#gaming wheel rental

[starry-hughes]

nothing’s new

(quinn hughes x reader)

summary: four years in the future, you’re still dreaming of the four months you spent with quinn before deciding to give it all up for nothing.

warnings: angst, angst, and oh yeah, angst, implications of sex, one implication of cheating, reader having an midlife crisis, reader is pregnant

navigation

At the age of twenty eight, you didn’t think you would be standing in the grocery store, a baby in the cart, the toddler walking alongside the cart, and another on the way. Feeling numb, throwing random essentials into the cart while your husband was working.

It was a perfect life. A stay at home mother. Outfits and hair always perfect. Everything was so put together for you. Every morning, you woke up, made coffee for your husband, got dressed and presentable, got the kids up and ready, kissed your husband goodbye. During the day, you made lunches and cleaned, went grocery shopping, did laundry, all the typical things. The day held no unexpected things. You lived the same day over and over again.

You felt numb. This isn’t what you wanted. Sure, the perfect life was always craved but now that you had it and lived it, what was the point? It wasn’t all it chalked up to be. Stuck with the same children’s songs in the car, you gripped the steering wheel as you drove home. The same drive you took for years.

At dinner, you sat with your family and pretended to enjoy listening to your husband talk about his work. He was a good husband, which is why you felt so bad. He cared for you and the children. But there was an empty space in your life that you couldn’t put your finger on. The children were placed into bed, you did the dishes, and prepared to do the routine all over again in the morning.

Your husband kissed you goodnight and you laid in the bed in silence. Staring at the ceiling, you thought about your choices, everything that led you to this place. This very moment. And you couldn’t help but regret it all.

Four years ago felt like a lifetime ago.

-

You could remember Quinn like you could remember your own name. You could talk about every single detail on his body. His voice, his laugh, his moans, all still echoed in your head.

You were twenty two when you met Quinn Hughes. It was during the gap year between college you took traveling. You wanted to live a little before having to be an adult and having to start working for a living. It was a small rental apartment, just for a couple of months. Just until you would have to leave and face the reality of the world.

It was a small elevator and you had gotten in right before Quinn. You didn’t recognize him, hockey wasn’t a sport you watched. But you wanted to know him. He was attractive, kinda brooding, but he looked like he could be a good adventure. “Do you have any sightseeing suggestions?” you broke the silence, nerves crawling up your throat.

He wasn’t expecting you to say anything. You weren’t someone he had ever seen before and the suitcase and passport in your hand gave it away that you weren’t from here. “I hear the hockey games are good here,” Quinn responded.

You didn’t talk to Quinn again until the next time you were in the elevator with him. “You didn’t tell me you were a hockey player,” you accused with a grin. He shrugged, a smile growing on his face. “Just wanted to see if you actually listened to my advice.”

You rolled your eyes and pressed the button to the floor you were going to. “I’m Quinn,” he held his hand out. You introduced yourself to him and just knew this wasn’t the last time you’d see him.

The next time you saw Quinn was at a restaurant, he was picking up food and you happened to walk in while he was walking out, also picking up a to-go order. Your apartment complex was across the street. He smiled at you and you smiled back. “Do you want to eat together?” you blurted in the elevator.

That is how you got to know Quinn. He came over and you ate together. And then it became frequent melas together. By the third time you hung out with Quinn, he knew much more about you than he imagined he would ever know. The next time you saw him, there wasn’t much talking, just shared kisses and comments about each other’s bodies.

Nearing the end of your trip, you were pretty much dating Quinn. He knew you were leaving. He could tell by the half packed suitcase in your room. “When do you leave?” he asked as you returned to bed, a fresh set of clothes on. “Next week.”

“Were you just going to leave without telling me?” You sighed. You didn’t want this conversation. “No Quinn, I wasn’t just going to leave without telling you. It’s just that I have to start working and growing up.”

“You’re twenty two, you’re pretty grown up. Why are you wanting to end all this fun for that?”

“I can’t travel for my whole life. I can’t stay here for my life.”

He frowned. “So what are you going to do when you leave?” “I dunno,” you shrugged, “Start working, find a husband, start a family.”

“You’re going to throw all the fun away for that?” His words stung. “Not all of us can play hockey and travel around the world. I want a future. A perfect life.”

“And you don’t think I could provide that for you?”

You laughed. “We’ve known each other for four months.”

Quinn was hurt when he left that night. He really liked you. He wanted and could imagine a life with you. Sure he didn’t know simple things about your childhood and this was all just a fling, but he wanted to know everything about you. He wanted to learn your quirks and all the things you talked about while trying to fall asleep. He was falling in love with you everyday. And you didn’t want it. You didn’t want him.

-

At twenty eight, you began to envy who you were at that time. Running around Vancouver with Quinn. Secret meet ups in each other’s apartments, wearing his clothes when he was on roadtrips, spending nights in his bed. There were no responsibilities then. Just him. How sad it was that you were dreaming of a four month fling while in a marriage for four years?

You stared over at your sleeping husband. Guilt. Guilt that you thought of a man you knew for four months years later. Guilt that you wished you hadn’t met him or had kids. Guilt as you were expecting a third child. Guilt that you never put your college degree to use because you were a stay at home mom. Guilt because the life you dreamed of wasn’t fulfilling.

You envied Quinn. Of course, you kept up with his antics on social media. His name was popular. Video games, Captain, star hockey player, led his team to wins that no one expected. The way he still got to travel and the way he was close with his family and the girl he had chosen to fill your space. She was living the life you wanted now.

The next day, your cycle started over again. Prenatal vitamins, coffee for your husband, getting dressed, getting the kids out of bed, making breakfast, kissing your husband goodbye.

Your toddler ran around the backyard and your other child played on the ground in front of you. It was all the routine. Nothing new. All the same. Over and over and over again.

At dinnertime, you cooked, sat with your family, stared at your food while your husband talked and talked about his work. Your kids climbed all over the couch. The perfectly clean living room with the perfectly unstained rug made your eyes burn. The kids were put to bed by you and you stared at yourself in the mirror. How did it come to this? Quinn didn’t even think about you. You were just someone in the past.

Downstairs, you joined your husband on the couch. He was sitting there, still in his work clothes, hiding his phone screen from you. “What do you want to watch?” he asked, handing you the tv remote. You flipped through a couple of channels before landing on the sports channel. The Canucks. How ironic.

You watched for a second, a glimpse of an older, more mature Quinn appeared on the screen. It was like you were being mocked by the universe, showing you what you missed out on. “Anything but hockey,” your husband groaned, reaching and taking the tv remote from you and changing the channel to something else.

Quinn’s face disappeared and so did the potential life you had with him.

[velvetm00light]

Snowed In

photos: pinterest dividers: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: The entire BAU team decides to take a vacation to snowy Vermont. After a day of traveling together and being the last of the team to show up to the cabin, Spencer and y/n are exhausted and in need of quality time with their friends. When alcohol and games are mixed, Spencer decides to get y/n worked up before sneaking into her room that night to show her what can happen when the sexual tension between them finally snaps.

Warnings: smut, choking, alcohol consumption, others in the house, teasing, sneaking into her room, fingering, oral (female receiving), sexual tension, games (Twister).

A/N: I know it's freshly November but that's close enough to Christmas for me. This idea has been plaguing my brain for literal days now so I just couldn't resist the itch to write this. I also don't want to keep a masterpiece away from you guys especially since I probably won't be able to write for a week after this :(. But, as always, I hope ya'll eat this tf up like I did while I was writing it. <3 Also, I think I like the 3 pic banner so much better than the gifs so I might start doing that :)

THE ICE THAT COATED the sidewalk became a mirror, the concrete beneath twisting into the twin of the gloomy, gray sky above. Y/n's frost-bitten fingers tremble against the ebony wool coat she was wearing tightly wrapped as close to her body as she could possibly pull it. The unrelenting wind bit at her cheeks, her skin raw and burning.

She and Spencer had decided to walk through the cabin's yard rather than risk slipping on the glassy ice, which proved rather asinine as both of their boots and luggage wheels caked in packed snow and mud the deeper into the yard they hiked, slowing their pace. She peered ahead at Spencer under her heavy hood. His chestnut boots a bit more worse for wear than hers, considering he's worn the same ones probably every day of his life.

One hand shoved into his pockets, the other gripped onto the handle of his suitcase so tightly his knuckles blanched. His head dipped against the sharp wind. If she had any energy left by the time they finally reached the cabin's wooden front door, she was going to one hundred percent rub it in his face. They had a negligible argument prior to arriving at the cabin - Spencer completely hellbent on not needing a winter coat, and y/n explaining that Vermont's climate is completely paradoxical to Virginia's at most times of this year.

When they had left Virginia, the sky had been a meager blue, and the wind had grown a bite to it, indicating the impending winter but not intense enough to warrant them to avoid being outside at all costs yet. Temperatures had called for slacks and the usual sweater under a proper coat during their last few cases prior to their very welcomed vacation time. She just wanted to laugh in his face at how right she had been proven in the 5 minutes since they'd parked their rental car in the snow-packed driveway.

When they finally reach the cabin door, Spencer fumbles with the brass knob, his frozen fingers barely able to grasp it enough to twist and open. The door opens without difficulty and y/n almost slams into Spencer's back in an attempt to flee the harsh cold of Vermont.

Y/n hastily shut the door behind her. She and Spencer didn't bother unwrapping any scarves or unbuttoning any coats until they could feel their extremities again as they made their way into the expansive living room, leaving their suitcases by the door. A fresh pine tree lay decorated in lights and garland in the far right corner, the smell of pine welcome in her nose, a large window hiding behind it, climbing halfway up the logged wall before stopping and becoming more logs, with a smaller window on top, shaped to a slope to match the cabin's sloping ceiling.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope sit perched on the chocolate-colored couch to the left of the pine tree turned Christmas tree, wooly sweater sleeves pulled over their hands as they gently hold warm mugs of hot cocoa, most likely.

"You're finally here!" Penelope calls, setting her chipped mug gently on the coffee table just a leg lengths away from the couch. Emily and JJ copy Penelope's actions as they rush over to greet the two latecomers.

"We thought you guys might've gotten stuck or frozen to death or something," Emily explained, engulfing y/n in a hug so tight she thought her lungs might have to escape her body entirely to relieve the pressure.

"With the way Spencer drives, I think we almost got stuck like 4 times," y/n teased, resulting in a malicious side eye from Spencer but giggles from the women in front of her.

"To be fair, we only actually got stuck once. We made it in one piece so I don't see the issue."

Y/n rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, the rest of her energy spent on the single ridicule, her mind unable to continue the back and forth.

"The rest of them are in the kitchen," JJ explains, leading them through an archway embellished with fake leaves and fairy lights.

Rossi's back is to them as he pulls a steaming mug from the microwave. When he finally turns to spot y/n and Spencer, the last two team members to make it through the treacherous countryside of Vermont, he places the mug on the kitchen island. "I was just making you guys some cups of cocoa, but it's the packet kind. I would've made it from scratch if I thought I could survive another trip outside."

The team erupted in chuckles, "Yeah, I wouldn't suggest going out there, Rossi. You might freeze on the spot," Morgan laughed.

"Hey, I'm old, but I'm not that old."

Spencer reached delicately for the mug resting on the kitchen island, sliding his fingers through the handle and carefully lifting it as to not spill it over his hand. He turns to y/n and holds out the cup for her.

"I'll take the next one," he smiles. She gives him a sweet smile back as she takes the hot cocoa from him, "Thanks, Spence."

Y/n rose to sit upon a marbled counter, her hot cocoa clutched into her hands, greedy for the warmth it brought to her numbed fingers. Her legs swung, feeling restless despite the exhaustion that weighed her entire body down.

Vacation had began to seem like a myth considering serial killers never cease to kill and each and every person in the kitchen with her had the same mindset when it came to their work. People need us. She can't remember the last time one of her coworkers had taken a vacation or even just a day off as if they were avoiding it like a contagious disease.

She had to admit, it did almost make her feel uncomfortable to think about taking a vacation. She didn't hold much trust in others to do their jobs for them. But, nevertheless, she was grateful to finally have some time to spend with her favorite people doing nothing but watching cheesy Christmas movies and playing board and card games like she was a child again.

With all her might, she pushed down the lingering guilt she always seemed to feel when she wasn't working towards catching a bad guy. Villains always need their heroes, and she didn't like the idea of letting the villains run rampant for too long.

Her internal battle must have shown on her face because Spencer laid a secretive hand over hers as he leaned against the countertop she sat upon. He tilted his face upwards to look at her, silently asking her, what are you thinking about? Spencer seemed to be the one person who could read her like a book, despite y/n keeping the book of her life and emotions locked, shut, and completely hidden away from everyone else.

She shrugged, not important. She diverted her gaze from his, the weight of his causing her mouth to part slightly, wanting to spill everything running through her mind - but she clamped her mouth shut because that is definitely not something she wanted to do in front of her entire team.

She could feel his gaze still on her, reading the emotions on her face like a book, as if he looked long and hard enough, her thoughts would display themselves above her head. "Stop profiling me, weirdo," she whispered, just loud enough for only him to hear.

He rolled his eyes at her, the corners of his mouth threatening to turn up into a smile.

"How was the drive, Spence? It seems like you guys got the worst of this incoming storm," JJ stated, her mug had been retrieved from the living room coffee table and now rested in her cupped hands as she rested her elbows on the kitchen island.

"Dangerous," y/n muttered. Spencer playfully elbowed her. "Hey! You can't tell me you didn't fear for our lives at least once during that drive."

Spencer didn't bother responding, knowing she was right. The drive hadn't been the worst it could've been, but the snow had began flurrying as they arrived to the airport, y/n's hood pulled so far over her head she kept her eyes locked on Spencer's boots in front of her to lead her. The roads were slick with snow and ice, and the winding strip of road leading up to the isolated cabin had not been the easiest or safest to navigate.

"It's a good thing you guys got here before it got too bad, we might have to really get comfortable with each other considering we'll most likely be stuck here longer than we want," Emily suggested. The team nodding in agreement. Y/n was grateful she had remembered to bring every card and board game she could get her little hands on - Monopoly, Cards Against Humanity, even Twister. She couldn't wait to get the team drunk and convince them to play Twister.

"Speaking of, I think it's time we whip out the alcohol and the games," Emily smiled, as if reading the thought directly from y/n's mind, taking a bottle of top-shelf Tequila by the neck and wiggling it in the air.

"Best idea I've heard all day," Rossi stated.

Y/n and her team made their way into the living room, spiked hot cocoa in hand. She relaxed in the middle of the couch after grabbing her Cards Against Humanity box from her suitcase by the door, Spencer to her right and JJ to her left. Rossi and Hotch taking the two reclining chairs and pulling them forward to reach the table. Emily gracefully sitting on a pillow on the floor, Morgan settling for sitting directly on the carpet, and when Spencer attempts to offer Emily his spot, she dismisses him with the wave of a hand and a suggestive glance towards y/n.

Spencer repositioned himself again on the couch, the meaning of Emily's glance fully understood.

Y/n takes the liberty of pulling the cards out of their designated box and separating them into piles scattered across the coffee table, making sure every has access to a pile of white cards. As she finishes, the conversation about who goes first and random rules to add immediately sparks. Considering the instructions clearly read that whoever pooped most recently was to be the one to start.

The conversation turned argument continued on longer than any thought necessary, laughter filling the cabin to the brim. "Well if we're really trying to have a good time, all the losers each round have to drink."

Once in agreement, the team finally quieted as Hotch reluctantly grabbed the black card on the top of the stack in the middle of the table and read it aloud.

Y/n's head began buzzing as they were a fourth of the way through the stack of black cards, the game no where within bounds of stopping. Her limbs finally felt loose from being curled up in a plane and car seat for hours, trying to avoid looking at the snowy danger they had to travel through.

The entire team shed their worries, stresses, and found it in themselves to be in the moment. Everyone had equal amounts of pain lacing their chests and stomaches from laughing too hard at cards played and also equal amounts of disgusted faces and a little bit of gagging after the rules began to increase the more alcohol consumed - they had began ranking everyone's answers by the fourth time around, the person in first being exempt from drinking anything, the person coming in last being required to take a shot instead of a sip of their drink. Y/n seemed to be on a losing streak.

Luckily, her team was too engrossed in the game to notice when she took smaller shots than she was supposed to. She didn't want to be totally inebriated in the first few hours of her first vacation in God knows how long.

Spencer's arm was outstretched on the couch behind her, his other hand holding his cards secretively, knowing that y/n would a hundred percent be trying to take peeks now and then.

Once they had almost completely blown through most of the black stack, y/n ceased the opportunity. "I brought Twister!"

The entire room cheered, and she stumbled over to her suitcase to grab it out. It was quickly set up within a minute and to her distress, they decided to make teams and compete, obviously.

The girls split into a group and the boys into another. Emily and Hotch started first, Emily easily more flexible than Hotch, his leg unable to twist towards the red dot in the corner, resulting in him falling over and a chorus of laughter echoing off the logged walls.

"Spencer, Y/n, you guys should do it next!" Penelope gasped. "You're both so lanky, it'll be a close match."

Y/n's heart beat against her throat and she felt the rush of heat bloom in her neck and rise towards her still raw cheeks. She took a deep breath, not willing to show how much of a reaction she had at the thought of being tangled up with Spencer.

JJ and Rossi finish their round, JJ sneakily leaning into Rossi enough to knock him over, giving the girls a 2 point lead. Y/n and Spencer stroll leisurely towards the edges of the Twister map. An arched brow climbs her forehead, "I hope you're ready to lose."

"In your dreams," he smirks, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

As Penelope spins the pointer, she begins to call out body parts and colors. Within minutes, y/n and Spencer are a heap of tangled limbs, her back resting against Spencer's chest as she's bent over to reach her left hand to yellow, Spencer's hand next to hers on green. Her hair obstructs some of the view of the colored circles beneath them but the look of Spencer's flexed, muscular forearm on the side of her head does little to ease her rapidly beating heart. His breath is hot on the nape of her neck, coiling a heat in her middle she desperately attempts to push down.

"I think I enjoy you being under me," he whispers onto the skin of her neck, sending shivers rattling down her spine. As Penelope calls out left hand blue, she racks her gaze around the mat beneath them.

She can practically hear the rush of blood in her ears when she finally sees the blue between her strands of hair. The closet blue dot is down towards her legs, considering her right hand was already on the blue next to her left, requiring her to bend her hips upward. She takes a deep breath and reaches her hand to the spot, her ass rising upward into Spencer's hips.

She can hear the catch of his breath as she tilts upward to get into her position. The next color is called too soon after, resulting in Spencer's right leg moving to the left side of y/n's body, their bodies no longer touching in the way that spooled heat further into her center. Their limbs fight for purchase on different colored spots as the game continues, their teammates shouting at both of them, the game obviously riveting from above, but completely distracting between the two players.

After a few more minutes of twisting her body in ways she never knew she could, her arms trembled as she reached towards a yellow. Refusing to let a man who probably weighed the same as her beat her in a game of Twister, she fought through the shaking of her body and painful stretch of muscles she probably haven't used in years.

She could feel Spencer's body tremble underneath her, placed in almost the same position as before, just on the opposite side this time. "I think I enjoy being on top better," she whispered in the same way Spencer did to her.

His body tensed under hers before he dropped to the floor, crowning y/n the winner of quite literally a battle to exhaustion in a drunk game of Twister.

The women on her team cheered and hugged each other before reaching out a hand to pull her from her spot on the ground in which she collapsed onto right after Spencer did. "That was probably the longest game of Twister in the history of Twister games," Penelope laughed.

Y/n and Spencer plopped onto the couch together, content to watch Penelope and Morgan go against each other from their comfortable spots on the couch. As Emily called out colors and body parts and the teams cheering on their teammates, Spencer leaned over to y/n's ear. "If you're gonna be on top of me I think it'd rather be able to see you."

Her pulse quickened, the heat that as been building inside her since the start of their Twister match is beginning to come to an edge. Get a grip, she chastised herself. They were on vacation with their entire team for crying out loud, now was not the time for flirtatious advancements or sexual tension.

