#fort worth lawyer
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Berenson Injury Law
Top-Rated Forth Worth Personal Injury Attorney — Bill Berenson is an aggressive car wreck attorney who has represented accident victims in North Texas for 42 years. Fort Worth car accident lawyer Bill Berenson specializes in claims and lawsuits due to car, truck, 18-wheeler, motorcycle, and pedestrian accidents. If you have been injured, we will help you deal with your medical bills, vehicle damage, lost wages, and pain. Bill Berenson has a long history and strong reputation for fighting for the MAXIMUM amount of compensation from all available sources. Contact us now for a FREE case review.
Car Accident Attorney Fort Worth TX
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Understanding Texas Child Custody Laws
As you move into the legal process, it is important to acquaint yourself with the correct terminology and legal issues. For example, Texas law does not use the term “child custody.” The correct term is conservatorship. Parents are conservators, not custodians in Fort Worth Child Custody Lawyer. It is agreed that the best outcome for the child is to maintain a relationship with each parent, such as some form of joint managing conservatorship. Under this arrangement, both parents will spend time raising the child and participate in making the decisions important to the child’s upbringing.
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Varghese Summersett (Personal Injury, Criminal Defense, Family and Divorce Lawyers)
300 Throckmorton Street, Suite 700 Fort Worth TX 76102 United States 817-203-2220 https://www.versustexas.com/ [email protected]
Varghese Summersett is headquartered in Fort Worth, Texas. We have three divisions: Personal Injury, Family Law, and Criminal Defense. The Personal Injury division handles everything from car accidents and trucking accidents to wrongful death and catastrophic injuries. The Criminal Division handles every level of criminal case from DWI to sexual assault and federal criminal cases. Finally, the Family division handles divorce, modifications, and custody disputes. The firm also has offices in Southlake and Dallas.
https://versustexas.com/personal-injury/
https://versustexas.com/criminal-defense/
https://versustexas.com/family-law/
Fort Worth DWI Lawyer
They are known for their ability to aggressively defend cases. Benson Varghese has been referred to as the nemesis to the local district attorney because his team goes in and wins time after time. They handle everything from misdemeanor DWIs to capital murder cases.
Varghese Summersett PLLC is a full-service criminal defense law firm located in Fort Worth, Texas that serves clients in Tarrant, Dallas, Johnson, Parker, Wise, and Denton Counties.
Practice areas include DWI and intoxication-related offenses, white collar crimes such as fraud and embezzlement, assault, drug charges, crimes against children, theft and burglary, robbery, homicide and manslaughter, sex crimes, and other felonies and misdemeanors. The firm also represents clients in expunctions and nondisclosures, probation violations, asset forfeiture, and appeals. The lawyers have decades of combined legal experience and have collectively tried hundreds of jury trials. The senior partners are former state and federal prosecutors, giving them valuable insight into the opposition’s tactics. Several of the attorneys are Board Certified Criminal Law Specialists. Among them, they are admitted to the bars of the State of Texas, the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals, the U.S. District Courts for the Northern, Southern, and Eastern Districts of Texas, and the U.S. Supreme Court. Varghese Summersett, PLLC brings together experience, knowledge, and skills to advocate on behalf of clients, even in the most complex criminal cases.
#Fort Worth Personal Injury Attorney#Fort Worth Family Lawyer#Fort Worth Divorce Lawyer#Fort Worth Criminal Defense Lawyer#Federal Criminal Defense Lawyer
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Fort Worth DWI Lawyer
Need a Fort Worth DWI lawyer? Protect your future with expert legal representation focused on your DWI case.
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Trustworthy Fort Worth Birth Injury Lawyer
Van Wey, Metzler & Williams Trial Law Firm has a team of top-tire birth injury lawyers in Fort Worth. They fight for justice for clients whose child has suffered a catastrophic birth injury due to the negligence of the medical providers. Their commitment ensures negligent parties are held liable.
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Fort Worth DWI Lawyer
The aggressive Fort Worth DWI lawyer at the Law Office of Kyle Whitaker is skilled in handling DWI & DUI cases. Schedule a consultation.
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Parker Law Firm PC
209 N Hampton St Fort Worth Texas 76102 United States (817) 503-9200 https://parkerlawfirm.com/ [email protected]
Parker Law Firm is a personal injury law firm located in Fort Worth, TX our top-rated attorneys have nearly four decades of experience fighting for injury victims. Contact us today to schedule a free consultation with a Fort Worth personal injury lawyer.
#Fort Worth personal injury lawyer#Fort Worth personal injury lawyers#Fort Worth personal injury attorney#Fort Worth personal injury attorneys#Fort Worth car accident lawyer
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Anderson Injury Lawyers
1310 W El Paso St Fort Worth Texas 76102 United States (817) 294-1900 https://maafirm.com/fort-worth-personal-injury-lawyer/ [email protected]
Anderson Injury Lawyers is a personal injury law firm in Fort Worth. We’ve decades of combined experience helping accident victims recover the compensation they deserve. Our Fort Worth personal injury lawyers have recovered millions of dollars on our clients' behalves. Call for a free consultation.
#Fort Worth Personal Injury Lawyer#Fort Worth Personal Injury Attorney#Fort Worth Car Accident Lawyer#Fort Worth Car Accident Attorney
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harmonious
author's note: hi omg thank you anon for this request! i was a band and orchestra kid and love love love this idea! i decided to go with cellist, not sure why but i have strong feelings about matt loving cellos.
contents: fluffy, matt murdock x reader, gender neutral reader, meet cute technically, and then a series of cute dates, first kiss
word count: 1.9k
Matt had been a regular at the syphony since he had graduated law school. It was a nice constant in his life knowing that every month on the third Friday he could go to the music hall and hear music. Various guest musicians shuffled through, each featured for one show before traveling to a new city to guest, but tonight was something different: a member of the symphony was being granted a guest spot, performing as the soloist for the week.
You had started playing cellos what felt like eons ago. Playing felt like second nature, so when you were offered the guest spot for April, you accepted on the spot, already having put together a concert's worth of music to perform.
Matt had heard your name before. You had features every now and then in pieces. Since he was a regular, the music hall started printing braille programs for him. He liked running his finger over your name. It was his favorite song. So when he heard you were the soloist, he couldn't have been more excited.
He hadn't spoke to you, but had heard you speaking in the lobby post shows talking to your family and friends that had attended.
Tonight, the night of your headlining show, Matt spent an extra hour getting ready, trying his best to look pristine and perfect, not a hair out of place. He had asked Karen to help him find some nice cuff links for the show a few weeks back, so tonight when he finally unboxed them, he pressed over them with his fingers as he clasped them and smiled. Two little metal silver forte designs.
At the show, Matt recevied his braille program, finding his way to his usual seat and dancing his touch over your name over and over, excited and smiling the whole time.
When the curtain rose and the auditorium fell silent, Matt wiggled in his seat, placing the program in his lap to clap the director providing your introduction.
Throughout the show, Matt gasped and clapped at your skills, constantly impressing him with your musical abilities.
Once the show ended, you approached the mic and thanked the audience for coming, and laughed. It felt like golden sunlight to Matt, his smile glossy and bright as you spoke.
When the curtain fell, Matt stood, walkign out into the lobby and waited to hear your voice.
"Mom! Thank you for coming. I'm so glad you could make it." You shouted.
Matt wasn't trying to eavesdrop on your conversation, but he did want to congradulate you on a great show, so he began to walk over to you.
"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say that you chose a lovely program. I am constantly amazed by your talents." Matt spoke, blushed and starstruck.
"Mr. Murdock, what an honor to hear a compliment like that from you, one of the best lawyers in New York. I'm really glad you liked the show." You smiled.
"That's far too kind, but thank you." Matt said.
Your family and friends walked away for a second, giving you some time to speak to Matt.
"I'm grateful you came to talk to me this evening. You always seem to dart out so fast, never get a chance to thank you for supporting the arts." You said.
"The symphony gives me some time to myself to enjoy the wonders of the world. I'm glad I got to speak to you this evening as well. I feel very lucky to be in the prescense of such greatness."
"I could say the same. I have to mingle about the room, but could I get your number?" You said, perhaps a bit too forward, but willing to embarass yourself nonetheless.
"Absolutely. Here why don't you put yours in my phone, and I'll call you." Matt smiled.
"I'd like that."
You grabbed Matt's phone that he passed to you and typed in your name and phone number before handing it back to him.
"Hope to see you soon, Mr. Murdock." You smirked.
"Same to you."
Matt messaged you that same night, sending you a beautifully crafted congradulations message about the performance. Then, within the minute, asked when you were free.
You both set up a date for the next week, choosing to go to a new restaurant you both had never been to before.
---
The night of the date, you got ready, and started to head for the restaurant, seeing Matt on the opposite street corner, crossing to meet him.
"Matt. Hi." You said, trying not to startle him.
"Hi. It's good to see you. We're close to the restaurant, right? Sometimes I miss count my blocks." He joked.
"Allow me to escort you." You touched his arm, allowing him to use you as a lead.
When you got to the door, he opened it for you, allowing you to walk inside. At the host stand, Matt spoke.
"Two for 8. Under Murdock." He shuffled, folding his cane away.
"Yes, of course. Follow me." The host said.
Matt reached for your arm again, and you walked to the table.
Once the host brought waters, Matt took a sip and then sat back into his seat.
"Your show really was great. I really appreciated your choice of Haydn's Cello Concerto No. 1. A classic, but not played much anymore." Matt started.
"Well thank you. It was once of the first cello features I got to play in high school. Fell in love with it immediately and wanted to honor that memory here." You smiled.
You bantered the whole night, starting the discussion with mentions of the show and classical music as a whole, but eventually making your way to childhood.
"DId you play any instruments as a kid, Matt?" You asked.
"Didn't have the chance to. Came from an athletic family, and then the church didn't have anything but the organ. I've played a bit of guitar, but just the basics. Foggy taught me during law school." He laughed.
"Maybe you should show me some of your skills. That is if you still have that guitar."
"I think if I touched a guitar now I'd start on fire. I prefer to admire the music, not create it myself."
"I think that's fair. I mean, without music appreciators like you, I wouldn't have an audience." You said.
Once you both had finished your meal, you helped escort Matt through the maze of tables and out onto the New York street.
"I've had a really great time tonight." You said.
"I did, too. There's a jazz trio show around here next week. Would you like to join me?" Matt asked.
"I would. I don't get to hear much jazz, so I think that's a great idea. I'll see you then, Matt."
"Let me know when you get home safe." Matt said, unfolding his cane.
"I will. See you soon."
---
That next week you met Matt at the cocktail bar for the jazz trio. He was already sat at a table when you got there, nursing a bourbon.
"Hi! Hope I'm not late." You said, sitting down.
"Just in time. They go on in a few minutes. What would you like to drink? I can order for you at the bar." Matt asked.
"A vodka martini please."
"You got it."
He stood and ordered at the bar, bringing back your drink.
"Do you come here often? It's really nice in here." You looked around.
"I do. One of my favorite nicer places. Got an espresso martini here once and kept coming back. Not every cocktail bar can pour an espresso shot as good as here." He chuckled.
