#RPF fanfiction

[harrywavycurly]

The Almost Bumble Fumble: A Harry Styles One Shot

CW: None

Tag List: @georgiarose94

A/N: This is just some fun fluffy goodness that popped into my head the other day! I have a part 2 in mind if y’all want it? Enjoy!

Summary: Harry Styles shows up on your dating app and you’re convinced it’s not really him✨

Harry only has one reason why he finally caved and downloaded the bright yellow dating app, he likes the fact he can’t be the one to message anyone he matches with first. It takes some of the pressure off of him because it’s hard to think of an opening line that is catchy and engaging enough to actually make the other person respond, and while he may be a talented songwriter he is absolutely horrible at trying to be witty and flirty through a screen and over texts. So not having to worry about reaching out first allows him to just sit and wait to see if anyone is actually interested enough in him to send him a message and so far, much to his disappointment and only a slight blow to his ego he hasn’t gotten more than a few random hellos.

Even though he hasn’t gotten the kind of response he thought he would since he downloaded the app just a few days ago, he still finds himself checking it a few times a day and that’s exactly what he’s doing now as he gets comfortable on his couch with a glass of wine in his hand. He scrolls through a few profiles and doesn’t swipe right or hit the heart button on any of them until he lands on one that seems interesting. Your profile picture is of you grinning as you stare at a piece of what he thinks is cake that’s on a plate in front of you that has a candle in it, there’s a little caption under it that says “if you can make me smile the way this cake did, you’re a keeper” and he chuckles to himself as he continues further down your profile. The most important thing he likes to look at on people’s profile is what they’re looking for on the app, because Harry knows he’s ready for a relationship and he isn’t trying to have his time wasted nor waste anyone else’s if he knows they aren’t looking for the same thing in the end.

He feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth when he sees your response to that prompt if the exact same as his, looking for something long term. Harry takes a sip of his wine as he looks through the photos you posted on your profile, enjoying the tiny look at what you do for fun since you have a few photos at concerts and other events such as the classic group photo during a girls night out but the one that sticks with Harry the most is of you sitting on a couch with a glass of wine and a book in your hand that someone took while you weren’t looking or at least that’s how it appears. When he reaches the end of your profile he doesn’t give himself a moment to overthink it he simply swipes right and continues on his scroll through the app trying not to get too anxious as he waits to see if you’ll match with him and find him interesting enough to message.

After a few more minutes of scrolling he lets out a sigh before he takes a rather large sip of wine, just when he’s ready to call it a night and leave the silly little dating app he sees that he has a new message. He quirks an eyebrow as he goes to his messages and he can’t help the grin that takes over his face when he sees it’s from you, meaning you have to be online now since he just swiped on you not even ten minutes ago and you’ve already sent him a message.

Now what Harry isn’t prepared for is what your message says, having only gotten the different variations of Hello so far as opening lines so when he opens your message the laugh that escapes him is genuine and he feels as if you just sent him a one liner you’d possibly use on him if you saw him at a bar and wanted to start a conversation with him. He reads the message again and shakes his head as he chuckles to himself while also feeling a bit of an inflation to his ego because your opening line is tailored to him, it’s something that you wouldn’t be able to use on just anyone. Because even if they were an obvious One Direction fan it would be very risky because they might not know the lyrics to the song and be extremely confused.

“If the room was burning, would you really not notice?”

He finds himself instantly replying and when he hits send he suddenly starts to get nervous that maybe he should’ve waited a bit to reply so he doesn’t seem too eager and possibly scare you off before he can even really get to know you. But it’s too late now, so he just sips his wine and stares at the small screen in his hand.

“Honestly I don’t think I would. My mind would be too preoccupied by someone and their ability to tell little fibs.”

When he sees a new message appear beneath his he lets out a small sigh of relief because already this is the longest conversation he’s had on this app so far.

“Right well thank goodness you’re fireproof.”

He quickly replies to you and waits with a new feeling of excitement brewing in his tummy to see what you’re going to say next. But he can’t help but wonder how long you can keep this up, he will happily play along because he doesn’t want to be the one to change the subject and possibly ruin the mood.

“Exactly. I’m also very good at finding my way through dark places as well.”

Luckily for him he doesn’t have to wait very long and your response has him laughing and he’s grateful that he lives alone so no one can walk into his living room and ask him what he’s laughing at while cuddled up in the corner of his couch.

“Oh does that mean you’re not scared of the dark? Because if you are that’s okay I won’t let anything get to you and drag you down.”

He is typing out his reply and hitting send before he can even fully lean over and put his empty wine glass down on the table.

“That’s lovely of you to say but no I’m not scared of the dark. Not even a little bit. The only thing I get a little unsettled about is how quickly the night can change.”

As Harry waits to see what you’ll say he can’t stop his mind from wondering if there’s a possibility you’re doing something similar right now, sitting comfortably on your couch or maybe in bed smiling and laughing at your phone like an idiot. Because surely it can’t just be him that’s enjoying how easy the conversation is flowing, regardless of how silly it may be.

You read the latest message from this “Harry” person and laugh at how he goes about avoiding the exact lyrics of the song night changes, you quickly type out a reply so you don’t have to keep him waiting for too long.

“It does change fast doesn’t it? I’ve always thought it was a bit rude how everything you’re dreaming about is just is gone in the morning.”

After hitting send you reach over to your nightstand and grab your glass of wine and take a sip as you go back to visit his profile. You narrow your eyes as you bring the screen a little closer to your face as you scroll down to the few photos he’s chosen, most of which are also on his Instagram so you don’t let the thought that you’re talking to the actual Harry Styles cross your mind. Especially since a lot of the information needed to make a profile on the dating app the two of you are currently messaging on is very accessible, it’s just a simple scroll through Google. The only thing that makes you quirk a brow is one photo he has at the very end of his profile, it’s a photo of him sitting at a table with a smile on his face while holding a glass of wine and it’s one you’ve never seen before but that also doesn’t mean anything because there’s tons of photos and videos of Harry you haven’t seen.

When you saw you matched with him you couldn’t stop yourself from instantly messaging him, because even though you know it’s just someone using Harry’s photos to get attention you figure you might as well have some harmless fun. You know eventually you’ll decide to move on and maybe report his account depending on how weird he gets. You’re brought back to the moment when you see you have a new message, you take another sip of your wine as you read what he wrote.

“It’s very rude but there is something that even the night can’t change. Do you know what that is?”

You bite down on your bottom lip as you read the message and you get an odd feeling this person might be trying to flirt with you because the next line of the song he’s talking about is a rather romantic one, but then again you can’t really be sure. You take this moment to test the waters a bit as you type out your reply and hit send before you can second guess yourself and delete it.

“It’s you and I right? Because nothing can separate us?”

You know you’re going to have to casually change the subject soon but you can’t help but want to see just how long the two of you can keep indirectly quoting One Direction songs in a way that has ended up with the two of you in a rather pointless conversation. You feel your cheeks get warm when you read his reply, of course this Harry impersonator would send you lyrics to Stockholm Syndrome.

“Precisely. It’s safe to say you’ve got me tied down.”

You finish off your wine and place the empty glass on your nightstand before figuring out how exactly you want to reply. There’s a few ways you could go about this, but instead of going the obvious flirty route you choose to go for the comedic approach instead because that’s more of who you are anyway.

“I mean I can’t have you trying to escape the city and follow the sun now can I? Because that would just break my heart and I don’t even know where I’d go if that happened.”

You giggle to yourself as you scroll to the top of your messages and reread them, well aware that if anyone were to read them they’d be extremely confused. You also have to admit that this person is very well educated on their One Direction lyrics and you’re a bit impressed. When you get to the bottom you see “Harry” has replied and what he says makes you lean your head back and laugh as you drop your phone into your lap as you try to get yourself under control.

“I’d never try to escape because if your heart is broken and you’re just wondering around that makes me worry people will try to steal you away from me and I can’t have that. Not to mention I also have no clue where’d you go with a broken heart and I’m honestly so shit with directions so I’d be left with no choice but to walk around shouting your name.”

After a few moments you quickly type out a response and double tap his last message letting a red heart appear next to it so he knows you really enjoyed that creative use of lyrics from two songs.

“Walking around shouting my name? Absolutely not. Don’t embarrass me.”

Harry doesn’t even bother trying to hide his amusement at your message, enjoying how you managed to give him an easy way to go along with your subtle change of conversation since he notices a very obvious lack of song lyrics in your reply. And Harry being the romantic that he is finds this a great opportunity to ask something, and your answer will be one he might possibly tuck away in his mind to remember at a later date.

“Not one for big declarations of love then?”

As he waits for your reply Harry takes a moment to process the fact that even though the two of you haven’t even really had a true conversation he already can tell by your sense of humor that he’s going to enjoy getting to know you more, if you let him that is. When he sees your response he laughs and runs a hand through his hair with his hand that’s not holding his phone.

“I’ve never had anyone do a big declaration of love for me before so I’m not sure how I feel about them. What about you? Do you need a Jumbotron proposal during a sporting event or a billboard dedicated to how much I love your hands?”

Harry looks at his free hand and wonders if you’re being serious about loving his hands or if that’s just an example you picked to show him what you would be willing to write on a billboard about him. As he types out his reply his mind begins to think of things that could be considered big declarations of love or feelings that maybe you’d like, because even though he doesn’t know you he figures having some ideas on the back burner can’t hurt and who doesn’t like coming home to an outrageous amount of flowers or a maybe even having the radio play nothing but your favorite songs for a whole day.

“I am open to all types of declarations of love. Big, small, handwritten or painted on a billboard. I’m not picky.”

Now only part of that statement is a lie, Harry truly does enjoy any type of declaration of love that his significant other is willing to give him but he is a tiny bit picky. But that’s something to discuss at a later date, because it doesn’t really have anything to do with what the two of you are discussing now, he’s picky about other things but not how someone is willing to tell him their feelings about him. As Harry is getting up and grabbing his empty wine glass off his coffee table and heading into the kitchen he gets an odd notification at the bottom of the message thread between the two of you.

*accept video chat*

But before he can even hit accept or decline the message is gone and he sees you’ve typed out a quick little explanation.

“Oh god I’m sorry! Finger slipped and hit the video chat button! Sorry!”

He quirks a brow as he scrolls to the top of the messages and sees what looks like a FaceTime icon near the corner. Having not noticed it before he becomes curious and maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just that he’s interested in you and thinks this is a smart way to “meet” for the first time to get a better feeling of if the two of you actually can hold a conversation or not but either way Harry is typing out a quick message and hitting send before entering his kitchen.

“It’s okay. I didn’t know it was an option, I’m fine with a video chat if you are?”

You stare at his message for a solid thirty seconds before you even blink, not knowing why on earth this person would want to video chat with you when you know they aren’t Harry Styles. It’s going to be awkward and embarrassing, for them of course not for you because you already know you haven’t been talking to the tall tattooed international superstar but maybe this is for the best so you can tell whoever it is how impressed with their One Direction song lyric knowledge you are. And maybe, just maybe you’ll still find whoever it is attractive and it won’t be a total bummer of a Friday night. So against your better judgement you send him a simple response before you climb out of bed and head for the kitchen to refill your wine.

“Sure!”

You catch your reflection in the door of your microwave and instantly place your phone on the counter next to your fridge so you can adjust the monstrosity that is your messy bun. Once that’s as good as it’s going to get you look down at your faded band t shirt and decide that it’s good enough for whoever it is that’s about to video chat you, it’s after nine at night on a Friday after all so in your mind them seeing you like this is just preparing them for what they can expect in the future. As you’re reaching for your bottle of wine you see a new notification appear on your screen and you feel nervous as you pick your phone up.

*Accept video chat from Harry Styles*

You hit accept and the screen goes black before suddenly you’re looking at someone’s ceiling and you squint your eyes and bring the phone closer to your face as what appears to be half a forearm comes into view.

“Sorry love it seems I’ve dropped you.” You feel your heart begin to beat so fast you’re afraid it’s going to explode as a British accent comes from the phone, you swear it sounds exactly like Harry’s but you simply shake your head at that idea because there’s no way he’s on the other end of this call.

“Oh wow you sound just like-”

“I sound just like who?” Harry asks as he finally comes into view after he picks the phone up from where he accidentally dropped it on his counter while trying to open his wine bottle one handed. Your eyes go a bit wide as you move your phone away from your face, you feel your cheeks get hot and out of pure panic you place your phone against your wine bottle and put both hands over your face making Harry raise an eyebrow at you.

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re Harry Styles.” You mumble into your hands but Harry hears you just fine making him chuckle as he pours some wine into his glass. “You weren’t supposed to actually be Harry Styles.” You explain as you spread your fingers allowing you to get a small look at Harry through the gaps, it’s almost unfair how much better he looks while taking up your phone screen than he does in his photos.

“Who was I supposed to be?” He questions as he grabs his phone and his wine glass and heads back into his living room.

“Some weirdo just acting like you to get attention on a dating app.” Harry doesn’t quite like that answer, he doesn’t like the idea of someone pretending to be him just to get attention and possibly hurt people in the process.

“Do people really do that? Pretend to be me on things like this?” You just shrug as you slowly lower your hands from your face and Harry is glad he’s already sitting down because even with your pink cheeks and distraught look in your still slightly wide eyes he can’t get over how pretty you are.

“I’m not sure? You’re actually the first Harry Styles I’ve ever come across but I mean I just-I didn’t think it was really you.” You admit with a laugh as you reach and grab your phone so you can get to your wine bottle, deciding you now more than ever need to refill your glass.

“Are you disappointed it’s really me and not some random weirdo?” He watches you raise an eyebrow and make a humming noise as if you really have to think about it before answering him.

“Honestly I’m relieved it’s actually you because if it wasn’t then I would’ve had to tell a random person how impressed I was with their One Direction knowledge.” You answer after you fill your glass up with wine, Harry chuckles as you make a face of disgust at the mention of telling someone you were impressed with them. “But since it’s you-”

“Oh are you saying you’re not impressed with my One Direction knowledge?” He says in mock offense as he watches you walk through what he can only assume is your kitchen based on the oven he sees in the background.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” You answer without any hesitation and Harry’s face breaks out into a wide grin because the look you give him is one that tells him he should’ve known that was going to be your answer.

“Well I’m quite impressed with your knowledge and your opening message was-”

“Oh god.” You say with a groan as you head into the living room, your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you take a seat on your couch making Harry give you a soft smile to try to help ease your clear embarrassment of what you sent him because he thought it was great.

“Don’t feel embarrassed love.” He quietly clears his throat and takes a sip of his wine after the petname accidentally slips out of his mouth. “I thought it was brilliant that’s why I responded and kept it going.” He explains making you smile and it’s not until this very moment do the two of you really sit and look each other in the eyes and Harry feels his own cheeks get a little warm as you stare at him through the phone.

“You’re really pretty.” Harry laughs and runs a hand through his hair as you blink a few times and realize what you just said out loud.

“You’re really pretty as well.” He says with only a small hint of nervousness evident in his voice because he doesn’t want to come across overly flirty but he also doesn’t see the harm in telling you the truth, you are very pretty.

“Thank you.” You smile and get comfortable on your couch. “I guess it’s good to get all this embarrassing and awkwardness out of the way now right?” Harry just nods and smiles at your choice of words, giving him some hope that you’ll want to maybe do this again or possibly meet up in person if you feel comfortable enough.

“Exactly.” Is all he says with a grin making you return his smile as you sink into your couch and toss a blanket over your legs to get comfortable because something tells you that you’re about to be on the phone with Harry for a while and you don’t mind. You silently thank your lucky stars that you decided to message him when you saw he matched with you because you can’t imagine the level of regret you’d feel if you somehow found out you fumbled the opportunity to talk and possibly get to know Harry just because you thought it was a fake profile.

[celestiamour]

₊˚✧ ❛[ every baby needs a da-da-daddy ]❜

ft. hugh jackman x f! reader — rpf

╰₊✧ some sweet softie who enjoys being home his baby little diamond toys┊1.2k words

song: every baby needs a da da daddy - marilyn monroe contains: no disrespect to hugh, this is purely fictional!! sugar daddy hugh & sugar baby reader, no smut, unspecified age gap, mentions of insecurity 

➤ author's note: happy late birthday to the daddiest of daddies & the dilfiest of dilfs! this is my first hit at writing rpf, so it might not be very good, but it was still fun to write! i’m not sure if rpf is something i’ll write again, but who knows!