"In your dreams," she murmured, trying to keep the want in her voice caged down, but with the way that Spencer's lips lifted in a smirk told her she didn't do a very good job at it.

"Certainly."

She couldn't get her eyes to leave his face, lowering them to his mouth, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from saying anything stupid.

He noticed her do this and his expression turned hungry as he watched her work her bottom lip between her teeth. It was one of the things that always set him off without her even realizing. Her nervous tic could be taken as flirtatious by someone who doesn't know her. Even though Spencer knows better, it still causes tension inside his pants every damn time she does it.

"If you keep doing that I'm not going to be able to stop myself," he growled lowly.

The sexual tension between y/n and Spencer was almost palpable as the team said their drunken goodnights and stumbled to their respective rooms. Y/n climbed into her bed, pulling the quilt atop her closer to her face. Her thoughts swam, unable to stop them from completely consuming her with thoughts of Spencer - of his body on hers, his breath on her neck, and god damn the stupid comments he made, knowing they were working her up and torturing the hell out of her all night as they continued to play other games with their friends.

Her thoughts fell away, like birds falling out of the sky, as she heard a low sound. She sat up in her bed, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness swallowing her room, in attempt to see what the noise was. Her door opened gently and a figure quietly stepped through the threshold and shut the door behind them, obviously trying not to wake anyone up.

"Hello?" Y/n called out softly, at first she thought it was Penelope, coming to tell her some new gossip she overheard somewhere. But, it wouldn't make any sense of her to sneak in if she thought y/n was asleep. It most definitely wouldn't have been Hotch, Rossi, or Morgan and the only reasonable explanation for any of them to be in her room is if they mistook her door for a bathroom, but she doesn't believe they'd be that quiet about it. Emily was so inebriated she almost didn't make it to her bed by herself.

A nervousness began in her chest as the figure stalked closer to her bed and didn't answer her. Before she could react, lips met hers hungrily. She gasped into their mouth, an opening they took to their advantage as they slipped their tongue between her lips and battled hers for dominance. She supposed that if this was someone trying to kill her, they wouldn't have kissed her first and damn it was a good kiss.

She allowed the kiss to overtake her senses, small moans rising out of her throat as her bottom lip was taken in between teeth and tugged. When her bedroom intruder finally broke their kiss, they were both panting. "I did warn you I wouldn't be able to control myself," the voice growled. Oh.

"Spencer?" Y/n whispered, "What are you doing?"

"Well I wasn't going to wait for you to come to me," he murmured, dipping his head to her neck, trailing sloppy kisses downward to her collarbones. Her fingers tangled into his soft curls, a moan slipping from her lips as he teased her sensitive skin.

"Shh," he shushes her, his voice vibrating through her entire body. "You don't want anyone to hear, do you?"

"Spence..." she whimpered.

His fingers played with the hem of her tank top, only the thin fabric separating him from her breasts.

"I can't get you out of my head and it's been driving me insane," he muttered against her bare skin, his fingers trailing lightly over her exposed lower abdomen, sending goosebumps over her skin. "I can't stop thinking about that pretty little mouth wrapped around me, or the sound of your moans that I coax out of you in every possible way I can, or the sound of you screaming my name as you come."

Y/n feels breathless at his touch, the skin beneath his lips burning with heat. "Are you okay with this?" He asks after y/n's silence.

"Absolutely," she whimpers. "Don't stop, please."

As if that was his undoing, he tears her tank top from her skin, y/n almost unable to raise her arms up in time to get it over. As soon as her tank top is thrown to the floor, his lips latch onto her peaked nipple and a cry of pleasure gathers in her throat but she clamps her lips shut, not wanting to let anyone hear. He continues to work her nipple in his mouth, using tongue and teeth, mixing pain and pleasure.

Her fingers grip his hair tighter, her back arching to bring his mouth as close as it could possibly get to her exposed breasts. Without budging from her nipple, he removes her pants swiftly, gripping her hips with his hands to swing her under him.

Her eyes can just barely make out his face in the dark hovering above her, her body begging for more. She squirms underneath him, hardly able to contain the desire coursing through her blood. His smile turns feral as he realizes just how badly she wants him to keep going.

He lowers himself antagonizingly slow, leaving soft kisses along her naked body until he reaches her inner thighs. He settles himself comfortably in between her legs as she widens them to give him complete access.

He slides his tongue gracefully through her folds and she lets out a gasp. "I've been aching to taste you," he groans against her center, gliding his tongue from the bottom up again. "You taste fucking delicious."

His pace starts out tame as he saviors every whimper that leaves her mouth and the taste of her on his tongue. Another gasp escapes her as he slips a finger in, wasting no time in gently sliding it in and out, curling it upwards to hit her sweet spot just right. She bucks her hips, riding his tongue and finger as her pleasure builds in intensity, her breathing ragged.

Suddenly, his tongue and finger abandon her and she lets out a whine of disappointment. "Someone's needy," he chuckles lowly. "I'd rather make you come with me buried deep inside you."

Spencer quickly undresses himself and gently lines up with her center. He slides the tip through her folds, making her arch her back towards him, her silent plea.

Without hesitation, he slips inside her and releases a groan. "You're so wet for me," he smirks. She can barely see his face, but she knows he has a smug look on it. It's as if he's known how crazy he makes her, how she has fantasized about this very moment before.

His thrust starts out delicate, like he's afraid he's going to break her apart. She wraps her legs around his waist, an attempt to pull him as deep as possible. "Careful," he growls against her neck as he teases her skin once more. "I don't want to let loose just yet and hurt you."

"What if I like it rough?"

"Tell me how you want it, then." A challenge.

"I want you to fuck me dumb."

"Your wish is my command," he smiles against her skin and immediately latches onto her neck, sucking and pulling on her delicate skin. His hands grip her waist to keep her steady as he pounds into her, the sound of his bare thighs hitting hers. He places a hand on her throat and gently squeezes, as if he knows exactly how she likes it.

"Fuck.." Spencer growls, unhooking her legs from his waist with his available hand and using his weight to lift her legs above her head and driving in deep. Y/n claps a hand over her mouth to keep her screams in, her other hand gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles turn white. "You're taking me like such a good girl."

"Fuck, Spencer," she whimpers under her palm.

"Say my name again."

"Spencer..."

"Louder."

"Fuck, Spencer!" She cries as he hits home, her pleasure reaching it's breaking point hastily.

"Open your mouth," he demands. She releases her palm from over her mouth and opens wide, Spencer wasting no time in sticking two fingers on her tongue. She closes her lips around his fingers and slides her tongue over their length. He groans in pleasure as she continues to tease his fingers.

"Come for me."

Those words were her undoing as she falls over the edge, Spencer following her over and her body releasing the pent up desire. Her entire body trembles as ecstasy floods her.

He releases her legs but stays positioned inside her, face hovering just inches above hers. Their panting breaths tangle with each other in the air between them. "You took me like such a good girl," he coos, cupping her cheek gently and rubbing her heated skin with his thumb.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Y/n whispers, trying to control her wildly racing heart.

"Of course."

"I've thought the same things," she confesses, pulling him by the hair to meet her lips again. "And I hope you're not too tired for another round."

An animalistic smile grows on his face as he pauses their kiss, "I'm going to tear you apart."

[drewsbuzzcut]

Frustration

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses blurb

warnings: slight angst, bickering, cursing, frustration

“You can drop us off at Beau’s,” you muttered through the tense silence of the rental car.

“You’re not coming back with me to the hotel?” Mat asks, thrown off guard by your statement.

“Not when you’re like this,” you say.

“Like what? Losing games? It’s not really all in my control. It’s a team effort, you know?” He bites, words coming out in a harsh manner.

“No. I couldn’t give two shits if you guys lose, you can lose every single game, just as long as you do everything you can to try to win. It’s about you being so fucking moody,” you bite back, staring at the side of his face.

“Don’t curse in front of the kids,” he has the nerve to say.

You let out a scoff, your eyes wide in shock.

“Seriously? After you were all pissy and cursing as you were buckling them in. You can’t say shit to me, Mathew,” you finish, closing your eyes after moments of silence follow your words.

He had nothing to say.

He pulls up to Beau’s house, you quickly unbuckle yourself before settling your younger two in your arms.

“I’ll be back for Nolan,” you inform him.

Mat rests his head on the steering wheel, disappointed in himself. First, the islanders have not been doing well, and now he’s being a dick to his family. He slams his fist on the wheel, momentarily forgetting that Nolan is lightly asleep in the back.

The moment his wife opens the car door, he hears Nolan’s sniffles. He knew he messed up, once again.

“Have you not learned? Go back to the hotel and sleep off your anger. Hopefully tomorrow you won’t be so angry with the wrong people,” you whisper, no malice just stoic.

“Babe,” Mat calls out, his voice sounding watery and hurt.

You look at him and his pretty eyes that shine with unshed tears.

You turn away, walking back toward the house to put Nolan to bed. You shyly ask Beau to keep an ear out for them in case they wake up, telling him that you’ll be in the front consoling your husband.

When you walk back out, Mat’s head rests in his hands, his sniffles sound identical to Nolan’s.

You open up the driver’s door, bringing Mat’s attention to you. You rest a hand on the back of his neck, softly caressing the skin. He looks at you with a desperate glance. He needs you more than the need you have to be annoyed with him.

You wrap your free arm around his shoulders, bringing your forehead to rest on his. You crowd the minimal space he has in the driver’s seat.

He moves his face to bury it in the crook of your neck, and that’s when you start massaging his scalp.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m being an ass right now, I’m just so frustrated. It’s not an excuse, though, because I shouldn’t be taking it out on you or the kids. I made Nolan scared,” he says through a strangled cry.

You hug him tighter to your body. You could practically feel the regret roll off him in heavy waves.

“I should’ve handled things better, and not reciprocate the frustration. I love you, baby,” you whisper in his ear, your nose skimming the skin of his cheek.

“I don’t want to be that type of dad. I don’t want to make our kids feel like they can’t be around me,” he states, shaking his head like he can’t even fathom the thought of his kids not wanting to be around him.

“I know.” You continue to stroke his skin, feeling his shoulders slightly fall.

“Hockey has been a lot lately. I’m doing something wrong, we’re all doing something wrong. I just don’t know how much more I can take,” he whispers defeated.

“It’ll all work out. You guys will find your rhythm. I’m sorry the season isn’t going the way you planned, but I’m here for you. Don’t take your frustrations out on us because at the end of the day, win or lose, we’re always going to be your biggest fans,” you soothe him, kissing soft pecks on his neck up to his jaw.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you and our family. I love you,” he cups your cheeks, pulling your lips to his.

“I love you, barzy. Now, I need you to come back into Beau’s house with me, so we can fall asleep together. You holding me and us holding our children,” you grab his hand and pull him out of the vehicle.

“Do you think Tito will be mad if we have sex in his guest bedroom?” He asks, pulling you back into his arms as you both walk towards the front door.

“Slow your roll, hotshot. We still got the kids with us,” you cackle.

“He has more than one guest room,” he adds, a cheesy smile on his face.

“In your wildest dreams, Barzal,” you pull away from him, walking backwards so you’re facing your husband.

“You’re my wildest dream, Barzal,” he states, catching up to you to pull you back into his arms. You lean up to kiss him, finally feeling like your husband is back to his happy self.

a/n: Enjoy!

[senditcolton]

So Tragic and Rare

"It's Not Your Fault" (pt. 16)

a/n: hello! sorry for the slight delay but I will let you all know that this is another double drop day! there will be a few of these now (simply because i want to complete this series by December). so here is the next installment!

word count: 6.3k warnings: smut! [cocky possessive Andrei, oral (m + f receiving), unprotected penetration, thigh fucking] and angst, which i apologize for in advance previous part 🧡 next part masterlist

There was absolutely no physical reason for Andrei to be white-knuckling the steering wheel. He knew this.

The roads were decent: April had warmed enough to melt any lingering snow off the asphalt and the skies were a little overcast but the forecast stated only a small chance of precipitation. And although both the road he was on and the rental car he was driving were unfamiliar, it was nothing that he couldn’t handle.

There was no physical reason for him to be clinging onto the steering wheel like his life depended on it. But when the loud voice of the Massachusetts sports radio broadcaster filters through the speakers, Andrei is cruelly reminded why his body was wound so tight.

“With their win last night, the Boston Bruins are ready to face the Carolina Hurricanes in the first round of the playoffs. Brooks, how do you feel about their chances against the number one team in the East?”

“Listen, it’s been a tough road for the Bruins. But something should be said about them even making it to the playoffs as a wildcard team – no one expected that at the beginning of this year. But in order to hold their own against a team like Carolina, The Bruins are going to have to step up their game, particularly their defensive game, Cotton. The Hurricanes have been firing on all cylinders since the start of the season: multiple players with 60 points, strong forechecking, and a lethal powerplay. Boston needs to find a way to stunt their offensive momentum and give Jeremy Swayman some support.”

“Agree completely. Swayman has been strong between the pipes all season and I don’t see that faltering now. He’s got something to prove after that contract signing and last years playoffs. Plus, we might even see another level to his play when the first round comes to Boston for Game 3, considering that there has been a rumor that rockstar Keely Halloran will be in the audience.”

The mention of Keely being in TD Garden, watching him play, would normally make Andrei’s heart skip a beat. But now, it just makes his fingers tighten even more – especially since it was mentioned in the same breath of someone who was not him.

“Oh, yeah, he’ll definitely be looking to impress her,” the co-host laughs, his needling words soaked with innuendo pricking at Andrei’s ears.

With a sharp jab of his finger, he silences the radio and returns his focus to the road.

He knew this was just a side-effect of being with Keely. She was a high-caliber celebrity. Everyone wanted to know about her and her life, including her relationship status. And when that information wasn’t freely given, people started rumors.

He also knew it wasn’t Keely’s fault that the tabloids took a hold of the concept of her and the goaltender of her hometown hockey team and ran – and he did mean ran – with it. But the constant headlines, mentions, and even the Bruins media themselves using the rumor for their own gain, it started getting to him.

Andrei was the one with Keely’s number in his phone. Andrei was the one who had seen the inside of her New York recording studio. Andrei knew the address of her Beacon Hill brownstone. He was the one that chose to rent a car shortly after the conclusion of the Carolina v. Montreal afternoon game and was now driving down to Boston to see her.

Him – not Jeremy Swayman.

Highway 89 stretched out in front of him; a long dark trail leading him to Keely. Andrei tries to keep his mind clear, thinking only about the next turn, the correct exit, trying to let the voice of his GPS be the only voice in his head. But while he could silence the radio, there was no silencing the knowledge that no matter what happened, people would still talk. And there was next to nothing he could do about it.

Except…

Him and Keely could go public with their relationship.

They had been seeing each other for around three months – if you count the All-Star game. That was plenty of time, right? And imagine what news it would be if she showed up to the Boston playoff game in red and white instead of black and gold.

That was the solution. That would make all this noise stop.

Andrei smirks to himself, his energy shifted to a new goal. All he had to do was get Keely onboard. He’s sure she would be fine with it. It was clear that she liked him and he liked her back. What could go wrong?

They would show the world that she belonged to him.

Andrei drives the last few miles, taking the exit to Boston and weaving through the city’s myriad of one-way streets. He eventually turns down the alley behind Keely’s brownstone, parking the car and walking along the ivy-covered fence towards the entrance to her garden. He stops at the wooden door and fishes his phone out from his pocket.

[Andrei] Are you home? [Keely] Yeah. Why? [Andrei] Just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Had to see you. [Keely] What? [Andrei] Back gate.

That text message is the only explanation he gives before returning his phone to his pocket, his eyes moving to look up at the illuminated windows of her place. He sees a curtain move, a flash of her silhouette before its gone and Andrei waits, patiently, his ears trained for any sound.

Eventually, he hears her backdoor creak open, the soft yet quick padding of her footsteps over the cobblestones, before the sound of her unlocking the garden door hits his ears. He stands still, watching the door creak open before her eyes connect to his.

Andrei can’t stop the grin that tugs at his lips at the sight of her joyful bewilderment.

Keely doesn’t say anything, just huffs out a surprised laugh as she pushes the door open further, allowing Andrei to slip inside. He doesn’t wait an instant longer before cupping her face in his hands and pulling her lips to his in a passionate kiss. He can feel body go lax in his hold, enjoying the sensation of her smile against his lips.

Andrei doesn’t stop kissing her, tugging her body even closer to his, the kisses becoming desperate. Seeing her face during a video call, hearing her voice through his phone speakers was nothing compared to being in her presence. They had only been able to meet up a few times since New York and it was never enough for Andrei. He always wanted more of her.

His lips trail down to press along her jawline, following the slope of it down her neck. His hands tighten around her when he hears a soft moan leave her lips, her hands twisting in the fabric of his dress shirt.

“Wait, Andrei,” Keely says, her voice a breathless sigh. “I have to make sure the gate locked.”

With a soft groan and no shortage of willpower, Andrei manages to pull himself away from her skin, letting her leave the grasp of his arms as she darts behind him. He waits, listening to rattle of the wooden door on its hinges before she appears in front of him again, a grin on her face. Andrei says nothing, just holds out his hand to her which she happily takes, pulling him across her backyard and into her house.

As soon as they cross the threshold, the door firmly shut behind them, Andrei doesn’t hesitate before pulling her back into his arms, kissing her once again; a kiss that Keely returns tenfold.

“How are you here?” she asks, breaking away to stare up at him with those electric blue eyes. “Didn’t you have a game? Don’t you have to go back to Carolina?”

“It’s only a five-hour drive from Montreal. Plus, Coach gave us a day before playoffs,” Andrei explained. “I chose to see you. I’ll fly back tomorrow.”

“You drove from Canada after an early game for me?” Keely clarifies, her voice almost as bewildered as the expression painting her face.

“Like I said, I had to see you,” he whispers, leaning his face in closer as if to kiss her again. But he stops just centimeters from her lips, his breath fanning her cheekbones. “Had to see my girl.”

This time, it is Keely that moves the barest of millimeters to press their lips together, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. He willingly lets himself get pulled into her, breathing in the subtle scent of the perfume still lingering on her skin. Andrei walks forward, using his body to push Keely deeper into her house, desperate to get her horizontal on whatever surface was closest.

Their blind momentum is stopped by Keely’s back hitting the drywall, a huff of breath escaping them as they tear away. Andrei lifts his head, orienting himself to her brownstone. He had only managed visit here twice before but when he realizes they are on bottom floor, he relaxes. His eyes locate her bedroom door, still slightly ajar and through it, spies her patterned bedsheets, a grin appearing on his face.

Andrei turns his attention back to Keely who had clearly followed his gaze and looks up at him with a grin of her own, one eyebrow jumping in challenge.

He leans in to kiss her again, their tongues pressing together as his hands run down her body, coming to grip her thigh and pulling it up to wrap around his leg. With the adrenaline now running through his body, Andrei lifts her off the ground, Keely’s gasp of surprise is quickly swallowed as her other leg instinctively wraps around his hip, ankles locking together. Andrei’s hold on her body is firm, kissing her deeply once more before he tears his lips away, his eyes focusing back on his destination.

Keely doesn’t seem to mind the loss of his lips on her skin, content instead to pepper kisses against Andrei’s jawline, each press of her plush lips making his steps falter.

“Don’t you dare drop me, Svechnikov,” she mutters into the juncture of his neck, her breath warm against him.

Andrei refocuses, nudging her bedroom door open the rest of the way. He walks to the king-sized bed until his legs hit the soft plushness of the mattress. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips and without hesitation, his hold falls from Keely, gravity taking over as her body falls from his. Andrei can hear the soft gasp that is forced from her as her back hits the bedsheets, her eyes wide in shock.

“Whoops,” he says, standing over her, the word emphasized by a shrug of his shoulders. He watches as Keely’s face turns to reflect the mischief clearly displayed on his own.

In an instant, Andrei is taken off-guard as Keely – using the strength of her legs still wrapped around his hips – pulls him down to hover over her, her hands tangling into his hair. It’s easy for Andrei to recover, moving to kiss her again. One of his hands holds his weight as to not crush Keely while the other traces down her body, gently pulling her legs away from him.