The band entered the stage, adjusting the seats and mics before introducing themselves and starting the set.
Between song, Matt would talk to you about the music, telling you about his favorite jazz musicians and other lore that he found important to the show.
"I've heard these guys play before, and let me tell you their bass player, off the charts. Can't top him. Can't listen to the original version of that last song since him."
After the set, Matt took both of your glasses to the bar, and walked outside with you.
"Thank you for inviting me. I had a really nice time. I love hearing your insights into music. It's like you're breathing fresh air into everything." You blushed.
"I'm so glad you enjoyed the show and the bar. Do you need to get back, or would you like to walk for a bit?"
"I'd love to walk."
"Or we could go get late night ice cream." Matt suggested.
"I think you're a genious."
Matt grabbed your arm again, but this time he led, taking you to his favorite late night ice cream spot.
You looked at the menu and decided, allowing Matt to order first.
"I'll take two scoops of pistachio in a cup." He smiled, allowing you to get closer to the counter to speak.
"I'll have two scoops as well. One white chocolate and one cotton candy." You said.
When they finished scooping your orders, you grabbed both bowls and joined Matt at the picnic table outside.
"A pistachio guy, hmmm. I'm learning a lot." You teased.
"White chocolate and cotton candy. Says a lot about you, too."
"Oh and what does that say?" You joked.
"That you're fun loving and adventurous. You've never been here before and you got two non-typical flavors. You're not scared of change." He attemped to appear serious in his attempt at reading you but continued to smile and giggle as he spoke. "What does pistachio say about me?"
"That you're a weirdo that likes pistachio ice cream." You laughed.
"You got me there."
You both fell into a pit of giggles, trying to catch your breath before laughing again.
"My cheeks hurt. Stop it." You continued laughing.
Once you were both done, you tossed both bowls and spoons, Matt standing beside you.
"Can I walk you home?"
"I'd like that."
"Lead the way captain." Matt ironically saluted.
He took your arm again and you started wlaking the few blocks back. Since the date had started, you don't think there had been a moment of silence besides during the jazz set. It was magical just how well you both got along.
Once you got to the stoop of your apartment you unlached Matt's arm.
"Thank you again for tonight. I had a really good time." You said.
"I really like going out with you." Matt agreed.
There was a minute of silence: you looking at Matt, and Matt fidgetting with his cane.
"Can I kiss you?" He asked.
"Please."
He leaned in, placing his hand on your cheek, and kissed you.
It only lasted a few seconds, but you were seeing stars. When he pulled away, he kept his hand on your cheek, smiling at you.
"Wow." He spoke.
"Wow." You repeated.
"You should get inside, it's getting cold." He said, blushed again.
You leaned in to kiss him once more and put your hand on his cheek this time.
You walked up a few steps of the stoop before turning back.
"Let me know when you get home safe."
"Will go." He smirked.
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Born For It | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Enter: Rich-boy!Gaz who was never born into wealth, but rather, born for it.
Thankfully, his blagging skills were never subpar, as convincing the wealthiest blonde bimbo at a conference in Fort Lauderdale would have proved tricky had he not mastered the art of running his delicious mouth. It was, in his own words, piss-easy to convince the woman he was 'in love with' that he was, in fact, a very well-off, well-known auditor for numerous major tech companies, and he was, additionally, all too talented at forging the paperwork for a 2024 Kia Stonic in cerulean blue – that certainly did not cost him a month's worth of groceries to rent for two weeks – to prove that it was truly all his. And, goodness, thank the creator that his father was so devoted to owning three gorgeous, pin-striped Italian suits before he passed, otherwise he would have nothing prim and proper to wear on their first, second, third, fourth, and fifth dates! Well, before he devoured her on her velvet couch and stole her hand in marriage, of course.
Naturally, he takes to the role of pompous, spoilt, entitled husband like a moth to a flame, as he has an inordinate ability to stretch the truth with his long Ralph Lauren fleeces tucked at the elbows, VVS diamond-studded watches, and tinted Versace sunglasses.
Oh, but don't be fooled by the crass social act: the man knows a con artist when he sees one.
He doesn't spend long at the country club with a glass of red in hand, talking to Brian and James and Marcus and their wives Tiffany, Tiffany 2, and Tiffany 2.5, respectively, about the recent tax evasion scandal from Johnsons and Co. (and how they all might do it better without getting caught) before he spots you across the outdoor pool on a sun chair: the young, recently wed beauty with ample time left on your wrist to be doing anything with your life other than seduce poor, geriatric, twice-divorcée, once-widowed, thrice-Viagra'd Mr. Shepherd – or, more crucially – the vast riches he carries in those flabby jowls of his, just ripe enough for the taking as soon as that weak heart of his drops him dead in the shower on a cold Tuesday morning, months later.
It's a shame, really, that the old dog didn't put his conversation skills into the will, because it takes Kyle no more than three minutes of ogling to read the smudged guilt and lost desire on your face, and poses, to you, over a kiss on the knuckles and a well-timed whisper into your ear, the question of joining him one day for lunch in his large, supersized, monstrous mansion that hardly gets used by his married-to-her-work-first wife who, herself, would never think of Kyle wishing to screw another woman on the weekends to entertain himself in such a lonely... drab... suburb.
It does perplex you a little a first, especially when you aren't certain why he wants you of all the women at the country club, when every wife, waitress and pool girl would burst open their bras and dangle their naked breasts in his face at just a chance of that silver tongue on their bodies, because he's simply that irresistible.
Not only because he knows your golden secret to greed, and has been known to – again – run that scrumptious mouth of his to anyone he can throw under the bus for another grand or two, but because it's clear to anyone that dear-old Shepherd's cock does nothing for a pretty pussy like yours, and you desperately need to cream over his thick, severing, thigh-splitting one until you cum, to make up for all the flab he wiggles in and around your folds at nine in the evening before he conks out in his silk pyjamas – he has to wake up early to catch the morning run of his favourite radio show, don't you remember?
Though, you do agree that he is irresistible. In fact, you have to.
And you wouldn't tell on Kyle even if you could, even if he didn't have his wife's lawyer on speed-dial, due to that legally-binding, twenty-three page contract locked within a safe in your makeup drawer which clearly states that anything of yours from the inheritence – whenever your old biddie shoots the gun, kicks the bucket or collects his final paycheck, that is – is automatically his, too, as well as the properties in Toulouse, the estate in Dubai, the stocks and shares in Google and Facebook that only ever seem to be going up... oh, and that divine cunt of yours he laps up like a starved dog whenever his wife is away.
| Masterlist |
#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#gaz cod#cod gaz#call of duty gaz#gaz x reader#gaz x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#call of duty#cod#call of duty fanfic#callofduty#call of duty fanfiction#call of duty fandom#this was inspired by a drawing i saw of gaz being an absolute fashionista#they were giving summer afternoon at the country club playing golf and talking about claiming early pensions#its truly the level of greedy gaz i aspire to be#you cannot convince me that this man isnt the most cunning and clever thing with his words#he has the making of a sociopath with his charm#but chooses to be kind and respectful like the good boy he is#hes truly an icon
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Trump’s lawyers told Judge Cannon they discovered a June 2023 letter asking DOE to remove Trump’s ACTIVE SECURITY CLEARANCE.” – A few weeks AFTER Smith handed down classified documents indictment.
Trump’s lawyers told Judge Cannon this afternoon they have evidence that the Biden White House collaborated with NARA, DOJ, and intel agencies to determine which documents to include in Jack Smith’s indictment.
Trove of evidence includes “years” worth of security footage from MAL
Evidence of “extensive communications” between White House, NARA, intel agencies and DOJ/Jack Smith prior to the indictment to determine which classified files to include.
Trump still had DOE security clearance related to at least one charged document as recently as June 2023.
•Defense might include the Secret Service as a considered member of prosecution since they have their own security apparatus separate from MAL.
This entire trial, from the start, has been a complete fraud.
Not to mention the use of the Government to persecute a Political rival.
Ken Buck has to be primaried out Colorado.
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a/n: my @wyattjohnston winter fic exchange fic for @senditcolton (whose writing i am OBSSESSED with - praise you like i should made me see the light on matty t) 🥰 i’ve never written for tyler seguin and my only familiarity with him was him showing his own headshot to get into the arena which immediately made me love him lol. i had fun writing this one and i hope you enjoy!!!
word count: 12.1k
tw: drinking , fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, hangovers, mild cursing
summary: new year’s eve in las vegas gets out of hand when you meet tyler, a gorgeous stranger in the club
After your divorce papers are signed, sealed, and delivered - on Christmas day no less, leave it to your jackass ex to find the only lawyer in the entire Fort Worth area willing to work on a national fucking holiday - your best friends appear at your front door with suitcases, bottles of champagne, and round trip tickets to Las Vegas, leaving on the 27th.
“No,” you tell them flatly, arms crossed over your flannel shirt, hair in a three-day old knot on top of your head. “I’m not in the mood to go anywhere, much less Vegas.”
You hadn’t even taken your parents up on the offer to pay for a plane ticket back home to New York for the holidays. It was too much to face them after your marriage had imploded and getting the third degree from your relatives wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do. Spending the holidays alone had seemed like a better option, even if the day had been a little lonely. But a spiked hot chocolate and a string of Christmas movie classics had kept you from getting too depressed.
“Honey,” Nora says, in her Christmas sweat set, the cartoon Grinch blazoned across the front giving you a nasty smirk, a patient smile on her face, “now is exactly the time to get away. You just shed a hundred seventy five pounds of jackass, you need a distraction.”
She muscles past you and nearly drags her rolling suitcase’s wheels over your bare toes. You pull your foot back and lean against the wall as Katie and Nic follow her inside, a makeshift parade to celebrate your divorce. Nic at least has the decency to shoot you an apologetic look as she passes, whispering, “I tried to get her to settle for a little trip to a spa, you know, manis, pedis, massage. But you know Nora…”
“Never Takes No for an Answer Nora,” you finish when Nic trails off, smiling a little despite yourself. Nic gives you a little smile and bumps your hip with hers.
“Seriously though,” she says as you close the door behind her, “if you really don’t want to go, Nor will understand.”
You sigh and shake your head. “No, I…it’s probably good for me to get out of town,” you admit reluctantly. It’s been a depressing few months, full of anger and tears and tense phone calls and curt emails. You’re tired of being sad, of being angry, but mostly you’re tired of being in the same city as your asshole ex-husband. Even though you moved out of the house you shared and into an apartment, the entire city holds reminders of your relationship. Now that the divorce is official, you’re starting to wonder if staying in Fort Worth is the right move. Your friends and your job are here, but the risk of running into Jason is astronomically high and maybe a change of scenery would be good. You rub at your forehead - that’s a problem for the new year.
The girls leave their suitcases in a pile in your front hall. Two pairs of Nikes and a pair of Ugg platforms join the suitcases and you’re pulled into a pile on your couch - the college tradition for a broken relationship. Back then it had been cheap wine coolers and binge watching The Bachelor. Now, Nora hands you a bottle of champagne, cheers when you pop the cork, and drops her head to your shoulder after you take a huge gulp. You drape your legs over Katie’s lap and rest your cheek on the top of Nora’s head. It’s not the way you thought you’d be spending the holidays, but you’re so grateful for your friends.