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who you kept at arm’s length at first, resisting the charms and allure of an older man who promised to treat you right and seat you in his lap of luxury. you’ve never been in such a relationship before (although you’ve always entertained it), much less being with an actor with as much renown as he did, so you tried putting him off by insisting you would only accept princess treatment and wouldn’t take anything short of the best. being a little bit of a brat would either put him off because he’s too old to deal with that or entice him even more with the challenge, and he’s obviously the latter because he would be more than willing to buy you an entire castle if you wished for it. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who quickly figures out that everything you were saying before didn’t hold any weight as you’ll feel guilty if he does something as small as being a gentleman who pays for your half of the meal, so you’re just going to have to get used to being spoiled. he might even encourage you to quit your shitty underpaid day job with all the rude customers and pursue something you’re actually interested in, whether that’s becoming an artist of any sort or seeking out high education to get the qualifications for your dream job, he’s more than willing to provide for you while you work towards your goals and will reward you every time you accomplish one of them. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who often needs to leave early for work, so when you wake up in your shared bed, you’ll find a few notifications on your phone: the first being a few hundred dollars he sent for you to treat yourself while he’s gone, the second being a cute dad selfie of the place he’s at, and the third being a message wishing you a good morning with the reminder for you to take care of yourself and that he loves you. if he’s traveling for a press tour, then he’ll give you the option to go with him or not because he knows it can be exhausting, but he’s willing to fly you out to his location at the drop of a hat because he constantly misses you so much.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who likes to take you out for fancy dinners every now and then, but he really prefers to stay in and make home-cooked meals with you. he finds that making food together is more of a bonding experience than simply eating together, and loves to hug you from the back and guide your movements with his hands on top of yours as you chop vegetables or something. also he’ll only buy the highest-quality ingredients, ones that could give you an aneurysm from a glance of the receipt alone even though he thinks it’s worth the price for the better taste and health benefits. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who surprises you with expensive jewelry and beautiful custom-made dresses which cost more than what you usually would be able to make in a month. he doesn’t make a big deal out of it either, just drops a shopping bag filled with glittery tissue paper in front of you with a smile waiting for you to open it. feel free to gasp and smack him for making such an impulsive shopping decision just because he thought of you when he saw it, but expect him to pout and pretend to be offended. nothing is “too much” for his darling.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who acts as your personal chauffeur and drives you around in which car in his collection you want, taking you to the mall, to see a show, to an outing with friends, and wherever else you want to go. the passenger seats are perfectly adjusted to your preferences and have your things sticking out of the side compartments with his large hand being a comforting weight on your thigh, drawing circles into your skin while reminding you that you look perfect and don’t need to continuously fidget with your appearance. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who isn’t what you expected him to be considering his age. you thought he was just some old man who might have been a snob with his status, but he’s a genuine down-to-earth man. even with the salt peppering his hair, smile lines, crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, and glasses, he still laughs like a young man and has a sharp mind with insightful knowledge that came with life’s experience. not to mention his godly body which you get the pleasure of watching him work on, cheering him on when he lifts weights while you stand on the sidelines or even join him. he sometimes says you help keep him young, but you know that he’s the most extraordinary man you’ve ever met.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who, although you struggle to admit it, makes you feel insecure at times. he’s hugh jackman, the wolverine, the greatest showman— someone who is larger than life while you’re just someone who met and caught his eye by chance. although he doesn’t seem to mind what others think about your relationship, you aren’t blind to it and worry constantly about ruining his image to the public eye as well as those around him who may not approve of your unconventional relationship. it seems like something built on money rather than love, and although you felt that way at first, it’s clearly grown into something more than that.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who can see right through you as soon as you start having these thoughts, don’t think you can hide it from him. he’s very perceptive and will ask what’s wrong immediately, giving you his full attention and taking any opportunity for you to run away from this confrontation. he’s an open book with you and would like it if you were with him as well, but if you aren’t ready to tell him yet, then he’s fine with giving you room to gather yourself.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who feels his heart break into pieces when you tell him that you just don’t feel good enough to be with him. he’ll hold you and wipe away your tears which began to streak down your face once the words were out, assuring you it was never something that crossed his mind even once and how he wishes you could see how lovely you were in his eyes. anything he can do to change the way you think about this topic, he’ll do, and if you don’t think there is anything that can be done, he’ll compliment you even more frequently and put more time aside for you to show how much he really treasures you. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who becomes more open about your relationship when people ask about it, showing he isn’t ashamed about it and is very proud to call him yours. he’s fantastic at tearing down any negative rumors about you and deflecting criticism, protecting you by turning each question into a session praising how wonderful he thinks you are. there’s not much to it, he’s just some sweet softie who enjoys bringing home his baby little diamond toys and giving her the lavish life she deserves. 

[holylulusworld]

Aged Well

Summary: It’s your man’s birthday.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x fem!Reader

Warnings: a little angst, fluff, birthdays

Thanks to @buckys-wintersoldier for the brainstorming. :)

A/N: Happy Birthday to Sebastian Stan, our Romanian menace.

Another year older. Another year closer to getting old.

Sebastian knows he should be happy. His career is going great. He’s got a dedicated fanbase. And in the room next door, his girlfriend is waiting for him to celebrate his birthday.

Still, he stands in front of the mirror, looking for the first wrinkles. Sebastian steps closer to get a better look at the first grey hairs in his beard.

“No, not yet,” he gasps and runs his fingertips over his beard. Sebastian frowns deeply. This can’t be. He can’t handle grey in his beard today.

“Babe, are you ready?” You stop in your tracks to drink your boyfriend’s outfit in. He’s wearing a black Balenciaga tuxedo, a white suit shirt, and a black tie. His hair is neatly gelled back, but he kept his beard. He looks stunning, or rather like he is dressed to kill. “Baby?” Licking your lips you stare at him.

“I’ve got grey in my beard,” he complains while running his fingers over his beard. Sebastian turns his head to look at you. “Do you think I should shave it off to look younger?”

“What?” You were too engrossed in checking him out in his tuxedo to listen to him. “Did you say something about your beard?” You dreamily look at his beard.

“Do you think I should shave it to look younger?”

You violently shake your head. “No! I like your beard. It’s a nice beard,” you protest and immediately defend his beard. “I like the grey in your beard. It makes you look ever hotter.”

His eyes widen. “Did you see it too? Why didn’t you say something?”

You step closer to grab his face and press a chaste kiss on his lips. “I love the beard and how it feels when we kiss,” you snicker and kiss him again, “and more. I dare you to shave it off.”

He grins, eyes darkening at your words. “You like it? The grey too?”

“Very much,” you purr his name, hands still holding his face. “Let me try again.” You kiss him deeply and softly, earning a moan. “It makes you look like a hot silver fox.”

He laughs deep and rich. “You want me to be your silver fox, prinţesă (princess)? How bad do you want me to be your sexy silver fox?”

You giggle at his playfulness. He smiles widely and grabs you by your waist. “So bad, Sebby,” you peck his lips between murmured love confessions.

Sebastian grins. He looks at you, a twinkle in his eyes. “I guess we could skip the reservation and unpack my gifts. right now.”

You smile, not disappointed to skip dinner to have him all for yourself tonight. “I don’t mind. Let me get your gifts.”

“Oh, prinţesă,” he leans closer to purr your name. You giggle and squeal when he twirls you around to push you onto the bed.

“I was thinking about a different kind of gift...”

Tags in reblog.

[melancholicstation]

You heard my baby's back in town now! — controversially young!gf bobby kennedy one-shot

imagine... you are bobby kennedy's controversially young girlfriend who he met at a an oregon mall during his brother's campaign for president in 1959. fast forward a few months and you're finally taking the next step in your relationship: meeting the family.

taglist: @obsessedwithjohnjr @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @unmarlou @joansiesbeloved @jackiesgirl @acrowdedstreetin1944 @miumiumoods @yeuxdenina @its-esdras @jacobseresin @yspix7y @violetharmonsfavgf @vampyiricris @harajukub4rb1e @ironcowboycopnickel @valleyxdoll @angelitawings @monturi @starsprangledgirl

inspired by @unmarlou's age gap!bobby kennedy, go give this blog some ♥️ .

warnings: heavy mention of age-gap, multiple flashbacks, uses lyrics from Taco Truck x VB, use of terms of endearment, period typical sexism (not bobby)

words: 2,862

Most of the time you wouldn't say holding down a 9 to 5 at one of the biggest breakfast chains in middle America was an exciting career endeavour for a 22 year old woman but here you were. That was until you met him: your boyfriend of six months who'd shown himself to be a great lover and an even better giver, always draping you in the finest of mulberry silk and yellow diamond. You weren't shallow though, you would've loved him the same if all he had were the clothes on his back and that floppy hair of his.

However you wouldn't have to because he had the ultimate privilege or curse, many would go on to say, of being born into one of the richest families in America, and was the brother of the Democratic Party pick for president in 1960. Oh, and his name was Bobby Kennedy.

*Flashback to December 5th, 1959*

After working your job at Waffle house for about 2 weeks you knew it was hell, filled with grimy men hitting on you with their dirty pickup lines their dad probably taught them at age 15, that bitch of a co-worker, and a drab work attire that your boss, Susan, seemed to have affinity for catching any slight deviations of. Superficially it was mostly the outfit requirements that bothered you: I mean how were you ever supposed to leave this damned place if your own uniform made sure that no person, regardless of gender, would ever humanly find you attractive.

Despite this, you persevered and tried to work around it. If your boss told you to wear a plain blue top: you wore a lightly stripped blue button-up with featuring an embroidered, ruffled star motif on the chest. If your boss told you to wear heather grey bottoms: you wore an extremely short dark navy skort with built in shorts for the so called modesty striven for in the dress code. I mean for christ sakes this wasn't the White House now was it?

You often pared the dreary outfit with a pair of suede ballerina's in navy: a bit of an oxymoron where your mother was concerned due to the nearly perpetual state of wetness synonymous with Oregon lately. Adorning your neck with the one staple in your jewellery escapes: an antique scapular on black silk cord.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder defiantly: a bag so filled to the brim that it didn't look so much like a bag anymore and more like a rather large and rather worn sack. However you did attempt to beautify its exterior by applying randomised trinkets to it's complexion such as: a statement cross pendant held together with leather twine, a religious pocket book passed down from your grandmother on your Spanish side, and a stone rosary.

Departing from the trinkets adoring the handles of your bag, the once smooth leather of the bag was now covered in tiny hole marks from the pins of the buttons you so religiously adorned your bag with. Many—who were you kidding, all were of John F. Kennedy and his running mate Lyndon B. Johnson. Now you weren't so much of a fan of Johnson as you were of Kennedy but you were seldom able to find ones of Jack by himself. That's why the ones of jack stayed front and centre, with the ones of Johnson meandering in the background, wrapping around the sides of the leather.

It had been a couple hours of your shift before you granted yourself the masochistic reflex of checking the time: counting down the length of time until you were free.

Checking the clock you realise it had not in fact been hours, in reality it had only been an hour and three minutes. Boy time really just flies by when you're serving up cheesesteak melt has brown bowls at five-thirty in the morning: I mean seriously what kind of sicko does that?, and getting hit on by men who look like they could've been your father.

That was until you hear that disntict clink of the door chin: alerting you to a new customer. Exasperated with, well—life, you look up already annoyed. Annoyed until you meet the hilarious sight of a strange man crouched under a comically small umbrella, surrounding by some very self-important all dressed in suit and tie: a stark contrast to the typical male style expected of in Oregon.

Before you can catch a glimpse of the man he's herded into a booth far out of your range of sight. Despite being interested your attention is called for when a woman orders a hot coffee to-go. Y'know, it did always suck when you had to do your actual job and not just people watch for a living.

Out of nowhere two voices come within your earshot,

"No, Tim—I can do it myself. God damn it! You people treat me like a child, I can order my own food." a voice expressed that somehow towed that line between being intrinsically feminine and masculine at the same time.

The other voice begrudgingly backs off but continues,

"I know you're not a child Bob, but I'm trying to help you. Y'know that's kind of my job as advisor, to advise you on shit."

"Fine. You go do it, i'll wait over here like a dog." ,the voice says expressing a particular strain of annoyance you had yet to hear vocalised until that moment.

This man has an advisor? What the he—

"Hey-Uh, could I get a pecan waffle and a dark roast coffee."

Surprised for a moment, you compose yourself and reply "Sure, coming right up."

Shuffling into the back with the intention to tell the cook the order, and then maybe take a cheeky smoke from your bag in the meantime. Maybe.

After telling the cook, you find yourself b-lining for your bag. Getting to your bag, you start fiddling for a lighter that was until you hear a peculiar set of shuffling feet suspiciously close to you.

That's when you realise that you completely missed, on your mission for your bag, a real human man leaning his back against the bag rack.

"Oh-Mary and Joseph—you nearly gave me a heart attack."

The figure, and the face comes into your range of sight and your semi totally mortified. The president-to-be's brother had just seen you try to go for a smoke.

"Oh I'm sorry I just don't like the noises. Forks scraping on plates gives me the chills." the man chuckles.

In politeness you chuckle back, in order to get the elephant out of the room you say,

"Now you're Robert Kennedy aren't you?"

"In the flesh" he says with a quite sassy display of his hands, patting himself on the chest in an act to display his human quality.

"Well I have to say I'm enamoured by your brother's campaign, he's doing so wonderfully."

"Thank you, well I happen to think so too. But I'm a bit biased—y'know it's kind of in my job description. I pegged you for a jack supporter."

"How so?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe the pins on that bag of yours gave me a bit of a clue."

Mortified you look away that was, until, he redirects your head movements with his hand turning your chin back to his with the divine authority of a man much older than you. Though you're not repulsed by that fact, in all reality it's quite the opposite.

"Hey-Hey hey don't be embarrassed. I think it's awfully cute of you, though I wish you didn't have so many of that Johnson and maybe one of me." ,he says in a tone that carries the passion of a thousand un-spoken grievances, peeking your curiosity.

Lifting his hand off your chin, he lightly pets your hair: much like you assume he would do to perhaps a Boston terrier or a bengal kitten. With that same tenderness.

"I better let you get back to work. I'm sure you don't want some old man like me keeping you from your job"

Bashfully you smile, subtly shaking your head in retort. However he does raise a good point, such a good point in fact that it has you turning your heels back in the direction of the front counter. But not before turning your head slightly back—subtly saying goodbye with a smile and a slight wave of the fingertips, to which he mirrors with a sheepish, smug grin.

By the time your shift ends your exhausted and love sick over that man, whom you had only had in your presence for a bijou length of time but had been pondering about for hours.

Reaching for your bag before officially clocking out, you notice a new edition to your bag. A bright white and navy blue pin labelled 'Robert F. Kennedy for Vice President' surprised enough already, you're positively baffled to find a small engraving of a number etched into the backside of the pin.

What was on it, you may ask? Well, Robert F. Kennedy's phone number no less,

And that's how it started.

*End of flashback*

There were moments when you were faced with the awkward societal magnifying glass put on your relationship, and increased ten fold because of your scandalous age gap. I mean come on, it was only twelve years. It wasn't that bad. Though there were times you were reminded every now and then of the twelve year generational divide between you two, like in the instance of when he found that pesky little shoe-box underneath your bed.

*Start of flashback*

"Look at me"

"No I simply cannot bear it, Bobby!" you muffle out, the sound muddled due to your mousy blonde curls interference.

"C'mon, sweetie. It's nothing to be ashamed about, you're a grown young woman. I expected this from you, I'd be weirded out if you didn't partake in this sort of stuff. It's endearing, I promise." ,bobby teases, making a big show of his "promise" by dramatically holding out his arms in a prayer motion.

An action you find less than funny: ending with Bobby getting a pillow through straight towards his head, to which he dodges with ease.

What had caused this whole mess was that you'd tasked Bobby with the mission of finding that cotton camisole he'd so recklessly strewn across your bedroom in the throws of your shared passion. It was your belief that if he did it he should fix it.

However that adventure had led to bobby finding a particularly embarrassing set of erotic books hidden in a shoebox. Each with a more embarrassingly brazen title than it's former.

You had never seen him laugh so much than that day.

"Honey, I'm not laughing at you. It's just-y'know back in my day we never had this. We had to use our imagination, oh how times are changing. It's exciting really" he says adopting a semi sarcastic tone that borders on mocking.

His comments cause you to sulk even more, retreating into yourself perched at the foot of the bed, "Bobby don't be mad, I don't even read that stuff now! not with you. I was so in-experienced back then , I had no idea about anything."

"Oh baby, c'mere" he motions you to him, eventually gathering you up into a bundle and takes you into his lap.

Combing through your hair he explains "Baby of course I'm not made at you. How could I be? with such a pretty face like this. Y'know I'm glad you had those books, though I do like keeping you all to my self. And I certainly don't want to share you with any fictional man." he says in an order to lighten up the room, while dabbing slightly at your cheeks

"Don't cry pretty girl, I hate to see you cry, it hurts me, hurts me real bad. I know you don't wanna hurt me now do ya? Huh?"

Nodding, you compose yourself slightly and lay your head timidly on his chest: slightly hairy and stunk of an addictive sort of musk.