When he is free of her grasp, he stands up, his body towering over her, and takes in the sight before him.

She is beautiful. It was something that he thought frequently but there was nothing as beautiful as the sight of her laying against the rumpled bedsheets, wearing nothing but a black lace bralette and grey sweats, looking up at him with a dark desire in her eyes.

A desire that was directed to him – no one else.

Andrei’s hands move, fingers slowly unbuttoning the white dress shirt. Each unfastening exposes more of his skin, Keely’s hungry gaze still fixed on him. Eventually, every button is undone and Andrei pulls the fabric off his body. He can’t deny the jolt of cocky confidence that runs through him when Keely’s eyes shamelessly rake down his frame, knowing that those early morning and long hours at the gym were not only for his career but for her.

“Like what you see?” he asks, his voice lowering an octave as Keely gazes up at him.

“I always like what I see when it comes to you,” she replies, her tone matching his. But Andrei can feel his heart soften at her words. It wasn’t just a compliment on his body – it was a compliment towards him. The entirety of him.

He doesn’t reply – doesn’t even really know what to say to her to convey every emotion swirling around in his mind. Instead, his hands just drop to his slacks, unfastening the belt buckle around his hips. He can see the spark brighten Keely’s eyes and before he can blink, she is lifting her body to sit upright, her hands knocking his away.

Her blue irises glance up at him, soft lips pressing against the cut of his abs and the half sigh, half groan that runs through him at the sensation echoes around the bedroom. He can feel her smile against his skin, her lips trailing downwards as her hands make quick work of the clasp and zipper of his slacks. Keely’s hand slides down, gently palming him through the material, releasing another groan from the back of Andrei’s throat, his head falling back.

“I suppose,” she says, elongating the word, causing Andrei’s gaze to return to her. “Since you drove all the way from Montreal for me, I should do something for you in return.”

“Like what?”

“Do you really have to ask?” she teases, her body slowly sliding off the bed to kneel in front of him, her hand lifting to touch him again. “That strung out already, baby?”

The power she wields over him is dangerous. Some part of Andrei knows that – knows that he would do anything to be with her and that willingness to throw everything away could easily spell doom for him. But when Keely’s soft hands twist in the waistband of his pants and underwear, tugging them down his legs, her eyes alighting at the sight of his cock, tall and proud, those concerns disappear.

And when she presses her soft lips against his silken skin, his mind empties completely.

How he got this lucky, he’ll never know. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world back in that Toronto hotel room. He felt even luckier when he entered her New York studio. But he wouldn’t deny that this, right here – Keely’s eyes looking up at him as she takes him into the wet cavern of her mouth – this felt like the luckiest moment of his life.

Andrei’s body reverts to complete auto-pilot, his hand tangling into Keely’s hair as she lowers her mouth more onto his cock, her tongue moving against him. It feels sinful, sensual, the way she moves in a steady rhythm against him, tracing and tasting what feels like every inch of him. The choked groans and sharp breaths that fall from his chest are entirely unfiltered, wanting to let her know exactly how she’s making him feel. He can’t stop the buck of his hips, thrusting into her mouth sharply once before his eyes dart down, a flash of concern running through him. But when his eyes land on her, she looks at him through her eyelashes, her hand reaching up to grasp the back of his thigh and pull him into her again.

This woman.

His hands tighten in her hair, slowly thrusting, finding a steady rhythm. Keely lets him take her, her gaze trained on him, her hand still resting on his thigh as he sets a perfect pace. He relishes in the sound of her muffled moans, the feeling of him prodding the back of her throat, the sight of her blue eyes pricking with tears – all for him.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” Andrei mutters, a hand coming to brush away the wetness from her cheekbones. Keely’s only response is a whine, the vibrations of the noise sending a shudder down his spine, his head falling back.

“Fuck, babe, I need you,” he groans, pulling away from her, a glistening string of saliva still connecting them. He can hear her sigh, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, her own eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint that he had come to know and love.

Keely opens her mouth, no doubt some snarky comment about to fall from her lips. But Andrei doesn’t let her get a word in before he is lifting her off the carpet, spinning and pushing her down so her chest is pressed against the sheets, one of his large hands splayed against the small of her back, pinning her in place.

Andrei wastes no time hooking his fingers underneath her sweatpants, tugging down the plush material, exposing her smooth legs to him. But his eyes are attached to the sight of her core, the cotton of her panties stretched over her center, the dark wet patch enticing him even further. His fingers trace over the curve of her ass before dipping in between, his calloused skin pressing against her, causing more of her arousal to flood the fabric.

“Get this wet from sucking dick, sweetheart?” he questions, his fingers sliding lower to press against her clit, releasing a moan from her.

“Andrei, please,” she whimpers, her hips bucking back to meet his touch.

“Not yet,” he replies, removing his hands from her and tugging her underwear down to meet her sweats. This time, it’s his turn to kneel, his breath fanning her glistening core, the sensation causing her hips to wriggle. “Need to taste you.”

His hands grip the muscle of her ass, pulling and holding her open, putting her on display for him. Andrei pauses, taking in the sight of her wet and desperate for him. As if she knew the power she held, Andrei watches with wide eyes as a drop of her arousal drips from her core, hanging down like a silver drop of honey. Any sense of restraint evaporates from him as his tongue extends, collecting that nectar on his tastebuds before following the strand up to her molten core.

Keely’s moan is loud, bouncing off the walls of her bedroom as Andrei’s tongue works against her, dipping into her folds before stretching down to press against her clit. All his senses are just flooded with Keely – the smell of her, the taste of her. She encourages him by grinding her hips back to meet him and Andrei does not stop devouring her, his tongue never ceasing its movement, not until he feels her legs tremble beneath his hands.

It takes all sense of restraint to pull away from her, the whine that she releases another temptation for him to dive back in. But he resists, one of his hands moving back to grip her hip, the other dipping between his own legs to grasp the base of his cock. He leans forward, running the head of him against her soaked folds, Keely’s hips chasing him. Andrei tightens his hold on her, stopping her momentum.

“Andrei,” she whines again, her voice high and tight in the back of her throat.

“Tell me you want it,” comes the demand, practically growled as Andrei repeats his movement against her core. “Tell me you want me.”

“Please, Andrei. Please. I want you. I need you, please.”

If Andrei thought the sound of her moans were the most beautiful music he had heard, the sound of her pleading was a siren song, drawing him in. He was helpless to resist it even if he wanted to. But why would he ever want to deny her?

His hips press forward, sinking into her heat and the mutual moan they both release tells him that he feels just as good inside her as she does around him. Andrei continues to move until his hips are flush against her. There is a brief pause, a moment where the two of them just take in the sensation of Andrei fully seated inside her, his chest rising in heavy breaths as he watches Keely writhe against the bedsheets, her hands twisting the fabric in a death-grip.

“Move.”

The soft demand that falls from her lips sets off a fire inside him and Andrei slowly pulls back until he is almost entirely removed from her core before he snaps his hips forward.

“This what you wanted darling?” he asks, setting an almost brutal pace.

Keely’s only reply is another moan, her back arching as he feels her hips move to meet his thrusts.

“That’s right, fuck yourself back on it,” Andrei groans, his eyes trailing down the cut of her spine to watch her ass ripple with the force of his thrusts. “God, you look so good. Look so good like this. All mine.”

One of his hands trails around her waist, dipping lower to press against her clit. Andrei watches as her head turns, muffling her cries of pleasure into the plush duvet as he rubs slow circles against the bundle of nerves, a beautiful contrast to the animalistic pace.

Andrei’s eyes remain fixed on her body, his free hand running over the curve of her hip, her waist, up her spine before his fingers tangle in the straps of the lace still wrapped around her chest. He fists the material, sharply tugging, forcing her body upright meet his own. The heat of her pressed against the entirety of him causes him to moan, the scent of her perfume filling his senses as he wraps his arm around her, holding her in place as continues to thrust within her. The new position causes a gasp to fall from Keely’s lips, followed by a moan as her hands reach back, tangling into the hair at the base of his neck.

“Fuck, right there. Andrei.”

“Right there?” he questions, his voice a somewhat cruel taunt as he moves again. “Tell me. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Want… want you,” she moans, her sentence choppy with the most gorgeous whimpers and whines.

“Want me to make you feel good?”

“Mmhmm,” Keely whines and Andrei can’t help the confidence he feels, knowing that he managed to make all grasp of language escape his awarded songwriter.

“I need you to say it. Tell me how I make you feel.”

“Good. So fucking good.”

“Who makes you feel like this?”

“You. Only you Andrei.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Only me,” he growls, his fingers returning to her clit and rubbing tight circles around it, his touch sliding with an ease thanks to her slickness. “You’re all mine, aren’t you?”  

“Andrei…”

“Say it. You’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours. All yours,” Keely moans and Andrei can feel her body trembling against him.

“Go on, darling. Show me. Show me that you’re all mine. Come for me.”

His quiet demand is all it takes for Keely to fall over that edge, her body stiffening as her cunt clenches around him, an almost silent moan falling from her mouth. Andrei groans in kind, loving the sensation of her fluttering around him as she comes down, a softer sigh running through her as her head lolls back onto his shoulder, her eyes closed in satisfaction. He moves gently, his length still hard within her and she whines, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Andrei,” she whimpers.

“I know,” comes his reply, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. “I know. Just stay still for me.”

Keely whines, her head gently nodding as Andrei holds her tight, her back still pressed against his chest, the sweat on their bodies slowly cooling. Andrei slips out of her core, a guttural groan emanating from his chest at the loss of her warmth around him.

“Press your legs together. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” Andrei whispers in her ear, his voice low and thick with the need for his own release. Keely nods, her feet moving in closer so her thighs touch, her hand still playing with the hair on the nape of his neck while the other rests on the strong arm wrapped around her waist.

Andrei groans, pressing forward to slide his rigid cock between the seam of her thighs, the arousal coating his length and her skin offering no resistance. He groans, his head dipping down to press his lips against her shoulder as his hips move again. The tightness of her thighs is nowhere near as pleasurable as her pussy but Andrei can’t bring himself to care. Not when he is so desperately close.

“Andrei,” Keely whispers, her breath fanning the shell of his ear. “Please. I need it. Need you to come.”

His hips buck, gliding against her skin a few more times before his body stiffens, his cock twitching as he meets his orgasm, the stickiness of his own cum joining the slickness between her thighs. The two of them stand there, tired and spent, their chests rising in unison as they each breathe deeply.

Andrei thickly swallows, his mind coming back to the present moment, his head lifting. He meets her blue eyes already staring at him, her eyelids heavy and a soft smile on her face. Andrei can’t stop leaning in to kiss her, helpless in the gravity of her. She kisses him back, her hand still tangled in the hair at the base of his neck. The two of them stay like that until Andrei pulls away, pressing a playful kiss onto the tip of her nose. Keely giggles in response, her gaze dropping from him as a grimace appears on her face.

“Bath?” Andrei questions.

“Yes, please.”

Andrei slowly pulls himself away from her, but only to give himself enough space to scoop her up into his arms again, another giggle falling from her lips. He wanders into the adjoining bathroom, the lit candle providing enough light for him to locate the large bathtub. Andrei gently lowers Keely down into the porcelain, running to flip on the light before returning to her and starting the water. He waits until it is at a comfortable temperature before stopping the drain, letting the water rise around her.

“Join me?” Keely asks once he stops the faucet, her eyes glancing up at him and her hands extended. Andrei’s only response is a smile as he takes her hand in his. She scoots forward, allowing him the space to climb in behind her, sinking down before pulling her back against him.

Hands moving, they gently clean the sweat and slick off their skin, the intoxicating fresh smell of Keely’s bodywash filling Andrei’s nostrils. They stay there – bodies pressed together, the gentle rise and fall of her chest matching his – until the water cools. After helping Keely out of the tub, wrapping her one of her plush towels, she disappears into the bedroom as Andrei drains the bath.

When he re-enters her room, he finds her already sitting on top of her bedsheets, an oversized t-shirt on her body. Her eyes track his movements as he finds the pile of his clothes at the edge of the bed.

“What brought this on?” Keely muses, her voice soft as she watches him untangle his boxers from the rumpled dress pants on her carpet.

“What?”

“This – this whole ‘you’re mine’ possessive talk? Not that I’m complaining.”

 Andrei swallows thickly, the question he wanted to ask, the proposal he wanted to make, returning to his brain. He is unsure of what to say or at least, how to say it clearly so she understands. Instead, he pulls his boxers back up his legs, choosing to answer her question with one of his own.  

“Are you really gonna go to the playoff games here?”

His brown eyes find her, watching the way she collapses back onto her pillows, her shoulder moving in a non-committal shrug.

“Probably. It’ll be fun, seeing my favorite team and my favorite player,” she replies. Her gaze darts back to him, that sparkling tease shining in her pupils. 

“What’ll you wear?” he asks and he notices the way her eyebrows knit together at his continued questions.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my All-Star jersey. Why?”

“It’s yellow,” he dumbly states. Keely lightly laughs, a grin appearing on her face.

“Yes, Andrei, it is.”

“But…”

“What? Upset that I won’t be wearing red?” she questions, her tone still light.

“You’d look good in red,” he mutters, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, his eyes turning to stare at the carpet.

“I know,” Keely replies. There is a brief moment of silence before Andrei can feel her foot gently nudging at him, causing his gaze to return to her.

“What are you getting at, Andrei?”

Her stare is curious and earnest, the sight of it making him relax. He gently takes her foot, placing it in his lap, his hands absentmindedly trace patterns against her smooth skin as his gaze falls back to the carpet, trying to piece his thoughts together. 

“It’s just… I like you.”

“Obviously,” Keely interrupts with another lighthearted giggle. Andrei eyes dart back to her.

“Keely, please,” he says, his voice firm and he can see her register the seriousness in his tone. Her body lifts upright, the leg not placed in his lap folding underneath her.

“I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

Andrei sighs, letting his eyes return to the space in front of him and the thoughts return to his head.

“I like you. And I’m pretty sure you like me. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now and… I was wondering… well, I guess – I guess I just want the world to know that.”

The declaration is less certain and succinct than he wanted it to be but he hopes the underlying question is clear enough. His brown eyes dart towards her, analyzing every micro-expression that crosses her face. It takes a minute but Andrei can see when his suggestion registers with her. And a flash of panic runs through him when he watches her body stiffen, the foot in his lap recoiling and curling back towards her. Keely’s legs move, knees coming up to her chest as her arms wrap around her shins.

“You… you want to go public?” she asks. Andrei can’t quite figure out the tone lacing her words so he presses on.

“Yeah. I figured that this would be a good time.”

“Before the playoffs would be a good time?” she clarifies, contextualizing his words as her eyebrows raise in question. The mention of the playoffs triggers the memories of the media surrounding him, the Bruins, and Keely, bringing the real focus of his ire to the forefront.

“I just want everyone to know that you’re with me and not with Jeremy Swayman.”

The last third of his sentence was more muttered under his breath than the rest. But Keely heard it all the same, her body unfolding as her spine straightens to stare him down.

“Is that what this is about? Tabloid rumors?”

This time Andrei can hear the sharpness painting the edges of her words and he realizes his reasoning was the cause.

“No!” he says, attempting to backtrack.

“Then why are we talking about Jeremy Swayman?”

“We’re not – ” he tries to explain but he can feel the anger radiating off of Keely and knows now that he said the wrong thing. But he also knows it was far too late to take back his words.

“Does it bother you? What people are writing?”

“God, yes. Yes Keely, it bothers me. I’m sick of constantly hearing about how you’re in love with someone who isn’t me. I hate it, I don’t want to hear it. We could stop it: let the world know that it’s me – in your bed, your phone, your heart.”

He can see and hear the heavy sigh that escapes Keely’s chest, her eyes wide as she stares at him, her head gently shaking in disbelief.

“They won’t stop, Andrei,” she says slowly, as if talking to a child. “You have to understand this, they never stop.”

“But they will,” he argues back, his own stubbornness blinding him. “Yeah, they’ll talk about us but, it’ll be – it’ll be the truth.”

“No, it won’t. Sure, yeah, some it maybe but they’ll never be entirely truthful. Breakup rumors every time I don’t attend a game. Engagement rumors the very next day. How I’m a distraction if your game falters, how I’m going to write a scathing song about you if you break my heart, how – considering our careers and the amount of time we can’t be together – how we’ll never be able to work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t?” she questions, her voice sharpening and Andrei realizes that he once again has said the wrong thing. “This has been my life for the past 10 years. No matter what we do, you’ll still have to hear rumors that you don’t want to hear. Are you ready for that?”

“I – I’m – ”

“If you’re this upset about the papers talking about me with someone else, how will you be able to handle it when the attention – both good and bad – is focused entirely on you?”

“I just… I just want you,” he confesses, the words truthful and earnest and he watches as Keely’s body deflates.

“You can’t want me and not be ready for that,” she tells him, her words wavering but her voice clear. “It’s a part of my life, Andrei. It sucks – trust me, I know better than most how much it fucking sucks. But if you want to be with me, it’s just something you have to accept. Can you do that, Andrei?”

The silence weighs over them, Keely’s question hanging in the air, demanding an answer. An answer that Andrei isn’t sure that he can give.

“I – I don’t know,” he says, the words falling through his mouth in the same time as his shoulders fall with a sigh, his eyes returning to stare at his feet resting against her plush carpet.

He can hear her matching sigh and a small part of him knows, intrinsically, that she understands where he is coming from, what he is feeling. But he also knows he can’t erase his previous words from her mind. He can no longer lie to her and pretend like the tabloids and publicity doesn’t bother him.

Keely sighs again, the sound drawing his attention back to her. Her eyes are also trained at a distant point in the room and he hates that he can feel the distance stretching between them, a distance that had been shrinking in the past months but now reverted back to that unmanageable ocean.

“I think…” she begins, her shoulders lifting in a deep breath. “I think it might be best if we take a break.”

The words hit Andrei like a shotgun bullet, piercing through his chest.

“Keely – ” he tries to say but Keely ignores his plead, continuing on.

“You’re clearly tired of the secrecy needed to be with me but you also clearly aren’t ready for everything that going public entails.”

“Wait, Keely, I – ”

“Andrei. Please.”

Her blue eyes dart back towards him and he falters under her stare. If her prior words wounded him, the cool indifference in her eyes would’ve been the kill-shot. But instead, it was the glimmer of pain hidden beneath that mask of apathy that truly cut through his heart.

“I can’t do this with you,” Keely says, her words not as practiced as her last, the pain and truth coming through. “I can’t – I can’t twist myself into something I’m not for someone else’s comfort. I won’t do that again.”

He wants to say that he’d never ask her to do that for him. That he loved her for exactly who she was. But he can’t. Because, while her words may have been harsh, she was right. He wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready. Maybe this was for the best – some space to let them figure out if this is something they both truly wanted.

So, Andrei says nothing. He just hangs his head down, giving Keely a small nod in understanding. He feels her weight shift on the mattress, the firm boxspring sinking as she scoots closer to him. He doesn’t look up, not even when her arms wrap around him in an embrace that is laden with every heartbreaking emotion he can think of. His hand lifts to grasp her forearm, his thumb gently caressing her skin for a moment before she lets him go.

The weight of her disappears and Andrei listens to the sound of her walking out of the room, moments passing before a door down the hallway shuts.

He sighs, lifting himself up and slowly returning his gameday suit to his body. He checks to make sure his keys are still secure in his pockets before he leaves Keely’s bedroom. He is almost at the backdoor when the soft sound piano tapping out a melancholy tune catches his attention. His head turns, listening to the music wafting down the hallway.