“In about an hour, we’re going to start helping you pack,” Nora says, taking the second bottle of champagne from Nic and swigging from it. “But right now, it’s time to tell us every single negative thought you’ve had about Jackass Jason and didn’t want to say before.“
“Have to cleanse the energy,” Nic says, “by putting all his negative traits into the air and I’ll light some sage.”
“Sage?” You lift an eyebrow, warm and cozy in the cocoon of your friends.
Nic digs into her giant purse and pulls out a wad of sage, tied up with white string. She beams. “Sage! It’s very cleansing.”
Katie cackles a laugh. She kicks Nic’s thigh lightly and grins, “never change those hippie ways, Nicky.”
“Pass me a lighter,” Nic holds out her free hand and wiggles her fingers. Nora drops a well used plastic Bic onto her palm and you lean in to cup your hands under the sage bundle. The last thing you want is ashy smudges on your couch.
It takes two tries, but eventually Nic manages to get the lighter to catch and she holds the flame to the top of the bundle. It immediately starts to smell of the burning herb and smoke rises to the ceiling when she blows out the small fire. You cough a little, the scent of sage stinging your nose. Nic rolls off the couch and begins to wave the stick around, explaining what she’s doing as she goes.
“So, we’re getting rid of all of Jason’s negative energy and karma,” she waves the stick and you wince when a little clump of ashes falls to the carpet and then sigh when Nic’s bare foot grinds them further into the fibers.
“Jason never lived here,” you point out reasonably, the bottle of champagne lighter in your hand as you take another drink. Your chest already feels lighter and less knotted with grief and anxiety.
Nic looks at you like you’re an idiot and you feel strangely chastened, taking another swig from the bottle. “Honey, his negative energy and toxicity was absorbed by you and all the stuff you took from the house. We have to just, like, get his energy out of here.” She cocks her head at you, squints, asks, “would you consider cutting your hair? Hair holds onto a lot of trauma.”
“No!” You yelp, hand flying up to clutch at the knotted mess on top of your head. “I thought you were the ones to talk me out of breakup bangs when he first left? Now I’m supposed to cut my hair?”
“Just a suggestion,” she says, even as the other two chime in from the couch to encourage a change in your hairstyle. Nora mentions a bob and you resist the urge to kick her.
With a roll of your eyes, you say firmly, “I’m not cutting my hair. Let’s move on from this.”
Nic nods and finishes sageing the apartment, leaving a faint haze of smoke in the air and you’re honestly very grateful when she puts the bundle in a ziploc bag and stashes it back in her purse. “Okay,” she beams, dusting off her hands, “bad energy officially cleansed. We can move onto the fun part!” She drinks from the bottle that you’ve mostly emptied on your own and before you can ask what the fun part is, you’re being pushed into your bedroom and the girls are rummaging in your closet for your suitcase.
They work in coordination, while you’re sitting stupid in the middle of your bed, to throw your skimpiest clothes into the opened suitcase. You watch as a colourful array of fabric is tossed from your drawers and wonder what, exactly, they have planned for the trip.
“This one, for sure,” Katie’s voice is muffled from deep in your closet. Her hand appears, the mirrored minidress you bought and wore for the Eras Tour swinging from its hanger. The mirrors sparkle under the hi-hats in your room and throw discs of light onto your bedroom walls.
“What are we doing in Vegas?” You ask finally, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. “I mean, I love that dress, but can’t this just be a chill trip? Like what if we just got tickets to see Adele? And I can cry to her music?”
“Absolutely not,” Nora shakes her head and Katie shakes the dress at you again. “We’re going to get you to forget about the jackass and the divorce one way or another. Whether it’s drinks or dick, that’s your choice, but you deserve to let loose after taking care of him all these years.”
“Besides,” Katie pipes up, “how good do you think we are that we could get last minute Adele tickets? That shit was sold out months ago!”
Tears prickle at your eyes, your nose burning a little. Divorced at 27 isn’t exactly how you pictured your life going after meeting Jason in college, getting married at 22, and supporting him all throughout his time in law school, but you’re beyond grateful for your girls.
“No dick,” you murmur, a shaky smile on your face. “I’m not ready for that, but drinks I can do.”
The trio cheers and starts tossing more clothes into your suitcase.
——
The next day is spent nursing your mild hangover and repacking the drunken mess you’d all made of your suitcase the night before. Once you’re packed to your satisfaction - mirrored mini dress and platform heels included - you run out for a quick wax before meeting the girls for a manicure.
“I meant to say it last night,” you say watching your crusty old gel polish disappear into dust, “but let me know what I owe you, for the flight and hotel and everything. I’ll Venmo you.”
Nora waves you off, apologising quickly to the manicurist when she complains as Nora’s hand is ripped away. “Don’t even worry about that. I used miles for the flights and -“
“The guy I’ve been seeing?” Nic cuts in. “The hedge fund guy, Mark, he’s treating for the hotel suite.”
Katie’s eyebrows shoot up along with yours. Clearly she didn’t know about the hotel connect. “Whoa,” she grins, “Nicky with the high roller! Hold onto him with two hands.”
Nic blushes. “He’s really sweet too.” She continues talking about him for a few minutes until she stops herself and looks at you with wide eyes and an apologetic expression. “Oh god, I’m so sorry! Here I am rambling on and you’re going through -“
“Oh my god, don’t do that!” You cut her off. “I’m okay! I want to hear about the guys you’re dating. Just because I’m single again doesn’t mean I want death to love for everyone.” You snort a laugh that sounds a little forced even to your own ears. The girls share a look that you hate, but continue talking about the dates they’ve been on and the mediocre sex they’ve been having. Truthfully, you tune them out a little bit, cranky about the divorce, about the trip that was sprung on you, and embarrassingly enough, jealous that they’re having sex at all.
Even before Jason started the divorce proceedings six months ago, it had been nearly eight months before that the last time you had sex. You should’ve realized he was seeing someone else on the side because there was no way he had gone that long without sex. And yet. You’d been caught off guard by the cliched texts found in his phone, the lacy thong found in his car, and the divorce petition delivered to you while he was “working late.” Thinking back on it, you feel supremely stupid.
Now that the paperwork is signed and you’re officially, legally single again, you’re just glad you didn’t have kids or anything really significant to fight over. It’s almost a blessing that the process wasn’t as drawn out as it could’ve been.
You make a conscious effort to push all thoughts of Jason from your mind and try to be in the moment, a task made easier once you’re in the air en route to Vegas and then actually in the city itself. It’s both like the movies and not, colorful and loud and a little sketchy. But you immediately make twenty bucks on a slot machine in the airport, so you figure that’s a good omen for the trip.
The first four days of the trip pass in a blur - all you can eat buffets, drinking, dancing, spas, too little sleep, and too much gambling. You’re up nearly three hundred dollars after being down almost a thousand the day before, so that’s cause to celebrate with drinks. Not that you really need an excuse - you’ve had more alcohol in the last four days than in the last four months. You’re exhausted, but you’ve also laughed more than you have in a year and your face hurts from smiling. The entire city has a numbing effect on your lingering emotions and you feel yourself starting to rediscover who you were before the Jason of it all.
“Time for the mirrorball dress!” Nora singsongs, dancing around the suite in her plush robe. It’s New Year’s Eve and the city feels even sparklier than usual. The streets have been packed with people and the casinos are at capacity - apparently there’s a hockey game tonight too, so the sports bettors are having a field day. You’ve been going to different hotel bars and clubs the past few nights, but tonight is the big night out before you fly back to Texas tomorrow night.
The entire Strip is shut down to traffic for the night and you’re planning on going to TAO for dinner and dancing since it’s inside the Venitian, where you’re staying. It’s a major splurge, but fuck it, you’re about to get alimony from your corporate lawyer ex-husband. You still have Jason’s credit card, so you’re fully planning on putting dinner on his tab, before he realizes that the card is in your possession. For all the little details Jason remembers, he’s surprisingly bad about his finances.
For now though, you dig your hand into the pillowcase that had been full of the little shot sized bottles of alcohol four days ago and is now mostly empty. You groan when you pull out a little bottle of Pink Whitney, the pink lemonade vodka is your least favorite drink. You knock back the shot while the girls cheer you on, all three of them already in various states of tipsy. It honestly feels like you haven’t been completely sober since you left Texas.
Nic blasts a classic 2000s playlist while you’re getting ready and you dance around the huge suite, feeling light and floaty.
It’s complete chaos out on the Strip, even though it’s barely after 7. You could’ve gotten to the restaurant directly through the hotel, but you decide to walk outside for a bit to see what’s happening. It’s chillier than you expected, so by the time you get to the restaurant, you’re more than ready for a drink and dinner. You fill up on sushi and expensive drinks, gossiping about people you knew in college, spilling some more of the more extreme details of Jason’s cheating when you’re finished with your third TAO-tini.
“FUCK HIM!” Katie shouts in the middle of the restaurant, drawing attention to your table. You giggle and shush her drunkenly, waving a hand to get her to lower her voice. “No,” she shakes her head, only marginally quieter, “you really are so much better than that douche. When we get downstairs, we’re finding a man and you’re fucking him!”
Nic giggles and leans a little sideways in her seat, “new dick to cleanse Jackass Jason from your vagina!”
You flush with embarrassment as more people look over, but thank god the waiter comes by with the check. You toss Jason’s platinum AmEx onto the little dish and grin wickedly as you tell the girls, “dinner was on Jason.” They cheer and Nora laughs, “I should’ve ordered another drink!”
Once the bill is paid, with a generous 30% tip added, you traipse downstairs into the club part of the restaurant. The lights are low and the music is loud, plenty of people already drunkenly dancing just three hours before midnight. Nic and Nora join the fray immediately while you and Katie detour off to the bathroom quickly where you fix up your makeup and fluff up your hair, inspecting your face in the mirror. You look tired, but there’s a spark in your eyes that you hadn’t noticed was missing in the last year of your relationship with Jason.
“I’m serious,” Katie says, her solemn tone betrayed by the slight slur to her ‘s’. “Pick a guy in here and I will make sure you fuck him. You deserve a little fun.”
“I have been having fun,” you assure her, your reflection grinning at hers. The alcohol is making your brain pleasantly fuzzy, thoughts drifting away as easily as they come. “I don’t need a man right now,” you continue. “Even for the night. I just want to dance.”
“Okay!” Katie chirps, grabbing your hand and pulling you back out into the club. “Let’s dance!”
And you do. You find Nic and Nora and for a handful of songs, the four of you are jumping and screaming and having a blast.
Sweaty and thirsty, you break off from the girls and wobble towards the bar, weaving in between the throngs of people. The line for the bar is two or three people deep, so you settle in for a wait, looking around the room and people watching. The crowd seems pretty typical for New Year’s Eve in Las Vegas, but your gaze lands on a group of men and your heart skips a beat.
There’s at least four of them huddled together, maybe five, and you know you’re drunk, but you didn’t think you were drunk enough to be seeing double. You blink and they come into sharper focus - not seeing double, just two incredibly handsome, dark haired and bearded men. Another dark haired man with no beard and a curly haired blond man. They’re all in slacks and white button downs in various states of unbuttoned, like they came from the office or something. They don’t look out of place in the club though, with drinks in their hands and the way they’re grouped together.
