned with affection.

Another pain shooting through your foot where Mat stepped on your toes.

“Don’t you dare say sorry,” you pinched his shoulders.

Mat rolled his eyes, “Do we count this as our first fight as a married couple?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I was just asking a question,” Mat spoke with love interlaced through every consonant and syllable, “Mrs. Barzal.”

You only held the last name for a few hours, but your body reacted with chills of giddiness. Because that name was yours now, and so was he.

You felt your body heat up and buried your head into his sofly rumbling chest.

“So tell me…” Mat whispered as his fingertips trailed up and down your back, on top of the dress fabric you dreamed of since you first imagined your wedding, “I noticed my grandfather’s hockey lace tied around your flowers, but what are the other things that go along with that rhyme?”

More camera clicks.

More affectionate crooning from family, friends, and loved ones.

But this time, you purposely stepped on Mat’s toes as he referred to your very carefully, thought out plan as a rhyme.

“My something old,” you tilted your chin down to neck, “The locket my mom gave me––”

“The day with the trees,” a noise of acknowledgement came from the back of Mat’s throat, “I decided I was going to marry you that day.”

You remembered that day there was something different about his smile. Even though you stood so close to him on the bridge that day, so close––that even now––you could sketch him perfectly, but you didn’t know what the smile meant. And since then, it’s the only smile he’s given you. But you recognized the smile now; one of being wholeheartedly, unequivocally devoted to the person who stood in front of him for the rest of his life.

Hot tears pricked behind your eyes because deep down, the more you reflected on that autumn day with the trees and falling leaves, you wanted to have forever with him too that day.

“You better put a photo of us from today in the locket,” Mat said with fictitious authority.

You nodded, “Was planning on replacing the photo of us I already have of us in there with one from the wedding.”

This time, it seemed as though Mat was rendered speechless. He never asked what you had in the locket. You could tell he wanted to ask, or that he wanted to be in there himself, but he refrained from speaking up because he thought maybe you kept your grandparents’ photo in there. But you never told him that the day after your mother gifted you the locket, you scaled down the size of a photo from your first New Year’s together, and placed it in the locket.

You cleared your throat, “Something new,” You slightly shook your head side-to-side, the small silver hoops you wore for earrings moved slightly. “It’s––Technically, this is the first time I’m wearing them and I got them made specifically for the wedding…” you suddenly felt embarrassed, but Mat pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

He chuckled, “Go on.”

“They’re the keys from our first apartment together.”

Perplexed, he scrunched his eyebrows together as he raised a hand to reach for one of the earrings. Gently, placed the palm of his hand behind the earring, having it on his hand before feeling the smooth material between his thumb and index finger.

“That’s––Wow, I can’t––I mean, how?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, embarrassment fully setting in now, “I took my key, your key, and the spares to someone who did custom jewelry and asked if they could make them into earrings.”

“When?”

“After you proposed,” you shrugged your shoulders, but that didn’t do away with the growing feeling of stinging behind your eyes as that day came back in flashbacks, “You told me you wanted so much more with me that day and I––” chin trembling, you sniffled, “I couldn’t get rid of those keys.”

His thumb swiped under your eye, not even realizing that a tear slipped from your eye. But when you blinked away your watery eyes, you could see Mat’s eyes almost as misty as yours.

“I made good on that promise.”

You nodded, afraid that too many words would be the catalyst for the tears that collected in your eyes.

“Your lucky hockey lace was my something borrowed,” you inhaled a shaky breath, “Felt like I needed extra luck today.”

The corner of Mat’s eyes crinkled as he laughed, “Thought I was going to get cold feet?”

He was joking. He laughed. It was all in good nature. You had his last name. You had the engagement ring he bought you. And you both wore wedding rings. Everything was finalized––legally and ceremonially––for your marriage, but even him mentioning not showing up to the wedding after it already happened, caused your heart to drop.

Your hand went stiff in his, and Mat immediately noticed. His face slightly dropped in panic, and he pressed a chaste, but lingering kiss to your lips.