The melody is unfamiliar but heartbreaking all the same. Andrei’s gaze returns to the glass door leading to the backyard, rain beading on the surface. He sighs before walking out into storm, feeling his shirt quickly becoming plastered to his skin, that haunting music still ringing in his ears. He pushes through the back gate, turning to make sure it securely locked behind him. It is only when he is back in the cold unfamiliar rental car does he allow his head to drop, letting his tears fall in time with the rain.

a/n deux: yes, it's a third act break-up. i apologize but listen, i did say dating a rockstar isn't easy. will this break be good for them or will it be permanent? guess you'll have to keep reading to find out!

taglist: @fallinallincurls @laureniray @comphy-and-cozy@smileysvech@pyotrkochetkov @thewintersoldierdisaster @svexhenthusiast

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[adore-laur]

PINK VELVET

— an italian getaway full of sunshine & surprises 💗

——

SALERNO, ITALY

Crystalline blue waters sparkling under the sunshine, ornate architecture standing high among the cliffsides, and mopeds burning rubber on the cobblestone streets—it's all pure, unadulterated bliss. 

Sharing that bliss with your boyfriend enhances the experience. Both of you have been staying at a villa rental for a few days already, and the surrounding greenery and stucco buildings on the precipice rocks of the Tyrrhenian Sea bring a much-needed sense of privacy. It's a getaway for your third anniversary with Harry, and while it's a more extended vacation than usual—two weeks to be exact—the mellow atmosphere makes you feel like you could stay in Italy forever.

Harry said he plans on wooing you with the foreign language, having bought a book filled with romantic phrases at the airport's souvenir shop. You're dreading it because once he starts, he won't stop. 

It's four in the afternoon, and you're getting ready to kayak off the Amalfi Coast. The heat will be sweltering, especially out on the open water, so you put on jean shorts over your swim bottoms, leaving just your bikini top on. Harry is standing in the doorway of the master bathroom and tying the strings of his swim trunks. He's wearing a white tank top that you know will be taken off eventually. 

A cooler packed with snacks and drinks is by the front door. Once you reach downtown, the journey to the kayak launch takes about fifteen minutes, so you and Harry will drive in the vintage Cadillac he insisted on renting and park on the street before walking the rest of the way. 

"Ready?" Harry asks, giving your ass two pats as he walks by. 

"I guess," you say flatly. 

He smirks and steals a scrunchie from your makeup bag to put around his wrist. "That's enough out of you." 

You hoist the cooler over your shoulder, sling a beach towel over the other, and then stroll through the spacious villa rooms toward the door. When you open it, a blast of humid air immediately hits you. Harry brushes past you while jingling the car keys, a drawstring backpack on his back. You lock the door before heading toward the luxurious car you don't want to know the cost of. 

Harry swings the passenger door open for you like a gentleman, but you decide to mess with him by ignoring his gesture. You open the driver's side door and smoothly crawl over the console until you're in the passenger seat. Harry slowly shakes his head, reaching forward to pluck your bikini strap with his fingers and lightly snap it against your skin. He throws his backpack under the seat before sliding behind the steering wheel.

The engine roars to life. Harry's hand places itself on your headrest, his body twisting around so he can carefully reverse down the circular driveway. You take his hand and set your interlocked fingers in your lap. He glances at you and smiles, his hair blowing beautifully in the wind and the sun casting a golden hue over his face.

When you arrive downtown, Harry parks along a random street. He removes his hand from yours and claps once. "Okay, here's the game plan. I reckon we should rent one kayak for both of us. It'll be cheaper and more fun, and we can work together like—"

"Absolutely not." 

"Pardon?" 

"I'm sorry, but being stuck in a kayak with you sounds like my personal hell. You'll somehow manage to tip us over or get us lost." Harry can live in a world of his own sometimes. You really want to avoid ending up stranded in the deep, expansive ocean.

"Baby," he says, looking at you with wounded eyes. "What if I drift away and we lose each other? I need you. I'll do all the work while you sit back and relax." 

You can't possibly say no to him when he looks like a literal Greek god basking in the Italian sun, his lips irresistibly pink against his tanned skin. 

"Fine," you surrender. "I'm not letting you do all the work, though, because we'll probably end up in a different country. Also, I'm sitting in the front seat. Deal?" 

"Sì, amore mio," he says, passion dripping off his tongue. "And, um... I may have already paid for just one kayak when I booked the reservation yesterday. Well, singular ticket." 

"You're unbelievable." Stepping out of the car, you stretch your limbs while Harry puts his backpack on and grabs the cooler. You hold onto his free hand and begin walking to the beach. Many people are out and about—vendors selling gourmet cuisine, kids riding bicycles through the alleyways, and tourists stopping at attractions.

At the waterfront, kayaks are stacked on racks, shimmering under the sun. Since Harry booked a reservation ahead of time, he walks toward the man who appears to be running the operation. You watch them shake hands and converse. Harry knows enough basic Italian to navigate through any language barrier yet to come. 

Eventually, they both wander over to you, and the man caresses your hand and kisses your cheek. You smile and shyly mutter an Italian greeting. The man then excitedly leads you to the kayaks, taking a maroon two-seater from the bottom rack and dragging it toward the water. While following him, you notice only a few people are on the beach today. Only a couple of other occupied kayaks drift in the ocean, looking like mere silhouettes from where you stand. 

"You know the rules, yes?" asks the man as he pushes the front of the kayak into the shallow water. 

"Yes, I've done this before. I'll teach this guy," you say, pointing at Harry while draping your towel over the seat. 

Harry smiles mindlessly, placing the cooler and backpack between the two seats. The man briefly leaves to grab life jackets and oars, leaving you and Harry to get into the kayak. You let him go first since he's sitting in the back. As you grip the side so it doesn't rock, he removes his tank top and hands it to you before steadily climbing in and bending his long legs to fit in the restrictive space. 

You're next. Harry plants his foot in the sand to keep the kayak balanced and then offers his hand to grasp. Once you're situated, you sigh relievedly.

"This sucks," Harry mutters, nudging his knee against your back. "I can't even see your face." 

"You could've solved that problem if you got us two kayaks."

"Yeah, but I wanted to be close to you," he says, sliding his shoes off. "Just look behind you every once in a while so I can get my fix." 

You laugh, looking at the water that endlessly expands past the horizon. The man comes back with two life jackets, and you clip one to your body as sturdy oars are placed across your and Harry's laps. The man gives a thumbs up and slowly maneuvers the kayak away from the shoreline.

"Grazie!" Harry shouts, waving to him as the both of you drift further from land. 

"Ciao! Stai al sicuro!" he shouts back. 

The destination of the cliffs is a short one; their imminent height is visible far out to the left of the coastal village. You begin paddling, alternating sides to stay on a straight path, while Harry opens the cooler to take out a package of crackers and a bottle of water.

"Please tell me you know how to properly paddle," you say, taking a break to sip some water while the kayak naturally rides the ripples.

"Obviously. I'm kind of the backbone of this kayak, so I know what I'm doing," Harry replies with faux confidence, still not picking up the paddle. 

"That's funny, considering I'm literally doing all the work right now. Get to paddling, or I won't turn around so you can get your fix." 

"Calmati, bellissima," he murmurs, snatching a handful of crackers before finally helping.

A comfortable silence ensues, with only the sound of water splashing and the slight creak of the kayak that comes with each movement. Harry whistles a tune every so often. A content smile pulls at your lips.

However, it doesn't last long because if there's one thing Harry loves to do, it's acting like a child sometimes. He disrupts the long stretch of peace by pretending to tip over the kayak by rocking slightly back and forth in his seat, gasping like he's not doing it. 

"Harry, I swear," you say with a nervous undertone, holding on to the edge of the kayak so you don't actually tip over into the vast ocean, infested with who knows what. "You're like a five-year-old!" 

He listens immediately, apparently noticing your anxiousness. He settles back in his seat, stretching his legs next to your body and nudging his foot against your thigh as a silent apology.

"It wasn't me. I think there's an animal under us," he says, playing with your hair to distract you. It doesn't help, because you know that there are probably massive creatures swimming below you. He knows one of your biggest fears is drowning, so he should feel like a jerk now after his little charade.

"Are you going to sit there and braid my hair, or can you help me get to our destination before it gets dark?" 

"Sorry," he murmurs, grabbing his paddle and helping you turn left toward the rock formations. They aren't too far away now.

"We're almost there," you encourage softly, dialing back your slight attitude. Harry is quiet, so you turn around to see him pouting softly. "Why are you sulking?"

"Am I being annoying? You sound annoyed with me," he says, avoiding eye contact and setting his paddle down.

"No, honey. I just want to get there as quickly as we can and swim for a bit. We have wine tasting after this, so we can't dilly-dally." 

"Dilly-dally," he repeats, laughing at your chosen phrase. "Okay, I'll behave. Kiss?" 

You capture his lips with yours, tasting the tomato and basil crackers he's been munching on. He kisses you back and reaches out his hand to push some hair behind your ear. Pulling away, you see the cliffs only about two hundred feet away. You both begin paddling again in serene silence. 

At the side of the cliff, you stop the kayak by a large, flat rock that peeks out of the water and appears safe to stand on. You hold onto it; the waves are more active in this area, and you tie some rope around the post provided. You assume it's there for other kayakers and cliff divers to take advantage of. 

Once you climb onto the rock, you offer your hand to assist Harry and pull him up. "We made it!" you exclaim, lifting your arms. Harry high-fives both of your hands and bends down to kiss you. 

You unclip your life jacket, then do the same for Harry. Free from obstruction, your arms naturally loop around his waist for a hug. He embraces you, his large hand cradling the back of your head. You stay like that for a while, watching waves crash against the rocks as the sun starts painting the sky with blue and orange streaks. 

"Wanna do something stupid?" you say into his chest before lifting your chin to look at him mischievously. He has more freckles due to the hours spent sunbathing. 

Harry peers at you with furrowed brows. "What?"

"Let's jump off that rock," you say, pointing your finger behind him. 

He turns you both around, still trapping you in his arms. A tall, cliff-like rock surrounded by several smaller rocks makes it easy to reach the top. You don't wait for Harry's answer and pull your shorts down, revealing your cherry-red bikini bottoms. Venturing your way up, you glance back at Harry. He grins and immediately follows suit, walking behind you with outreached arms in case you slip. 

At the top, you both stare at each other with knowing smiles. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. 

Out of nowhere, Harry experiences a burst of spontaneity and quickly lunges forward, cannonballing off the cliff and into the water. He emerges after a few seconds, shaking his hair and letting out a loud holler, probably caused by adrenaline or the cold water. 

You shuffle toward the edge and get ready to jump. Harry's gaze never wavers as you daintily leap off, plugging your nose and closing your eyes on the long way down. When you hit the water, a powerful sensation rushes through your body. You glide to the surface and find Harry swimming toward you, his drenched hair plastered to his skin.

The water is at an uncomfortable temperature, so you move briskly to climb back up on the rock the kayak is tied to. Shortly after, Harry lifts himself up, droplets dripping from his body. You dry off with the towel, then hand it to him. Once he finishes, you take your phone out of the backpack and tell him to pose. He presents both middle fingers, sticking his tongue out with a smile. The breathtaking evening view in the background makes the picture ten times more perfect. 

"Let's head back," you say after soaking in the skyline. "The wine tasting is at six, and it's a little after five right now." 

Harry nods, and you both put your life jackets back on before situating yourselves in the kayak. You untie the knotted rope, push off the rock, and then head toward the coastline. He helps paddle the whole way there, kissing the back of your neck every so often. 

Bliss, bliss, bliss. 

—— 

After returning the kayak and packing all the stuff in the car's trunk, Harry says he's going to find a nearby bathroom so he can change into his outfit for the wine tasting. He hands you one of his sweaters out of the bag—a gray crewneck. It's your favorite and still smells like him, no matter how often you've worn it. 

You have no idea what outfit he brought; he manages to take it out and quickly runs into a shop while you're distracted by the lively village. Waiting with anticipation in the car, you cozy up, growing tired from the strenuous paddling and calming atmosphere around you. 

Five minutes pass before Harry appears, and you immediately laugh at the sight of him. Not because he looks silly, but because his outfit is too fancy for less than an hour of wine tasting in some restaurant's cellar. 

"Harry," you say breathily, taking in his outfit. "I'm wearing a sweater, and you're wearing a suit. Where did you even get that?" 

It's a bubblegum pink suit left open over a plain white button-up. White dress shoes are on his feet, and he must've fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror. 

"Eh?" He spins around. "You like it?" 

"You look very handsome, but now I feel severely underdressed. Why didn't you tell me to pack a dress?" You obviously don't have the time to go back to the villa and change, but you're curious as to why Harry didn't say anything about the apparent dress code for tonight. 

"I wanted to surprise you, darling. Plus, I know you would be worried about spilling wine on something nice. It's a private tasting, so no one will see you but me and the chef I mentioned."

Harry had booked a wine tasting with a man he'd met when he last visited Italy, the friendly owner of a family-owned restaurant in the village. He has always been able to leave unforgettable impressions on everyone he meets, so the man gladly moved some things around so that he could have you two come to the cellar for an intimate experience. 

You sigh, realizing there's no point in arguing. They won't care, so why should you? You have no doubt that Harry will make you feel comfortable once you get there. 

"You're right. Hopefully, he doesn't care that I look like I just crawled out of a lake." 

"Basta. Sembri un sogno," Harry says, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of the car. 

You assume he said something incredibly charming. Your face naturally warms as you distract yourself by picking nonexistent lint off your sleeve before walking the bustling street toward a restaurant called Dahlia. The man Harry knows is waiting by the arched front door with a jovial smile.

"Ciao, Signore Styles!" he greets enthusiastically. "Ah, la tua ragazza. Benvenuto!"

Harry shakes his hand. "Che bello rivederti. Questa è la mia ragazza, sì. Cominciamo, va bene?" 

"Yes, yes. Seguitemi, cari." 

The two of you follow him through the small, packed restaurant and descend a narrow flight of stairs that leads to a wine cellar. Harry is behind you, his hands on your shoulders to ensure you don't take a tumble. His dress shoes click against the polished wood with each step. 

At the bottom, you turn down a dim hallway. Endless wine bottles are meticulously stacked on shelves against the walls. There's a table and chairs, and two wine glasses and napkins are already set neatly on the surface. There's even a plate of bread. 

You sit, and Harry does the same. He immediately begins shaking the napkin out and placing it in his lap, like he's done this a million times before. You cross your legs and angle your body toward him, admiring his features in the low, yellowish lighting from the antique wall sconces. He grins handsomely.

The man brings over two bottles of expensive-looking wine, and you think of your preconceived notion of what wine tasting would be like—rolling hills and vineyards in the countryside, getting wine drunk with middle-aged moms wearing patterned blouses, gossiping about their cheating husbands. 

Where you are right now is undeniably better. Who wouldn't want to be in a cramped room with their boyfriend, who's wearing a pink suit and looking at you like you're the only thing that exists?

The man fills the wine glasses with an adequate amount of blood-red liquid, then stands back to observe your reactions. Harry spins it around in his glass and sniffs it, acting like he's all fancy. You want to laugh at him, but keep it inside so you don't seem disrespectful. Instead, you bring your glass up to your mouth and take a small sip, tasting wild berries and a hint of an unknown aromatic herb. Harry sips his next, eyes locked on yours the entire time. He smacks his lips after swallowing and exhales, obviously pleased. You roll your eyes at him secretively. He's acting like he owns the place, and it's shameful that you find it attractive. 

You rip off a piece of bread from the loaf in front of you and eat it, the buttery dough instantly melting on your tongue. Harry smiles at you, resting his hand on your chair as you rip some more off and offer it to him. He puts it in his mouth and mouths a silent swear, then picks up the entire loaf of bread and inspects it like he's Gordon Ramsey. 

"I need the recipe for that," you whisper humorously. 

Harry, of course, takes it literally. He beckons the man to come closer and places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "La mia ragazza adora cucinare il pane. Potrei avere questa ricetta per favore? Questo è sorprendente." 

"Ovviamente! Tornerò," says the man while hurriedly going upstairs. 

You turn to Harry with confusion, needing help understanding the exchange. 

"He's getting the recipe for it," he explains. "You can make it before we go home."

"Harry," you say with a sigh. "Stop being so nice. I could've just found an online recipe. What if it's a family recipe that's super important to him?" 

"Stop worrying, my love. He doesn't mind."

Before you can respond, the man returns with a tattered recipe book. He opens it to a bookmarked page and sets it in front of you. "Fai una photo, caro. Fammi sapere com'è quando lo fai," he says, pointing at the bread drawing—not a picture—on the weathered page. Was this recipe from medieval times? Goodness gracious.

You can't understand him, so Harry takes your phone out of your pocket and snaps a picture of the handwritten words on the paper. You can't believe this man you just met is so willing to give you a recipe from his own restaurant. 

"Grazie," you say shyly. Harry smiles at your sudden bashfulness, scooting closer to you and kissing your head.

The wine tasting continues for the next hour. Throughout the various sips of eclectic flavors, Harry amps up his lovable antics—slowly and dramatically reeling off flavors he gets from the wine and spinning the liquid in the glass so quickly that it spills onto the napkin in his lap. 

Anything to see you smile. 

After what feels like gallons of wine, you and Harry thank the man for his graciousness and ask if he could drive the car back to the villa since driving back yourselves while tipsy would be idiotic. Harry offers to pay a hefty amount for the favor, and the man happily obliges, saying he will drive it back when he finishes closing the restaurant. Harry hands him the keys before you leave, shaking hands and kissing cheeks with the other chefs on the way out. 

You're both wine-drunk—arguably the best kind of drunk—and stumbling on clumsy feet with cheeks that won't stop smiling. It's dark out now, and the streetlights guide you to the Corvette. Harry calls for a taxi, speaking in full Italian, which makes you weak in the knees. 

Harry removes his suit jacket after hanging up the phone, leaving the white button-up in all its glory, his tattoos and chest hair peeking out from the few buttons undone. You take your belongings out of the trunk, set them on the ground, and then stand beside Harry. You kiss his chest, nuzzling your cheek against it and closing your eyes. He rubs his hand along your back and begins swaying with you under the streetlight. 

You look up at him with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, admiring his matching appearance. "How do you say 'pretty' in Italian?" you ask, getting lost in his gaze. 

Harry pouts, thinking. "Patatina," he replies after a few seconds. 

"You're patatina," you say lovingly.

He snorts at your cluelessness, smearing a kiss on your forehead. 

"What?" you ask, looking at him with confusion. "Is that not what it means? That's not nice, Harry. What did you just make me say?" You gasp. "Is it something dirty?" 

He's still giggling, with crinkled eyes and deep dimples carving his face. You poke his ribs to get him to answer. "Sorry," he says, breathing out a final laugh. "No, it's not dirty. Patatina is a term of endearment I read about in the book I bought. It means little potato." 

You stare at him with a deadpan expression, thoughts about why you decided to date this boy running through your head. "Little potato... it's actually kind of cute," you admit, shuffling closer to Harry's warm body. "If you're a patatina, what am I?" 

"Cipollino," he murmurs, cradling your face. It translates to 'little onion.' The book said it pairs well with patatina, and we're, like, a pair." 

Your nose scrunches. "But an onion, out of everything? That's probably the least romantic vegetable. I want to be rhubarb or something, you know? They taste sweet, and I think... I think I'm pretty sweet. Right, Harry?" The wine is making its way to your dizzy head.

"Correct," he says. "And I'm patatina, not Harry." 

"Shut up." 

"Kiss me, then. Shut me right up." 

You don't question him, lurching forward to give him a searing kiss, fingers hooking in his belt loops. He returns the kiss with the same, if not more, passion. You can taste the residue of wine on his cherry-colored lips, opening his mouth with your tongue to suck on his. 

You suddenly hear tires rolling up and turn to see headlights shining on your figures. Great timing, taxi. You part from Harry's swollen lips, short of breath, and hastily pick up your stuff. You hope no one witnessed anything too wild.

Harry hands the driver a wad of cash before he climbs in the backseat. You follow suit. The vehicle drives off into the night, and your head rests on your lover's shoulder the whole way back.

—— 

The villa looms exquisitely under the starlit sky. You're relatively sure you fell asleep five minutes into the drive. Harry helps your sleepy body out of the car after grabbing all your belongings, then walks you up the driveway. He sets you on the outdoor sofa surrounding the fire pit before disappearing through the sliding door. The whispering breeze makes you shiver and burrow deeper into his sweater, which still clings to your figure.

Harry returns with two wine glasses and a bottle of... cranberry juice?