They’re laughing and shoving at each other, like overgrown frat boys, and you can’t look away. You’re captivated by the way they hold themselves, clearly confident in their bodies. Even in the dark of the club, you can see the faint outlines of ink through the white fabric of one of the guys’ shirts.
You’re still staring like a creep when the tattooed guy turns and looks directly at you, making and holding eye contact. A little gasp slips from your lips and your stomach flips, the familiar and nearly forgotten feeling of arousal sparking to life in your stomach. His friends shove at his arms, laughing. You blink and look away, feeling shaky and not from the alcohol. A faint flutter between your legs has you pressing your thighs together. “This is stupid,” you mutter to yourself. Ten seconds of eye contact shouldn’t have had you reacting like this. Yes, it had been a while since you last had sex, but jeez.
You rub your fingers over the bridge of your nose and nearly jump out of your skin when a deep, unfamiliar voice says, “what are you drinking?” right in your ear.
“Oh!” You turn, stumbling just enough that a hand shoots out and grips your elbow to steady you. A warm, broad hand. Attached to a tanned, tattooed forearm. Attached to a broad chest barely covered by an obscenely unbuttoned white shirt - tattoos and chest hair exposed and making your body react. Attached to the dark haired man you had made eye contact with. You blink up into warm brown eyes and ignore the way your stomach clenches up. His thumb brushes against the inside of your elbow and your skin feels like it’s on fire.
His mouth, full lower lip and thinner upper lip surrounded by a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, quirks up at the corner. “In case I wasn’t clear,” he says and you can hear the laughter in his tone, “can I buy you a drink?”
A faint smile touches your own lips and you nod. “Double vodka cranberry,” you say, voice a little raspy from screaming along to the music.
Mystery Man nods, smiling, “good choice. Come with me?” Without waiting for an answer, he slides his hand down your forearm and laces his fingers with yours to pull you behind him while he uses his broad shoulders to muscle past the crowd around the bar. When you reach the bar, he does a quick maneuver, dragging you in front of him so you’re sandwiched between the bar and his chest, heat pouring off his body. He leans forward a bit, pressing against you, and catches the bartender’s attention. Your entire body feels too warm, the thin fabric of your thong growing damp from the solid mass of his chest against your back.
“Double vodka cranberry for the lady,” he orders. “And double scotch on the rocks for me.”
His forearms come to rest on the bar top, trapping you in the circle of his arms. The alcohol is lowering your inhibitions and your intrusive thoughts win out and you arch your back a little, pressing your ass into his crotch, turning your head to look back at him. He wears a shit eating grin on his face.
“I don’t usually let strangers buy me drinks,” you say, heart pounding in your chest. He doesn’t feel like a threat, doesn’t feel like someone you should be afraid of. You lean a little closer to him, something crackling in the air between your bodies.
Something flitters across his expression, but you’re just this side of drunk and can’t manage to identify it before it’s gone. “Tyler,” he introduces himself, trailing a finger over your arm and up to your shoulder where he plays with the thin silver strap holding your dress in place. “Not a stranger now.” Goosebumps lift on your arms as his fingertip twists in the skimpy strap. His gaze is searing, flickering from your eyes to your lips to the hint of cleavage exposed by the draping of your dress. Your nipples tighten under the fabric, pinching almost painfully.
You offer up your own name in return, taking the drink directly from the bartender when he returns. You sip at it and it tastes stronger than a double or maybe that’s just Tyler’s proximity that’s clouding your senses.
He takes a sip of his own drink and leads you away from the bar, giving you another opportunity to watch his back muscles move under his shirt as he works his way through the crowd. A gym rat, you think, with the way he’s all lean muscle and quiet strength. He’s muscled, but not disgustingly so.
“What are you doing in Vegas?” He asks, when you’re alone again, just off to the side of the bar. You can see the girls out of the corner of your eye, staring at you with matching ‘you go, girl!’ expressions on their faces. You giggle a little.
“Celebrating,” you reply vaguely, taking a sip of your drink and fluttering your lashes. You’re flirting, you realize. You haven’t flirted with anyone since Jason. The bubbly feeling in your chest expands and you smile up at him.
“Huh,” he laughs warmly, “what do you know, me too. And the only thing my night was missing is a pretty girl.”
Alcohol fuels your confidence, along with the hungry way Tyler’s gaze takes in your body, and you reply, “good thing you found me then.”
Your gaze lingers on the notch of his collarbone, the dusting of hair over his chest, the dark lines of his tattoos. Your cunt gives an enthusiastic throb and you swallow heavily.
Tyler leans in a little and you catch a whiff of spicy cologne mixed with the scotch on his breath. This isn’t his first drink of the night either. “Would your friends mind if I monopolized your time tonight?”
Biting your lip, you look over at the girls. Katie is moving her hand near her mouth in the universal sign for blowjob and Nic is giving you the biggest, most encouraging puppy dog eyes. Nora flashes you a double thumbs up, spilling some of her drink in the process. A laugh huffs through your nose and you look back up at Tyler, “no, I don’t think they’ll mind.”
“Good,” his smile is adorable, his hand lands on your waist, and you completely forget why you told Katie you weren’t interested in a hook up tonight. “Want to dance?”
You’re not quite sure how it happened - one minute you were dancing with Tyler, one of his arms wrapped securely around your waist while your hips gyrated against his pelvis, the hard bulge of his cock obvious every time you moved and the next minute you found yourself pressed up against a wall in the VIP section of TAO, with Tyler’s tongue deep down your throat and his hand sliding up the side of your thigh, fingertips playing at the hem of your dress. Your hands are fisted around the collar of his shirt, pulling him as close as you can while you moan into his mouth and cant your hips towards his, spreading your legs a little to encourage his hand’s exploration.
His fingertips make contact with the soaked fabric of your thong and you whimper, knees going weak. Tyler’s lips turn up in a smile against yours and he uses more pressure, finding your clit easily through the fabric until you have to pull back and gasp for air, your head thrown back while you pant.
“Jesus, baby,” he mutters, kissing a trail down your jaw and over your throat. “You’re fucking soaked.” He sucks gently at your pulse point, your heart hammering in your chest.
He slips his fingers under the fabric, rough pads of his fingers catching against your slick folds. “Oh my god,” you mutter, grinding against his fingers. “More, please, Tyler.”
He obeys, thumb catching on your clit and middle finger teasing at your entrance before sliding inside easily. A whine catches in your throat and it feels so good, too good. Between the alcohol and the lust and the months long celibacy, you’re at the edge of an orgasm in less than a minute, dripping around Tyler’s fingers before you can even process that you’ve come. White spots dance in your vision and it could be the strobe lights or the searing pleasure from having your clit rolled between Tyler’s thick fingers.
“Good girl,” he grins against your neck, beard and teeth scraping against your skin. Your face already feels rubbed raw with beard burn, but you don’t want him to stop. “Think you can do it again?”
Truthfully you think that you’re so worked up and horny you could come just from Tyler looking at you, but you nod and squeak out a yes.
Tyler bites a mark against your collarbone and drops to his knees, wedging his shoulders between your thighs and forcing them apart. He looks up at you from between your legs, dark eyes even darker with lust and a wicked grin on his face, “hold on, baby, gonna make you see fireworks for the New Year.”
You laugh at the corny line, choking off into a prolonged moan when he buries his face between your legs and presses his tongue flat against your cunt, the wet heat of his tongue pressing your damp thong into your sensitive clit.
You’re beyond thankful for the darkness of the VIP area and the loud music because you can’t contain the noises that Tyler’s drawing from your mouth. You tangle one hand in his hair - fuck, it’s so soft - and hold his face up against your cunt. The other hand reaches blindly for the magnum bottle of champagne you’d been sharing. Technically it’s the second bottle and it’s more than half gone when you tip it up to your mouth for a drink.
“I - ah! I don’t usually doooooh my god, right there - this,” you gasp, writhing over Tyler’s face. His nose is pressed against your clit and his tongue is flat against you, licking with purpose. You grind against his face, making sure the tip of his nose rubs against your clit.
“What,” he pulls back with a wicked grin that only grows when you whine and try to push him back in place with your grip on his hair, “get your pussy licked?”
The bottom half of his face is glistening in the strobe lights and you feel the blush rise on your chest knowing that your body did that to him.
“Um, yes,” you admit quietly, “and the whole, uh, stranger in a club thing too.”
His smile turns a little soft, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Happy to be your first then,” he kisses the inside of your thigh and lifts your leg so it’s draped over his shoulder and you’re spread even wider for him. You’re impossibly exposed to him and all it does is make you wetter. Tyler tilts his head back a little and opens his mouth, you instinctively pour some champagne into his mouth, the both of you laughing when it splatters onto his face and shirt, making the white fabric nearly see-through. He wipes a little at his face, fingers scraping at his beard, and he shrugs. “Was gonna get all wet and messy anyway.”
He holds his champagne covered fingers up to your face and you lick at his skin, sucking his fingertips into your mouth and letting them rest on your tongue for a moment before he pushes them a little further past your lips, until saliva is dripping down his palm.
Tyler’s head is back between your legs, a strong hang gripping at your thigh, his lips wrapped around your clit. He sucks at the swollen bud and your leg kicks out, the heel of your platform smacking against his back with an audible thunking noise. He grunts into you and you moan an apology, his fingers falling out of your mouth so you can take another gulp of champagne. The bubbles fizz on your tongue and burn going down.
He buries his wet fingers into your cunt, curling and pumping, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to keep from screaming. Not that anyone would hear you with how loud the music is in the club. You grind your hips against Tyler’s face and feel him smile, the coarse hair on his face scratching against your inner thighs when you subconsciously try to close your legs around his ears.
“Gonna kill me,” he pulls back and mutters, nipping at the junction of your thigh. You jolt when his hands squeeze at your asscheeks, the scrape of the sequins on your dress adding more overwhelming sensation. He adjusts your thigh over his shoulder, his other hand trailing down your leg and wrapping around your ankle. He pulls back a little and you whine at the loss of sensation. “I like these,” he says, his fingers tapping against the sparkle of your platforms. “When I fuck you later, I want you to keep these on.”
You laugh, about to deny that this is going any further than the club, when his mouth is back on your cunt, tongue stiff and warm as he licks at your clit. All thoughts are gone from your head, aware only of the pleasure Tyler’s giving you. His hands are all over your body, fidgeting from your thighs to your ass and back again, calloused fingertips ghosting over your skin and making you shiver.
You close your eyes against the pleasure building in your body, tears pooling at your waterline. How the fuck did you go this long in life without realizing that you’ve never had a satisfying orgasm? And some random, gorgeous man in a club in Vegas is the one to satisfy you over and over? It’s a shame this is a one night thing.
—-
Sunlight streams in through the windows and you screw your eyes shut tighter, nausea rolling your stomach even though you haven’t moved. It’s like an ice pick is stabbed into your temple, the throbbing somewhere deep in your brain a harsh reminder that you’re not 21 and immune to hangovers anymore.