Your slightly moved when he moves his body trying to get something out of his pocket

"Princess, look what I found!"

And there it was your favourite cotton camisole, back in your possession. Sometimes you didn't know how he did it, he just did.

*End of flashback*

And that's how your relationship went for six months. Though it was hard to maintain a relationship being that he was in such a different life stage than you, and coupled with the fact that he was on a gruelling campaign trail with his brother. To be honest most days he would come and see you, you'd just lay in bed soaking up each other's presence. On the days you would venture outside as a couple you got more than a couple looks, and you had your fair share of unfavourable coverage in the media being that you were the controversially young girlfriend by the side of the man who's brother was on track to become president of the United States. But you both brush it off, you knew your truths.

You hadn't seen bobby in two whole weeks and you were beginning to get desperate. Though it wasn't like he was depriving you, he stuck to a strict schedule of calling you every day at seven in the evening: no matter rain or shine. Some times he would catch you eating a late dinner, for which he would scold you about adopting the tone he used in those senate meetings. And others where he would catch you in bed early, and one thing would lead to another. Thank god that you both had been smart enough to check for wiretapping, or else it would've made you two more of social piranhas than you already were...

And sure enough at seven pm, your phone rang off the hook,

"Hey baby, how are ya? Tell me all about what a sweet girl like you was doing all day? I wanna hear it all, leave no detail out." he says in a tone that reveals his true earnest nature that you've come to so cherish in your relationship.

So, you indulge him, "Honey, I got up so early, and then, I got into the shower"

He hums attentively down the line, encouraging you to tell him what you did next: to which you inform him that you took a nap mid-day, "I was just able to go back to sleep for a hour and a half. So that rocked, um, anyway."

"Did ya dream of anything special?" he says while shifting in his leather chaise seat: you assumed he was halted up in his hotel in some nameless city along the trail.

"I had this dream where, um, I don't know-" you trail off sharing some half-baked dream that you weren't sure you comprehend yourself. Apologising you ask about his day,

"Oh sweetie, don't apologise I asked, I wanted to know. I did want to talk about something with you though. Y'know how Jack is coming back to Oregon before the primary. Well, I thought what better a time to introduce you to my family. They'll just adore you baby, I promise just like I do."

Blushing and taken by surprise you bashfully reply, of course agreeing.

"That's great, you'll do amazing. Though, I do have to warn you about their line of questioning. They have a penchant for sort of quizzing girls that I take home about world events, it's like a sport to them-my parents I mean, my siblings will be just fine to handle. I just want you to be prepared."

"Okay, well what kind of events. Like events in your times?" you say sarcastically.

"Okay, Miss Attitude. I'm not from the 1890s, y'know we're only a decade apart. But I'll quiz you when I visit you in a couple days. I'll make it real easy for you, put in some recent events that you know: though you're a smart cookie you'll get it in no time baby."

"Bob, you're making me very nervous. They're not going to go too hard on me right?"

"Oh my sweet, you'll get used to them. They make a big fuss but they're relatively harmless, they'll see how happy you make me and that'll be the end of it. Promise."

After his assurances, you were left unbridled with happiness after you hung up the phone. I mean how hard could it be to charm a family like the Kennedys, they seemed nice enough? You charmed one of their sons so how troublesome could it really be? Jackie looked warm and open in the newspaper, Joan looked a delight and Jack well I'm sure you could bate your eye at him and he would be sufficiently pleased at your presence. Though that left out the parents, which were often the hardest of the bunch when fulfilling the daunting duty of meeting the family, you were sure it would be Bobby assured you so.

And why would he ever need to lie to you?

signing off: bang, bang xx

[i-ship]

Post the SheKnows photoshoot, nothing but smut and fluff 😜🔥

[joeliz99]

A Taste of Italy- Joe Keery

Description: In a serendipitous turn of events, (Y/N) celebrates her birthday alone in Positano, only to find unexpected companionship and romance as she shares a day of cooking and exploring Positano's beauty with the charming Joe.

Warnings: None, Pure Fluff, Non-established relationship, RPF Fic

Word count: 2378

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

The small, intimate kitchen was filled with laughter as (Y/N) stood uncomfortably in front of her designated table. Usually, she considered herself a social butterfly, but today, it felt like her social skills had been drained. She was still trying to get over the fact that her friend had missed their flight to Positano, Italy, after planning this whole day for so long. Instead, she found herself alone in a cooking class she had refused to cancel at the last minute.

The instructor, with a thick Italian accent, provided an overview of the class. Almost every ingredient was laid out in front of her, and a glass of wine stood invitingly on the table. She stared at it for a moment before taking a sip, savoring the various flavor notes on her tongue. As she was about to go for a second try, someone stood next to her, removing his sunglasses and fixing his messy hair while muttering an out-of-breath hello.

"I'm sorry. Do you mind if I station here?" the guy asked, noticing her glance.

"Oh, not at all. Make yourself comfortable," she replied with a smile as he put on his apron.

"Thank you. I almost didn’t make it, you know? The streets are so confusing around here. I’m still sweating," he said. (Y/N) genuinely laughed. He was a bit of a mess, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

"You'll get used to it. Give it a day or two and you'll have them all memorized."

"Are you sure? I’ve been here for a week now. I think I'm past that point," he replied with a grin, his sunburned cheeks now making complete sense.

(Y/N) was about to respond when the instructor’s voice filled the space once again. It was time to learn about Italian cuisine. Soon, the small kitchen was filled with low lounge music and the aroma of homemade sauces mingled with aromatic herbs and light chatter. Joe and (Y/N) worked on their pasta, each having a different experience. While (Y/N) had a natural gift for cooking, Joe struggled to knead the flour and ingredients into a smooth ball. (Y/N) glanced over frequently, almost wanting to help, seeing him with flour on his face, his hair messier than before, and a funny frown of concentration.

"Um... Mind if I help?" she asked after a moment. He looked up, noticing she was about to cut her dough, and nodded sheepishly. "It’s easier if you use your knuckles and press down. I don't know the logistics, but it works." She moved closer and demonstrated. "See?"

"Uhh... Yeah. Let me try," he said, taking over the job again. "How do I keep it from being clumpy?"

"Just keep kneading. It’ll come together soon."

They continued working with concentration, engaging in constant chatter while flattening the pasta, cutting it, and spiraling it into balls to cook in the boiling water.

"I'm going to need another glass of wine at this rate," Joe exclaimed, placing his hands on his hips dramatically. (Y/N) laughed, shaking her head as she took both empty glasses and walked over to the counter to refill them. He smiled excitedly and thanked her as she handed him a glass, and she took a sip from hers.

"I'm Joe, by the way. Nice to meet you." He extended his hand for a formal greeting, regretting it almost immediately when he noticed his hand was covered in flour. However, (Y/N) smiled and shook his hand without hesitation, her own hand looking nearly as floury.

"(Y/N), pleasure to meet you."

Joe took a sip of his wine and leaned against the counter, glancing at the bubbling pot. "So, if I don’t mess this up, maybe I’ll actually be able to cook this at home. Though, I’ll probably end up with takeout pizza instead."

(Y/N) smiled, swirling her own glass. "Pasta’s easier than it looks. If you can navigate a new country solo, this should be a walk in the park."

"Who said I was traveling alone, though?" Joe's teasing made (Y/N) blink in surprise, feeling her face flush with embarrassment as his laugh and friendly tap on her arm made the situation worse. "I’m just joking. You’re right, though. But you’re giving me too much credit. I almost burned my kitchen down trying to make toast once."

"Toast? That’s impressive," she teased, trying to regain her composure. "I think you might be in the wrong class."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, everyone has their talents. That’s exactly why I’m here. My life motto is: When in Italy, be a new man."

"Oh my God," (Y/N) muttered, rolling her eyes with a smile as they noticed it was time to finish and assemble their first plate of pasta.

Everyone had the chance to plate their pasta, adding homemade sauces, grating some cheese, and sitting down to enjoy their creations while listening to local music and comedic stories from the chef.

Joe and (Y/N) sat together, savoring every bite of their simple yet satisfying meal. It felt like an explosion of flavors, enhanced by good company and an amazing ambiance. After such a delightful meal came (Y/N)’s most awaited part: Tiramisu.

Joe noticed the happiness on her face as she helped the chef assemble the dessert, having been pushed to volunteer. Tiramisu was her favorite dessert. After a fantastic demonstration, they all tasted the chef’s recipe, and Joe smiled widely seeing (Y/N) enjoy every bite with her eyes closed and muttering praises.

"Amazing, right?" he asked.

"Every time I come to Italy, I need to eat like a thousand of these. No questions asked," she replied with a satisfied grin.

"So, you're a regular traveler of these parts? Lucky girl."

"Not really," she said with a shrug. "I wish. But who has the money to come here often?" She laughed softly, unaware of Joe’s thoughtful expression. "It’s my second time, actually. Last time I spent two weeks traveling around Italy. One of the best experiences ever. This time is kind of different."

He leaned in slightly, intrigued. "Special occasion, or just a much-needed getaway?"

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, then sighed with a sheepish smile. "Well… It’s actually my birthday today."

Joe’s eyes widened. "Wait, what? Your birthday?" His voice was full of surprise and warmth. "And you’re spending it here, in a cooking class?"

"Yeah, well… I actually love cooking," she chuckled. "My friend was supposed to be here, but she missed her flight. So, I’m making the most of it on my own."

"Well, happy birthday!" Joe said, lifting his wine glass in an impromptu toast. "You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve made this a full-on celebration!"

(Y/N) laughed softly, clinking her glass against his. "It’s no big deal. Honestly, the day has been fun enough. And the food makes it worth it."

Joe looked at her with a lingering smile, as if something clicked in his mind. After the class finished, the two stood outside the small, rustic kitchen, the sun starting to dip behind the cliffs of Positano, casting golden hues across the town.

"Well, this was fun," (Y/N) said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Thanks for being such good company, Joe. I hope you have the best time for the rest of your stay."

"Yeah, same to you. Take care, (Y/N)..." he replied, but as she turned to leave, something tugged at him. He hesitated, watching her walk a few steps away, before suddenly calling out, "Hey, wait!"

She turned, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

Joe took a deep breath, stepping closer to her. "I was just thinking… You shouldn’t have to spend your birthday alone. I mean, not if you don’t want to."

(Y/N) tilted her head, intrigued. "What are you suggesting?"

He smiled, a little shyly at first but then with more confidence. "Why don’t we spend the rest of the day together? I know a few places around here that will make this a day you won’t forget. We can grab drinks, maybe hit the beach, whatever you want." He paused, looking sincere. "I promise you won’t regret it."

(Y/N) blinked, taken aback by his offer but touched by his spontaneity. She felt her hesitation melt away as she smiled and nodded. "Okay, so... lead the way."

They began their afternoon by renting bikes to explore the charming streets of Positano. As they pedaled through the winding roads, the vibrant, stacked houses and stunning water views unfolded around them. The town’s narrow streets were a delightful maze, with antique cars parked along the curbs and locals strolling leisurely.

(Y/N) found herself wobbling a bit on the bike, struggling with the numerous curves and inclines. She tried to hide her clumsiness, but Joe noticed her occasional near-falls. “Having a bit of trouble there?” he teased with a grin.

“Not at all,” (Y/N) replied, though her tight grip on the handlebars gave away her struggle. “I’m having the best time of my life.”

Joe chuckled, adjusting his pace to stay beside her. “You’re doing great!”

Their banter continued as they cycled past picturesque scenes and lively street vendors. The vibrant energy of Positano made their exploration both exhilarating and memorable.

After a while, they parked their bikes and walked along the beach, where she eagerly began collecting seashells. Joe watched her with an amused smile, noting her focused effort. “Is this something you always do?” he asked.

(Y/N) looked up, a handful of colorful shells in her hands. “Only sometimes. I’m kind of amazed by everything that comes from the ocean. So... yeah. Something special to have with me.”

Joe nodded. “Let me help you then.”

They finally arrived at a beachside café, the sun beginning to dip, casting a warm, golden light over the scene. Joe and (Y/N) found a quaint spot where local musicians played lively tunes. They settled at a table with refreshing drinks, taking in the ambiance and the stunning view. As the music gradually picked up its tempo, Joe couldn’t resist doing what was on his mind.

With a playful grin, he extended his hand to (Y/N). “Care to join me?”

At first, (Y/N) hesitated, but his infectious enthusiasm and the cheerful music coaxed her into the small open space in front of the café. As they danced, the rhythm carried them into a joyful, carefree moment. Joe attempted to teach (Y/N) a few dance steps, and she couldn’t help but tease him about his “unique” moves. Their laughter and playful banter filled the air.

As the music slowed, they found themselves in a quieter, more intimate moment. They exchanged stares filled with unspoken understanding, their connection deepening in the soft glow of the setting sun. It was a silent acknowledgment of the bond they were forming.

After their dance, Joe suggested they head to a secluded restaurant he knew about. Tucked away from the bustling tourist spots, it offered a cozy atmosphere with a stunning view of Positano’s twinkling lights. They enjoyed a delectable meal, and their conversation flowed effortlessly. Their genuine interest and attentiveness created a deeper connection as they discussed favorite foods, travel experiences, and personal aspirations.

“So, what kind of cake would you like for your birthday?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

(Y/N) laughed softly, shaking her head. “Actually, I’m not much of a cake person. Gelato’s more my style.”

Joe’s face lit up with a bright grin. “Perfect! Then we’ll do gelato.”

Following dinner, he led (Y/N) to a charming gelato shop renowned for its rich and colorful flavors. As they entered, they both ordered their own cones with an assortment of flavors. With a playful flair, Joe thanked the cashier and turned to begin singing “Happy Birthday” in an endearingly off-key voice. Patrons in the shop glanced over with amused smiles as (Y/N) looked on, touched by the effort and attention.

With their gelato cones still in hand, they took a final, peaceful stroll along the same streets they had explored earlier. When they arrived at (Y/N)’s BnB, the moonlight bathed the entrance in a soft glow. They stood there, the tranquil night around them creating a serene backdrop. Joe took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on (Y/N) as he hesitated.

After a moment, he leaned in slightly, his eyes searching hers. The warmth of their shared day seemed to wrap around them like a blanket. Joe's hand gently grazed (Y/N)’s cheek, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her face. His touch was soft and tentative, savoring every second of their close proximity.

“I’ve really enjoyed today,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I know this will sound somewhat crazy, but... I was wondering...” He hesitated again, his hand moving to rest on her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer.

(Y/N) could feel her heart racing as she looked up at him. The intensity in his eyes matched the tenderness of his touch. “Wondering about what?” she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe took another deep breath, his gaze roaming over her features—her eyes, her lips, the way the moonlight made her skin glow. “If maybe... we could do this again again sometime. Go out, explore more together.”

There was a charged silence as they both felt the weight of his words. Joe’s fingers lingered at her waist, his thumb gently brushing her hip. (Y/N) could see the hope and earnestness in his eyes, and she found herself drawn closer to him.

Finally, (Y/N) smiled, her eyes softening. “I’d like that very much.”

Joe’s smile widened, and he leaned in, closing the remaining distance between them. His hand gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing across her delicate jawline and placing finally his hand on her neck. Their kiss was soft and tender, an intimate connection heightened by the serene surroundings. The world seemed to fall away as they shared that perfect moment, each touch and caress magnified by the gentle moonlight.

As they pulled back, Joe looked at (Y/N) with a hopeful smile. “So, tomorrow sounds good?”

(Y/N) laughed softly, her heart full. “Yes, definitely.”

They parted with a warm, lingering hug, both feeling that this birthday had become a day to remember, filled with new beginnings and the promise of more to come.

[spicywhenspeaking]

I Dare You -> Noah x Reader

“You what?” Noah puffs out, shaking his head like he doesn’t understand what I meant.

“I said, I dare you.”

I repeat again and rise onto my tiptoes to crowd further into his space. I’m done playing our little game of cat and mouse. If he wants to make a move the ball is in court.

His lips quip up in an arrogant smirk. “Dare me? What are you 12?” He lets out a dark husky laugh and his eyes move down, glancing between my eyes and my lips.

I return his laugh softly, “I’m just giving you a chance to make your move” I purr out as my hands traces up and down his chest. “You think you’d be satisfied with just one kiss?” He asks tauntingly.

Teasing the corner of his mouth, brushing mine against his, “I don’t think it’s me that’s going to be begging for more after” I tease him back.

“Oh shut up,” he cracks out before slamming his lips down onto mine in a desperate kiss. His hands grasp under my chin in a tight grip as he other hand holds onto my pulled back hair. It’s not soft or romantic, it’s heavy and harsh and full of unsaid words and unexpressed feelings.