"If I have any more wine, I'll puke. So, cranberry juice?" he says, his voice rising to a higher octave. 

"Sitting by the fire and drinking cranberry juice out of a wine glass with you," you say dreamily while scooting over to make room for him. "I can't think of anything better."

You soak up his company. When he went inside, he changed into grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and he looked like such a boyfriend. It's ridiculous. He's always so inviting and lovely. You find yourself wanting to touch him and absorb the warmth he exudes.

Sleep overtakes you again while you're tucked into his side. The next thing you wake up to are silk sheets on the king-size bed. You instinctively curl up to Harry's body beside you. He must have opened the vast bay window that provides an impossible sea view because a beautiful breeze flows over your skin. It has you sinking further into the mattress. 

"Want me to get your pajamas?" Harry asks quietly.

You sleepily shake your head, perfectly fine with sleeping in his sweater. However, you do slide off your shorts and bikini bottoms. 

You're dozing again when Harry clears his throat. You open your eyes, feeling his heart rate speed up under your cheek. 

"I have something special planned for our anniversary tomorrow. It's in the evening, so we have time to do other things. Just letting you know." 

"That makes me nervous, but I trust you."

"Tomorrow will be even better than today. I promise." 

"Can't wait." You yawn. "Goodnight. Love you."

"I love you more than anything," he says, lightly scratching your back. 

You grumble an incoherent response, drifting off to your dreams, which always pale compared to life with the man next to you. 

—— 

The following morning's ambiance consists of Harry's snoring and glorious sunshine pouring through the wind-blown curtains. You must've slept like a rock because the bedside clock reads nine-thirty. You decide to abandon the soft sheets and let Harry get more sleep. 

You wrap yourself in your satin robe and pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. One glance at the oven, and you remember the bread recipe from last night. It'd be a pleasant anniversary surprise for Harry, considering his surprise for you is shrouded in mystery. Plus, making bread is oddly therapeutic—the kneading, the delicious smell, the endless possibility of flavors. Luckily, all the simple ingredients are in the pantry, so you can start making the dough. 

By the time it's in the oven, Harry is still dead to the world, and the time is nearing eleven. Some days, he'll wake up at the crack of dawn to go on a stupid run, or he'll sleep until noon on the weekends after a long week of work. There's really no in-between. 

While the bread bakes, you clean up the mess on the counters before sitting at the kitchen table to aimlessly scroll through your phone. Another twenty minutes pass before you hear feet shuffling against the hardwood floor. You glance up to find a puffy-eyed Harry rubbing his face. He's wearing black swim trunks, and that's about it, except for the sunglasses on top of his head. 

He bends down and kisses your cheek. "Buongiorno, mio piccolo cuoco," he says, his voice as raspy as the slight mustache above his lip that seems to have grown overnight.

"More like good afternoon." You shut your phone off and set it aside. "Did you sleep well?" 

"Mm, the best I have in ages," he answers, scratching his stomach. He then smiles lazily, his eyes looking more awake. "Happy anniversary." 

"Three whole years. I don't know how I've gone putting up with you this long." 

"Hey. I can go back to bed if you want," he says, pointing his thumb toward the bedroom. 

"No, stay," you plead softly. "By the way, I'm making that bread recipe. It's my present to you for being an average boyfriend." 

"Being sassy this morning, are we?" 

"You love it." 

"Got that right," Harry mutters, nosily peering into the oven. He sniffs the bread dramatically and whistles impressively before shutting the oven door. The mouthwatering aroma reminds you of wandering the Italian streets yesterday.

"Going for a swim?"

"Yeah. Join me?"

"I will once the bread is done." You stand and send him on his way with a peck on his lips. "Go ahead. I'll make you a fruit platter."

"Dragonfruit, please?" he requests, opening the sliding door that leads to the infinity pool. 

"Got it. Don't forget to put sunscreen on!" 

He gives you a thumbs up, leaving the door open to welcome the pleasant breeze. You grab hot pads and take the finished bread out, setting it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off. While it cools, you change into a swimsuit, tie a chiffon wrap skirt around your hips, and then arrange a platter. 

You gather the cubed fruit you've both been eating the past couple of days—cantaloupe, watermelon, strawberries, and, per Harry's request, dragonfruit. He wanted to buy some after his wonderful mother grew it in her garden. Then, you precisely arrange the fruit in a circle on a floating breakfast tray that can go in the pool, keeping the middle open for slices of buttered bread. You sincerely hope it tastes close enough to what you ate yesterday. 

Lastly, you fill glasses with orange juice before carefully heading outside to keep Harry company. You see him floating on his back, arms open, and eyes closed. You set the platter down on a table and tiptoe to the edge of the pool.

To hell with it. You're going to scare him to get him back after trying to tip the kayak yesterday. It's only fair, right? 

He's oblivious to everything around him, a peaceful glow on his face. You almost feel bad for deciding to disturb it—especially on your anniversary—but what good is a relationship without a bit of havoc? 

You mull over what you could possibly do to frighten him. Maybe throw a cantaloupe piece at him or pretend the car came back destroyed. These are two vastly different ends of the mischief spectrum, and ultimately, the latter is the obvious choice—and the most fun.

"Harry?" you say quietly, changing your expression to make it seem like you're distraught. 

"Yeah?" he replies, keeping his eyes closed. 

"Um, your friend from yesterday just dropped the car off. Harry, it's—"

His eyes snap open, picking up on your wavering and anxious tone. He stops floating and swims over to where you're standing by the edge. 

"What's wrong? Talk to me. Did something happen? Are you okay?" he asks worriedly, his eyes darting between your face and body to check for any signs. 

"The car," you whisper, mustering up fake tears. Harry instinctively holds your ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. "It's destroyed. It looks like it got into an accident. What are we going to do?" 

"Seriously? What the hell? How... I don't..." He heaves himself out of the pool and begins walking around the villa toward the driveway. He looks like he's about to punch something, so you suppress your laughter and decide to end the game. 

You grab his wrist, spinning him around. He stares at you with panic, and now you feel bad. "I'm kidding, baby. I'm just messing with you. The car is fine. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat, clasping his cheeks and laughing.

His jaw drops. "You're so mean." 

"I'm just getting you back for yesterday. Them's the rules."

"Yeah, but you've been quite sassy all morning, hmm? First, you called me an average boyfriend. Then you didn't even kiss me good morning. That hurts my heart." 

"You were completely passed out. How would you have known if I kissed you good morning or not?"

"I can always tell. They bring me back to life." 

"Shut up," you scoff, grabbing the platter. "Here's some fruit and homemade bread as a peace offering. Take it or leave it." 

"Feed me in the pool, and I'll consider your offer." 

"Fine. I'm not getting in, though. I want to sunbathe for a bit. 

Harry dramatically rolls his eyes and dives back in. When he emerges, he swims to the edge. You sit down with the platter and let it float next to him before putting your feet in the tepid water. You pick up a slice of bread and hold it to Harry's awaiting mouth. He places your legs over his shoulders, his arms hooking around your upper thighs. 

Someone's needy today. 

He tosses the bread into his mouth, his eyes rolling back like they did in the wine cellar yesterday. He borderline moans at the taste, his jaw flexing with each chew. After he swallows, he leaves grateful kisses on your thighs. "Deliziosa," he murmurs, paired with more nipping and kissing. You know he's not talking about the bread. The 'a' he added to the end of the word makes it feminine. He's not slick.

Before you both get carried away—wanting to save your pent-up tension for later—you feed him a plethora of fruit before deciding to make both of you an actual meal. You're starving, so you'll catch some sun later. 

Harry whines at the loss of contact. You use your foot to push his chest until he's floating on his back again. He throws you a peace sign before you head back inside. 

As you whip up a quick breakfast, you watch your boyfriend from the door, appreciating his sunkissed body and tattoos. You smile and think about how time has flown by with him in the most remarkable way.

Three years, and hopefully a lifetime more.

—— 

You're nervous. 

You don't have the faintest idea what Harry's surprise is. All he's said is to dress nicely and not eat anything yet. Maybe he's taking you out to dinner? Or perhaps you'll walk downtown together and stop at vendors. You're stumped. He's annoyingly good at keeping secrets. 

It's nearing seven as you add the finishing touches to your makeup. Harry is in the bathroom spraying cologne on his neck, looking casually handsome in a flowing, off-white button-up. He's paired it with matching cotton shorts and sneakers that need washing. You keep telling him to clean them, but he ignores your pleading and claims the dirt gives them character. 

A short cherry-colored dress with puffed sleeves adorns your body. Red lipstick to match. Hair loose. The necklace Harry bought you for your last anniversary is glimmering against your neck. 

Harry comes behind you in the vanity mirror as you apply a final coat of mascara and starts soothingly scratching your upper back. He can probably sense you're feeling nervous, knowing you don't particularly like surprises. However, you think he looks undeniably handsome, with his new tan and stubble pulling you into his coziness. Somehow, just looking at him eases your nerves.

"Gorgeous," he whispers.

You smooth any remaining wrinkles out of your dress. "Thank you. I'm almost done." 

"Take your time," he replies, squeezing your shoulders. "I'll start the car." 

You make sure your makeup is smudge-free and then shut the bedroom light off on your way to the front door. Harry is waiting by the passenger side of the Corvette with a distracted look on his face. When he finally sees you coming, he opens the door for you. This time, you accept his gentlemanlike gesture. 

He drives to an unknown destination, taking the backroads. You can't even guess where you're headed since everything outside the villa is unfamiliar.

Ten minutes later, Harry slows down and turns right toward what appears to be a small seaside forest. He drives along the path leading through the trees until a hidden beach area eventually reveals itself. He parks the car while you're speechless at the sight before you. The only things on the sand are a round table with two chairs surrounded by tiki torches. 

No one else is here. If Harry tells you he rented the entire beach, you'll kill him. 

"I rented this portion of the beach for the night."

Of course.

"You're ridiculous," you say, taking in your surroundings. "Thank you, Harry. This is a wonderful surprise." 

He ducks his head bashfully. "C'mon, let's eat." 

You follow him to the table and sit on the wicker chair across from him. In front of you is a plate of stuffed ravioli with a side of roasted asparagus, cooked just how you like them. Harry has vegan fettuccine Alfredo with peas—a lot of peas. A gagworthy amount.

"I'm floored right now," you say, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "I can't believe you did all this without me knowing." 

"I'm a sneaky guy. There were lots of secret phone calls while you were in the shower or swimming in the pool. 

You take your sandals off and enjoy the cool sand between your toes. "Yeah, I bet. I'm not even going to ask how much it costs to rent this part of the beach." 

"It's not important," he says. "Let's eat, shall we? And talk me through this little outfit you have on. Why on earth haven't I seen you wear it yet?" 

Then, both of you eat, talk, and watch the waves glide on the shore. The sun is dipping past the horizon, turning the sky a violet shade with splashes of fading orange. You talk Harry's ear off about random stuff in your life and humorous anecdotes since the trip started. His body naturally leans toward you to give you his undivided attention. He listens the entire time, eyes on you with his chin in the palm of his hand, except for when he pops some spearmint gum into his mouth after finishing his truckload of peas. 

After you finish rambling, you wait for him to start talking your ear off. He can usually drone on and on about anything for hours, but right now, he's just sitting and staring at the sunset. 

"You're quiet," you point out, gently poking his arm with your fork. 

"Just thinking." 

"About what?" 

He sighs longingly before saying, "I know we still have more than enough time here, but I kind of don't want to leave. I love it here so much. This is the happiest I've ever been." 

Your heart melts. "I feel the same way. I could stay here forever and never get bored of it. Especially with you by my side."

Harry finally looks at you, his eyes holding something unreadable yet powerful. He stands abruptly and reaches his hand out. "Let's walk for a bit," he says with a tone that kicks your anxiety into high gear. 

You grasp his hand, and he leads you along the shoreline, your feet getting wet whenever the tide washes up. It's quiet except for the pesky seagulls, crashing waves, and salty breeze. Where you are right now makes you want to bottle up the memory so you can keep the feeling forever, replay this trip, and relive the most joyous moments of your life. 

Harry eventually stops, facing you with both hands holding yours tightly. He looks... pale. Are his hands shaking, or are you imagining things? Is he about to pass out from sunstroke? Did he eat too many peas? 

He clears his throat and visibly gulps, squinting at the sky and exhaling quickly. His feet shuffle nervously. An incomprehensible thought zings to the front of your brain. 

Is he about to do what you think he's about to do? 

"I might cry and possibly throw up, so please bear with me," he says, his voice shaky.

You just stare at him, unable to say anything. Then he begins lowering himself on one knee, and you just about go down with him. 

He removes his hands from yours and takes something out of his pocket. It's a velvet ring box, pink and delicate. 

You gasp as Harry opens his mouth, his watery eyes trained on nothing but you. "I love you with all my heart. I'm weak for the things you do, and it consumes me to the point where I feel like I might burst from loving you so much. Every word you speak or smile you give me makes me fall for you deeper and deeper. And you love me back. You love me better than anyone. And I realized when we first met that you're someone I not only want in this life but also need. You're the only one for me, and I'll take care of you, support you, and love you so thoroughly until you get sick of me. I'm rambling now, so I'll shut up and cut to the chase. I want to be your husband. Will you marry me? Please? Il mio cuore è solo tuo. If you want it, it's yours." 

Harry finishes his speech by opening the ring box to reveal a silver oval-cut ring that takes your breath away. A tear trails down your cheek as your lips wobble. You nod your head what feels like a thousand times. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. Holy shit."

He laughs beautifully, his eyes squinting so much that the captured tears in his waterline spill over. He stands and shakily puts the ring on the correct finger. It fits perfectly. 

You cup his cheeks and bring his face toward yours. "I love you," you say while kissing his flushed and tear-stained cheeks. "You're so sneaky. I wasn't expecting this until you looked like you were going to pass out in front of me." 

"Be glad I didn't throw up on your dress." 

"That's true." Suddenly, everything hits you. Harry, we're going to get married." 

He smiles with unbridled happiness, nodding before picking you up and running into the sea. The splashes he makes strike you with cold splatters, and you squeal, but it quickly turns into uncontrollable laughter when Harry spins you around and dips you toward the water. You squirm with resistance and manage to escape his arms. He stumbles from the waves but remains upright, then stares at you intensely for three seconds before kissing your lips like they're his life source. 

"My fiancée," he says, kissing down your face to your neck. "I adore you."

"Can we"—you whimper breathily—"go back to the villa and celebrate? Some wine, dessert, and... maybe some other things." 

He can't propose to you while looking this good and expect you not to jump his bones. 

"Sì, mi amore." 

—— 

At the villa, palpable tension lingers in the air and throughout your body. The adrenaline from what just happened is still coursing through your blood as Harry makes a beeline straight to the master bedroom. It's only right to follow with shallow breaths and a hammering heartbeat.

Approaching the bedroom, you see Harry already taking off his shirt. You walk over and lie on the bed, waiting for him to initiate the celebration. You're usually the one who likes to be in control, but being the sexually dominant type calls for preparation and the right kind of mood. Now, at this moment, all you want is to writhe in pleasure on silk sheets and feel Harry's touch everywhere. 

You're already impatiently aroused because of Harry's teasing on the drive back. His fingers were stroking the inside of your thigh, traveling up, up, up until they reached dangerous territory. He'd start to pull away after realizing how wet you already were, but you would trap his hand with your thighs, making him groan. Two could play at that game.

Now, Harry saunters over to you in nothing but his cotton shorts. His tanned skin looks tempting in the muted lamplight. The rest of the lights are off, and the moon is brightly shining in the indigo sky. 

"Ready for me?" he asks lowly, hungrily glancing over your body. 

You nod and bend your knees. Harry lies on his stomach and gets between your legs, his hands gripping your upper thighs with fervor. He must've put his rings on when you weren't looking. He knows you love the feeling of them. You're not picky as to where. 

"Gonna let me take care of you?"

"Please. Please, Harry." 

"Patience, my love. Let me see you." 

"I'm right here. Do something. Please, I need you." 

He shushes you with a soft timbre, scooting closer to where you need him the most. He lifts your dress, bunches the material up by your stomach, and then readjusts his grip on your thighs. His lips trail closer to your lace underwear, and he looks at you under his eyelashes. His eyes ground you, make you nervous, and leave you spellbound. Maintaining eye contact with him is hard when you know you'll come undone way too quickly from just his intense gaze. You're not giving him the benefit of that. Not tonight, at least.

Instead, you stare at the vaulted ceiling and gasp when his lips graze over your underwear. Soft, purposeful movements have you closing your thighs around your head as a reflex. Open-mouthed kisses over your wet lace drive you crazy. You're clenching and internally soliciting for him to just do something. 

"Stop teasing," you say firmly, still not looking at him.

"Don't be bossy." 

"I'm not being bossy. You're my fiancé, so you're supposed to be nice to me." 

He moves your underwear to the side. "Yeah? Does my fiancée want me to be nice to her? I'm always nice, baby. I'm always good for you; you know that." 

"You are. It's true. The nicest man I've ever known. No one has even come close." You squirm with impatience. "Just take them off." 

Harry doesn't waste any time, propping himself up to slide the material down your legs. You lift your ankles above his head to fling them off, then plant your feet back on the mattress and spread them wide open so he can resume. 

His mouth immediately latches onto your clit, sucking it, and his nose fits perfectly above it. You moan loudly, your back arching and your hands grasping his neck. You have to look at him now and watch him take care of you like only he knows how. When you do, it's like a sight straight from heaven. His brows are drawn in, his eyes shut, and his pink lips bring you pleasure in the most intimate way. 

Harry continues sucking before soothing his tongue along your entrance. Without warning, he removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers. He dives two of them in, curling them in a way that makes you inhale sharply. His mouth occupies itself with kissing the inside of your thighs, biting little marks so you can remember this experience. 

The feeling of both his fingers and mouth is overwhelming, and your hand can't help but involuntarily pull his hair. 

"God," he mumbles against your thigh. "Do that again, baby." 

You pull harder, and a deep, raspy moan leaves his mouth. He begins kissing across your body while his fingers continue to bring you to your peak. He adds a third as he nips your waist, his head exploring under your bunched-up dress. He props one arm up to hover himself over you. You look at him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted, and soft moans escape when he hits a particular spot. He smears a messy kiss on your lips, and you try your best to return it as his fingers thrust in and out of you.

An orgasm quickly forms in your lower stomach. Harry massages your clit with the pad of his thumb to bring you there, knowing your body and when you're about to let go like the back of his hand. He grinds against the bed to soothe his own arousal. He's been hard since your act in the car, having felt your thighs clench around his hands, his fingers so close to his favorite spot. He apparently couldn't help himself. 

When Harry hits that final spot that has you crying out, you arch your back and let go. Your eyes squeeze shut as you moan from the delightful pressure freely flowing out of your body. 

Harry places his mouth back on yours as you finish, removing his fingers from inside you and gripping your hips, leaving a coat of your arousal on the love bites left there. Your body is strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows and leave marks on Harry's neck. He grunts when you bite the sensitive skin below his earlobe and grinds against the bed once more, stilling and then shuddering through a fierce release.

Oh. He came from that one touch. 

He falls flat on the bed, cupping himself and breathing heavily. There's a damp spot on his shorts. It's a filthy sight.

"That was embarrassing. I'm sorry," Harry murmurs, his cheek pressed against the pillow. "I thought I'd be able to last." 

You brush some sweaty hair off his forehead. "It's fine. I don't have to do any work now." 

"Hilarious," he says monotonously. He suddenly jumps up from the bed and shuffles to the bathroom, confusing you. You hear him wash his hands and then turn on the jacuzzi. He returns with a clean pair of boxers and smoothly lifts you from the bed. Your dress covers your exposed state, yet it doesn't hide the slick feeling between your legs. The warm water will feel amazing. 

Harry gently sets you on the sink counter as the tub fills up. He grabs a washcloth and dips it under the faucet before cleaning you. It's comfortably silent, with only rushing water in the background. 