You press your lips together and lift your hand to rub at your temple, trying to keep your movements as slow as possible so you don’t vomit. Something hard and sharp knocks against your brow bone and you crack one eye open to see what the hell it could possibly be since you don’t remember putting any jewelry on last night. A huge twinkly diamond ring stares back at you from your finger.
The ring finger.
The left ring finger.
…fuck
Your eyes fly open and you ignore the wave of nausea and shooting headache to look around the hotel room. The unfamiliar hotel room. The sheets slide down your chest, exposing you to cold air and making you shiver. Your nipples pebble from the cold and you look down, eyes widening at the little bruises and bite marks scattered over your chest and stomach. You’re naked under the sheets save for a pair of black boxer-briefs looped around one thigh, like you tried to put them on last night and got tired halfway. The fabric is soft and worn and they’re absolutely not your underwear.
“Fuck!” You yelp, gaze landing on Tyler’s prone form in the bed next to you. He’s flat on his back, one arm thrown over his face, the other out to his side with his fingers curled in your direction. “Oh my god!”
His chest is bare, tattoos a stark contrast against the white sheets and his tan skin. He’s got purpling bruises on his chest and stomach too, marks that you must’ve left on him. Marks that make a trail from his collarbone over his pecs, down his stomach, barely hidden by the sheet that rides low over his lap.
If you’re half wearing his briefs, he’s definitely completely naked from the waist down too. Before you can comprehend the thought, you wonder if you left marks lower on his body too.
Your head is moving around like it’s on a swivel, taking in all the details of the room that you’re pretty sure is Tyler’s. There’s a black suitcase in the corner and your dress is a shiny pile on the floor. Your thong tossed over the lampshade on the bedside table. You can’t find your shoes, until you notice them at the foot of the giant bed, left in a haphazard pile and you remember, faintly, Tyler’s words from last night - “When I fuck you later, I want you to keep these on.” They look like they were discarded in a rush, one ankle strap not even fully pulled from its buckle. His clothes are everywhere, tossed in a trail from the door that speaks to how fast you were trying to get him naked.
The hangover is clouding your brain, making it feel like your head is stuffed with cotton, and you haven’t even begun to consider what the ring on your finger means. Maybe it was just a joke? It had to have been a joke.
Tyler shifts, grunting a little in his sleep, and reaches his hand out in your direction like he’s trying to find your body. His movement startles you.
“Ah, fuck!” You yelp, scrambling out of the bed, legs all tangled in the sheets. The briefs slip down your leg and tangle around your ankle. You kick your leg wildly, the black fabric going sailing across the room with the force of your kick. Frantically, you yank at one of the blankets crumpled at the foot of the bed and wrap it around yourself like a toga. Your hands shake a little.
Tyler stirs and blinks sleepily, stretching his arms over his head, giving you a show with how the black ink of his tattoos move. His gaze is unfocused when his eyes finally open, landing on your blanket-wrapped form. A slow smile graces his lips and he rasps, “hey, morning.” There’s a smudge of your dark lipstick on his cheek, partially hidden by his beard. A bruise is sucked into the underside of his bearded jaw and you notice, for the first time, the ragged red nail marks on his shoulders and biceps. He looks like he was attacked by a feral animal - and it’s a jolt to the system when you realize that feral animal had to have been you.
You can’t even find words, mouth gaping open and shut at him like a fish. Now that you’re standing, you finally stop for a second to take stock of your own body. Sticky between the thighs, sore like you’ve never been sore before - in a pleasant, well taken care of way. Your inner thighs feel raw and you know that when you look later, you’re going to find beard burn on the sensitive skin. You can already feel it on your chin and cheeks.
“What is this?” You hold your left hand out to him, the gaudy ring - because now that you’ve gotten a better look at it, it’s not a real diamond, thank god. It’s cubic zirconia or something cloudier than a real diamond and it’s a huge oval, spanning the entirety of your knuckle - glinting in the early morning sunlight.
Tyler squints at you, rolling onto his side before sitting up, either unaware or unconcerned that he’s completely naked and the sheet pools low enough in his lap that you can see the trail of dark hair leading down to his dick and the hair at the very base of him. You try to keep your eyes from looking, but he reaches a hand up and rubs at the back of his neck, making his bicep pop and the sheet move around and you’re only a woman, you can’t help yourself from looking. Your clit throbs between your legs, clearly remembering what happened last night even if most of it after getting eaten out in TAO is a little fuzzy to your brain.
“It’s a ring,” he replies simply, looking like his brain is trying to come back on-line too. He shifts his hand and his eyebrows lift. “Oh, shit. I’ve got one too.”
Your gaze lands on the band on his left ring finger. It’s yellow gold, or something cheap that looks like yellow gold, and you hate that your immediate thought is that it looks good on him. The band contrasts nicely with his skin and he spins it with his thumb, your eyes tracking the rotation.
A little chuckle slips past his lips and you blink at him. He takes in your expression and laughs outright. “Come on, you can’t possibly think we what? Got married last night?” His laugh is warm and too familiar for someone you’ve known less than twelve hours. “That’s a Vegas cliché if I’ve ever heard one.”
You shake your head. “Right, no. Yeah, I’m just being stupid. It’s just—“ you hesitate, glancing around the room again, avoiding looking at him, noticing the - oh god - four condom wrappers discarded on the floor. No wonder you’re so sore. The tenting of the sheet in his lap isn’t doing much to hide his morning wood, the shape of him obvious even with the quick little glances you’ve been sneaking. Four times. It’s a minor miracle that you’re not walking bowlegged.
Tyler stretches again and looks around for something - his clothes, his phone, who knows - while clearly not caring that the sheet is covering next to nothing. “Hey, do you see my phone?” He asks, drawing your attention back to his face. “Just wanna check the time.”
He’s remarkably chill and you’re starting to feel a little crazy for overreacting so much to silly rings bought in a drunken haze. There’s a phone on one of the little decorative tables in the corner of the room and you’re not sure if it’s yours or his, but when you pad across the room to get it, you step on a piece of paper, crumpling it under your heel. Leaning down to pick it up, you fall back on your ass in shock when your eyes land on the words at the top.
Clark County Marriage License
“You okay?” Tyler asks, sounding concerned.
“No,” you manage to squeak out the word around the block in your throat. There in black and white - your name and Tyler’s. Tyler Paul Seguin, apparently, if the document is to be believed. You feel your stomach lurch when you see the date on the license. Last night, New Year’s Eve.
How drunk had you been?
Who the hell had let you get married?
You’re so caught up in the implications of the piece of paper you’re holding that you don’t realize Tyler’s out of bed and squatting next to you, wearing his briefs, thank god.
“Whatcha got - oh,” he cuts himself off, reading the words over your shoulder. “Oh. Shit. Wow.”
He sits down on the floor next to you and you look over at him, eyes wide. “We actually got fucking married in Las Vegas,” you breathe, chest tightening in panic.
“I mean, maybe we didn’t?” He says hopefully. “That’s just a license, doesn’t mean we actually did it.” He taps his fingers absently over one well-muscled thigh, an irregular beat that you somehow sync your breathing to. With a huge effort, you drag your gaze away from his fingers - long and thick and the last you remember, stuffed up your cunt and dragging an orgasm out of your body - and steady your breathing. One hand presses against your chest, fingers digging into your skin like you could reach in and squeeze your heart back into a normal rhythm.
The phone on the tabletop starts buzzing and Tyler reaches up to grab it - “mine,” he says, glancing at the screen and jabs his finger to silence the alarm. He reaches his hand back up on the table and comes back with a handful of Polaroids. He splays them out like a deck of cards and you look at them. “Huh.”
Each picture is blurry as hell, but they’re unmistakably wedding photos. You’ve got a little fluffy veil on. Tyler’s shirt is unbuttoned past is sternum, but tucked neatly into his pants. He’s got you dipped back at the waist, kissing you dramatically. You’re on his back, holding a bouquet of flowers in the air as you kiss his cheek. He’s holding you, chest to chest, one large hand splayed over your bare back, your hand slid underneath his shirt. The Little White Wedding Chapel sign behind you and Tyler in one photo makes what happened last night unavoidable.
“I think we got married,” Tyler states the obvious and you burst into hysterical, gasping laughter. He looks at you, concerned for a beat before starting to laugh himself. It’s not funny at all, but if you don’t laugh, you think you’ll cry.
Once you catch your breath, you hiccup a little noise that sounds like a sob and carefully put the license up on the table. Tyler watches you and then glances back down at his phone, wincing at the time. “So, uh, hate to get married and run, but I have to go,” he taps his phone screen. “I’m on a flight to San Jose in an hour and I really can’t afford to miss that.”
You catch a glimpse of his lock screen and it’s a picture of him cuddling three dogs, which makes you feel marginally better because at least it’s not a woman that he’s cheating on and any man that has his dogs as his phone screen can’t be a total sociopath. A little bit of the knot in your chest unravels.
“San Jose,” you repeat, finally catching onto what he said. “Is that where you live?” You ask the question realizing you know nothing about this man that you’ve married. You didn’t even know his last name until five minutes ago. Oh god. You’re going to have to manage a time difference while filing for divorce. Your thoughts spiral out. Can you even get divorced in a state that’s not Nevada? You should know this, you’re probably the divorce expert in the room. He isn’t giving off divorced man energy, but do you give off divorced woman energy? You hadn’t thought about that and now it’s all you can focus on.
Tyler laughs a little, drawing your attention and stopping your panic attack. “No, thank god. I’m, uh, not to sound conceited,” he says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck, “but you really didn’t recognize me?”
“Should I?” You frown, studying his face. Maybe he looks familiar? But in that way that most dark haired white men look alike. You’re almost positive that you’ve never seen him before.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “This is awkward. But I play for the Dallas Stars, the hockey team? We played Vegas last night, San Jose tomorrow.”
You cock your head at him, this new information sinking in. Dallas. Just thirty minutes from your place in Fort Worth. You’ve obviously heard of the Stars, you don’t live under a rock, but you’ve never been to a game, never cared about sports enough to learn any of the players’ names. It would be a weird thing to lie about, but - “prove it.”
“Prove it?” Tyler repeats incredulously. You nod. He frowns and looks like he’s trying to make a decision. After a second, he huffs a little laugh to himself and mutters, “well, it already worked once,” before unlocking his phone and typing away on the screen. A second later he holds it up next to his face, a Google search open on the screen. A headshot - Tyler’s headshot in a green jersey - looks back at you. He grins wryly, “proof enough?” The search bar at the bottom of the screen shows that he typed in ‘tyler seguin dallas stars headshot’ and misspelled his own name as ‘tylor’ - you don’t know why, but it makes you bite your lip to smother a laugh. The little typo is endearing.
You look back and forth between the screen and Tyler, long enough that he starts to genuinely laugh. “C’mon,” he teases, putting his phone down on his thigh, “you’re a tougher sell than security at the arena.”
“Okay,” you offer him a tiny smile, “I believe you. I’m just, um, a little overwhelmed. I don’t do this kind of thing.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever done it before either,” he replies, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be on the road for a bit, west coast swing, but if you put your number in my phone, I’ll have my lawyer start working on the paperwork.”
“Paperwork?”