Noah is pouring everything into this kiss, licking into my mouth with ferocity. Sucking onto my bottom lip and then trailing kisses down to my neck. He breathes in my scent deeply and squeezes my hips and pulls us sharply together. “You’re right, it’s not enough.” He rasps put. “I need more, will you give me more?”

He asks and looks up into my eyes, his own twinkling with lust. I nod lost in his gaze and let out a pathetic sound, “mmhm” I hum and he’s on me again. Reaching around to pull my ass closer to him and latching onto my mouth again, quickly seeking entrance with his tongue.

Part 2

divider from here (X)

Taglist: @cookiesupplier @koskeepsake <3

[drspleenmeister]

*Holding my smut!logistics head despairingly in my angry little hands*

Ugh.

Okay.

Girls, guys, whomever: I've said it before and I'm going to say it again now, because I've read more logistically implausible fics in the last few days than I dare to count on my grumpy little claws. The writing may be smoking, but if you can't get the logistics of sex right then you are just going to make your readers go, "Eh, what?!"

You cannot deepthroat someone while breathing through your nose. You can't. Unless you have gills. If you're writing smut for fish then by all means continue to have your characters comfortably taking in oxygen whilst choking on a cock. Otherwise, stop it.

Throat-fucking is hot, HOTTT, but again. Breathing is not possible simultaneously. Please. This type of breath-play is sexy. Use it.

Have you ever tried to hollow your cheeks with a cock jammed down between your tonsils? No? That's right: you can't. Your characters are either using their tongue and cheeks or they are using their throat; I guarantee they can't do both at the same time. Also, having a man able to feel the outline of his cock through the cheek of his partner while they are going down on him: only possible if he is JABBING his fingers into his partner's cheek and forcing the flesh between their teeth, or fucking the head of their cock into their partner's cheek-flesh. Either way is really not going to be comfortable for the partner who is doing the work.

Having your characters stop kissing because they can't breathe is fucking stupid. Have you ever kissed a human? You have a NOSE (which in this instance is NOT being blocked by a cock). It is perfectly possible for two humans to mack on one another for hours at a time without having to come up for air. Drawn-out snogging is hot; have you ever kissed someone so much that lube/prep is not even needed? Trust me, it's awesome.

Limbs. LIMBS. Block your smut scene out in your head, for the love of God. I can't count the number of times that a writer has led me to believe that a pairing are facing one another on a bed, only to find in the next sentence that one is actually behind the other up against a wall; or they're laying down; or one is seated and the other standing.

Get your names and pronouns straight (heh heh...), with m/m or f/f fiction it's so easy as the reader to lose track of who is doing what if you're only referring to the characters as him/her. Don't be afraid to use names, it's better to be too clear than not clear enough.

If you don't have the first-hand experience yourself to write about certain sexual experiences then LOOK. IT. UP. I am neither male nor queer, yet I adore m/m explicit fic and I've done my goddamn research; it drives me up the wall when a writer puts their men into a position that does not warrant easy access to the prostate, but then go ahead and try to write the act as if it's as natural as breathing. My dude, if you're making me - a straight female - shake my head at the logistical inaccuracies of one hot man fucking another hot man, then just imagine the fits of hilarity that you're sending an actually gay man into, who attempts to read your work!

I would say I'm sorry for ranting, but I'm not. I've been reading fanfic for a very very long time and it makes my cold, dead heart so happy when writers get it right, and so sad when they get it wrong.

[couldawouldashoulda50]

From Completely Different Worlds - The Sweden Chapter - Part Seven "The End"

Previous parts 1 2 3 4 5 6 7a) In continuation of @misshoneyimhome's birthday celebration, this is the final part of this entire series From Completely Different Worlds. This chapter I believe is the longest one out of them all. I know how I originally wanted this chapter to end - the thing is I could have kept going but I thought perhaps I could do a follow-up summary for this, as I have other blurbs in mind too.

I do fear repeating myself, but I feel endlessly grateful for the notes throughout this storyline. The comments and asks that have come my way have made me laugh, made me beam and some really made me question and explore motives behind thoughts and actions of the characters.

I want to take the opportunity to anyone who even stops just to look at the cover - I wish you all the very best for the remainder of this year - joyous holidays - and the mindset to pursue all of what you dream of in 2025.

Word count on this one - I am truly sorry - I hope this is not arduous to read - approx 13.5k

Warnings - Profanity. I can't believe I wrote all of this and there's no smut.

William sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, staring at the unanswered messages he’d sent over the past two days. He knew that something was off. Loren always replied, even if just a quick "busy but will call later." But now, nothing.

Hey, just landed. Hope you’re having a good day. Can’t wait to see you soon.

Miss you. Let me know when you’re free.

Everything okay?

Loren?

As the hours stretched on and his unease grew, his texts became shorter, more direct, a mix of concern and frustration. By the second morning with no reply, his messages bordered on frantic.

Loren, talk to me. Please.

Is something wrong? I’m really worried.

Just let me know you’re okay.

Finally, his phone buzzed with a notification. He exhaled sharply, relief flooding him—until he opened the message. It wasn’t a response to any of his questions. Instead, it was a series of screenshots from Loren.

William’s brow furrowed as he scrolled through them. Margot’s name at the top of the thread made his stomach drop. His eyes darted over the words, disbelief quickly giving way to anger. The photos—the interview link—all of it. It felt like a sucker punch.

Before he could begin to type out a response, his phone rang. Loren’s name flashed on the screen. Without hesitation, he answered, his voice filled with concern.

“Loren?”

He could hear his heart in his ears in the silence that followed . Then came her voice—hoarse, croaky, and broken.

“William.”

He knew immediately—she’d been crying.

“Jesus, what’s going on? Talk to me,” he urged, his voice softer now, desperate to understand. “Please.”

The faint sniffle on the other end was like a dagger to his heart. “I—I don’t even know where to start,” she finally managed, her words shaky and congested.

William ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering through layers of worry. “Start anywhere, Loren. Please just talk to me.”

Her hesitation felt like an eternity before she finally spoke. “I’ve been sitting with this—those messages, those photos—for days, William. They’ve said a lot. Showed me a lot of things I didn’t know about.”

The words hit him like a freight train. Days. She’d been holding onto this while he’d been tied up at the rink with medicals, team meetings, and the whirlwind of preseason media.

“Loren,” he started, his voice thick with emotion. “Please, let me explain.”

Her exhale traveled through the line, heavy with exhaustion and doubt. “I don’t know if I want to hear it. The messages from Margot, the interview responses are one thing, but the pictures... those pictures—they’re pretty self-explanatory.”

William clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the phone as he paced the room. He forced himself to stay calm when he thought about Margot sending her those messages. “Those pictures - they…they’re not what they look like,” he said, his voice steady but urgent. “I swear, Loren, it’s not how she’s making it seem.”

“That’s a pretty standard response, eh? ‘It’s not what it looks like’.” Her tired voice cracked, the emotion breaking through. “William, I let my guard down because I thought—I believed—this was becoming something real. I get it - you know, I really do. Or I tried to at the beginning - I was ok with being the non-exclusive, noncommittal, go-with- the flow girl. But I allowed you to lead me on with saying you missed me and all the rest of it. William - seeing those pictures, your words in the interview confirming that there’s ‘a lot of women’….what, that you’ve been dating? Spending time with? And then, receiving messages from your side piece, Margot, confirming that there are more side pieces... holy fuck, I’m an absolute fucking idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” he said quickly, his voice firm. “Loren - Margot wasn’t my side piece - I told you the truth when you first came to see me in Stockholm. She’s twisting things because she’s bitter and—”

“She’s bitter because you fucked her, William and she wanted more - I get it.” Loren’s tone was low and matter of fact. “You told her there might be a chance for another time. And not just her. She said you’ve got others in the city, ready and waiting for your call*.*” Her voice cracked again, softer this time. “I guess that just makes me part of all of that pussy that’s always so available.”

William’s mind raced back to their candid conversation in the hammock.

William tried to calm his temper - he had been honest about how it worked with women when she asked him, and it felt like she was using that against him now. The silence that followed was deafening. William stopped pacing, his hands started to hurt from gripping the phone as he struggled to find the right words. “You’re not - that’s so unfai - that’s not how I think about you,” he finally said, his voice raw. “You’re not just another girl, Loren. I wouldn’t have asked you to visit me - I brought you into my world—introduced you to my family, my friends—you’ve become - or always have been….so, so important to me. I care for you so much, Loren.”

Her sniffle was faint, but he caught it. “None of this makes any sense to me, William. But I can’t ignore everything that she sent to me. I can’t unsee any of it. And I’m sorry William but usually, where there’s smoke, there’s fire….”

“But Loren - do you think I have been out seeing other women since you’ve been back here? We talked, we’ve been talking everyday almost,” he said, the frustration evident in his tone. “Margot... she’s bitter because I didn’t want anything serious with her. The one time I slept with her, that was before I understood how I felt about you —and then you came to visit and everything changed. I want - I want to be with you,” William finally admitted. “And those other pictures... I’m telling the truth. Yes, they’re hugs, but they’re random people, fans just saying hello—I don’t even remember exactly because it’s just how it has been for so long…a fan - or like an acquaintance comes up and they want a hug. It’s all been twisted around to make it look like something it’s not.”

“But then there’s the reporter, William - your eyes in that interview,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You looked at that reporter like... she really wowed you. I could feel your attraction towards her. I’ve seen that look - you’ve given me that same look. You could see it, William.“ Loren began to cry once again. “Even if it’s all innocent, this kind of thing will be a constant occurrence. There will be other women claiming the same as Margot. Sending messages. Photos. Fuck William - you smile at some girl and they post it like there’s something between you - it might be delusional and I know it’s totally out of your control but….William,” Loren sighs before continuing, her voice cracking once again. “True or not, I'll be on the receiving end of this. It will be me that has to try and decipher what’s bullshit and what’s not. And that’s not the worst of it. It breeds resentment and bitterness, William. I’ll be the one always left wondering what is true - do you know what that does to a person over time? I’ve already gone through my fair share of deceit at this stage of my life. I don’t want to be mistrusting. I don’t want to feel like one day I’ll just happen to follow your stare into the crowd and wonder if there’s a women that’s caught your attention. I don’t want to feel that way towards you.”

“Loren,” his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Please, give me a chance to prove to you that this isn’t what it looks like. This isn’t what it will be like.”

Her silence felt like an eternity. When she finally spoke, her words were barely above a whisper. “You can’t say that last part with any kind of certainty. You cannot anticipate what lengths other people will go to in order to get your attention.”

It broke William hearing her voice so defeated.

“I don’t know if I can do this, William. I care for you so, so much but I really don’t know if I can handle this part of your life.”

—

For days, Loren’s lifeline was her work. She tethered herself to it, filling every available moment with tutoring sessions, group home shifts, and hours spent editing the language content for her growing online audience. Just like before, she went through the motions of her day-to-day life, wearing a proverbial mask to hide how hollow she felt, and kept to herself as much as possible.

Every once in a while, as she scrolled through social media, photos of William would appear from Leafs preseason events. There he was, smiling with his teammates, laughing, looking completely at ease, as if nothing had changed. He didn’t look broken—not like she felt. Seeing him appear so carefree only deepened the ache inside her, solidifying her belief that William knew exactly how to make things look perfect on the surface while leaving chaos underneath. She closed her phone and wept.

Her parents, Kathy, and even Alice—Simon Benoit’s girlfriend with whom she became fast friends with—had noticed the change in her. Their questions were gentle but persistent. Loren brushed them off, offering unconvincing reassurances. “I’m just busy, that’s all.” They weren’t fooled, but they respected her space.

It was early one morning when it happened.

Loren was running late and had just downed her green drink as she flew out the front entrance of her house and hurriedly locked the door. She rummaged through her tote bag making sure she had everything she needed for the day and slung it over her shoulder with her keys in hand.

The air was cold that morning, visible in the puff of her breath as she exhaled deeply while quickly walking down the steps of her front porch.

That’s when she saw him.

William stepped out of his car near the end of her driveway. His eyes were locked on Loren as she stood on the middle step of her porch. He walked toward her slowly, and there was nothing hiding the weight in his expression. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced with something heavier, and the faint dark circles under his eyes hinted at restless nights.

Loren froze, her breath hitching. Her keys jangled in her trembling hand.

His voice broke the silence, soft and hesitant. “Hey.”

She swallowed hard, struggling to muster a response. “Hi, William.”

“I know I shouldn’t just show up like this,” he said, taking a cautious step toward her. “But I didn’t know what else to do. You won’t answer my calls, any of my messages—I just… I don’t know how to fix this.”

Her chest ached at his words, but her guard shot up instantly. She tightened her grip on the strap of her tote bag and didn’t move closer. Her voice came out quiet but steady. “I’ve been trying to figure out this absolute shit-show, William. And the truth is... I don’t know.”

“I just need you to let me explain,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Please.”

Loren’s throat tightened as she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’ve spent days trying to make sense of everything. And I’m not asking to hear all the details right now, because I don’t think I can really handle anything else. But please try and understand - there wasn’t just one message. There was a barrage of messages full of information about you that completely bulldozed me. It wasn’t just one photo either - there were multiple photos. Your words in that interview - none of it was rehearsed William. Those words were your words, you confirmed you’ve been dating women - and there’s a lot of them. It was a total landslide of all of this shit hitting me all at once. I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know who to believe…because there’s just so fucking much of it.”

“I do understand how it looks,” William said, his hands outstretched, almost pleading. “But it really is not what you think. I know I keep saying this but it’s Margot—she’s gone out of her way to play this fucking game of twisting lies and making them sound like the truth. She didn’t even translate parts of the interview right - I never said there was a lot of women. I said there were a lot of rumours about my dating life.”

Loren’s voice cracked, but she kept her tone measured. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t erase how this feels. Do you understand that? It’s the hurt. I’ve tried not to have doubts and I know I have my insecurities - I battle really hard to let go of the negative thoughts that creep into my head. But this whole thing just feels like a punch in the face. At this point, I’m not trying to figure out the why’s or how it happened - all I feel now are the bruises and the pain because of it.”

William raked a hand through his hair, his expression desperate. “Loren, I don’t know what to do if you won’t even let me sit down with you. Talk to you.”

“It’s not that I won’t let you,” she said quietly. “I’m so confused and I need time to let my thoughts settle a little bit. I can barely think straight…I’m just overloaded now.”

Her expression seemed to darken and she knew she might be crossing a line with her next remark. She didn’t even know why it popped into her mind. “But hey - based on the team posts that seem to be everywhere, you look like you’ve managed all of this just fine. I really don’t know that anything actually phases you.”

“That’s not true, Loren. Pictures aren’t always what they seem - someone could look happy because they have to - just to get through the moment, but can never fully know what’s going on behind the smile,” William bit back. His icy words hung in the morning air, each one landing like a heavy weight between them.

Loren looked down, her fingers brushing the edge of her tote bag. “I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have said that.” She kept her head down. “But, I do have to go,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper.

As she moved toward her car, William’s voice broke again. “Wait. Please Loren.”

She paused, her head hung downward as tears threatened, but didn’t turn to face him.

“I’d planned to ask you something before... everything happened,” he said softly. “I had planned to invite you to the home opener.”

A lump formed in Loren’s throat. She swiped at the tears that pricked her eyes and steadied her voice. “I’m already going.”

William’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“The organization gave Gary tickets to make up for him missing the Easter Seals skate,” she explained flatly. “He’s supposed to meet some of the team, afterward I think - or before, I’m not sure.”

“Oh,” William said, nodding slowly, as if trying to process her words. “That’s... that’s good. He’ll love that.”

There was a long pause, the tension between them almost unbearable. William’s gaze remained fixed on her as walked down the steps. “So, I’ll see you there?” he asked, his voice laced with a mix of hope and hesitation. “Maybe we could—”

“I’ll be working,” Loren interrupted gently, her voice remained distant. “I’ll probably see you there, William. But I really have to go now.”

He nodded, watching as she walked toward her car and slid into the driver’s seat. His heart twisted as he stepped back, giving her the space she so clearly needed but wishing he could close the ever-growing gap between them.

As Loren pulled out of the driveway, William stood and watched from the walkway, his breath visible in the chilly air. He’d come here hoping to make progress, to try and explain, to see her. But now, watching her drive away, he felt lost. He hoped he hadn’t made things worse.

—

Loren sat cross-legged on the Benoit’s couch, gently patting little Adelaide Benoit’s back in soothing, rhythmic motions. The baby let out a burp, then another, and Loren cooed softly, relieved as the baby’s fussing finally began to settle. She shifted Adelaide to a more comfortable position, and soon the little one was fast asleep against her chest. Across the room, Alice slumped into the love seat, her damp hair wrapped in a towel. She exhaled deeply, exhaustion still etched across her face despite the reprieve of a hot shower.

The team had left the day before to do their traditional team-building getaway north of the city, and Loren had offered to stay with Alice while Simon was away.