When the jacuzzi is adequately filled, Harry helps you stand and remove your dress. Once naked, you quickly go to the bathroom while Harry removes his boxers. He then leads you to the jacuzzi to sit down. When he climbs in, you cling onto him for a cuddle as sleepiness washes over you. Harry presses a button to turn the jets on. Everything feels so lovely.

"I can't believe you said yes," he says. 

"You knew I would. How could I possibly say no to you after a speech like that?" 

"Dunno. We're, like, together forever now." He rubs the ring on your finger. "Well, not yet. But when we actually get married, it's a lifetime with each other. It's wild to think about, but I want nothing more." 

"I get what you mean," you say, scrubbing the red lipstick stains on his neck with the pads of your fingers. "I want this with you too." 

When you softly rub around his lips, he kisses your finger and looks at you with disbelief. You pluck his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, then lean in to plant a truthful kiss there.

Everything with him is so simple. Every touch is meaningful. Every unspoken word holds the weight of a million words. Every laugh leaves you teary-eyed with a heart full of love.

He is pure love. What he gives so naturally is exactly what he is.

Once your skin turns wrinkly and the water becomes lukewarm, you and Harry get out and dry yourselves off. He retreats to the bedroom to grab pajamas. When he returns, you put on an oversized shirt and walk out of the bathroom after draining the tub, running toward the bed and bellyflopping on it like a kid. Harry shuts the bedroom light off and flops beside you, letting out a long and blissful sigh. 

"I'm hungry," he says.

You snort. "You ate a million peas not even an hour ago. How are you still hungry?" 

"Sex makes me hungry. And stop making fun of my love of peas. Hey, can you get the cantaloupe? I'm knackered." 

His rapid change of topics makes you laugh. "Anything for you, pea boy."

You hear him faintly whine at your new nickname for him as you stroll into the kitchen. You open the refrigerator to grab a bowl of cantaloupe cubes and then return. Harry's eyes are fluttering shut, and his limbs are spread out on the mattress. You climb over him, sitting against the headboard, as he blindly reaches his hand for some fruit. He chews against the pillow, his cheeks squishing adorably. 

"Thanks," he mumbles with his mouth full. 

"Mm-hmm. I'm going to sleep. I'll put the bowl on the nightstand for you." 

Once you've moved the cantaloupe, you scoot down and lie on your back. Harry keeps reaching for the bowl without moving his head, sometimes missing entirely and waving his hand around to find it. You eventually close your eyes, a smile making its way to your face when you realize you'll wake up tomorrow as an engaged woman next to your future husband.

Harry finishes all the fruit in the bowl and then turns off the lamp. He tugs you against his chest, and you exhale happily, his warmth effortlessly pulling you under into a deep sleep. 

—— 

Two Weeks Later 

After situating yourself in the airplane seat, you pull out your phone and open Instagram. You and Harry are on your way back from Italy. It was an unforgettable two weeks together, and not one day went by without you making new memories. 

You had told only the closest people to you about the engagement—your parents and Harry's. No one else knows, so you decided to announce the news with an Instagram post. You wanted to wait until after vacation to worry about making phone calls and giving details about how it happened. 

Now, you start creating a post on the fourteen-hour flight to California. You already know what picture to use—Harry cutely holding a bottle of wine along the lusciously green countryside, ready for a picnic date in a park. Also with an impressive mustache. Throughout the ten days after the engagement, Harry decided to grow his faint mustache into a full-fledged one. You don't know how it grew so fast, honestly. You also didn't know how to feel about it at first, but you're accustomed to liking it now. It makes him look mature. 

How it feels between your thighs—well, that's a story for another day.

Harry has chosen to post a picture of the ring, gleaming brilliantly in the pink velvet box. And with him being the artsy, moderately strange social media poster, he had to add something extra to the picture—a paint swatch. Both of you spontaneously went paint shopping one day when you got bored in the villa. You had been talking to him for months about redoing the bathroom at the house, so you went to a local paint store to look at different options. Harry, being the sentimental and cheesy man he is, suggested painting it the color of the ring box he proposed with. You remember thinking the diluted pink would complement the white tiles and granite counter of the master bathroom perfectly. 

You couldn't possibly refuse the idea, especially since it would always remind you of that special evening on the beach.

You had searched with him to find a color that resembled the box, all while goofing around and laughing at the bizarrely specific names of the swatches. You pointed to a light green swatch appropriately named Peapod and told Harry he should paint the kitchen that color since he loves peas so much. He pouted at you and dramatically walked down another aisle. Typical. And so sensitive about his peas!

Harry is sleeping beside you, his head snugly settled on a pillow propped against the airplane window while soft snores escape his mouth. You'll wait for him to wake up so you can both post at the same time. As for now, you rest your head on his shoulder to also take a nap. Harry stirs and drowsily slaps his hand onto your knee to keep you close.

You'll miss Italy's golden sunsets, good-natured people, and ethereal views. However, the thought of going home and beginning a new chapter with your fiancé doesn't sound too bad. 

Bliss, in all its glory, takes hold once again.

——

[visit-new-york]

What recreational activities are available for visitors in Brooklyn Bridge Park?

Brooklyn Bridge Park stands as a testament to urban revitalization, transforming an industrial waterfront into a vibrant green space that attracts locals and tourists alike. Nestled along the East River, this 85-acre park offers breathtaking views of the Manhattan skyline, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the Statue of Liberty. Beyond its scenic beauty, Brooklyn Bridge Park provides a plethora of recreational activities for visitors seeking an immersive and enjoyable experience.

Cycling and Rollerblading:

A network of dedicated bike paths and scenic routes makes Brooklyn Bridge Park a haven for cyclists and rollerbladers. With the gentle breeze from the river and stunning vistas, exploring the park on wheels is a favorite among locals. Visitors can bring their own bikes or rent from the park's various rental stations.

Picnicking and Relaxing:

For those seeking a more leisurely experience, the park offers ample green spaces perfect for picnicking and relaxation. Visitors can bask in the sun, enjoy a meal with friends and family, or simply unwind amidst the lush lawns and gardens. Several designated picnic areas equipped with tables and grills enhance the overall experience.

Kayaking and Paddleboarding:

The park's waterfront location makes it an ideal spot for water-based activities. Brooklyn Bridge Park Boathouse provides free kayaking and paddleboarding sessions during the summer months, allowing visitors to paddle along the East River while taking in iconic views of the Brooklyn Bridge and Lower Manhattan.

Basketball and Volleyball Courts:

Sports enthusiasts can engage in friendly matches at the park's basketball and volleyball courts. Whether it's a pickup game with friends or a more organized match, these facilities provide an energetic outlet with the stunning backdrop of the city skyline.

Fishing at Pier 5:

Pier 5 features a dedicated fishing area, attracting anglers of all skill levels. Fishing is a popular pastime, and the park's location along the river makes it a prime spot to cast a line and enjoy the peacefulness of the waterfront.

Children's Playground:

Families with children can take advantage of the well-designed playgrounds within the park. Featuring modern play structures, water features, and sandboxes, these areas provide a safe and entertaining environment for kids to expend their energy.

Fitness Classes and Events:

Brooklyn Bridge Park frequently hosts fitness classes and events, ranging from yoga sessions with a view to outdoor boot camps. These activities cater to fitness enthusiasts of all levels and offer a unique way to stay active while enjoying the park's scenic surroundings.

Conclusion:

Brooklyn Bridge Park stands as a shining example of urban green spaces that cater to the diverse recreational interests of its visitors. Whether you're an avid cyclist, water sports enthusiast, or someone who simply wants to relax in a picturesque setting, the park has something for everyone. As you explore the various offerings at Brooklyn Bridge Park, you'll discover that it's not just a park; it's a dynamic and engaging destination that invites you to experience the best of outdoor recreation in the heart of Brooklyn.

[toomanytookas]

✨Questions Tag Game ✨

Thank you for the tags, @luxurychristmaspudding @schnarfer @katareyoudrilling @pascalssbabyy !! It’s been so fun to see everyone’s answers 💕

do you make your bed? Basically never. To my regret upon occasion.

favourite number? 12 (my soccer jersey number for six years!).

what’s your job? I'm a teaching fellow and work IT support during exam periods.

if you could go back to school, would you? I think I will be done after this current round 😂 And if I keep these memories, I don’t think I would want another layer of them. That said, I will probably always try to take new classes and things when I can afford/find them! I’m also not opposed to doing research/writing outside of my official discipline just for funsies.

can you parallel park? Yes, although I did not acquire the skills my mother—a New Yorker—has. I've popped a photograph of her most impressive parallel parking job that I’ve been witness to below the cut because it baffles me. She somehow didn’t tap either car. 😂

do you think aliens are real? Probably. Even if they're just microbes.

can you drive a manual car? Nope. I've received one lesson in a field on a farm with the steering wheel on the wrong side and that's it.

what’s your guilty pleasure? Bubble tea. Waaaaay too much bubble tea.

tattoos? Three! Although two are very close together and so people often think they are one piece when they see them.

favorite color? Deep teal, generally jewel tones.

do you like puzzles? LOVE them. Jigsaw as well as things like crosswords, sudoku, bejeweled…

any phobias? Spiders. I once screamed so loud in my basement rental that my AirBnB host came down to make sure I wasn’t dying.

favourite childhood sport? Ultimate frisbee.

do you talk to yourself? Not really? I'll swear out loud, but that's more at the universe.

np tags <3 @kedsandtubesocks @rebel-held @jeewrites @oonajaeadira @jessthebaker @maggiemayhemnj Please also consider yourself tagged if you see this!

[rambheem-is-real]

Ee Varsham Sakshiga [With the Rain as Our Witness]

My submission for #varadevaloveday!

On the way back from Vedha's housewarming party, Deva and Varadha run into a storm. They take shelter in a hut, and Varadha suggests Truth or Dare. Which is a terrible game to play when you've been pining over your best friend for more than two decades.

Or: Modern AU Varadeva

-

“If you’re tired, go to sleep, raa,” Deva tells Varadha, breaking the sound of raindrops hitting the windshield of their rental car. 

Damn, Varadha thinks. 

Was Varadha tired? Yes. Was he actually pretending to be sleeping so he could ogle the other man? Also yes. Now he could either deny it, forcing himself to stay awake when his eyes probably wouldn’t stay open after the next few minutes and look like an idiot, or he could actually go to sleep, missing out on the wonderful sight of Deva driving. The angle at which he lifted the arm closest to Varadha as he steered was enough to ensure Varadha could see the muscle hidden beneath Deva’s dress shirt, a rare article of clothing for someone who usually preferred ratty T-shirts or tank tops. Deva had complained about it, of course. 

“Why the fuck were these torture devices invented?” Deva had snapped, fed up with being unable to fasten the tie to his neck. Varadha, already dressed up, had just laughed at him. 

“How are you, at your big age, unable to tie a tie?”

Deva just pouted, eyes pleading. And how could Varadha resist that? 

He had obliged, sliding off his perch on Deva’s desk to help him. Varadha’s fingers had felt like they were touching a live wire with every brush of his fingers against Deva’s neck, and the scent of Deva’s cologne so close hadn’t helped matters. 

“There, now you won’t look like a hobo at Vedha’s housewarming party,” Varadha jokes. 

“Vedha dresses just like me,” Deva complains. 

“Not today, he won’t.” 

Varadha had been right, all of their friends had shown up wearing some of their best. Not as fancy as the suits they had been wearing for the wedding a few months ago, but still classy. 

Now, the tie had been loosened, laying around his neck in a way that had Varadha imagining different circumstances. It did nothing to conceal the way the first few buttons on Deva’s shirt had been loosened, exposing Deva’s chest. Hence, the secret ogling. Varadha pushes down the instinctive fear that Deva had realized what was going on, that he had somehow found out about Varadha’s feelings. If Deva hadn’t realized in the last thirty years they had known each other, he damn well wasn’t figuring it out now. 

“Alright,” Varadha sighs. “My wonderful driver, wake me up when we get to your home.”

Varadha closes his eyes and leans onto the window, smiling at the chuckle he hears. The sound is more of a deep rumble with Deva’s voice, and it’s heavenly. Still smiling, Varadha lets thoughts of Deva lull him into sleep. 

-

The sound of the wipers furiously scrubbing the windshield breaks Varadha out of his nap. He opens his eyes to see a blur of water droplets and vague images of the road ahead of them. 

“Arey, em kanipisthundi ra neeku? [Dude, what can you see?]” He scoffs. “The rain’s gotten so much worse.”

Deva grits his teeth. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” Varadha makes an incredulous sound, drawing Deva’s attention. He can see Deva briefly turn to him out of the corner of his eyes, and his tone softens. “Really, raa. It’s fine; it’s a straight road until we reach the state border. By that time the rain’s probably gonna be better.”

“You don’t know that-” Varadha gasps in the middle of his sentence. “DEER!”

Deva swerves on the wheel, slamming the breaks. They narrowly miss the brown creature annoyingly parked in the middle of the fucking road, and the action sends them hydroplaning onto the other lane where they stop. 

Varadha takes a second to calm himself, and Deva quickly turns to Varadha to scan him for injuries. They hadn’t even hit the deer, for fuck’s sake, but something in Varadha warms to see Deva being protective over him. However, the warmth won’t stop him from teasing the other man. After all, it was one of his favorite activities. 

“What are you looking at? Koncham road atu pothene gaayalosthaya?  [Just because we went a little bit out of the lane will I suddenly have injuries?]”

Seemingly satisfied with his scan, Deva just rolls his eyes. “Ah? Rani gariki antha sukhamgane unda ani, check chesthunna [Just checking to see if Her Majesty is still comfortable].” 

Varadha half-heartedly smacks Deva’s arm, before his eyes land on the dashboard GPS. 

“Rey, there’s no signal here,” he points out. 

Deva starts the car, pulling it into first gear. “I don’t need a GPS to tell me where to go.”

“Mahanubhavuda [Oh great man],” Varadha says, folding his hands sarcastically, “You can do whatever you want when you’re by yourself. Me personally, I don’t want to get lost outside in this rain. Stop by the side of the road. Let’s wait for the GPS to figure its shit out.” 

“I told you already, it’ll be fine-” Deva’s interrupted by the sound of the tires hitting a pothole, and they both wince as they jolt in their seats. 

Varadha scans what he can see of the road, and finds a small hut coming up by the side, a few feet in. 

“Rey, rey, rey, there’s something there, stop!” He taps Deva’s arm in succession. “We can wait out the storm.”

Deva sighs but acquiesces. He pulls over to the side, in front of the structure, which looks more like a hut now that Varadha can get a less blurry look at it. Deva turns to look at Varadha, giving him a happy now? look. 

Varadha just grins at him. For all his teasing, for all his insults, Deva would agree to do anything Varadha asked of him when the time came. Varadha slowly curls his hand around the door handle. 

“Last one to the hut pays for gas!” He barely finishes before he gets out. The rain pelts his back as he lifts a hand above his head, trying and failing to keep his hair dry. Varadha hears an indignant shout and a “Vara!” muffled behind him, and suppresses the giggle that wants to climb out of him as he enters the hut. 

First, he thinks smugly as he observes the interior. Never mind that he had had the advantage there. Not like Deva hadn’t ever pulled some shit like this before. Tom and Jerry, Deva’s mom had lovingly called them as kids when they wouldn’t stop fighting when Varadha came over. Only she had realized that behind each prank, behind each childish insult, was a deep bond of love, and that fighting with each other was just the way they expressed their affection. They could go from happily playing with toys, to getting into a wrestling match, to guiltily soothing each other, all within the span of a few minutes. 

Varadha briefly spares a thought to the fact that Atha [aunt/mother-in-law] might be worried that they hadn’t come back home yet. There was nothing to do now, though. A quick glance at his phone shows no bars, just as he had expected. He and Deva would just have to apologize once they got to his home. 

Deva runs in a second later, almost knocking Varadha over. He frowns as he examines what he can see of the cramped space they’re now in. Varadha pulls on the wire near his face, and is rewarded with a flickering, weak light above their heads. Now that they can see better, it’s clear the hut wasn’t meant for someone to live in. Neither of them would be able to lie down flat on the floor, the rounded walls would prevent that. 

“Rey Vara-” 

Oh, Varadha can’t take that tone. That gentle, you deserve so much better tone. He sits down fully, resting his back to the wall, before Deva finishes. He glares up at Deva, still standing, who just looks exasperated. 

“I’m fine,” Varadha stresses, and what a reversal that is. 

Deva hesitates for a few more seconds before he gives up and joins him, sitting across so their calves touch. 

Varadha hates these moments. He loves now living with Deva and Atha, and being able to be around Deva more. If he has to adjust to living less lavishly than he had growing up, that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make. 

Deva doesn’t see it that way, though. Every time Varadha’s had to eat leftover rice, take public transportation, stand in the hot sun for more than a few minutes, he gets this look on his face, some combination of guilt and anger, the latter emotion only for Varadha’s ex-family, of course. It never seems to get into his head that Varadha’s fine with this, that he’s not so soft as to consider any of these more than minor inconveniences. Deva had been both elated and sad to hear that Varadha and Baachi had left the Mannars. 

Elated because he had been there for all of the times Varadha’s family had humiliated, hurt, and insulted them, all for the crime of being born to a different mother. It had been Varadha who had kept Deva from trying to get back at his siblings numerous times for the shit they had put him through. Sad, because it meant Varadha was leaving his comfortable life with his wealthy family, to come tough it out inside Deva’s apartment, which was barely big enough for Deva and Atha by themselves. 

Well, the Raisans being in that situation was Raja Mannar’s fault in the first place, but Varadha was genuinely happy to live with Deva, and his decision had nothing to do with his separate secondhand guilt for the way Deva and Atha had to live their lives as he grew up with all of his basic needs automatically taken care of. Baachi had figured out a roommate situation with his own boyfriend, Rinda, and Varadha had begrudgingly accepted, not before attempting a shovel talk (successful, Rinda looked terrified) and a lecture on using protection (unsuccessful, Baachi had all but shoved him out the door after that).

Fuck. Now they’re both upset, and there’s a storm raging outside. Varadha can hear faint thunder in the distance, and he knows with their luck the storm will pass right over them. 

He tries to think of something that’ll lighten the mood, something to do to pass the time. Varadha nudges Deva’s foot with his own, to get Deva’s attention. He had been staring morosely at the ground, but he looks up to meet Varadha’s eyes. 

“Truth or dare?” Varadha asks. 

Deva just raises an eyebrow, and Varadha flushes. 

“I don’t see you coming up with something. Either figure something out or answer the question,” Varadha demands. 

Deva sighs. “Sare [Ok], raa. Dare.”

Varadha looks around the hut. What the fuck could he even dare Deva to do here? 

Deva seems to also realize this, and snickers. Oh, it’s on, Varadha thinks. Both of them had competitive streaks, and the best way to provoke was to act like the other was powerless. 

“I dare you to spend thirty seconds outside.” 

Deva’s jaw drops. “It’s raining!” 

“Exactly. Get out.”

Deva rolls his eyes, but dutifully crawls outside to lie in the grass for thirty seconds. Varadha definitely doesn’t admire the way the water droplets run across his skin.

When he comes back inside, he’s fully soaked, and Varadha realizes he’s made a mistake. The space is so small the puddles that Deva makes flow over to where Varadha is. 

Deva suddenly leans over Varadha, and before he can react, roughly shakes his head so the droplets in his hair land onto Varadha’s face. Varadha sputters, jumping away, and Deva laughs back to his spot on the floor. 

“Kukka [dog],” Varadha mutters, as Deva’s laughter slowly trails off. 

“Ok, my turn,” Deva says, still grinning widely. “Truth or Dare, Vara?”

Well, Varadha’s not going to pick dare. “Truth.” Deva opens his mouth, then closes it. Varadha smirks at him. “Whatever diabolical plan you had, it’s not happening.”

Deva pouts. “Damn, I gotta actually think of something to ask you now.” His brows knit together in concentration. “What don’t I know about you?”

A good question, actually. They had been inseparable ever since they had been introduced as toddlers, the sons of Raja Mannar and Dhaara Raisan. Every joy, every sorrow in their lives, they had shared with each other. 

“Do you actually approve of Rinda, or are you just ok with it for Baachi’s sake?”