Another camera click.

Another croon of endearment from family, friends, and loved ones.

Another soft kiss pressed to your lips.

“I love you,” Mat said earnestly. “Nothing would ever make me change my mind about marrying you.”

You knew that to be true. There were no qualms, no anxiety, and absolutely no second thoughts when Mat bent down on one knee and you said yes. And you knew the same to be true for him.

“And is your blue the shoes?” Mat looked down, opened his mouth to say something, but promptly shut it when he looked back at you.

When Mat derailed his thought, it only made you more curious. With your voice barely above a whisper, you questioned him, “What?”

He shook his head and continued to dance with you, visibly relaxed from the previous conversation.

For the second time during your first dance as husband and wife, you pinched his shoulders, “Tell me.”

“You won’t get mad?” He nervously asked. When you shook your head, he prepared himself for the worse, already wincing, “Everything else seems…sentimental, like it has a real meaning. But the blue shoes…” his tone sounded weary, “Seems like a cop out.”

Amused with his guess at your something blue, you threw your head back in laughter before resting your head on his chest, trying to calm down. And like that autumn day you stood on the bridge and gazed at the trees with your head on his chest, you felt his heart beat intensify.

“The blue shoes are a cop out.”

��What…” Mat thought carefully on how to phrase his question. He didn’t consider the outcome of you confirming his theory about the blue shoes. “What do you mean?”

Feeling audacious, you smirked, “My blue is only for you.” He still looked clueless. “The blue shoes are visible and people automatically think that it’s part of the rhyme,” you rolled your eyes, “It’s a simple way to avoid telling people the true blue.”

“As your husband,” He pretended to puff out his chest, clearing his throat, “Care to let him in on the blue that’s only for him?”

Leaning up, you made sure that your chests were pressed together, your cheek resting on his as you whispered, “The garter.”

He tensed, “Won’t people see it with the garter toss?”

You hummed, “That’s why there’s another one under there, a decoy.”

His breathing pattern altered, and from how well you knew him, you knew he was trying to control himself, “How will I know the difference?”

“Easy, the decoy is a regular white one. But yours,” you let your fingers trail along his tailored jacket, “It’s a royal blue garter, like the color of the Islanders.” His shoulders tensed with every word you spoke, “There’s some white lace on the trim––”

“Lucky me.”

“That’s not all, I worked very hard with a designer to customize it.” You glared at him for interrupting. He bowed his head, eyes darker than usual, intrigued by what else there was to a piece made specifically for him. “Along with the royal blue and white, you’re forgetting another color––”

“Orange.”

His voice darkened, lowering in pitch. You could tell he wanted nothing more than to know how you incorporated that color into the piece of lingerie.

“In the middle, stitched in orange, is the number thirteen.”

Mat stopped dancing, his entire body frozen in the middle of the wedding reception; everyone’s attention on the two of you.

The music ended.

More camera clicks.

More applause and whistles from family, friends, and loved ones as the first dance between husband and wife came to an end.

“Thirteen,” he said slowly, calculating his words, “My number…You’re wearing my number––thirteen––right now. Under your dress. On the garter.”

“Yes.”

“So while I’m under your dress, in front of everyone,” The fierceness in his eyes fought with the look of absolute fascination, imagining what laid beneath, “I’ll see thirteen on the garter.”

Watching his face morph from awe to greediness in the span of seconds, you nodded your head, “Yes.”

“You’re wearing my number…” His voice faded, as if midway through he couldn’t believe he was vocalizing a thought he had fantasized about countless times; his number on you in the most amorous of places. “On lingerie.”

“I believe I’ve said it already,” you continued suggestively, trailing your fingertips slowly up the sleeves of his suit jacket, placing both of your hands on the sides of his neck, your pinky reaching down to barely graze the chain he still wore under his shirt. “But, yes.”

Mat exhaled slowly, “Fuck.”

Something blue.

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