He coughs a little awkwardly. “The divorce? Or annulment? Divorce though right? ‘Cause we obviously slept together,” he gestures at the condom wrappers, “so we can’t just sweep it under the rug. Like Ross and Rachel in Friends.”
“No!” The word slips out before you can stop it and Tyler frowns.
“We can annul it? My knowledge of ending Vegas weddings is pretty minimal.” He pauses and then as if to reassure you, says, “my knowledge of ending marriages in general is pretty limited too.”
“No,” you chew at your lip, “it’s still a divorce. But, fuck, this is mortifying. A second fucking divorce before I’m even 28. Good fucking job with your life.” You mutter the last bit more to yourself than to Tyler, tears welling up in your eyes. That would be the last thing you need, to tell your family and friends about this whole debacle. Literally a week after your first divorce is finalized, you go out and get married again. Drunkenly. In Las Vegas!
Tyler’s eyebrow lifts and he doesn’t ask the question he so clearly wants to ask. You scrub a hand over your face, nausea returning but you’re not sure if it’s the hangover this time or the way he’s looking at you.
“What if,” he says slowly, studying you carefully for a reaction, “what if, we just…didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” You shift, the floor uncomfortable under your sore ass. The blanket wrapped around your body isn’t the softest and you’re starting to sweat a little despite the cold air pumping into the room. Tyler’s presence next to you is becoming distracting, the movement of his chest muscles, the rasp of his voice. Your body wants more of him.
“Didn’t get divorced…” he tilts his head at you, keeps looking you in the eye, even after your jaw drops and the blanket slips a little. “We could, I don’t know, just -“
“Stay married?” You finish for him, eyebrows up in your hairline. He nods, shrugs - why not? “Oh my god.”
Tyler’s phone vibrates on his thigh and he glances down at the alarm. It reminds you that you have no idea where your own phone is and you really, really need to talk to the girls. He jabs at the alarm again and looks apologetic. “I really do have to go,” he gets to his feet and holds out a hand to pull you up. A spark shoots up your arm when his fingers clasp around yours. He doesn’t let go right away, his thumb rubbing against the backs of your fingers. “Think about it,” he looks at you more softly than you think he really should be in this moment. “You said you don’t do this kind of thing,” he continues, “but new year, new you?” The tiny smile he gives you sends your heartbeat into overdrive and this cannot be good for your health.
“Drunk married in Vegas would be a really new me,” you reply faintly. His hand finally falls away from yours and you’re mildly concerned to realize that you miss his touch. Your fingers flex at your side.
His smile doesn’t waver and he reaches out to brush a piece of hair off your cheek, fingertips lingering on your skin. “I’ll be back in Dallas in two weeks. Think about it, I’ll take you to dinner and we can just…go from there.”
He says it so simply, like it’s nothing. Strangely enough, you do feel calmer than you had a few moments ago, Tyler’s steady calm rubbing off on you.
“Okay,” you nod, repeating yourself. “Okay. I’ll…two weeks.”
Tyler grins a little wickedly. “At least we know we’re good together in bed,” he teases, kicking at a condom wrapper with his bare foot.
A laugh startles out of your chest and you find yourself nodding in agreement. “I, ah, definitely agree with that,” you murmur, your entire face flaming with heat.
——
One Year Later - New Year’s Eve. Dallas. TX
Tyler greets you at the door, suited up and bouquet of flowers in hand. “Hi, Mrs. Seguin,” he grins at you.
“Mr. Seguin,” you laugh back, leaning in to loop your arms around his neck and kiss him soundly, nipping at his lower lip. When you pull back, you’re breathless. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”
His hands roam up and down your back, catching in the fabric of your sparkly white minidress, sliding up under the hem to knead at the flesh of your ass. He grins wickedly when his hands don’t find any fabric covering your ass. You smirk at him and wink, giggling when he pinches a cheek.
You lean into his touch with a contented purr. If it wouldn’t make you late for your own party, you’d pull him inside the house for a quickie. You’d already had sex this morning - a wedding present, according to Tyler when he’d given you back to back, mind numbing orgasms with his tongue and dick before you’d returned the favor with a blowjob that had rendered him speechless for twenty minutes - but you would never get enough of being in Tyler’s arms.
“Does it count as bad luck if none of the guests know they’re coming to a wedding?” He asks, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Or a vow renewal, technically.”
The last twelve months have been a little insane and honestly, looking back, you don’t think you’d have it any other way.
After getting dressed quickly, Tyler had found your phone wedged in the cushions of the hotel room’s armchair. The battery was nearly drained but your screen was lit up with more than a hundred texts in the group chat with the girls and nearly as many missed calls. When you had finally called back, all three had shrieked that they were twenty minutes away from reporting you missing. You’d kept the little surprise of legally binding matrimony to yourself, but had admitted to the girls that you’d spent the night with Tyler and that he lived in Dallas and that you were going to see where it went. The flight home was full of whispered shrieking and more questions than you had honestly had answers for at the time. The gaudy engagement ring was buried in the bottom of your toiletry case, acting like the tell-tale heart, blood rushing in your head every time you thought about it.
When you got home, you’d shoved the ring in your jewelry box, determined not to think about it, but found yourself absently running the pad of your thumb over the underside of your ring finger when you let your mind wander to Tyler.
After Tyler had returned to Dallas from his two week road trip - during which you’d basically internet stalked him and spiralled out quietly about not filling for a divorce right away - you’d finally decided to give it, give Tyler a chance. He’d texted nearly every day he was gone, sending stupid jokes or a picture of something he thought would amuse you. Worst case scenario, you filed for divorce and went through the process all over again. By the time Tyler took you out for dinner at a quiet dive-y taco place in Fort Worth where you could actually hear each other, both of your memories of the wedding night had returned, although yours were coloured in a hazy film that made the whole thing seem like a fever dream.
The little ceremony had been officiated by an Elvis impersonator, another Vegas cliché, a fact that you’d learned when Tyler had found another Polaroid in his wallet when he was on the plane to San Jose. You’d cracked up when he finally showed it to you in person - Elvis in the middle, clearly past his prime, with you and Tyler on either side of him doing your best air guitar? Maybe?
“I think I’m trying to do an Elvis hip swivel,” Tyler had laughed.
“Whatever it is, it looks like we’re both mid-seizure,” you’d nearly snorted your drink out of your nose. Looking at the photographs was fun now, a little warmth building in the pit of your stomach, not the tight, nauseous coil of anxiety that you’d experienced when you had first seen them.
Other wedding details were still a little hazy, like where you had picked up the rings or what exactly the ceremony had consisted of, beyond being declared man and wife and being told to kiss and cement your “burning love.”
(What you remembered and what Tyler made sure you didn’t forget was just how good you were in bed together. The four condom wrappers on the floor were not an anomaly with Tyler.)
He’d gotten you tickets for games, right up against the glass so he could skate by you during warmups and tap his glove against the glass to capture your attention. After a few games, once you’d decided to really commit to the relationship and were official within your friendship circles, he picked up the habit of blowing you a kiss, grinning when you’d blush.
He’s really good at his job and you’re only a little surprised to find that you actually love watching him play. It’s horrific watching him get hit or tossed into the boards, but when he scores a goal and celebrates in a big hug with his teammates you’re always the first one on your feet, screaming your head off.
You’d brought the girls to a game early on in your relationship and all three of them had been surprised at how comfortable you were in the arena and how quickly you’d picked up the rules of the game. It was hard to explain that you weren’t just trying to make a regular relationship work, but a whole marriage. The stakes were just a little bit higher than usual.
The league had a break for the All-Star Weekend in early February and Tyler had surprised you with a trip to Mexico, where you’d soaked up the sun and gotten to know each other better, giving him all the sordid details about your divorce and sharing stories from your childhoods over icy margaritas and more tacos than your body knew what to do with. He’d told you about his early career, his misbehavior in Boston and how much he loved being in Dallas. The long weekend was slow and lazy, leaving so much time for the two of you to really talk and get to know each other. The experimental sex in a hammock on the beach was the icing on the cake.
After that, it was like a switch flipped and all you wanted to do was be with him. Truthfully, you sometimes forgot that you were thrown into the relationship with a marriage and settled comfortably into dating Tyler, folding each other into your lives, moving in with him, telling him you love him and hearing him say it back, cheering him on when Dallas made it all the way to the Western Conference Finals before being bounced in seven games by, of all teams, the Vegas Golden Knights.
Summer break meant a road trip to Whitby to meet Tyler’s family. A drive that should’ve been two or three days took nearly a week because you kept making random stops to see the silliest monuments advertised on the highways. You’d nearly killed him driving through Illinois, convinced this was the end of the relationship and you’d have to pull the trigger on the divorce, and then he had surprised you by stopping at a corn maze and getting lost in it with you almost immediately. Your stomach had hurt from laughing with him and making out like teenagers.
The trip to his hometown had been beyond fun, getting Tyler to show you his childhood haunts and seeing all the baby pictures of him with his mom telling you stories too.
On the drive back to Dallas, halfway through Oklahoma and in the middle of the night, while you’re pulled over on the side of the road to look at the stars, Tyler asked you to marry him. Again.
This time you had the moment committed to memory, the way Tyler’s hands had been shaking slightly with the black velvet box popped open in his fingers. The way Tyler’s speech rambled, like he hadn’t prepared anything or had forgotten his words just as he started talking, explaining how your relationship had started in an unconventional manner, but he couldn’t picture his life without you now. The way you’d started crying almost the second he had turned to you on the hood of the car with that gorgeous ring glinting at you in the moonlight and how you hadn’t stopped until he’d slid the ring home on your finger and kissed you like he’d never kissed you before.
Over the months, the wedding plan shifts and changes, from a summer wedding so you can have a real ceremony and party, the whole nine yards, to what it actually ends up becoming - a quiet inside joke with the two of you in order to keep your anniversary date, a New Year’s Eve party for your closest family and friends to be surprised at midnight when you and Tyler recite your vows.
It’s much easier to plan a party in six months than it would’ve been to plan a wedding.
Jamie Benn, Tyler’s best friend and the dark haired man in Vegas you had initially thought was just you seeing double, is tapped as the officiant, getting ordained online and getting really into his role, not knowing it’s basically all just a front. He just loves that he’s the only one in on the secret, constantly wearing a shit eating grin any time any of your other friends discuss wedding plans for a summer wedding that’s not going to happen.
“I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces,” you admit, hooking your hand in the crook of Tyler’s elbow and letting him lead you out to the car. He does a double take when he notices your hand.
“What’s that?” He taps on the ring nestled on your ring finger. Your original wedding ring from a year ago had been replaced with a real diamond, still an oval, but smaller and more tasteful. But that’s not what you’re wearing right now.
Your lips twist up in a sly smile. The huge, gaudy cubic zirconia is back on your finger, your second engagement ring tucked safely in its box in your drawer. “It didn’t feel right to get married without it,” you admit, flexing your fingers against his arm so the fake gem will sparkle.
Tyler’s laugh is contagious. “Everyone’s going to ask about it,” he warns you.
“Let them,” you shrug. “I want to wear my original ring on my anniversary.”
Hours later, when the surprise has been pulled off and Jamie announces that Tyler may kiss his bride, you fall into your husband’s arms, kissing him with all that you’ve got.