That’s easy. “He’s an idiot, but not bad.” Not bad, Deva mouths at him, and Varadha flips him off, grinning. “He’s higher on my list than most other people, at least. And I trust Baachi to keep him in line.”

They smile at each other for a few more seconds. 

“My turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Varadha flicks an eyebrow, and Deva rolls his eyes once more. “You could barely come up with a dare last time. There’s nothing to do in here. Might as well make it a truth game.” He doesn’t like it, but Varadha can see the logic in that. 

“Alright.” He racks his brain for what he can ask Deva that he doesn’t already know. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone? Obviously, someone you didn’t tell me about.” 

Nice going Varadha , he thinks. Totally subtle. 

But Deva just contemplates it. Like there actually was an answer to that that wasn’t, Are you out of your mind? If there was someone I would’ve told you.  

“Promise me.” Varadha says, suddenly. “Promise me that everything you say for the rest of the game is true.” He hopes that if there really were secrets between them, this night would change that. 

Deva stares, mouth set in a hard line, for long enough that Varadha starts to sweat. Does.. does Deva want to keep secrets from him? Eventually he does lift up his pinky. “I swear.”

Varadha gives him a Look, now trusting him even less. Deva sighs. “I pinky swear, on our friendship, that I’ll tell the truth.” He then quickly links the pinky with Varadha’s. “And Varadharaja Mannar will also tell the truth.” Varadha opens his mouth, and then closes it. Well, he’d be a hypocrite if he didn’t agree to the deal as well. Complete honestly from both, then. 

“Sare, sare [Ok, ok]. Now answer the question.” 

Deva looks at the ground for the first time, not being able to meet Varadha’s eyes. “Yes,” he mumbles, and Varadha’s heart sinks. 

“My turn,” Deva says, quickly. “Have you..” He hesitates, but forges on. “Have you ever went all the way with anyone?”

“Have I had sex, you mean?”

“I’m just curious,” he defends himself. “Isn’t that the kind of question you would ask in a Truth or Dare game?”

“Yes,” Varadha answers honestly, to his first question. Deva takes in that information, eyes unreadable. “Now you. Do you still feel that way for that person?”

Deva closes his eyes, as if expecting a reaction from Varadha. “...Yes.”

Oh. Varadha forces a laugh. “Rasikudive, raa nuvvu [you’re really a player],” he jokes. “Pakkane mogudni pettukoni vere valla gurinchi matladthunnavu [you’re talking about other people with your husband right next to you].” The flirtatious banter was an inside joke between them, sometimes referring to each other as their husband or wife in private. It doesn’t seem to land in this moment, where Deva just looks pained. 

“Rey..” he starts, and Varadha interrupts. 

“It’s your turn to ask me something.”

Deva just looks at him. “Does it bother you? That I said yes to the past two questions?”

Fuck. Varadha hates his past self for suggesting this game. But he had promised. And it’s not like Varadha wasn’t a jealous person in general, even towards people Deva knows he has only platonic feelings for. 

“Yes,” he answers. Deva’s eyes widen. Moving on. 

“Does the person know you have feelings for them?” They’re getting dangerously close to what Varadha really wants to know, the identity of this mysterious crush of Deva’s. 

“No.” Deva says, quickly, but surely. Like that was unquestionable, like he had resigned himself to unrequited feelings a long time ago. “Do you? Have someone you like, I mean.”

Varadha keeps his eyes on Deva, thinking again about how if Deva had suspected anything he probably would’ve done so a long time ago. “Yes.” Deva’s eyes widen once again, and Varadha can see genuine surprise and hurt. 

Well, if they were talking about secrets. “Were you the one who beat up Ranga?”

Deva flinches. 

Varadha had always felt estranged from his family, but a few years ago, the catalyst for his leaving was Ranga. His brother’s boytoy? Boyfriend? Pet? Varadha still doesn’t know what he is to Rudra, but one day Ranga apparently thought it would be funny to call and withdraw Varadha’s application to his dream university. Varadha had been devastated, but knew better than to start something when Rudra could just as easily do the same to the other colleges he had applied to in retaliation. Let them pay for his college, graduate and then cut them off - this was Varadha’s mantra for higher education. 

He had, of course, raged about it in private with Deva. Had broken down, barely eaten dinner that night, slept with his head in Deva’s lap on the couch with Atha glancing worriedly at him. Varadha hadn’t told another soul about it. 

The day after, he went home to get a suitcase of his clothes and other belongings thrown at him the second he walked through the door. From the doorway, he could see all his trophies, his certificates, smashed on the living room floor. 

Someone had beaten up Ranga that morning. They had beaten him so bad he was in the hospital in a coma. Rudra had furiously enquired as to what happened, and somehow found out about what Ranga did. He had assumed it was Varadha, taking revenge, and had told Raja Mannar. And of course he only focused on the fact that Varadha had hurt someone, not even caring about the reason why. With Radha Rama’s encouragement, he had taken the decision to legally disown Varadha. 

That was the last day Varadha stepped foot in that house. He had gone numbly over to Deva’s apartment, holding nothing but his suitcase. Atha had opened the door, taken one look at him and the suitcase, and waved him in, had told him the guest room was always his. When Deva got home, Varadha could see the shock and clear guilt across his face. 

He had never asked Deva about it, and Deva didn’t talk about it. Varadha didn’t even blame him. He only felt mildly upset that if Ranga’s face did get smashed in, it wasn’t Varadha that had done it. 

“Was it you?” Varadha repeats the question. He knows the answer, of course. He just wants Deva to say something about it, now that they had both sworn to tell the truth. 

A shadow of Deva’s guilt that day comes back now, shoulders slumping. “Yes,” Deva whispers. “But you knew that.”

“I did.”

They sit in silence for a few more seconds. Varadha can be patient when he wants to, and can outwait even Deva, a man of few words. 

Eventually the tension is too much for Deva. “I’m sorry, raa,” he says, desperate. “I wasn’t thinking, at all. I didn’t expect them to take it out on you. That morning, I woke up still dreaming of your tears, and I couldn’t do anything, think of anything other than fucking that bastard up.” The last part is gritted out. “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him. I definitely wanted to, just for making you cry, for taking away your chances at your dream college.” 

Varadha swallows. He knows Deva cares about him more than anything, but to hear it put like that, it’s scary and reassuring at the same time. “You didn’t say anything about it afterwards, though. Even when I came to your house that day.”

Deva closes his eyes. “Does it make me a terrible person if some part of me, some small part of me was glad it happened?”

“Glad?”

“Because.. because it led to you staying with me.” He quickly clears his throat. “With us. Me and Amma.”

Varadha stares. Deva opens his eyes, and winces at whatever he finds on Varadha’s face. “I’m sorry. But it’s the truth. I felt awful for you getting kicked out, I felt awful that I ruined your life. I genuinely wanted to end it all, for a few days.” Varadha remembers the quiet, devastated glances Deva kept sending him all week, when he thought Varadha couldn’t see him. “But then I would see you, eating with us, laughing along with us into the late hours of the night, sleeping in the room that was now yours…” He swallows. Deva doesn’t finish the sentence, but Varadha, so closely attuned with his best friend, could easily tell what he wanted to convey. 

They sit in silence as Varadha digests this information, both looking anywhere other than each other. Eventually, Deva leans his head out of the hut, and comes back in, only slightly wet. 

He hesitantly tries to tell Varadha, “The storm seems to have broken-”

“Your turn.” Varadha interrupts. 

“My what?”

“Your turn.” Varadha nudges him with his foot. “Truth or.. truth I guess.”

“Are you angry at me?” He whispers, looking genuinely scared. Like what Varadha says now would screw with him for the rest of his life. “For what I did?” 

Varadha just stares at him, letting Deva squirm. 

Finally, he responds, mouth slowly curving into a smile. “Yedava [idiot]. If I actually was mad at you I’d have let you know the day it happened. I’m just mad you didn’t call me when you were beating him up because I had shit to say as well.”

Deva’s jaw drops. “You- you- dongasachinoda [fucking asshole]. You had me thinking you hated me!” 

Varadha can’t hold it back anymore, starts laughing uncontrollably. “Your-your face!” He wheezes. “You were so scared!”

Deva attempts to pout but fails to hold back a relieved grin. “Dick.”

“Well, if that’s what you want-,” Varadha winks, then laughs again as Deva attempts to hit him for that. He overshoots, and ends up falling on his face, onto Varadha’s thighs. Deva shifts into a more comfortable position, looking up at Varadha now. 

Varadha looks at Deva’s affectionate smile, and thinks back to the admission that Deva had loved having Varadha living with him. Suddenly, Varadha’s a lot less scared about who Deva’s been talking about. He thinks, he hopes, that he’s guessing it correctly. “What’s his name?”

Deva’s smile dims a bit. “Who?”

“It’s my turn, raa. What’s his name, the one you’ve been pining over?”

“How’d you know it was a guy?”

“You can’t ask questions, you only can answer mine. That’s how the game works.”

Deva looks deep into Varadha’s eyes, searching. Finally, he answers. “You seem so confident. Why don’t you answer, and I’ll tell you if it’s right?”

In response, desperately praying to every god he can think of that he’s not fucking this up, not ruining their friendship irrevocably, Varadha leans down and kisses Deva. 

There’s a brief moment of shock, a moment where Deva freezes, that Varadha starts panicking. 

Oh fuck shit fuck shit shit shit fuck fuck fuuuuuuuck-

Deva pulls back. 

I’ve gotta move out I can’t show my face anymore-

He sits up fully, so he’s facing Varadha. 

I’ve got to change my name, move to a different country, fuck fuck fuck fuck-

“What was that?” Deva’s face is carefully blank, but Varadha knows his own must be giving all of his feelings away. 

“I… thought it was me?” Varadha tries, feeling like a lump of embarrassment. He clears his throat, averting his eyes. “Or not. That’s fine. I’ll just-” He attempts to stand up, trying to push Deva off his lap. Fuck the rain, he’ll walk to Deva's house if that’s what he has to do to get out of here. And immediately start packing his shit once he gets there. 

He hears the unmistakable sound of a giggle from Deva, and Varadha snaps his head back around to see Deva with his hands clapped over his mouth. They can’t hide the wide grin he’s struggling to hold back well enough, though.

“What the fuck?”

Deva gives up and tugs Varadha back down, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Oh so only you’re allowed to pretend you’re mad at me?” 

“Ohh, you fucker!” Varadha pinches Deva in the side, hard, and Deva yelps, but it doesn’t stop either of their laughter. 

Deva pulls Varadha into a kiss, and this time it’s heavenly with both of them reciprocating. Both of their lips are chapped and dry from the lack of food or water, but Varadha doesn’t care. Deva, his Deva, is kissing him. 

They pull back, only far enough so Deva can rest his forehead on Varadha’s. 

He laughs incredulously. “Let me guess, you’ve also been secretly pining for your best friend all your life.”

“Fucking hell,” is all Varadha says in response, grinning. 

“We’re idiots.”

“Yep.”

Deva groans. “Even your brother saw it before we did, he kept teasing us at the party that we showed up together like a couple.”

“I think the whole world saw it before we did,” Varadha sighs. “I don’t know about your mom, though.” Deva winces, and Varadha pulls back, frowning. “What?”

“I might’ve…. told my mom at age six if I was going to marry anyone it was going to be you? And then repeated it when I was twenty-one and she started talking about people I might be interested in?” He grins, embarrassed. 

Varadha’s eyes widen as something occurs to him, and Deva immediately starts protesting. 

“No, no, it’s not like that-”

“Damn, you really were down bad for me, huh,” Varadha smirks, and Deva groans, hiding his face in Varadha’s chest. “What else, were you doodling our names together in your notebooks with hearts? Were you the one that put that sappy ass love letter in my locker in the ninth grade?” Deva doesn’t say anything, and Varadha bursts out laughing. “Wait, seriously?” 

Deva immediately pushes himself out of the light embrace Varadha’s been holding him in, and looks outside. “Well would you look at that, the sun is shining and it’s not pouring anymore.”

Varadha gets to his feet as well, grinning. He’s absolutely delighted at this turn of events, and won’t ever let Deva live this down. 

Deva’s about to go outside to the car, cheeks red, when he stops. He hesitantly takes Varadha’s hand in his own, looks at him like Is this okay? Is this too fast?

Varadha just brings the hand up to his lips, presses a kiss to the knuckles. An unspoken It’s very okay. 

Deva smiles shyly, and they head out to their car, hand in hand. The combination of the light rain and the bright sun makes a very visible half rainbow at the end of the field across from them, and Varadha smiles. 

"Let's go to our home, raa," he says. 

-

tags: @deadloverscity @ghostdriftexistence @zici @sambaridli @sometimesbrave @just-a-lazy-person @vijayasena @sinistergooseberries all the other server lovelies as well

[purpleqilinwrites]

when summer comes.

a/n: "i am a passenger princess ushijima enjoyer," i say (hewwo, i'm kaija, adult, never learned how to drive).

fandom: haikyuu!!

character: ushijima wakatoshi

genre: fluff

info: established relationship (ushijima is your boyfriend); post-time skip

warnings: -

synopsis: ushijima promises to take you to paris in the summer.

word count: 0.8k

fluff-vember prompt: holiday

fluff-vember 2023 masterlist is here.

Ushijima Wakatoshi

The car would seem too quiet once you dropped Tendou off at a train station a few stops down from his hotel.

You had insisted on driving him the whole way, but he simply wiggled his eyebrows and threw finger guns at you and Ushijima after accepting the ride and getting in your rental car. Something about "not wanting to third wheel", which you had also insisted he wouldn't be. You enjoyed having him around, and it was apparent your boyfriend did too.

Tendou flew in from Paris without his partner, since they couldn't take the time off from work for it. Consequently, he also attended the Shiratorizawa Academy reunion party alone. It gave you the opportunity to get to know your boyfriend's best friend better, which you appreciated, but you would've felt less awkward with Ushijima if Tendou's partner had been beside him.

Tendou exited the car in such a rush that you were suddenly concerned that you'd been driving too slowly. He flashed his phone screen to you, as if he could read your thoughts, and you saw that his partner was calling. You stepped out of the car to see him off, since Ushijima was already waiting on the sidewalk.

Standing beside your boyfriend, you watched Tendou cross the street and practically fly into the train station.

Maybe he wanted to get a head start on showing them a bit about the city he grew up in. At the party, you had heard him telling Ushijima that he was going to film himself eating around Sendai for them while he was here, which you thought was so sweet. The next time Ushijima flew somewhere without you – which would be soon, when game season began – you'd make sure to ask him to take some videos to go along with the pictures of his day that he sent you.

You've been standing outside in the cold for a while, feeling a chill come over you as a signal of the time. As if sensing your discomfort, Ushijima removed his coat to drape it over your shoulders. You pulled it tighter around you after you gave him your thanks.

"Should we get going?" he asked, even if he made no move to leave his spot beside you, resting on a guard rail outside the train station where the two of you had seen Tendou off.

"I thought it would've been nice to see Tendou-kun's partner in person," you said, instead, closing the uppermost button on Ushijima's coat under your chin so that it would stay put around your shoulders, even with the wind. "We could've had a café double date."

He hummed as a means of agreement, leaning closer to you to share his warmth. "Satori would have liked that," he said. "He has excellent taste in pastries. You would enjoy coffee tasting with his partner, too."

The wind tumbled past the train station before you could respond, reminding you to get back in the car and away from the clutch of winter. Without brushing your hair out of your eyes, you immediately turned to nuzzle your face into Ushijima's chest to warm your nose and cheeks.

"Okay, we can go now." Your voice was muffled by his shirt, which was far too thin for the weather. Once again, you marvelled at Ushijima's superhuman heat-generating and cold-resisting ability, much more in awe than you were jealous. It would've definitely freed up a lot of room in your luggage if you didn't get cold as easily as you did.

Pulling away from him and instantly mourning the loss of his warmth, you stretched out your hand for him to hold for the short walk back to the car. Ushijima took your hand and pulled your arm around his waist so that you could continue to use him to stay warm. "I don't want you to get cold," he said, smoothing your wind-tousled hair down and tucking the longer strands behind your ears.

"You spoil me." You gave him an appreciative squeeze as you started down the length of the train station, smiling. He put his own arm around you and returned the gesture, easily matching your steps.

"We can visit Satori and his partner in Paris in the summer," Ushijima said, as he held the door open for you. You paused in your attempt to get in the car, before you righted your posture and stood up straight beside the driver's seat. He repeated himself, giving you time to absorb what he was saying. The smile on your face only grew when his offer set in.

You put your hand on his arm, relishing the way he was solid under your palm. That you weren't dreaming. "That sounds amazing, Toshi," you said. "It won't clash with anything on your schedule?"

Ushijima shook his head, giving you a small smile of his own. "I have time in the late summer."

[zestychili]

Skate date

Summary: a cute little date night at the roller rink with Eddie 🩷🩵🛼

Authors note: this is like the second or third fic I post so please be kind it is a fluffy readerxeddie. I recently went to skate at the roller rink and got inspired it was such a fun place and we seriously need to bring them back.

It was a cool Friday night, and you and Eddie were planning your next date. After some discussion, the two of you decided to go to the local roller rink, which was having a special couples' night. You had skated before so you were confident to a certain extent and super excited to show Eddie, who had only been skating once or twice before.

As you arrived at the rink, the sound of upbeat music filled the air, and the neon lights illuminated the space. The scent of popcorn and hot dogs wafted from the snack bar, and the chatter of excited couples filled the air. You led Eddie to the rental booth, where you both rented a pair of skates. Eddie laced up his skates fast while you were looking all around the room full of couples and red florescent lights shining off the disco ball. As soon as you were done the two of you made your way to the rink.

You stepped onto the smooth, polished floor, you felt the familiar thrill of gliding on wheels. Eddie, on the other hand, looked nervous, his legs wobbling beneath him. You smiled reassuringly and took his hand, guiding him slowly around the rink.

At first, Eddie was hesitant, his movements jerky and uncertain. But as the two of you circled the rink, his confidence grew, and he began to skate with more ease. He even tried to copy some of your moves, earning a giggle from you when he stumbled and nearly fell. He maintained a death grip on your hand and lightly apologized when he stumbled trying not to bring you down with him.

As the night wore on, you and Eddie skated hand in hand, weaving in and out of the other couples on the rink. Every time Eddie stumbled, you were there to catch him, and he rewarded you with sweet, lingering kisses.

At one point, you suggested to skate a bit faster. Somehow eddie trips and takes his first tumble of the night falling on his butt. It’s so cute to see a tough man with a hard leather exterior look like Bambi on ice. He was trying which was the best part. Eventually eddie left to sit in a booth just watching you skate around the a bit. As you got closer to him he got up and asked if you wanted to play some games in the arcade that the rink had.

Many games like table hockey, skee ball and Pac-Man. He let you win most of the time when you were playing against each other but when it came to Dance Dance Revolution he got really cocky. He’s Stretching near the machine and cracking his knuckles while you laugh and try looking for a song. During the battle you kept looking at Eddie and he looked so serious not missing a beat. The song finished and Eddie was crowned the winner on the screen, Puffy and out of breath you look at each other and smile.

the DJ announced the last song of the night, and you and Eddie took to the rink once more, skating slowly and tenderly to the romantic ballad. As the song came to an end, Eddie pulled you close, and the two of you shared a deep, passionate kiss.

Leaving the roller rink, you noticed a photo booth in the corner of the room. "Hey, Eddie, do you want to take a few pictures together?" you asked, pointing to the booth.

Eddie looked a little hesitant at first, but you reassured him that it would be fun, and he eventually agreed. The two of you climbed into the photo booth, and the curtain closed behind you.

Inside the booth, you could hear the camera click as you posed for the first few photos, making silly faces and sticking out your tongues. But as the final photo approached, you looked at Eddie and smiled, feeling your heart skip a beat.

"Let's do something a little different for the last photo," you said, leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips.

Eddie was surprised at first but quickly leaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer. The camera flashed, capturing the moment forever.