[Speaking in French] “Thank you for this,” Alice murmured, her eyes closed and her voice heavy with gratitude. “I don’t know what you’re doing differently—she’s been fussy with me since Simon left, but she’s an angel with you.”

Loren subtly shook her head. “You’re exhausted, Alice. You needed a break. Besides,” she added playfully, “I’m auditioning for the role of your number one babysitter when you and Simon start doing date nights again.”

“You’re hired. You could just move in with us. Rent out your house, work one job instead of what, three? Four?” Alice stretched out on the cushions, adjusting a pillow to account for the towel still wrapped around her head. “And hey, if you get this mess with Willy sorted, we could even be WAGs together.”

Loren chuckled lightly, though the idea of being a WAG felt about as likely for her as a trip to Mars. One hand cradled Adelaide’s bottom while the other gently stroked her back. “I really don’t know what to believe, or even what the right thing is to do—for me, anyway. It’s getting to the point that it’s not just the Margot stuff anymore, or what he said in that interview, or the way he gazed at that reporter—” Loren rolled her eyes, her voice sharpening with indignation at the word gaze.

She sighed, her eyes dropping to the baby in her arms. “It’s all of it, and then add the fact that he’s turning into this huge celebrity. I mean, he already is, but with that docuseries coming out in a couple of days, it’s going to catapult him into a whole other realm of stardom.”

Alice opened her eyes, studying Loren carefully, but stayed quiet as she let her friend pour her heart out.

“It goes back to how I felt when I first met him,” Loren began. “I mean—it was Willy Nylander, one of the “core four”, a star forward for the Leafs, right? Young, hot, wealthy—and insanely talented. Every time we got together, I assumed it would be the last time, that he’d just move on to the next girl because he could, and why wouldn’t he,” Loren admitted, reflecting on when she and William first met in March.

“But then I got to know him. His personality, his quirks, how caring and funny he is. And suddenly, it wasn’t ‘Willy Nylander, the hockey player.’ He was simply William—I would literally forget “what” he was and I loved spending time with “who” he was,” she said, her expression softening with a small smile.

Her voice dropped, tinged with uncertainty. “But now, with everything—the messages, the past hookups, all of the attention he gets, all of it—I feel like I’m back to being just another girl that he’ll eventually pass over - like, another stop along the way. But all the feelings I have for him? They’re still there.” Her eyes lifted to look at Alice. “Does that even make sense?”

Alice leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “It makes perfect sense, Loren. But listen to me—because you’re overthinking this. You’re not being ‘passed over,’ and you’re not just ‘another stop along the way.’ If that’s all you were to him, he would have passed you over already and he sure wouldn’t have invited you to Sweden. He wouldn’t have brought you to meet his family, his friends, the places he loves. That’s not something someone does for a fling.”

Loren opened her mouth to argue, but Alice held up a hand. “I’m an overtired Mommy now so you have to listen to me. Look Loren - I get it. It’s scary. The guy has options—more than most people will ever dream of having. And yeah, he’s maybe got a reputation, but based on what? Reputations don’t tell the whole story. You said it yourself: when you’re with him, it’s not about ‘Willy Nylander, the hockey player.’ It’s about William. And let me tell you something—my feeling is someone like William doesn’t waste his time on people he doesn’t care about.”

Alice softened her voice. “And about those messages? Of course they rattled you. That’s what they were meant to do and pretty much anyone in your position would feel the same. But if he’s been trying—really trying—to explain and make things right, don’t you think that says something? The question - to me anyway - is whether you can let your guard down enough, just to hear the guy out.”

Alice gave Loren a wry smile, sitting back on the couch. “And for the record? You’re the only person I’ve seen get that guy to light up the way he does when he looks at you. So maybe you should give yourself a little more credit and for the love of God, get out of that head of yours.”

Loren paused for a moment before shaking her head. “Agh - you just had a baby and here I am blathering on about my boy troubles. I hope you know how much I appreciate you,” Loren smiled.

“I appreciate you too, especially if you’d put Adelaide in the bassinette so I can crawl into bed? I’m so tired,” Alice said groggily.

“Of course - I’ll take the dogs out for a walk too.”

After doing some tidying up, Alice and Adelaide were long tucked away for a nap and Loren soon ventured off with the dogs. October weather in Toronto could bring multiple climates together in one week, or in one day, depending. That day, it felt almost like summer was beginning again, and Loren felt her mood lightening as she walked briskly with the dogs towards the large off-leash dog park near the Benoit’s home. The walk also gave Loren time to sit with her thoughts, and with Alice’s remarks about the situation with William. The morning he waited for her outside of her house, their conversation resulted in William relenting and giving Loren her space. The steady flow of messages that he had been sending her prior to that morning ceased. Now, with no communication, an even greater fear of the unknown toyed with her mind.

The hardest part wasn’t about deciding whether to trust William—if he still wanted to even pursue a relationship with her. No decision regarding William came with a guarantee. She couldn’t know if walking away would spare her from future heartache anymore than trying to mend things between them would.

At the park entrance, Loren gently commanded the dogs to wait as they began to pull excitedly toward the gate. Determined to refocus them, she stopped and gave the leashes a light tug. “Wait,” she said firmly. The dogs turned their attention to her, and with a sharp “sit,” they obediently complied. Loren rewarded them with praise and their favorite dried liver treats.

Once inside, she latched the gate behind her, laughing softly as the dogs’ focus shifted from her commands to the excitement of the park. She unclasped their leashes, and they bolted off, running in wide loops to sniff and explore.

Her phone chimed with an incoming call. The screen lit up with “Benny,” Simon’s team nickname.

Loren answered quickly, unsure why Simon would be calling. “[In French] Hi, Simon. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Simon replied, though his voice carried a note of concern. “I’ve been trying to call Alice, but she’s not answering.”

Loren smiled. “She’s asleep, and so is Adelaide. I took the dogs to the park to give them some exercise and a little extra quiet for their nap.”

“Oh, perfect. Phew. I was getting nervous… but yeah, makes total sense now. Dad nerves are real. Holy shit,” Simon said, laughing now, the tension in his voice easing.

Loren and Simon talked about Alice and the baby, eventually shifting to their plans for Thanksgiving dinner at Loren’s. They quickly agreed on a few menu details before Simon asked to see the dogs. Switching to FaceTime, Loren angled her phone toward the open grassy field. Simon laughed as he watched the dogs zoom around, darting and weaving like kids playing tag.

After a few moments, Simon glanced over his shoulder and back at the screen. “Looks like I’m being waved over. I’d better go. But hey—Loren, thank you so much for everything. I’ve been able to focus and even relax knowing you’re there with my ladies… and manning the zoo.”

“I love your ladies, and your zoo, so I’m happy to help. Go have fun, and message me if you have any other ideas for next Sunday,” Loren said with a smile.

“Will do. Thanks again, Loren. À bientôt,” Simon replied with a grin before ending the call.

As Simon pocketed his phone, Ryan Reaves walked up alongside him. “Talking to Alice? Everything okay at home?” He paused. “Wait—don’t tell me Alice is there with little Cashew and your mini-farm all by herself.”

Simon chuckled at the name “Cashew” that the team voted on for his baby girl, before he and Alice decided on Adelaide. “Actually, Loren’s staying with her. They hit it off when they met and have gotten pretty close. Really thankful she’s there. Alice and the baby are asleep right now, and Loren’s out with the dogs.”

Within earshot, William overheard their conversation. At the mention of Loren, his stomach flipped—an uncomfortable mix of butterflies and a twisting ache. Even here, surrounded by teammates and fans, his thoughts constantly drifted to her and the icy wall between them.

He’d been thinking of her almost non-stop but forced himself to continue giving her time and space. But hearing Simon mention her, he was desperate to hear her voice. Swiping open his phone, he tapped Loren’s contact before he could overthink it.

When she picked up, her voice was slightly breathless. “William—hi! Sorry, just a second.” He heard muffled sounds and the sound of a zipper, followed by her clear commands: “Okay, boys - sit. Good. And break!”

William chuckled softly, his chest warming at the sound of her voice.

“Sorry about that,” Loren said, her heart racing as she refocused on the call. “I’m out with Benny’s dogs right now. They’re a handful.” She laughed lightly. “How are you? How’s Bracebridge?”

Relief washed over him. She sounded more like herself again. “Good. Up here is nice. You know, usual team bonding stuff,” he said, his voice carrying a smile.

“Oh, right… just another day being William Ny-laaan-der,” Loren teased.

He laughed. “So you’re out with Benny’s dogs?”

“Yeah, just helping Alice out for a couple of days. Extra set of hands, that type of thing,” Loren replied, brushing off her helpfulness.

“You should grab Pablo and Banksy for a doggie playdate,” William teased.

Loren’s heart sank at the mention of his dogs. “Well, thanks for bringing them up—it’s not like I was missing them or anything,” she teased, her sarcasm very apparent. “I’ll just lie down here in the dirt and cry,” she said wistfully with a chuckle. She fell quiet for a moment, the weight of her feelings pressing down on her. She did miss them terribly. But the truth was, she missed William even more.

“They’d be happy to see you,” William added gently.

Loren swallowed the lump in her throat, unsure how to respond. “I read - or well, saw that awful fall during the game last week…are you okay?” she asked tentatively.

“Not my finest moment,” he replied with a chuckle. “But I’m okay.”

Silence hung in the air, which was rare for them.

“Oh! I almost forgot, I was going through the millions of pictures and videos from Sweden….I had taken some photos of the boys by the water - I think they turned out pretty well. Can I send them to you?”

Loren’s voice sounded so timid and uncertain, reinforcing how uncomfortable she now felt with him. That realization twisted the dagger already lodged in his heart. He hated how far they’d drifted—how the easy connection they once shared had been replaced by awkward silences and hesitant words.

William squinted his eyes shut for a moment. The fact that she now felt the need to ask for permission to send a simple picture was almost unbearable. “Loren—you can send me anything you want, anytime you want.” The words came out steadier than he felt. If he could slip through the phone and magically appear in front, he wouldn’t hesitate to hold her and let her melt into him. She had admitted once or twice to him that wrapped in his arms was her favourite place to be.

Loren could hear voices and rustling in the background at William’s end and sensed their conversation was winding down. “Sounds like you’re on the move - I’ll let you go, okay?”

As William stepped into one of the conference rooms at the hotel, he hesitated. He wanted more—wanted to see her, to address her concerns, to air out everything that had happened between them. The impatience and longing tormented his mind, but he knew he had to tread carefully. The call had been unplanned, and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t sound withdrawn or despondent. Her voice carried a liveliness and openness he hadn’t heard in far too long.

“Yeah, okay—we’re just starting something here, so—” William paused, trying to steady the flurry of thoughts racing through his mind. “Do you—could I reach out again when I’m back? Oh—and, yeah, the pictures… I’d love to see what you’ve got.”

Loren lightly kicked at the dirt beneath her shoe. “Sounds good, William. And for sure, I’ll send some along. Enjoy the rest of your time, okay?”

Some time after the call ended, as he sat listening to the Event Coordinators, his phone buzzed with a new notification. Loren had sent the first picture. He glanced at it briefly, noncommittally at first, but then he froze and did a double take.

Loren’s description of the photo did not come close to doing it justice. The image of the two dogs sitting side by side on the dock, silhouetted against the wildfire hues of an orange-red sunset, was breathtaking. The lake was utterly still, its surface like flawless glass, reflecting the wild colors of the sky.

William’s throat tightened with a sudden rush of emotion. It wasn’t just the beauty of the picture—it was the way it transported him back to the bliss they had shared in Sweden. He desperately hoped they could find that same happiness again, this time while sharing their lives in Toronto.

—

The days following her conversation with William felt like uncharted territory. Loren sent a few more photos from Sweden, each one met with brief but heartfelt replies from William. Their exchanges were light, almost painfully polite, but beneath the surface, yet one could sense a mutual longing that neither could bring themselves to fully express.

Though the sting of the Margot situation had begun to fade, it was gradually replaced by a deeper ache—one that came from missing William in ways she almost did not want to admit, even to herself. She missed their conversations most of all, the easy way they used to connect, and the warmth he brought to her life. But no matter how much she longed to see him, she couldn’t ignore the weight of the conversations that still needed to be had - conversations about Margot, their future, and everything in between.

With William busy with practices and going on the road—first in Detroit, then Montreal, and finally New Jersey—their chances of being in the same place at the same time were nonexistent. The physical and emotional distance between them gnawed at her, and only exasperated how she was already feeling.

Loren, however, had more than enough on her plate to keep her busy and her mind occupied. A handful of new students, classmates of her existing clients, had reached out requesting help with literacy and speech practice in French. The influx of tutoring sessions provided enough of a financial boost that she could scale back to more sustainable hours at the group home.

Meanwhile, her online audience continued to grow as her digital language content gained traction. Her marketing manager was thrilled with her output and began brainstorming new opportunities for Loren to be involved in, some of which even included potential travel. As her schedule filled and her prospects expanded, Loren couldn’t help but feel good about the path she was carving for herself.

One afternoon as her last student left, Loren let out a deep sigh, finally allowing herself to relax. She decided to keep things simple for the night—cooking wasn’t in the cards, so she threw together a platter of fruit, vegetables, and snacks.

With her plate balanced on her lap, she poured herself a glass of red wine and sank into the couch. The first sip brought a flush to her cheeks, the warmth of it displayed by blotches on her neck. Scrolling through streaming options, she couldn’t settle on anything, her mind wandering as the quiet of the evening began.

Her phone began to vibrate and dance on the end table beside her. Glancing at the screen, her cheeks went from flushed to white hot when she saw William’s name on the screen.

Hesitantly, she picked up the phone and tapped on the green icon. She answered with a soft and friendly “Hi.”

William’s voice was low and gentle, the same one that always had an effect on her. “Hey - um, just wanted to call and see what you’re up to?”

Loren smiled . “Oh, well - hmmm,” she paused as she shifted her body to a more comfortable position. “I wish I could come up with some fantastic answer but I unplugged my brain about an hour ago. So, really, nothing interesting…looking for something to watch, right now.” She tried to sound blasé, but the smile in her voice gave her away. “What about you?”

“Some Leaf fan you are—you’re not following the schedule?” he teased. “We’re playing tonight. First game of the season. Against Montreal.”

Loren’s cheeks flushed deeper, this time in embarrassment. “Ah, shit…I completely forgot. Thanks for the guilt trip. Arrête de m’énerver, William,” she added with mock drama in French.

His trademark laugh sounded through the phone. “See - yeah, I was thinking you could remind me of some of the French things you told me in Paris so I could shout them at Cole Caufield during the game.”

The wine combined Loren’s adrenaline fueled her banter. “William, I think the French things I said to you in Paris would be wildly inappropriate to shout at Cole during a game.”

William’s laugh turned staccato, that contagious sound that always made her giggle too.

“However,” she continued, her tone faux-serious, “Va chier basically means ‘Screw you.’ Honestly though, I really don’t know how much French Cole understands anyway, so I think you just need to give up this idea altogether, William.”

"You could still remind me of those other words,” William replied, borderline flirtatious. “Inappropriate or not, it might throw him off his game.”

Loren paused, grinning. “I guess if anyone could pull it off, it’s you.”

The two continued to chat, the flow of their conversation sounding more at ease.

Before ending the call, William asked again if Loren still planned to be at the game that coming Saturday. She confirmed she would be.

As William lay stretched out on the bed in the hotel in Montreal, he felt the tension lifting more and more between them. If he could just keep inching the momentum forward, he felt confident they could get back on track.

The past month had humbled him in ways he didn’t expect. When the pictures and messages from Margot first reached Loren, she could have lashed out—screamed at him, hurled threats or insults, or done any number of things to exact revenge. Instead, even in her pain, she had handled it with a kind of control that still amazed him.

It wasn’t something he’d recognized immediately, but his parents had pointed it out after learning what had happened. His mother had been especially vocal, emphasizing how rare it was for someone to respond with restraint instead of anger—to simply articulate her hurt feelings in the face of what felt like a violation of trust.

The more William thought about it, the more it reflected who Loren truly was—steady, thoughtful, and kind, even in moments of turmoil. She hadn’t shut him out as a malicious attempt to make him twist in the wind. She had needed space and time because he realized what they had developed was too important not to press pause.

At the end of the day, he missed her. Her absence hit him harder this time, and the knowledge that she might not remain in his life left a knot in his stomach. He had no idea if the conversations they still needed to have would fix things.

In the quiet moments between games, William considered how he might have reacted if the roles were reversed. If someone had sent him photos and messages implying Loren had been making a fool of him —whether about an ex, a fling, or anything in between—he would have shut down. His walls would have gone up immediately, trust shattered, and he wasn’t sure what lengths Loren would have had to go to earn it back — if he even allowed her to. It wasn’t a side of himself he was proud of, but it was one he couldn’t deny existed.