Fireworks go off outside the venue, the countdown to midnight at less than a minute.
“Happy anniversary, wife,” Tyler grins against your lips, quiet enough that only you can hear him.
Around you, the countdown continues, seconds ticking away until it’s January first.
“Happy New Year, husband,” you whisper back, laughing when he dips you back dramatically.
The party continues well into the early hours of January first, you and Tyler having had the foresight to rent out the venue for twice as long as a normal party. You spend the night flitting between dancing with your friends and cuddling up against Tyler’s side, tucking yourself under his arm and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your cheek is pressed against Tyler’s side, the wrinkled fabric of his button down soft under your skin. Your fingers play with the buttons, slipping them from their holes one by one until his shirt is more unbuttoned than not.
Tyler smirks down at you, his hand rubbing an arc over your hip, rucking up the fabric with each upward stroke of his hand, exposing your thigh inch my inch. “Undressing me already, wife? Can’t wait for the wedding night?” He winks at you and you laugh into his chest.
“I think that ship has sailed,” you murmur, sliding your hand under the unbuttoned shirt and over the smooth skin of his stomach, ridged muscles dancing under your touch. You yawn a little, the weird combination of overtired and wide awake making your brain buzz.
Tyler holds you close and leans down a little to whisper in your ear, “want your anniversary gift?”
“Mmm,” you hum, “I thought I already got my gift this morning?”
“That was a wedding gift,” Tyler teases. “This is an anniversary gift, and no, it’s not in my pants.”
You giggle and look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. “Shame, I like what’s in your pants.”
“I’ll give you that later,” he promises, dropping a kiss to your forehead. “Come on, I stashed it in the coat closet.”
He tangles his fingers with yours and leads you off, getting stopped every few feet by someone else who wants to gush about what a great surprise the party was. “Just couldn’t wait another minute to marry her,” Tyler grins in response every time, making you laugh at his side, the inside secret of your Vegas marriage a warm fizz in your chest.
When you finally escape off to the coat closet, you try to loop your arms around Tyler’s neck and lift up on your toes to kiss him. He obliges you happily, cupping the back of your head and giving you a searing kiss before pulling away. You whine, “I thought we were sneaking off for a wedding night quickie?”
“I literally told you that your gift wasn’t in my pants,” Tyler laughs, kissing your cheek. “Why would you think I wasn’t being serious?”
Your hands find their way underneath his shirt again, fingertips digging into the muscles of his back, and drawing yourself closer to him. “Because I wanted you to be kidding,” you reply. “A little coat closet quickie would be a fun way to start the year.”
“And normally, I’d agree, baby. But I think you’re gonna like this gift,” he leans forward and reaches behind you, giving you the opportunity to press your nose against his collarbone. When he pulls back, he has a fairly large, flat wrapped package in his hand.
“What’s that?” You ask, taking the gift from Tyler as he leans back a little, shoulders resting against the wall, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The package is lighter than you thought it would be.
He nudges your foot with his, “open it.”
“I didn’t get you anything,” you chew at your lower lip. Neither of you had really discussed the fact that it’s your anniversary or gift giving and now you’re a little embarrassed that you hadn’t thought about it. You sway a little on your feet, fingers ripping a little at the corners of the paper until it crumples under your touch and the corner of the gift pokes through.
Tyler shakes his head. “Don’t care. It’s kind of something for both of us anyway,” he says and you wait for the little joke, the tease that you can let him unwrap you later, but it never comes and that’s how you know your husband is about to make you cry with whatever this gift is.
You can feel Tyler watching you as you pull back the paper - leftover Christmas wrapping that’s so clearly been wrapped by a man, too much tape and messy folds. God, you love him - and expose a frame. It takes you a second to process what’s behind the glass, but when you do, you hiccup a little gasp and tears well at your lash line.
Behind the glass is your marriage license with last year’s date and your pair of wobbly signatures. The Polaroids you’d taken that night surround the license and you trace trembling fingertips over the image of you kissing Tyler on the cheek.
“Tyler…” your voice cracks on his name and he gives you a soft little smile.
“This year his been batshit insane, baby,” he leans into your personal space and cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. “But I’m really glad you’re the one I drunk Vegas married.”
Tears are sliding down your cheeks and you nod, “I’m really glad you’re the one I drunk Vegas married, too.”
His laugh is muffled by all the coats surrounding you, but it’s warm and it feels like home. He pulls you into a hug, the frame smushed between your bodies and digging into your stomach, but you don’t care. Tyler’s hand curls around the back of your neck and you wipe at your eyes with the back of your wrist, black mascara smudges streaking across your skin. You giggle a little wetly, “I’m such a mess, oh my god.”
“Everyone will just think you dragged me off so you could have your wicked way with me,” Tyler teases, smirking at you.
“Coat closet quickie for the newlyweds,” you reply, grinning. You settle the frame on the floor, the back of it leaning against your leg, and really wrap your arms around Tyler’s neck, pressing a kiss against the hollow of his throat. The spice of his cologne invades your nostrils and you press your nose harder against his throat, enveloped in his warmth.
Tyler rests his chin on the top of your head and hums, rolling his hips against yours lazily so you can feel the bulge behind his fly. “I could give you a real quick one, just to make sure you don’t have to lie,” he ducks his head to whisper in your ear, kissing at the hinge of your jaw. His hand slides down to graze your ass and you’re nearly ready to say yes, suddenly desperate for him, when a loud bang on the door has you jumping back, heart pounding from the shock, nearly cracking Tyler’s chin with your head. The frame bounces off your leg with your movement, falling to the floor with a little clatter that you hope isn’t broken glass.
“Fuck!” He yelps and you clap your hands over your heart, gasping. “Jesus, who is it?”
Jamie’s voice is choked with laughter as it comes through the door. There’s a slight slur to his words too, as he shouts, “stop fucking on everyone’s coats, we’re doing body shots.”
Your jaw drops open and Tyler rolls his eyes at the interruption. He bangs on the door with a hand and shouts back, “fuck off! I’m trying to spend some time with my wife.”
“Actually,” you say slowly, a little smirk forming on your face, “body shots could be fun…”
“Yeah?” Tyler lifts an eyebrow at you, palm flat on the door.
“Yeah,” you confirm with a wicked grin, “you know I like the way champagne tastes on your skin.”
Tyler’s eyes shut like he’s in pain and your gaze slides down to see the bulge in his pants grow. “You’re a fucking menace and I’m so fucking glad you’re my wife,” he mutters, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you out of the coat closet, nearly knocking Jamie over in his hurry, your shrieked giggles drowned out by the music from the party.
The next morning, afternoon really by the time you finally open your eyes, you wake up with half of your body draped over Tyler’s completely naked one. His hip and thigh is securely wedged between your legs, his morning wood hot against the outside of your thigh. One of your arms is in the sleeve of Tyler’s button down, the rest of the fabric draped over your back like a blanket. The hangover pounds at your temples and the sunlight blinds you and it’s such a deja vu moment you almost think you’re back in Vegas, right until the moment Tyler’s hand twitches against your lower back and he rubs his bearded chin against the top of your head. You melt against him, sighing happily.
“Anniversary party slash vow renewal every New Year’s Eve?” Tyler rasps against your hair, sliding his hand up your spine.
You hum into his skin, “as long as you get me electrolytes and a greasy breakfast on January first, I’m in.”
“How about a headache relieving orgasm first?” Tyler rolls you gently onto your back, already kissing a path down your body. You shiver with each brush of his lips and your legs fall open for him to slot himself between them. He rests his chin on your hip bone and looks up at you with a soft look in his eyes that doesn’t match the hungry smirk that curves his lips.
“What?” You ask, angling your neck to look at him, raking a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already was. There’s a little streak of glitter against his temple and you brush your thumb over it, wiping the smudge away.
He shakes his head a little. “Just thinking about this past year,” he lifts one shoulder in an awkward shrug. “How fun it’s been, how glad I am that we did the surprise last night.”
“Getting soft on me, Seguin?” you tease, poking at his side with your foot. He wiggles away a little from your touch, ticklish even though he won’t admit it.
“You know I’m anything but soft for you,” he laughs, nipping at your skin. “Let me prove it.” He presses a kiss against your hip bone and then lower and then there’s no more thoughts, just you and Tyler and the rest of forever stretching out in front of you.
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Seventy-five years after two nuclear bombs were dropped on Japan — killing hundreds of thousands of people in the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki — one small community in the Northwest Territories is still haunted by its connection to the blasts. Across Great Bear Lake from the 533-person hamlet of Délı̨nę sits the historic mining site of Port Radium. [...] [T]he Canadian government quietly called for uranium production as part of the country's involvement in the Manhattan Project. That uranium was sent south to help the United States with the race to build a nuclear bomb. [...] [N]ear Great Bear Lake, workers would eventually wonder about the risks they took delivering sacks of ore on their backs as they sent it south — without being told what they were about to be complicit in. [...] Days after the blasts, the Canadian government announced the country's role in the explosions, citing the Great Bear Lake mine's uranium as a key ingredient for the project, said Geoffrey Bird, a professor at Royal Roads University in Victoria who studies tourism and the history of remembrance. An English-language sign connecting Port Radium to the atomic bomb was photographed in Délı̨nę in December 1945. [...] While the Canadian government hasn't apologized to Délı̨nę, the community has apologized to Japan. [...] Locals in Délı̨nę say many ore workers and their family members developed cancer later in life. [...] In the book If Only We Had Known, which tells the story of Port Radium from the eyes of the Sahtúot'ine, elders remember workers' clothing covered with dust, windy days when ore was caught up in the air and children playing games in mine tailings.
Text by: Katie Toth. “Spectre of atomic bomb still looms over N.W.T. community 75 years after Hiroshima.” CBC News. 5 August 2020.
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[O]n 6 August 1998, 10 members of the small Sahtugot’ine Dene community of Deline (Fort Franklin) in the ‘Northwest Territories’ apologized in Hiroshima for the atomic destruction of that city – and the death of over 200,000 civilians – exactly 53 years earlier [...]. Eldorado Gold Mines Ltd. [was] placed under state control during World War Two. They [the Dene] were allowed only to help it [uranium] on its long and winding way, 3,000 miles by river, lake, road and air, from Port Radium on Great Bear Lake to Port Hope on Lake Ontario, where, from 1942-45, the suddenly precious ore – the ‘new gold’ of the atomic age – was, together with ‘Belgian’ uranium from the Congo, refined and dispatched to Los Alamos, the desert lab in New Mexico secretly building the new, city-smashing Superweapon. [...] Beginning in the 1970s, and spiking sharply in the 1980s, many of the men who had handled and carried the ore – and the men who had mined it – began to die from cancer [...]. The “Dene,” the CBC ‘revealed,’ “were never told of the health hazards they faced, even though the government knew … as early as 1932 that precautions should be taken in handling radioactive materials”. Instead [...] “workers [were] dressed in casual clothes and uranium dust [...] covered the men like flour.” [...] [A]s detailed in a December 1998 article [...] in First Nations Drum: [...] [T]he mine was kept running at a very high pace [...]. The Dene were employed as ‘coolies’ packing 45-kilogram sacks of radioactive ore for three dollars a day, working 12 hours a day, six days a week. This at a time when the ore was worth over $70,000 a gram. [...] In 1998, the Déline Dene Band Uranium Committee released a 160-page [...] report, “They Never Told Us These Things.” In a 2011 article in Maisonneuve, Salverson recounts a community meeting in Deline to discuss the report, “where [non-Dene] lawyers delivered a year’s worth of uranium-impact research from the archives in Ottawa,” revealing that in ��the mountain of papers we dug up … there is not one mention of the Dene, your people.”