For now, he pushed those worries aside. Years of sports psychology had taught him to quiet his mind before a game, especially when personal issues arise. But before he did, he allowed himself one more glance at a photo he’d taken of Loren in Monaco—her long hair flowing, a flower tucked behind her ear, her eyes fixed on his full of affection and desire. It was one of his favorites.

—

Michael Nylander sat on the couch in their Stockholm home, the glow of his laptop screen reflected off his face as he watched the first game of the new NHL season, with the Leafs playing the Canadiens in Montreal. He gently blew the steam from his mug of tea, his eyes remained fixed on William, who almost got a tip-in goal on a power play.

Michael audibly sighed as the puck traveled down the length of the ice after William’s attempt.

[In Swedish] “How is the game so far?” Camilla asked as she padded across the room, her hair slightly tousled and her eyes heavy.

Michael patted the spot next to him on the couch, and soon Camilla’s head rested on a pillow in his lap. “Was the volume too loud - did I wake you?” he asked.

Camilla shook her head and smiled, reaching for the blanket that was folded neatly on the back of the couch. She covered herself followed by Michael lovingly stretching the blanket over her body.

“It’s only just begun - Leafs just finished a power play. William had a good chance, the team looks pretty good so far,” Michael replied softly. He strokes Camilla’s arm as the resume watching the game in comfortable silence.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about Loren and William,” Camilla wearily admitted.

Michael nodded. “It’s certainly a mess. I can’t get my head wrapped around what would possess Margot to go after Loren like that?”

Camilla shifted under the blanket. “I never asked but I think something happened with her and William during our family vacation.”

Michael was silent for a moment. Taking a sip of his tea, his eyes remained fixed on the laptop screen. “So, it’s jealousy. I think I can see it coming together now,” he sighed.

Camilla continued. “I’ve seen everything Margot sent to Loren. It was upsetting enough for me to read the way that information was positioned to Loren. There was a nastiness to her messages, almost like Margot was trying to befriend Loren by ripping apart William,” she explained. “I don’t know if Margot really understands the magnitude of what she has done. I know maybe William doesn’t help by getting into these situations to begin with, but all of that damage done to Loren—”, Camilla stopped speaking as Montreal just scored the first goal. She adjusted herself to nestle into Michael’s side. “I just wonder if I should reach out to Loren. William’s got the start of the season going on - and it’s already been a month….” Camilla’s voice trailed off. “I could help her understand what the truth is. That’s what William has said, that Loren’s so confused - she doesn’t know what to believe, and rightfully so. She hasn’t shut the door on anything and Michael - William adores her - I hate to think that they’re both in misery when they don’t have to be.”

Michael nodded. “You are so wise and kind, my wife - and I don’t think it could hurt to talk to Loren.”

She paused to watch the game for another minute before she stood up, tied her hair in a pony tail, grabbed another laptop and walked toward the study.

“You’re doing it now?” Michael called after Camilla.

All he heard his wife says is “No use wasting time getting this fixed.”

—

Loren had long passed out on the couch after her conversation with William and her one glass of wine. She forgot where she was momentarily when she awoke to her phone pinging and vibrating on the end table next to her. She rubbed her eyes and grabbed her glasses to first look at the time and then the text notifications. Her heart raced furiously when she saw the text was from Camilla.

The message was kind and apologetic, asking if Loren could join a video call. She was completely bewildered by Camilla’s request - but mostly because it was in the early morning hours in Stockholm. Her stomach was in knots thinking about all of the possibilities of the purpose for her call. Loren messaged her back right away and opened her laptop, connecting to the call shortly thereafter.

Loren greeted Camilla with a wide smile, although all of her emotions are just under the surface.

“It’s so nice to see your face, Camilla. How are you? Are you up watching William’s game?” Loren asked.

“I’m doing well, my darling. Yes, Michael is watching- I had seen enough when Montreal scored,” Camilla admitted with a chuckle. “I hope I didn’t take you away from anything?”

Loren’s tone was sheepish. “I actually fell asleep on the couch,” she admitted with a grin. “I’m just exhausted lately.” Loren immediately regretted say she was exhausted - it felt like a hint to her goings on with William.

Camilla lowered her gaze for a moment before her blue eyes found Loren’s once again. She smiled warmly at Loren but her furrowed brows showed immense concern. “Loren, I know this might not be my place but I wanted to call, first to ask how you are and second, to tell you how sorry I am about everything you and William are going through.”

Loren’s throat felt tight, wrought with emotion. She could feel her face begin to twist as she tried to hold back her tears. “I’m - I’m doing okay, Camilla. I really appreciate you calling,” Loren said, her voice wavering.

Camilla continued carefully. “I would not normally interfere - I want my children to sort out their own business. But, I have to tell you I have not been able to think about much else since I heard about the messages Margot had sent you. I can’t even imagine how you’ve been feeling.”

Loren’s throat began to ache from being constricted with trying to suppress her emotions. “It’s been tough - it’s just such an odd - no…I guess upsetting and confusing situation.”

“It absolutely is,” Camilla agreed. She gave Loren a comforting smile through the screen. “Loren, Michael and I think so highly of you. When you were here, and we saw the two of you together, we could feel how much you care for one another. I don’t know if William told you this but he and I spoke at length while you and his dad made lunch that day before you left. He wanted you to stay so you both could return to Toronto together. The way he looked, the way he expressed himself Loren - I honestly don’t know if he’s ever felt this strongly about someone before,” Camilla added.

With this admission, the flood gates opened with Loren. She could not hold it back any longer as she ripped away her glasses and covered her face with her hands, tears streamed through her fingers. Camilla’s heart aches watching as Loren’s body began to tremble from the force of her sobs.

“Oh, Loren.” Camilla’s voice is tender as she speaks soothingly through the speakers. “Let it out. It’s okay, just let it all out.”

Loren continued to weep, apologizing to Camilla for letting her emotions get the better of her.

“Please don’t apologize for being upset. Loren, you have every right to feel the way you do. I’m just glad I can be here for you,” Camilla comforted.

After some time, Loren’s tears began to subside, and she began to speak. “I’m just - it’s such an awful feeling. I mean - at first, all I could think about were Margot’s messages - the amount of distrust that I allowed her to plant in my mind about William. But then, and I hate saying this to you - but they’ve earned the reputation of being players in every capacity so I just feel like I’m blindly tripping along here not knowing what to think,” Loren said, her voice still full of anguish.

“I can understand that,” Camilla began thoughtfully. “But I’ll tell you something—when it comes to my boys, I’ve always worried about how easy it’s been for them to attract girls. They never had to try; the girls just flocked to them, like moths to a flame. It always concerned me—what if they didn’t know, or worse, didn’t care, if someone truly special crossed their path? Would they even recognize it? And if they did, would they know how to treat her—or would they simply expect her to always be there for them, without ever giving back?”

Camilla paused, her voice softening as she smiled at Loren. “But while you were here, I saw something different in William. Yes, his family will always be everything to him, followed closely by his friends—but you, Loren…” She leaned closer, her voice sincere. “I feel he’s created a very special place for you in his life.”

Loren remained silent, her expression still clouded with sadness as she considered what Camilla had explained. More and more, Loren felt the distrust toward William fading. What she felt added up perfectly in September with all of Margot’s “evidence”, now it made less sense than ever before.

The two women sat in silence for a moment before Loren spoke. “I have been able to work past what Margot said in her messages and while the other things she said bothered me, I can explain most of it away. It’s just the pictures now that I keep coming back to, but even those…he said they were just random people saying “hi”….they weren’t what Margot made them out to be at all,” Loren expressed, still riddled with confusion.

Camilla’s expression turned to regret. “I know, Loren - I understand your need to protect yourself and it’s hard when there just seems to be so much information that leans on way. I was not there myself to say one thing or the other. But, if I may, Loren, I just cannot see William doing that to you - not after seeing how the two of you are around each other.”

Loren swiped away the fresh tears that ran down her cheeks and put her glasses back on, smiling at Camilla now that she could see her more clearly.

“Loren, älskling, being with someone like William isn’t easy. I can only speak from the experience of being a wife of a professional player, and the mother of two more. There are things I have seen and heard that I would have preferred not to. There are hurt feelings and moments of frustration. For William, I can absolutely understand why you have reservations about his life and how it will affect you in your relationship with - hmmm, so much “interest” in him. There are so many challenges, even with the greatest and strongest of loves, but there are also choices. Every day, you’ll have to decide if the love you share is worth those challenges. And he’ll have to make that choice too,” Camilla concluded, followed by a warm smile.

Loren nodded her head. She took a deep breath and looked back at Camilla through the screen. “We’ve been talking a little, William and I,” Loren said quietly.

Camilla’s eyes brightened with Loren’s admission, her smile widening. “That’s wonderful, älskling,” she said softly, her voice full of encouragement.

Loren swiped away some dust from her keyboard, almost lost in thought. “Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk once the home opener is over,” she smiled.

Loren tried to sound optimistic but she could not begin to guess how this all might turn out.

—

The second Saturday in October was circled on calendars across Toronto and beyond, a date that marked months of anticipation after the Leafs shortened playoff run. For Maple Leafs fans, it wasn’t just a game—it was the event, the beginning of a new season brimming with hope. Across the country, hockey reclaimed its spotlight, and Scotiabank Arena stood as a glowing beacon, welcoming the return of one of the league’s storied Original Six franchises.

Kathy stepped out of the elevator from the parking garage, holding the door as Loren guided Gary’s wheelchair toward the large glass doors of the office tower bordering the square in front of the arena. Though they were still 45 minutes early before the gates even opened, the blue of their home jerseys quickly blended into the growing sea of fans. The city’s sights and sounds converged around them as Loren and Kathy maneuvered Gary through the bustling crowd. Fans milled about, snapping pictures and chatting animatedly about the new season, the coaching staff, and the newly minted captain, Auston Matthews.

Locating Gate 1, the three queued in line, with Gary completely mesmerized by the massive murals of current players displayed above the doorways. Being among the first to arrive, a Security Officer approached, offering guidance on what to do once the doors opened. When Kathy mentioned they were meeting with Fan Services, the officer nodded, spoke into his radio, and quickly disappeared, leaving them to wait amidst the growing line of fans.

Passing through security, they were greeted by Eriika from Fan Services, a wide smile on her face as she introduced herself. After a few pleasantries, she guided them on a quick tour, pointing out the key spots designed for accessibility, including the section where Gary could get a perfect view of the Leafs during warmups at ice level. Finally, Eriika led them to their seats, ensuring they were settled comfortably before leaving with a friendly reminder to flag their usher if they needed anything.

For once, Gary was completely speechless. He slowly scanned the area, looking from the banners of retired players to the banners of their championship wins. Loren could not have been more thrilled for Gary. His life were the Maple Leafs. If anyone bled blue, it was him. He never bad mouthed the team, his support was rock solid. To see him gaze with such an air of both disbelief and awe, made her heart swell.

Eriika had arranged for a wheelchair escort, Josh, to assist Loren and Kathy with navigating the different levels and accessible entryways. He guided them through the maze of hallways and ramps until they emerged at ice level, the freshly cleaned sheet of ice, with the Maple Leaf emblem in the centre, illuminated by the low lights of purple and blue. Gary’s face remained in awe as he absorbed his beloved team’s arena.

Josh leaned down toward Gary. “Let’s see this sign you’ve got,” he said with a grin. Gary proudly held it up, revealing a poster with a large arrow pointing downward and the caption, “Hey Boys! Look all the way down here. Next Leafs Power Forward ON WHEELS - pass me the puck!”

Josh’s grin stretched from ear to ear, his laughter echoing above the hum of the arena. “Man, this is gold,” he laughed, giving Gary a fist bump. “This should definitely get some attention—just be ready….those pucks can come flying over the glass pretty quickly,” Josh light-heartedly warned, saying it more to Loren than Gary.

“That’s why I bring her,” Gary said, jerking his thumb toward Loren. “It’s her job to protect me—she gets paid for it, so she can take the puck to the head, not me.”

Josh laughed at Gary’s apparent heckling of Loren, who just shook her head and rolled her eyes at Josh. “Gee, thanks Gare. You really are such a charmer.”

Gary waved off Loren’s remark with a smile and placed the sign carefully on his lap as they waited.

Soon Kathy joined them at the glass, and they took turns taking pictures of their group with the arena as the backdrop.

Through her smile however, Loren couldn’t shake the nervous energy building inside of her. Her stomach churned—not just for the sheer excitement of waiting to see Gary’s reaction to warmups but also because she knew William was close by, getting dressed and preparing to hit the ice.

The thought of seeing him again made her heart race. She had not seen him since their bittersweet moment at Arlanda airport, when he placed soft, lingering kisses on her mouth before she stepped out of the vehicle. Beyond that, she and William hadn’t spoken since their brief conversation before the season opener. As much as she felt that the conversation was light with hints of amusement, it was still far from their usual easy chats. They were both far too aware of the things that still needed to be said.

During the drive into Toronto, Loren had filled Kathy in on the latest development with William - her call with Camilla. She explained how Camilla had calmed so many of the worries that still plagued Loren’s mind. The fact that Camilla didn’t “choose sides” - she acknowledged Loren’s feelings and gave her gentle guidance, with the understanding of what it might feel like to navigate William’s whirlwind life. It was as though Camilla was reassuring Loren, in her own way, that with her strength and the kind of person she is, that she’ll be more than okay no matter what she decides.

The sudden image of the exit from the Leafs dressing room appeared on the jumbotron screen, couple with the announcer’s voice, was met with the rumble of growing cheers from the crowd. Loren looked at Kathy and inhaled, while Kathy shot Loren a knowing smile while mimicking the Lamaze breathing technique for some much needed humour to ease the tension.

As they showed the players being lead out by the newest Leafs goaltender, Anthony Stolarz, Kathy and Loren positioned themselves on either side of Gary, holding up the sign for him and trying to make it as noticeable as possible. At this stage, all Loren really hoped for is that someone saw Gary’s sign, and would give him something tangible as a memory for that evening.

Loren fished out her glasses and slid them on - if a puck did come flying over the glass, at least she’d have a better chance of seeing it with her glasses on.

Bright white lights suddenly lit up the entire arena as Stolarz and the first handful of players stepped onto the ice, their blades audibly slicing through the surface as they skated their practice laps.

One by one, the Leaf players in their blue home jerseys emerged from the tunnel. Loren could not figure out where to look first as the players whipped by the glass with the sound of pucks ricocheting off the boards.

She finally saw the unmistakable jersey number 88 through the sea of jerseys that flew by her line of sight. Seeing him in person again sent a jolt through her entire body and her head started to pound with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Unaware that Loren had already spotted him, Kathy discreetly nudged her arm and nodded toward William, who was still on the opposite side of the ice, practicing some of his stick handling moves.

William had only been out on the ice for a couple of minutes, but he swore he glanced up and down the faces at the glass about a hundred times, with no luck in seeing Loren. He went about his routines - skating low and fast while making tight turns with the puck never leaving the tape on his stick. After a few turns, he shot the puck at the empty net which naturally went in.

He skated toward the blueline, sending a few pucks in different directions before turning back around. A sign caught his attention which had an arrow pointing downward - the sign seemed to dance along the glass until it was shifted to the side and revealed a man, barely visible at the glass, sitting in a wheelchair with a woman standing behind him.

He hadn’t recognized her right away with her glasses on, but the second he had, his heart swelled - the mixed feeling of relief, happiness and nervousness coursed through his body. She looked even more beautiful than ever - her locks swept up into a pony tail, her skin still miraculously golden despite autumn being in full swing.

When Loren spotted him gliding toward their spot at the glass, the pounding in her head gave way to a twisting knot in her stomach. Her eyes followed him as he read Gary’s sign, a smile tugging at his lips before he interacted briefly with a couple of players leaning against the boards.

Loren shifted nervously behind Gary’s chair, her fingers gripping its handles tightly. She prayed she looked poised and composed on the outside, even though her insides were anything but.

William’s gaze locked on hers, his lips curving into a subtle smile. He motioned for her to catch the puck he was about to flip over the glass. Loren’s eyes darted upward to the tall glass panels that separated them, and then back to him with a panicked expression that made him grin. The background music and chatter from the crowd drowned out his laughter as she exaggeratedly mouthed, “It’ll probably hit me in the mouth,” punctuating it with a wry roll of her eyes.

Still grinning, William motioned for her to head toward the camera hole in the glass. Loren hesitated for only a moment before moving toward it, the surrounding kids pressing closer to see what was happening.

Sliding off his glove, William scooped up a puck and reached through the opening. Loren stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she took the puck. Her gaze lifted, and as she smiled softly to say thank you, his fingers lingered, gently wrapping around hers for a brief moment. Had it not been for the handful of children that converged around them, their shared moment might not have ended so quickly.