Text by: Sean Howard. “Canada’s Uranium Highway: Victims and Perpetrators.” Cape Breton Spectator. 7 August 2019.
#because of the movie about oppo and making of the bomb#port radium ultimately mined over 13 million pounds of uranium#ecology#landscape#abolition#colonial#imperial
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One Week to Wow Me
I may add to this later, but feel free to use as a prompt if you want!
Synopsis: Villain makes a surprise confession and Hero makes a surprising offer.
The Hero had been at it long enough that not much surprised them anymore. They’ve seen everything — Villains who helped grandmas across the street they just demolished, villains who bombed pet store company for not stocking the right fish food, villains who really just wanted to use the city as witnesses to their lethal science fair projects.
They have not had a villain confess their love before, though. That was new.
“Say that again?” the hero said. “Sorry, I just wanna make sure I heard you right.”
“Which part did you miss? The I, the love or the you?” The villain asked, wiping blood from their mouth with the back of their hand. “I’m in love with you. Against all odds and my better judgment. Believe me, I would not be like this if I had any choice. But I can’t seem to shake you off.”
In any other situation, such a confession would set off Hero’s bullshit meter. If Hero had the villain on their knees, ready for arrest, or if Hero was chained up in the villain’s lair, ready for torture, such a confession would look as nothing more than a ploy to get under Hero’s defenses.
But tonight their fight had been evenly matched — annoyingly so. Hero was no closer to getting them arrested as they were for incapacitating Hero themselves. So advantage was gained from this, save for pausing a battle neither of them were close to winning anyway.
“Why are you telling me this?” Hero asked. They kept their arms loose at their sides, but balanced on the balls of their feet. Ready.
The Villain shrugged. “I couldn’t hold it in anymore. It feels good to get it out.”
“And you want me to be with you?”
“ . . . .That would be ideal, yes.” they said with a lilt of irony.
The Hero considered them. Weighed options. Tried to predict all the horrible ways this could go. And then threw all caution to the wind.
“Okay,” they said.
The villain’s head tilted, slowly. Dangerously.
“Okay?” they repeated, stunned.
“Yeah, which part did you miss? The O or the kay?”
“You’re going to date me?”
The look of sheer disbelief on the villain’s face would be hilarious if it wasn’t so heart-breaking.
“You have a month,” the hero clarified. “To woo me, to wow me. To make this insane idea worth my while.” They jabbed a finger at the villain. “And you can’t pull any of your shit during it either. I’m not dating you and fighting you at the same time . . .as appealing as that thought can be.”
The villain swallowed. The Hero had never seen them so scared before. The villain’s face stayed their usual stoic mask, but their eyes leaked fear.
“What’s the catch?”
“Catch? That’s your forte, not mine, Counselor.”
“There has to be some kind of parameters around this.”
Hero grinned. “You evil lawyers do love your rules, don’t you?”
The Villain looked a little pained.
“Well here’s a rule then — I hate seafood.”
“That’s not a rule, that’s a preference.”
The Hero rolled their eyes. “Okay, okay. Don’t take me to any seafood restaurants. There’s your rule -- happy?”
The Villain stepped closer to them, until they were close enough for their hand to reach out and skate a knuckle down the hero’s jawline.
“You have no idea.”
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so much for 2ourdust
u.s. leg
magic 8 ball and piano medley songs sorted by date
color coded by album ● repeated songs in bold
tttyg ● futct ● ioh ● fad ● srar ● abap ● mania ● smfs
Feb 28 - Moda Center, Portland, OR, USA
Piano medley
- Young and Menace (First time live since 2018)
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball song
- G.I.N.A.S.F.S. (Alias: HM)
Mar 1 - Climate Pledge Arena, Seattle, WA, USA
Piano medley
- Allie (Patrick Stump song, first time live since 2011)
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball song
- Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year (Alias: FLANNEL)
Mar 3 - Golden 1 Center, Sacramento, CA, USA
Piano medley
- Golden
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball song
- 27 (Alias: RAINBOW PETS)
Mar 4 - Honda Center, Anaheim, CA, USA
Piano medley
- I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears and None On My Fingers
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball songs
- 7 minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen)
- Good Girls Go Bad (Cobra Starship cover) (with Cobra Starship)
Mar 7 - Dickies Arena, Fort Worth, TX, USA
Piano medley
- What a Catch, Donnie
- Golden
Magic 8 Ball song
- The Kids Aren’t Alright (Alias: BARBIE)
Mar 8 - Moody Center, Austin, TX, USA
Piano/acoustic medley
- It's Not a Side Effect of the Cocaine, I Think It Must Be Love (Live Debut)
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball song
- Don't You Know Who I Think I Am? (Alias: YIPPIE KAY YAY)
Mar 11 - Paycom Center, Oklahoma City, OK, USA
Piano medley
- Tempted (Squeeze cover)
- I'm Like a Lawyer With the Way I'm Always Trying to Get You Off (Me & You)
- Golden
Magic 8 Ball song
- Tiffany Blews (First time live since 2009) (Alias: ARLO GUTHRIE)
Mar 13 - Legacy Arena at the BJCC, Birmingham, AL, USA
Piano medley
- Just One Yesterday
- Golden
Magic 8 Ball song
- Young Volcanoes (Alias: OLD ICEBERGS)
Mar 15 - Kia Center, Orlando, FL, USA
Piano medley
- Golden
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball song
- FUCKING ALPHA DOG FUCK ME (Full live debut) (Alias: SHAQ)
Mar 16 - Vystar Veterans Memorial Arena, Jacksonville, FL, USA
Piano medley
- Bad Side Of 25 (Patrick Stump song, first time live since 2011)
- 20 Dollar Nose Bleed (First time live since 2013)
Magic 8 Ball song
- I'm Like a Lawyer With the Way I'm Always Trying to Get You Off (Me & You) (First full live performance since 2014) (Alias: DING DONG)
Mar 19 - PNC Arena, Raleigh, NC, USA
Piano medley
- What a Time to Be Alive
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball song
- Just One Yesterday (First full live performance since 2014) (Alias: QUESADILLA)
Mar 20 - CFG Bank Arena, Baltimore, MD, USA
Piano medley
- I Can't Wait (Hepcat cover)
- 20 Dollar Nose Bleed
- Golden
Magic 8 Ball song
- Miss Missing You (Alias: CRABBY CAKES)
Mar 22 - Madison Square Garden, New York, NY, USA
Piano medley
- Spidey and His Amazing Friends (Patrick Stump song, live debut)
- What a Catch, Donnie
- Just One Yesterday (Full song, with Daisy Grenade)
Magic 8 Ball songs
- Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part to Save the Scene and Stop Going to Shows) (Full live debut) (Alias: BAKED ZITI)
- Slow Down (The Academy Is… cover) (with William Beckett) (Alias: GABAGOOL)
Mar 24 - MVP Arena, Albany, NY, USA
Piano medley
- The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years)
- What a Time to Be Alive
Magic 8 Ball song
- I Am My Own Muse (Alias: FLOPPY BUNNIES)
Mar 26 - Van Andel Arena, Grand Rapids, MI, USA
Piano medley
- Run Dry (X Heart X Fingers) (Patrick Stump song, first time live since 2011)
- I’ve Got All This Ringing In My Ears and None On My Fingers
Magic 8 Ball song
- FUCKING Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) (First time live since 2018) (Alias: MOMS SPAGHETTI)
Mar 27 - PPG Paints Arena, Pittsburgh, PA, USA
Piano medley
- Heart Transplant (Punchline cover)
- What a Catch, Donnie
- Golden
Magic 8 Ball song
- The Music or the Misery (First time live since 2006) (Alias: DUQUESNE INCLINE)
Mar 29 - Value City Arena, Columbus, OH, USA
Piano medley
- What a Time to Be Alive
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball song
- Fourth of July (First time live since 2017) (Alias: FIONA THE HIPPO)
Mar 30 - Rupp Arena at Central Bank Center, Lexington, KY, USA
Piano medley
- I’ve Got All This Ringing In My Ears and None On My Fingers
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball song
- The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years) (Alias: HARD HATS)
Mar 31 - Bridgestone Arena, Nashville, TN, USA
Piano medley
- You Never Even Called Me by My Name (David Allan Coe cover)
- Spotlight (Oh Nostalgia) (Patrick Stump song)
- Golden
Magic 8 Ball song
- Jet Pack Blues (First full live performance since 2018) (Alias: BOOT GOOFIN)
Apr 2 - Fiserv Forum, Milwaukee, WI, USA
Piano/acoustic medley
- Celestial Lights (Uncle Barnaby cover)
- What A Fool Believes (The Doobie Brothers cover)
- Spotlight (Oh Nostalgia) (Patrick Stump song)
- What a Catch, Donnie
- Golden
Magic 8 Ball songs
- Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part to Save the Scene and Stop Going to Shows) (Alias: HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE)
- Pavlove (Alias: LAVERN & SHIRLEY)
Apr 3 - Wells Fargo Arena, Des Moines, IA, USA
Piano/acoustic medley
- Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner
- I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears and None On My Fingers
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball song
- What a Time to Be Alive (Alias: GROOVE METAL)
Apr 5 - CHI Health Center Omaha, Omaha, NE, USA
Piano medley
- Bishops Knife Trick (Live Debut) (Patrick when i get your fucking ass)
- What a Catch, Donnie
- Golden
Magic 8 Ball song
- “From Now On, We Are Enemies” (Alias: STEAK NIGHT)
Apr 6 - Target Center, Minneapolis, MN, USA
Piano medley
- Bleed (Animal Chin cover)
- 7-9 Legendary (Live Debut)
- Purple Rain (Prince cover)
- What a Catch, Donnie
Magic 8 Ball songs
- Honorable Mention (First time live since 2007) (Alias: HARAMBE)
- Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part to Save the Scene and Stop Going to Shows) (Alias: GRANDMA)
- The Carpal Tunnel of Love (First time live since 2008) (Alias: CATDOG)
- Rat a Tat (with CARR) (Live Debut) (Alias: RUMPLESTITSKIN)
- The Kids Aren’t Alright (Alias: KROGER, CHAD KROGER)
- Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) (Alias: WOOT WOOT)
#fall out boy#fob#so much for (2our) dust#so much (for) stardust#2ourdust#it's missing the aliases for anaheim but i will update if i ever find them#i can't believe the first time i posted this list i had the mania purple reserved but didn't use it and now it's in there FOUR WHOLE TIMES#i'm gonna miss this tour so much#i didn't put 'first time live since' for songs that were played in tourdust / last year but i'm sure you can get the dates on setlist.fm#or refer to the other two lists i made for tourdust which are under the 'fall out boy' tag on my blog not too far down#okay i'm done <3
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