Loren made her way back towards Gary. She turned to see William using the blade of his stick to balance and vault pucks over the glass to the awaiting fans that had gathered. She handed Gary the puck she had been given, and glanced back towards William who needed to get on with his warmup. Before skating away, he looked at Loren and motioned for her to show him the back of her jersey. It was same the Auston Matthews jersey she was sporting the first time they met. Mocking his disapproval and exaggerating his disappointment, William gave Loren a confident grin as some fans cheered at his antics before he skated away.

A spectator hollered from his seat nearby “He may have asked you out if you had the right jersey on!” the man laughed.

Oh, the irony of that comment Loren thought.

—

Josh had guided Loren and Gary back to their section and their seats, and the two silently watched the video segments on the overhead screen as the clock wound down for the start of the introductions. A wide smile spread across Gary’s face as the lights dimmed, and the familiar voice of Mike Ross echoed through the arena. Loren couldn’t help but smile as she watched Gary’s reaction between each introduction -from the staff, the coaching team, and then the players—each called out in ascending numerical order.

Loren found herself gripping the armrest of her seat, her knuckles whitening as she counted down the moments. She hadn’t consciously realized her reaction until her heart gave an unexpected jolt when she heard the unmistakable, deliberate style of Mike Ross’s voice announcing, “From Stockholm, Sweden, number 88—William KNEEEE-LAAAAN-DER!”

The eruption of cheers was exhilarating. Loren instinctively whooped and hollered as she applauded, her smile stretching wide as her heart swelled with pride. She couldn’t stop herself from beaming at the sight of him stepping onto the ice, his easy smile flashed across the jumbotron as he skated to his place along the blueline next to Ryan Reaves.

In that moment, everything about William came into sharp focus. He wasn’t just the hockey star with unwavering self-assuredness or the man who was often a breath of fresh air to her. He was both. He was William—one of the most exciting players to watch on skates and the man who made her laugh until her cheeks hurt. She finally saw both parts of him converge in front of her eyes and her realization that she could be in awe of both versions simultaneously. This realization was coupled with knowing she missed him more than ever.

It was not long before the arena fell silent for the national anthems, and William stood in his usual spot at the bench and faced the flags as he had done countless times before. The camera swept across the team, lingering briefly on him. He was aware of it, the way players always were, but he didn’t adjust his expression. Instead, his eyes scanned the crowd, focusing on the accessible seating sections until he spotted her.

There she was, standing beside Gary’s chair, her hand resting lightly on the handlebars of his backrest. His grip tightened slightly on the shaft of his stick, the curved blade supporting his chin as he leaned against it. He stood still, watching her sing—or at least mouth the words—her glasses perched on top of her head where she would always unconsciously put them.

Seeing her through the glass partition during warmups had pushed his longing for her to the limit. The words about a thousand women versus one woman had played on his mind since she first said them. Now, amongst the faces of thousands of women, hers was the only one that he cared about seeing. He just hoped he could steal five minutes of her time after the game to tell her that.

But first, they had their home opener to win.

The game progressed quickly, with the Leafs improving as each period unfolded. Early in the second, William scored his first goal of the regular season, a perfectly executed play set up by Max Domi. His reaction was priceless—grinning widely, he pointed toward Max as if to give full credit to his teammate. Skating past the bench for the customary fist bumps, the thought of Loren in the stands, undoubtedly cheering along with the rest of the fans, gave him an extra spark of pride.

In the final minute of the third period, with the Penguins’ goalie pulled, William secured an empty-net goal, sealing the Leafs’ 4-2 victory. This time, as his teammates surrounded him, he caught a glimpse of Loren on her feet, clapping enthusiastically. The sight gave him a flicker of reassurance that maybe, just maybe, the night wasn’t over yet.

As the final seconds wound down and the team left the ice, Kathy approached Loren and Gary’s section. She bumped into Eriika, who had arrived to escort them down to the dressing room.

Eriika led the way through a maze of back hallways, the cheers of celebrating fans still echoing from the concourse above. Loren followed quietly, pushing Gary’s wheelchair while Kathy walked alongside them. The muted hum of the arena gave way to the buzz of media activity as they neared their destination. Off to the side of the dressing room entrance, Loren could already hear Mitch Marner’s familiar voice carrying through his post-game media scrum.

Eriika waved the three through, mentioning as they entered, “A few players, including Morgan, have something special for you, Gary—a signed jersey. They’ll be by shortly.”

The dressing room buzzed with post-game energy, the players scattered between chatting, packing their gear, or doing media interviews. Max Domi was the first to spot Gary and Loren, his face lighting up as he strode over, still partially in his gear.

“Hey, buddy! Great to see you again—and you brought the ‘ole ball and chain, I see,” Max teased, throwing Loren a playful wink.

Gary didn’t miss a beat. “I’m not allowed to call her that anymore,” he deadpanned in a slow drawl, looking up at Max. “She said she’d roll me off a cliff if I said it again.”

In the next room, William could faintly hear the conversation and laughter as he waited for his media availability. He was in a good mood from the win, but his focus was split. All he wanted was to get this part of the night over with and find Loren as soon as he could.

Standing shirtless, his hair slicked back under a backwards ball cap, William showed his typical casual demeanor as he answered questions about what he saw on Max’s play. But thirty seconds in, there was a slight pause in the reporters’ questions which seemingly gave him an opportunity to exit the scrum.

“All good? Thanks, guys,” William said, pushing himself off the wall, and started to walk away with a cheeky grin. The reporters paused for another second until one began asking another question, keeping William from escaping, eliciting some chuckles in the crowd. William was good-natured about the continuation of questions, and laughed at his attempt to make a run for it and getting caught in the act.

After fielding the remainder of questions, most of which could be considered obvious, William tossed a quick “Thanks” over his shoulder and left the reporters while giving the next player up, Anthony Stolarz, a friendly grin as the media readied themselves for the next round of questions.

William slipped back into the dressing room, immediately scanning the room until he spotted Loren standing next to Simon Benoit and the two Max’s, Domi and Pacioretty. He watched as she laughed at Simon explaining the story behind the team vote to name his little baby daughter “Cashew” before he and Alice settled on Adelaide for her name. “All because I call Alice peanut,” Simon chuckled, while Loren laughed and shook her head.

William’s heart raced as he approached the group, his eyes fixed on Loren. She did not notice him right away, her attention still on Simon who was explaining his excitement for the next day’s Thanksgiving dinner with Loren.

When her sights finally landed on him, everything around her seemed to slow. Her lips fell slightly open as her eyes first fell upon his bare chest, and then the rest of him. The second her eyes finally locked on his face, it was like a bolt of lightening traveled through her body.

Loren was so overwhelmed by the sight of him, she constantly averted her eyes in order to not simply melt into a puddle.

William appeared relaxed as he greeted Loren with a quiet “Hi” and a hug. In that one moment, his body felt starved for her.

“Can I borrow you for a sec?” William asked Loren, the tone of his voice serious.

With an air of uncertainty, Loren nodded. They excused themselves from the group, and he was soon leading her down a small corridor.

“Shit - sorry William, just two seconds - let me just let Kathy know, okay?” Loren said quietly as she turned back towards the main dressing room. William followed, realizing in that moment that he had yet to say his hellos to Gary.

Kathy sat with Jake McCabe and Morgan Rielly in Morgan’s stall, with Gary by their side and his newly signed “Rielly” jersey. Kathy was deep into explaining the sordid details of Gary’s early life experiences.

Loren approached Gary’s chair from behind and she rested her hands on his shoulders. Gary looked up at her as though he had found heaven on earth sitting in the dressing room. She patted his shoulders and apologized for interrupting.

William lowered himself to Gary’s line of sight. “Hey Gary - it’s great to see you again - how’ve you been man?”

Gary’s eyes lit up. He struggled at first with his words but Loren’s reassuring hands on his shoulders grounded him as he spoke. “Been real good. I think you’re gonna have a good year, Willy.” He slowly began to hand William the jersey in his lap. “Will you sign this for me?”

Kathy smiled at William and handed him a marker. Her eyes briefly connected with Loren’s as if to say “Go and get this sorted out with him now.”

William scribbled his signature on the shoulder of the jersey, and handed it back to Gary. He could see Gary’s eyelids started to droop from exhaustion and that Kathy and Loren need to get him home soon. “Gare - it’s good to see you again - and really nice to meet you,” he smiled at Kathy. “I won’t keep her but I just need Loren for a minute, is that okay Gary?”

“Agh - you can keep her,” Gary waved them off and chuckled when he saw Loren’s less than impressed expression.

“You know you’re not funny - right, Gare? Anyway, Kathy - I’ll be back in a sec.” Loren then turned to Jake and Morgan. “It was really great seeing you guys. And Congratulations again to you and Tessa on your little man, McCormick,” Loren grinned as Morgan and Jake leaned in for a hug.

Loren stepped back as William touched her shoulder, nodding his head subtly back toward the hallway. Loren’s nerves gripped her stomach as she followed his lead. She watched in mild amazement of how he glided past the buzz and the noise of the post-game activities without distraction. Somehow, he was still discreet as he lead her down a short corridor that ended at an unmarked door. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he opened it, revealing what appeared to be a small medical supply room.

While passing by, the only person that seemed to notice William and Loren was the new coach, Craig Berube. Fucking guy works fast, I’ll give him that he thought as he chuckled to himself .

William stepped aside to let her enter. She stepped though, her heart racing as he followed her in, the door clicking softly behind them, muting the laughter from the dressing room.

A singular fluorescent light flickered on, and Loren glanced around the room just to get her bearings. Her hands fidgeted, subtly but compulsively pulling at the hem of her jersey as she stood across from him. Her cheeks burned as she glanced at William, still shirtless, still with his backwards cap, and still the man she cared deeply for, and missed every day.

William leaned against a counter, watching her nervous movements. His heart sank seeing how unsure she appeared to be.

Despite her nervousness, she broke the ice with William immediately. “I’m disappointed I didn’t get to see you in your garters.”

William broke into a wide smile and hung his head. “Oh yeah? I carry them off pretty well, do I?”

“It’s humbling to know that you still are the sexier one in garters between the two of us,” Loren grinned.

“Says you - I think most men on the planet might disagree,” William chuckled.

Although their conversation had a lightness to it, silence eventually fell between them. William could see Loren struggling to keep control of her emotions.

She was cracking inside. Her shoulders drew together as she tensed, not wanting to break in front of him.

But it happened as soon as he asked her how she has been.

Her head lowered, hands soon covered her face as she wept. William himself felt tears prick at his eyes seeing how upset she was.

He gently pulled her into him, and felt her warm wet tears against his chest. As her body shudder, his arms completely enveloped her. He soon felt her palms along the side of his body which eventually circled around to his back.

His hand moved up to her hair, cradling the back of her head as she leaned her forehead against his chest. He felt her tears falling as they landed near the waistband of his shorts.

When Loren finally spoke, her voice hardly registered above a soft whisper. “I got it all wrong, didn’t I?” She let out a sob as her body trembled. Her fingertips pressed firmly against his skin.

“Loren, fuck. No. No.” William spoke into her hair. “You did not cause any of this. This was never - none of this was your doing. I need you to understand that.” William’s words were gentle but firm. “What else could you have done with all of that shit that was sent to you?”

It took a moment before Loren responded. “I don’t know, William,” she sniffled.

“I should have thought - I should have maybe thought to mention that interview stuff to you, just so you understood why I said what I did. It’s no excuse but I’m so used to these questions but - I’m not used…used to having someone in my life that I needed to explain this stuff to. I hope I’m making sense?”

Loren nodded her head.

William continued. He could feel Loren’s body beginning to loosen up in his arms as he pulled her a little closer. “The rest of it. I mean, some of the stuff I had planned to sit down with you once we were together and just sort of hash out, like - my past…"single" activities…in the offseason with a girl here and there.” His voice was soft as he spoke, stroking Loren’s hair as her sniffles began to subside.

“The two weeks you were with me - Loren, I was just - amazed - you amaze me - and how great that time together was, and I knew I wanted to - want to - whatever the fucking label is - be together, be in a relationship, date you - whatever it’s called. So I figured we’d have all the serious talks once I got back…but then all of this happened.”

Loren’s hands dropped down to his lower back, her forehead still resting against his chest.

“I know - or I feel like I’ve been the one that’s sort of fucked things up, more that a few times with you…and I know I suck when it comes to saying the right things…but I am so sorry, Loren, for the all of the shit I have put you through. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and a lot of shit decisions that I regret.

William paused, wanting to allow Loren to say something, but she remained silent, save for the odd sniffle. She stood still, absorbing William's words. She believed that they were genuine and heartfelt. His apology began to diffuse the pain of the past month, offering a glimpse of the regret he carried for the months that preceded this moment.

When she did finally speak, he wasn’t expecting her response. “You really need to wear a shirt—I’ve got tears and…other stuff all in your chest hair,” she said, her voice congested.

He released her body temporarily and grabbed some cotton pads nearby.

Loren tried to conceal her face a little as William pulled her back towards him. “I’m a fucking mess,” she said, embarrassed. “Yes, I’m a ugly crier too.”

William cradled Loren’s face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing her damp cheeks. He leaned in, his forehead pressing lightly against hers. “There’s nothing about you that comes close to ugly -- you’re absolutely beautiful.”

Loren let out a small laugh, shaking her head as her hands rested on his chest. “I’m a puddle - nothing like smeared mascara and tears all over your chest to impress you,” she muttered, dabbing under her eyes and then swiping the pad across William’s chest.

“I can handle the mascara, the tears… and hmmm - whatever else you’ve got going on here,” he smiled. “Anything to make things right again, I’ll do, Loren.”

She reached around William’s shoulders, and he responded by wrapping his arms around her body, lifting her up and turned to set her on the counter. His hands fell to her hips as he positioned himself between her legs.

As he scanned her face, his expression became more reflective. “I’ve missed you so much. I don’t want to rush you so whatever you feel - whatever you want to do, just tell me, okay?”

“I’ve missed you too - so much, William.” Loren looked at him, her eyes soft with a hint of regret. “I know we need to talk - a little - or a lot more about things, but I’ve gotta get Gary back.”

William squeezed her hips - he tried to think of a way for her to stay with him. “I guess it would be shitty if you just let Kathy handle Gary on her own,” he said as he answered his own internal question. “What about tomorrow?”

Loren toyed with the gold chain around his neck. “I’m having Benny and Alice for Thanksgiving. I think he’s mentioned it to a couple other guys but they might do something else - it was up in the air, last minute kind of thing.”

“So - like turkey and stuff?” William smiled coyly. “I like turkey,” he hinted playfully.

“You’re welcome to come up, if you want to. There’d be enough to feed an army of Nylanders - knowing how much you guys like to eat,” Loren smirked. “If Alex is around and wants to, he’s more than welcome to come too.”

“Pablo and Banksy?” he asked.

She nodded. “Especially those two.”

Loren glided her hands down the front of his chest. The only thing on her mind was her mouth on his. She leaned forward, and brushed her lips against his. The kiss started softly but quickly deepened as the past unresolved emotions funneled into their longing for one another.

His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as their connection ignited.

William’s hands found their way under her jersey, he slowly pulled away slightly from their kiss and looked at the jersey again, shaking his head.

“We really need to get you a new fucking jersey - and not one with Matthews on the back.”

Loren raised her eyebrows. “McCabe?”

William chuckled and shook his head.

“Wait - “ Loren darted upwards muttering last names of the Leafs roster.

William raised an eyebrow as he nodded his head. “Ahhhh - I see it now…you’re using me to get to….”

“Pacioretty?”

William laughed his iconic laugh. He was truly dazzled by this woman.

Loren cocked her head to the side, her voice soft but teasing. “Nylander - I always sort of liked him. But he’s super hard to get.”

“Not if you ask nicely,” William countered with a smirk, leaning in closer. “And maybe if you agree to model it for me sometime, throw on those stilettos and the garters we just talked about, and I can definitely get you a Nylander.”

[stockcarbaby24]

Logan Sargeant/Oscar Piastri

In Progress, Rated E

Summary

Logan tried so hard to keep his nausea down as he watched Oscar’s hand gripping the edge of the countertop... silver band shining off his finger.

"What the fuck did we do, Lo?" Oscar asked, soft and scared. Like they weren't two, adult formula 1 drivers... but still the same kids that had met all those years ago. Logan's lip quivered, looking at the ring on his own hand again and praying this was just some horrible game of dress up they'd been playing gone awry.

"I don't know…”

--

The 2023 Vegas GP is an exhausting, whirlwind of an adventure for everyone, but especially rookies Logan and Oscar. After a wild night the two wake up with matching rings on their fingers. The problem is they can't remember how or why they got them, especially since they're just friends... right? How are they supposed to move forward after making a drunken mistaken and act like nothing happened between them? Do they even want to act like nothing happened?

[harrywavycurly]

Texting Boyfriend Harry Styles Part 13: Golf Puns

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

Tag List: @blckburd @styleswithaseaview

A/N: Harry doesn’t remember you telling him about girl’s night but it’s fine he still gets to cuddle you for five minutes, enjoy✨

[thinkingaboutfilm11]

Fic Masterlist

Everything that I've written for F1 in one place <3 It goes without saying, but please don't share any of these beyond this platform. I've archive locked them for this reason and also for AI reasons. :)

1- (Do You Dream About Being Interlinked?) Interlinked

Word Count: 45K

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ayrton Senna X Alain Prost

Summary: A retelling of the 1988 season, focusing on how Alain's and Ayrton's relationship spiraled into something neither of them could resist, or control.

Link: Here

2- 'Twice As Many Stars As Usual'

Word Count: 18.3K

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ayrton Senna X Alain Prost

Summary: Imola 1994 and beyond.

Link: here

3- To Leave or Not to Leave (Mclaren)

Word Count: 15K

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ayrton Senna X Alain Prost

Summary: Alpha Ayrton has been on the grid now for a decade, he has seven championships under his belt, the unwavering love of the entire grid, and whatever omega he wants.

So, why is he so obsessed with Mclaren's new hire beta rookie- Alain Prost?

Link: Here

4- 'And I know You Hate That'

Word Count: 7.5K

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ayrton Senna X Alain Prost

Summary: Alain wakes up hungover, ill and handcuffed to Ayrton Senna.

Not the best way to start his morning.

Or is it?

Link: Here

[angrychicagoan24]

there is new fanfic chapter

gay <3

[melancholicstation]

Salvatore can wait, now it's time to eat soft ice cream — bobby f. kennedy

As Jack's wife many may propose your sex life to be exuberant and quite frequent: in reality it's nothing of the sort. After having your beautiful baby-girl Enya, you'd expressed fears and insecurities of being intimate about your new post-baby body with Jack to which he kindly dismissed them telling you that he loved you even more now. While hearing those words from a man you've loved half your life warmed your heart his sentiments fail to quell your fears. However, what sets you free from all your present worries and gives you release is in fact his own brother and your brother in-law: Robert.

taglist: @vile-harlot @dulcegal @rockstarfreddybby @starsprangledgirl @bluelancergirl @hisamericanmuse @violetharmonsfavgf @vampyiricris @rocker-chick-7 @reptaysgf @castiellover77 @salvatoresablondie @mckinleygirl98 @h-l-vlovesvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @monturi @darcyspirits @unmarlou @remotewatch @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @fortheloveofjos @strip-weather-forecast @ultr4v1ol3nt @acrowdedstreetin1944

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, postpartum insecurities, possible inaccuracies to do with pregnancy and postpartum as i have never been pregnant before, infidelity, nipple play, desperate catholic man, unprotected sex, drunk sex, fingering, being eaten out, 18+

words: 2,950 words

It was a quiet morning for you. A statement that you could rarely ever leave your mouth truthfully due to your residence being that big egg-shell coloured house located at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington—or how it's more commonly referred to as the White House. But you weren't in the White House, no, you for now were in the land of fado, wine, and poetry: Portugal.

Taking advantage of the barren land in your calendar managed by your assistant spacing between the 21st and the 28th you had decided to go visit your sorority sister, Alma, and her sprawling Lisboa estate 'Quinta da Abrigada'—or at least that's what she'd called it in her letters inviting you to the country house. You'd been initially apprehensive, a cross-country flight with a 6 month old baby seemed to be a recipe for complete and total disaster. Not to mention the press coverage, nit-picking your choices labelling you as an unfit mother, while hailing Jack as the dotting husband and father. Which he was, though that was when he was there which proved to be scarce.

Despite this worry of yours the person who truly convinced you was not Alma herself and her gushing about the residencies sparkling woods and breathing taking views of the Serra do Montejunto. In fact it was your very own tousled hair, chiseled jaw, president of the United States husband: Jack.

Apparently, in his astute opinion, he believed that some time away from the unrelenting US press and the ever thinning tightrope of public opinion would be good for you and the baby. Initially you'd worried that it would be to distressing for your little Enya to be away from her father that much for more than a couple days—you swore that you'd read a dreadful story in women's weekly of a baby forgetting the face of one of their own parent! You retold this story to Jack to which he only chuckled, and delicately cupped your face teasingly tapping the tip of your nose. In response to this he'd told you that once he'd finished up scheduled business in Palm Beach that he'd fly to Lisboa on the SAM 26000 Boeing. That was on the night before the 21st, and after listening to your husband you'd confirmed with Alma that you were in fact coming.

However it was now the 24th and Jack still hadn't shown up, and you were given no indication that he was ever going to.

Your melancholy about your marital situation was intermittently interrupted for a few days by Alma keeping you an incredibly busy working woman. You see, she was trying to convert the Portuguese country home into a fully functioning hotel and a wedding venue—she would never admit it to you or to herself but you had a sneaking suspicion it was a true vanity project in every sense of the word. You'd heard rumblings between European socialites that her Argentinian polo player husband was growing weary of her shopping sprees down at the Avenida da Liberdade and the last straw was a wine-filled rampage of the strip boutiques on Castilho Strett that ended in a bill of over sixty-two thousand euros.

Despite positioning your Portugal stay as a vacation Alma really put you to hard labour. Or at least your version of hard labour at 6 months postpartum which was lugging the ostentatious amount of floral and foliage arrangements for the happy couples who'd chosen the Portuguese country home to be a witness to their holy matrimony.

By 4 pm you were done for the day having laid out the varied bouquets of chocolate cosmos, primroses, hollyhocks, and wisteria. Some were incased by crystal glassed vase, like a trapped ballerina forced to spin inside of a music box. While others were allowed to roam free, tangled up the arched walls of the chapel, propped up by short and stumpy neoclassical stone pillars.

You'd initially underestimated how unhappy it would make you to see couples—each more happy than their former. It made you want to take a microscope to the state of your own marriage and shred it open. How unrecognisable you both were to the versions of yourselves that had walked down that Rhode Island aisle that day. Your marriage to Jack wasn't bad by any means: it was just different than it had been at the beginning. After having a child your relationship with Jack had morphed into more of a companionship rather than a romantic relationship. He'd become more distant: working later hours and coming to the west wing smelling of palo santo and black current bud.

A stark contrast to your personalised musk of waffle cone accord and vanilla...

But you were committed to make your marriage stick. For your sake, for your children's sake, and for the sake of Jake's whole presidential career. You were each other's best friend but sometimes, all of the time, you'd just wish he would touch and cherish you like a lover. You just wish he would be soft with your heart every once in a while.

You'd hoped a European getaway for the both of you would make some difference, but it seemed that Jack had made his choice. And so will you.

Because you had been such a help around the home Alma decided to watch Enya while you helped the florists prepare, the last time you saw your baby-girl was only a few short hours ago and yet your heart felt like it was being ripped from your chest.

Dusting yourself off, brushing away the cut stems of flowers and pollen from various flowers that were sure to stain the surplus of linen matching sets you had brought along with you, you made a bee-line away from the chapel and towards the main house. Maybe Alma truly was on to something about making the sprawling estate into a hotel what with its ample land of approximately 1,350,794 Sq Ft.

Due to its overwhelming size Alma had allowed you to stay in the third wing of country home which had been newly renovated to accommodate for her aspirations of it one day becoming an auberge, but much, much large. With its many rooms you and Alma, and Jack if he bothered to show, were more than comfortable. Though you could afford it with the shear square footage of the wing, Alma's cot stayed with you directly to the side of your king sized bed, a welcomed addition of the renovations by you.

You couldn't believe that Alma was taking this kind of project on, to you just planning it all out seemed hugely anal. What with all the construction needed to implement tarred streets, sidewalks, public lighting, water pipes, sewage, electrical and network cables at the entrance of each lot. I mean it was a lot.

As you push open the door connecting the wing you immediately b-line for the washroom: eager to get the confused scents of opposing flowers off of you this instant. You thought back to your conversation with Alma, remembering that she would be watching her until 5pm: delightful. Despite the absence of your daughter resting on your chest being deeply felt by you, it was a blessing to be able to take your time in the shower. A privilege that you had taken for granted in your twenties.

Apparently your darling Alma, along with Alma's own older children, was going to get a private tour of the romantic woods, the various sycamore trees, and even the proprietary chapel in between the scheduled weddings that day. You'd gathered that by now, taking a look at your watch while you start to disrobe for the shower, Alma and Enya would have already stopped by the church by now.

During your shower you lathered yourself with your 'garden essentials' body wash the scent of California lavender leaving you with a camphorous scent, awakening your senses invigorating you for the evening. Next, you applied a scotch pine shampoo bar to your scalp-a gift from one of your Californian friends from elementary school who'd turned to the all natural life—whatever that meant. Once out of the shower you palmed a hair oil blend of argan oil, natural antioxidants and fatty acids, pear seed oil, and castor oil throughout your locks. Since getting pregnant and after giving birth you had seen a direct decline in the thickness of your hair and an increase in hair loss, a symptom of postpartum you absolutely detested. Activating the arrival of your baby soon you'd decided to get your hair out of your face, since her favourite pastime of late seemed to be yanking your strands of hair with remarkable strength.

Speaking of postpartum symptoms... since you had started breastfeeding your baby girl, your nipples had gone increasingly sore and sensitive especially at nights. As a preemptive measure you put some nipple cream given to you by a midwife and went along with your out of shower routine slathering on your personal favourite body oil that you'd dispersed into a travel size bottle.

Moving out the bathroom after dressing your put on immediate edge. Despite its size you hear noises coming from the room adjacent to the bathroom you'd just stepped out of—the bedroom you and Enya had been staying in.

Ice hot horror had bleed into every crevice, and every vein in your body. Jack always told you to be wary of going places without security—always fretting over your security and your penchant for leaving unannounced, and now you were paying for it.

In an almost comical defence, you grab the nearest thing in your line of sight: ironically an erotic sculpture ground by a plinth that looked like it weighed a far few. Hands shaking you, grasp the brass handle and quickly turned the nob: trying to look as menacing as possible to an intruder.

But what was behind the door was anything but. There was Bobby, in all his grecian tragedian beauty, holding Enya with his big pilose arms supporting her head like a true natural parent—which you'd hope he was after having enough children to start as sports team.

Both of you looked equally surprised as each other.

"Christ, hun what ever are you doing with that thing?" Bobby says chuckling, while rocking back on the soles of his feet and motioning to the stone sculpture.

"Oh Good Heavens, Bob you nearly gave me a damned heart attack" you say clutching a hand to your chest. To which Bobby shamefully and discreetly looks at your chest—in his defence you were wearing a more than revealing top because you really weren't planing on any visitors.

"Oh I'm sorry, c'mere sweetheart how are you? It's been ages!"

"Bob we spoke over the phone two days ago!"

"Oh, c'mon now you that phone calls don't suffice for either one of us."

Bashfully you smile, but realise Jack has not accompanied Bobby, wondering where he is you ask,

"God Bobby it's good to see you too, tell me where is Jack around? did you tell him that there's stables he's probably there he'd love th-"

Interrupting you Bobby explains, "Sweetheart, he couldn't make it I'm sorry."

A bit embarrassed, you try to play it cool. Noticing your discomfort Bobby gently dislodges Enya from his chest to yours, and it's cheesing to say but the weight of her on your chest salves the wound ever so slightly.

"Bob how did you get her? I thought Alma was watching her?"

"Oh she was but we met down at the chapel and I offered to take Enya—she looked a bit occupied with her own roady children. I didn't want Enya to be forgotten about." he says while stepping closer to you, trailing the back of his hand against her cheek and then moving his eyes to you.

Flustered you take your time analysing him back: dressed in a rolled up button up white shirt, and khaki coloured slacks. Blushing, Bobby says,

"She seemed pretty sleepy when she was handed to me. Why don't you have some time on your own and I'll watch her for you?"

"Oh please Bobby i've had plenty of 'me' time. Your ramblings would do me good, would take my mind of Jack. Matter of fact I'm starving aren't you?"

"Famished! I tell you a palm beach flight to Portugal is no joke."

"Well that sorts it! we'll take her bassinet and have some food out in the grass."

"Sounds perfect, maybe some champagne. I know you can't drink but you can live vicariously through me!"

Chuckling you nod, and he follows you out of the room.

Moving into the kitchen you start to prepare the snacks. Looking at your bleak options since you haven't gone to the market you decide on hors d'oeuvres chicly displayed on a walnut cutting board gifted to you by a baroness. Gathering the necessaries: crisp bread, casalingo salami, foie gras parfait, chicken liver paté, and finally a bottle of pierre mignon for your beloved Bobby.

Delicately balancing the board with one hand, and the bottle in the crevice of your arm, you glance back into the bedroom with Bobby and Enya. Despite your unintentional eavesdropping you hear Bobby rocking Enya to sleep,

"You are so lucky to have your mom, huh? She's the best mom anyone could ask for don't you think?"

The comments warm your heart but you're unable to dissect that feeling as Bobby steps out of the room moments later and like a gentleman: immediately steps to take the bottle of wine and board from your hands.

And one thing leads to another, the hours pass, and by 10 pm you both felt drunk—and probably look it to any outsiders passing by. Despite not drinking a single drop you feel utterly intoxicated by his very presence.

Luckily, Enya had been picked up by Alma to be watched for the night after she'd landed upon you two in the grass: with Bobby's head in your lap, giggles emitting from the both of you.

As the night drew on you'd gotten immeasurably close physically, simply tripping over yourselves trying to catch each other up on both of your lives when you weren't with each other. Bobby being Jack's brother meant that a great portion of your life was spent next to Bobby, and even going a few days apart felt like a whole year for the both of you. Possibly a little co-dependent considering you both had parents but you both didn't want to question it to hard—the papers did enough of that themselves, always questioning your friendship or rather the existence of something more.

Once you two had sufficiently caught each other up on your respective lives, the conversation turned more soft and touchy. Bobby was extremely tactile when tipsy. You and Bobby had kissed a couple of times over the years but you'd never gone the distance, always stopping yourselves.

However this time neither of you wanted to stop, in a haste Bobby motions to take off your top, that was until Bobby's soft caresses of your body reminded you of the insecurities plaguing you for the last 9 months.

Feeling you freeze up Bobby, worried that he'd done something wrong, asks if you're feeling okay,

To which you reply, "It's nothing on you Bob, it's just that ever since Enya I'm so different to how I was. Now i'm sore and I ache all the time, and I feel so damn unloveable."

"Oh Hun, you're nothing of the sort. I see, before me, a woman not only worthy of love but of worship. Let me worship you, please I promise it'll be-"

Captivated, you nod almost immediately but cringe as you release you hadn't had time to wipe off the nipple cream you'd lathered on hours before.

Once your breasts are revealed to him you can't bear to look from embarrassment expecting him to recoil, but he doesn't in fact—your worries are bulldozed by the fervid pleasure of his mouth of your bud, sucking delicately for your pleasure and your pleasure only.

Taking his warm mouth of your bud for just a second Bobby says with batted breath,

"Take a deep breath, baby, C'mon"

Overcome, you arch your back like a Persian kitten. Your nails scrambling, and tearing into the soft grass: your moans turning into soft, delightful screams.

Overcome with gratitude and deference to Bobby you scream out, so loud that you're not entirely sure that Alma can't hear you,

"Baby, baby, baby, I'm-i'm your man"

Who knew you could cum from that? Certainly not you, that's for sure but alas you did.

You take several minutes to come out of it, to which he just cradles you brushing a few short strands of hair, dotting kisses along the concave of your breasts.

As if to give back you raise a hand to his chin, and engulf him in a sweet kiss, nothing reminiscent of dominate coming from either side: just tenderness.

"Oh I can taste champagne on your lips, Bobby!"

"Y'know I do have an idea on how to get rid of that taste" to which Bobby dramatically lays you on the ground and gets down to business on his hands and knees, fingering and teasing your mound: warm and inviting.

By the whole end of the ordeal you've had 5 orgasms and made enough noise to rival the neighbouring cats and dogs screeches and barks.

All the nipple butter has been removed from your breasts and is now squarely strewn around on Bobby's face and lips—they do say lanolin is a good moisturiser for the lips...

[i-ship]

Sam/Cait + Jamie/Claire fic? Yes, yes and yes!

When Sam and Cait accidentally stumble into the Outlander universe, they must confront their growing attraction amidst the dangers of 18th-century Scotland. As they navigate a world of secrets, disguises, and fierce emotions, all the while Jamie and Claire play matchmaker—whether they like it or not.

[stargiirl27]

I may not be the biggest mclennon fan, but as a beatles fan I can say that those bitches paved the way for modern rpf