As you stepped out of the photo booth, you could see the photo strip printing out two strips of black and white pictures that said “the perfect pair” with a red heart. the last photo showing the two of you locked in a loving embrace. you couldn't resist teasing him a little. "Well, I think we just nailed our audition for the next romantic comedy," you joked, holding up the photo strip.

Eddie rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the smile on his face. "Oh, come on, I'm not that bad," he said, nudging you playfully with his elbow.

You laughed and gave him a playful shove back. "I never said you were bad, just a little wobbly on the skates," you teased, earning a playful groan from Eddie.

"But hey, you improved a lot throughout the night," you added, smiling at him warmly. "And we had so much fun together."

Eddie grinned back at you, his eyes sparkling. "Yeah, I did have a good time. Thanks for being patient with me," he said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You felt your heart swell with affection for him. "Of course, Eddie. I always enjoy spending time with you," you replied, feeling a surge of warmth spread through you.

When you and Eddie got to the his van and he clipped the photo strip on his sun visor without thinking twice about it. As he drove you home he held on to your thigh singing along to the soft music.

finally standing outside your house next to the drivers window looking at Eddie and saying the last goodbyes with a few added extra kisses. “I’ll always have my girl with me” is the last thing he said before he looked up at the picture and drove off.

You stand there while your heart is bursting holding out the picture and giving it a tiny kiss before doing a little giddy happy dance that followed some cute muffled shrieks. As soon as you entered the house you ran the bedroom and went straight to the vanity desk. kissing the picture one last time and placing it on the edge of mirror holding it in place with some glitter heart stickers.

[silverhallow]

Karting catastrophe

Inspired by @bridgertonbabe’s Bridgerton Spouse Support Chat

Summary: none of the Bridgerton’s had the bridgerton brain cell™️ when they decide to go go-karting… and of course it ends as all games nights do… in catastrophe

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, they hadn’t had a chance to be competitive with one another for months since their spouses flat out refused to have more than one games night a year after Phillip had nearly had a heart attack during a Heated monopoly games night…

But as they were waiting to be loaded into the ambulance and took the hospital, they had to admit… maybe this time it had gone too far…

Anthony had arranged to hire the go-karting facility after Greg had suggested they turn the go-karting into something more… competitive and since Mario-Kart was one of the earliest games they’d ever played together as a family of 8 it seemed the most logical.

Each of them came with their own “weapon” and they’d brought frisbees and balls from the kids' play pens. Eloise had rocked up with a shopping bag full of banana peels and weirdly Hyacinth had rocked up with baby oil.

Anthony and Benedict brought their sons Nerf guns, Colin, Daphne and Francesca had water guns, Hyacinth and Gregory each had a BB gun and Eloise had brought a paint gun…

It had started out fun but after Eloise got Hyacinth in the helmet with the paint gun that things started getting out of hand.

Hyacinth had been furious that it had caused her to crash into the barrier and ended up at the back of the field.

She’d started pouring the oil onto the track and firing her BB gun at anyone and everything thing

Benedict and Colin were out in front with Anthony and Francesca close behind them. Eloise was towards the back of the field and saw as Gregory fired blindly behind him and saw the BB pellet his Hyacinth in the face through her open Visor and everyone turned their head to hear the yell of pain and swearing come from the youngest and that’s when the pile up happened.

Anthony had turned at the wrong time and he hit the back of Colin’s kart which hit Benedict causing the kart to flip and Anthony and his kart landed on his leg Daphne smashed into them as Francesca flew into Colin, her kart smashed into his leg as she smashed into her steering wheel, Gregory smashed into the pile up, Eloise having seen it but sliding on the oil couldn’t stop had at least slowed down and she had about stopped and so it was just her wrist that hurt and Hyacinth having stopped as she’d been hit in the face has scrambled out of her kart and gone over to the pile up but her vision was so blurry that when she aimed a kick at Gregory for hitting her,missed completely and hit her toe off the kart and she heard the crack and let out of yell of pain which couldn’t be heard over the yells from the rest of the Bridgerton’s who were all in states of injury.

The owner saw it all happen and grateful he had charged a full days rental and a disclosure that should they damage anything they’d pair for the full lot of the damage and with a roll of his eye called for ambulances.

And it was where they all were now as a technician asked “who should we call to come meet you at the Hospital? Your mother?”

“NO!” They all yelled despite their various states of pain and agitation.

“Then who?” He asked with a sigh

“We can’t call Kate she’ll just be pissed we didn’t invite her and refuse to come” Anthony muttered from his spot on the board as the paramedics put the neck support around him as he’d gotten serve whiplash in the crash

“Michael won’t come, he thinks I’m out with Eloise today…” Francesca hissed as the paramedic examined her ribs

“And Phil won’t come for the same reason”

“Simon won’t come cause he thinks we’re all idiots and hates it when we do shit like this” Daphne whined

“luce thinks I’m with mum so…”

Benedict grunted something barely intelligible “what did he say??” Hyacinth called out

Eloise rolled her eyes “he said to call Sophie… Penelope can’t come as she’s too far along and out of everyone then two are the least likely to murder us all”

Colin had to agree as he knew Penelope at 8 months pregnant wouldn’t be able to drive over and Sophie was the calmest in temperament out of everyone.

Since Benedict was in too much pain Eloise gave the paramedics Sophie’s number, was put in her ambulance and with the rest of the Bridgerton’s was whisked off to hospital.

Sophie Bridgerton was sitting feeding her 9 month old daughter when her phone rang, it was a number she did not recognise but as Benedict had said he was going to an art exhibition and often forgot to charge his mobile before he went, she naively assumed it was him calling from a borrowed phone to tell her a) that his phone had died b) what time he was coming home and c) to check in on Vi and the boys.

So imagine her surprise as she answered her phone with a tentative “hello” to hear a male voice she did not recognise

“Mrs Bridgerton?”

“Yes? Who is this please?” She asked politely

“My name is Andrew and I am a paramedic with London Ambulance Service” the voice replied

“Paramedic??” Sophie practically screeched down the phone, panic and worry over taking her entire body

“Yes ma’am there is nothing to worry about we’ve got your husband and his siblings and we are taking them to the Royal London Hospital, we were told to call you to meet them there” he explained

“Wait… siblings?” Sophie asked

“Yes ma’am all 8 of them”

“What happened??”

“The details are a little hazy but there was some sort of pile up and accident at Best Go Karting in Canary Wharf” he replied and Sophie’s panic and worry turned instantly into a fury.

Go karting?! On a Wednesday afternoon, when he said he was going to an art exhibition whilst she was at home with all four kids?!?

“Right… well I’ll have to gather the kids and I’ll be along shortly” Sophie said keeping her voice as calm as she could, knowing she was likely to explode but she was prepared to give him a chance to explain. To see the level of his injury as it could just be a strain or something…

the paramedic gave her some instructions and she confirmed them back and as she hung up the phone she sighed heavily.

She was furious. Not only had Benedict lied to her, the bridgerton siblings no doubt had lied to the others because of any of the other spouses knew about this they would have given the others a heads up and the last chat in the spousal support group was them giving Phillip some advice on dealing with a pregnant Eloise.

“Charlie?!” She called up the stairs, it was half term so the boys were upstairs playing

“Yes Mama?” Came the voice of her 6 year old son

“Can you get your shoes and coat on and help your brothers please, we have to get your dad and see your aunt and uncles at the hospital” she said appearing at the bottom of the stairs and looking up

“Has daddy hurt himself again?” He asked curiously

“I think so” she replied

“Is he in trouble?”

“Oh you have no idea… hurry up please, if Alex tries to fight tell him if he behaves mama will get him a McDonald’s for tea”

“Mcdonalds??” came the squeak of 4 year old Alex, his dark curls appearing at the top of the stairs as he peered at his Mama with bright happy eyes.

“If you behave and do everything Charlie and Mama say” Sophie replied.

Alex beamed, nodded his head eagerly and ran off to listen to his older brother and within 20 minutes Sophie had all four kids in the car without so much of a complaint.

It took Sophie 30 minutes to make her way through the traffic and a further 10 minutes to get parked and the three boys waited patiently as she got Baby Violet into her pushchair and headed into the hospital in search of her ridiculous family.

It was Eloise that Sophie spotted first as she made her way into the hospital and she looked sternly as her sister-in-law, but mostly because Eloise was 6 months pregnant and should have known better.

She turned to Charlie and handed him a £5 note, “take your brothers to the shop and get some sweets whilst Mama talks to Aunt El and sees Papa okay?” she said.

Charlie beamed, took two year old William’s hand and Alex followed. Sophie knew the best way to get her kids to behave was through food and bribes and as they walked away she just looked at Eloise and with a glare said “spill”

Eloise grimaced and with a heavy sigh, explained everything that had happened right down to their discussion about calling her. “I’m waiting for them to come look at my wrist, I can’t have an X-Ray so they’re working out how to figure out if it’s broken or not…” she said

“The baby?” Sophie asked knowing when she told Phillip it would be one i oh f the first things he’d ask.

“They’re fine, it was the first thing they did when I got here. I’m the least injured, it would have been Hyacinth if she hadn’t tried to attack Greg” Eloise explained but before Sophie could do anything more than sigh, Eloise was called into the room to see her doctor and another doctor walked over to Sophie to explain what had happened and the extent of the injuries to the Bridgertons.

Sophie listened and felt her blood boiling as she listened; Anthony had whiplash so was in a neck brace, Daphne had a fractured Arm, Gregory a broken one as well as a bruised coccyx, they suspected Eloise just had a sprained wrist, Francesca had fractured a couple of ribs, Hyacinth had sustained an eye injury which would leave her with a black eye and she was wearing a patch and she’d also broken her toe kicking the go-kart and Benedict and Colin had fared the worst each breaking a leg.

Sophie felt her legs nearly go at the news. Her husband. Her idiot husband had broken his leg…

Was it not bad enough that she had four kids to deal with, now she had her injured husband, and her idiot brother-in-law was about to be a father in a month’s time had broken his as well…

“I can take you in to see your husband if you wish” the doctor said as Sophie digested all the information

“I will in a five minutes i just have a phone call to make” Sophie said

The doctor nodded “he’s in room two when you’re ready” the doctor said and walked off and headed into Francesca’s room.

Sophie had had enough, she knew exactly who needed to be called, the only person who could them see sense, to realise that they’re far too old to be doing shit like this and that they had to be more bloody responsible.

Mario Kart go karting… honestly…

With a sigh Sophie whipped her phone out and dialled the number that belonged to her mother-in-law.

“Sophie dear, this is a pleasant surprise, hello dear”

“Hello Violet, sorry but this isn’t a pleasant surprise… i’m at the hospital” Sophie said

“Oh no, is everything alright? Are the boys and Vi okay?” Violet asked sounding panicked

“Oh my kids are okay… i’m calling about yours” Sophie said

“Oh no is Ben okay?” Violet asked, assuming it was just the one she was calling about

“No he is not. He’s broke his leg… and the rest of his idiotic siblings are here also…” Sophie said and as Violet made a noise of confusion “they lied to everyone and went off to go karting and not just go karting, mario-karting…”

“Please tell me you’re making this up” Violet said

“I wish i was Violet” Sophie said as she then rattled off their injuries and everything Eloise had told her

“I am going to murder them. What do they think they’re playing at??” Violet said “I will be right down. They need their heads banging together, i am sick of this”

“Thank you Violet, I suspect some of them may require a lift home as when everyone else finds out… i can’t imagine they’ll come for them and Penelope can’t even drive at the moment so…”

“I’ll bring the minivan…” Violet said

Sophie thanked her mother-in-law and decided she’d go see her husband before she told the rest of the spouses.

The boys were still down the shop so she pushed the pushchair with a sleeping Violet into room two where Benedict was sitting in a leg brace, looking sheepish as he spotted his wife.

“I can explain…” he said sheepishly

“Can you? Can you explain why you lied to me, why your siblings all lied to their respective partners and you all went off to do something childish and not to mention Dangerous?”

“Soph… please… I am sorry I lied but firstly it wasn’t my idea and I was crashed into… and secondly, if i had told you, you would have told the other and we were just having a fun day out, we used to do it like once a month and we’ve never been injured before…”

“You do this once a month??” Sophie asked incredulously.

“Used to… we’ve not been since Violet was born and it had never been go karting…” Benedict said but seeing the look on his wife’s face he knew better than to say anything more “Look I am really sorry and I know i’m in trouble but can I take Vi and have cuddles to cheer me up please?” as he held his arms out expectantly figuring Sophie would feel a little sorry for him with his injury since it wasn’t actually his fault

“No” Sophie said and Benedict’s mouth fell open as he stared at his wife “you are not getting Violet cuddles until your leg is out of that bloody cast. We are a week into the summer holidays and you’ve rendered yourself useless for the remainder of the school holidays meaning not only do I have to look after FOUR children on my own now, but I am going to have to look after you because you’re so feckless and reckless and didn’t think for one second that this was the stupidest idea you lot could have ever come up with!” sophie replied, not even raising her voice and the moment she finished Benedict burst into tears.

Sophie knew withholding his daughter from him was the worst punishment but she was sick of them all, she was fed up of them being so reckless and competitive and he had to be taught a lesson.

“Please soph… don’t… don’t do this” Benedict sobbed

“Too late… oh and your mother is on her way… she wants a word with you all” Sophie said as she turned Violet around in her pushchair “they’ll take you down for a cast shortly then we’re going home and you’re in the spare room. I’ll be outside, letting the others know about you bloody idiots” she said as she left the room leaving her husband crying and a little panicked knowing his mother was on her way and that they were all in trouble.

Sophie sat down watching as one by one the siblings were taken into one room as per her request (curtsey of Violet) and she saw the look on their faces when they spoke to Benedict and learned their mother was en route and that was why they were being gathered in one room.

Sophie knew it was extreme but as she texted the Spousal group chat, and watched Violet, the family matriarch walk into the ward, a face like thunder, her shoulder set as she threw the door open and looked at children in various states as she yelled “WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU ALL THINKING? LYING TO YOUR PARTNERS? I TAUGHT YOU BETTER THAN THAT”

Francesca tried to speak up “mum we didn’t…”

“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT LYING TO ME FRANCESCA BRIDGERTON” as she slammed the door shut and it muffled the sounds but Sophie smirked to herself as she watched each of the Bridgerton’s in turn jumping as they were yelled at.

Charlie, Alex and William all appeared a few minutes into Violet’s tirade and Alex blinked “Grandma is angry”

“I think Papa and everyone are in big trouble” Charlie said as Alex’s face lit up with a cheeky grin.

“What did Papa do?” he asked

“He lied to Mama, and broke his leg, so Papa is not allowed cuddles from anyone until his leg is better do you understand?” she said to her boys.

“Papa naughty?” two year old William asked “no snuggles?”

“Yes Papa has been naughty, we don’t tell lies do we?” Sophie asked

All three boys shook their heads “no or our noses get big!” Charlie said

“Exactly, or you hurt yourself like your Uncle’s and Aunties have” Sophie said.

Sophie just sat and watched smugly as Violet continued to yell and berate her children for nearly an hour. Phillip turned up half way through and Eloise spotted him through the window and mouthed “Rescue me”

Phillip just shook her head and took a seat next to Sophie “how long has Violet been yelling?”

“Half hour so far…” Sophie grinned

“Hopefully this will teach them a lesson”

“Between that, no Snu Snu and the film I've got of the first twenty minutes of her tirade should hopefully be enough” Sophie grinned.

“You’ve gotta send that to the chat” Phillip said and Sophie agreed, sending the video to the rest of the Spouses and they just hoped, beyond hope, that it would be the last time that they’d be visiting the hospital for a game night related injury.

[oh-stars]

Her Steve

Coworkers

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 933 words | CW: misogyny | Rating: G

--

Robin kind of loves working at Family Video. It’s perfect in every way that Scoops Ahoy was a nightmare — excluding the last week she worked there, of course. The customers are more direct most of the time, either dropping off their rentals or swapping it out for something they know they want to watch, and when they don’t know what they want, they don't pester her about it. They’ll browse for a while, maybe ask a question here or there, and then be on their merry way once a selection is made. And sure she still has to clean, even more than she did before considering Family Video is almost double the Scoops Ahoy store, but it’s not the same. Vacuuming and wiping down the counters once a day (and even that’s iffy) is nothing compared to the forever sticky booths and having to sweep every hour at least so the store isn’t overrun with crushed waffle cones and sprinkles. Don’t even get her started on the uniforms. 

And best of all? She still works with Steve! 

But now instead of antagonizing him and making him the butt of the joke, they’re joking together and bitching about other people. They spend most of their shifts watching movies and talking shit about everything and nothing. It’s perfect really. 

Another perk of Family Video being so different from Scoops? It’s actually dead during the summer. Sure, there’s a boost of people at the end of the day when parents are getting off work, and you’ll find the occasional wave of people throughout, but for the most part, it’s dead during the week. Except for rainy days, which is so not today. 

They finished all their tasks on Monday morning, and they really haven’t seen a big wave of customers this week at all. Most of the people who show up are just dropping off the rentals they snagged for last week’s heat wave but now that the temperature isn’t melt-your-face-off hot, Hawkins is back to their regularly scheduled program of spending time outdoors when they can. 

To say they’re bored is an understatement. 

Which is why Robin created this oh so brilliant game. She checks the timer, still ticking away, and peeks up to see Steve practically vaulting over the shelves to get to the next movie he has to grab. They both made a list of ten movies — no genres and they only included the first letter of each title — to see who could get the most right in the fastest time. Steve just started his turn, pushing the go back cart so fast around the store the stuck wheel is about to pop off for good. 

“C’mon Harrington,” Robin goads from her throne behind the counter. Her feet are propped up on the surface, laying back as much as she can in the computer chair they have. “You know that’s not what I picked.” She can’t see what he has in the cart or his hand, so she has no idea if he’s right. 

They never promised each other a clean game. 

She can hear Steve grumbling but the bell on the door stops him from shouting back. He doesn’t, however, stop running around. 

Robin turns to find Jerry S. from band, a trombone player in her year. “Looking for something specific, Jerry?” Robin asks, not bothering to get up from her spot. 

Jerry opens his mouth, then turns toward Steve’s grumbling form as he pushes the cart down the action aisle. “Is that Steve Harrington?” 

“Yup.” 

“That blows,” Jerry says as he leans against the counter, shaking his head. “I think I’d quit on the spot if my boss hired him.” 

Robin crosses her arms and drops her feet from the counter. “Well its a good thing you’re not here for a job, isn’t it?” 

Jerry gives her a funny look, like he’s actually surprised by her sharp tone and bored expression that barely contains the rage bubbling within her. “Don’t tell me you actually like him?” 

“Yup,” she says again as her eyes narrow. “Are you getting a movie or not?” 

“Jeez,” Jerry says, holding up his hands, “no need to be a bitch about it.” 

“Alright,” Steve says, dropping the tapes into the cart and walking closer to Jerry. “That’s it. Out!” He makes shooing motions with his hand as he starts herding Jerry out the door. “You can say whatever you want about me, but you’re not going to disrespect Robin like that.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Deadly,” Steve says. “You can’t say anything I haven’t heard before, but we have the right to refuse service to disrespectful clientele. And might I remind you this is the Family  Video, so foul language is not permitted within these walls, dickwad. Don’t like it, take it up with the manager.” 

“Fine,” Jerry says, shrugging Steve’s hands away from him and pushing on the door. “Who is the–” 

Steve just flips him off and shuts the door behind him. He waits a beat, then spins back to Robin, clapping his hands. “I want a redo. I had like two more videos to grab and you weren’t paying attention to start the timer.” 

Robin glances down at the egg timer still ticking. “Mmm. I don’t think so.” 

“Oh come on!” 

“Fine. Go to the break room so I can make a new list,” she huffs. “But you’re reshelving everything after.” 

Steve just gives her a thumbs up as he passes to the break room, smirking. 

Robin rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t really mean it. That’s her Steve and he better not forget it. 

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

[http-paprika]

⋆ ★ WINNING NUMBERS / JOHN SOAP MACTAVISH ★ ⋆

a small snippet for @glitterypirateduck and the soap-it-up challenge / this came to me as a fever dream yesterday and I forced myself to power through writer’s block for it. enjoy!

challenge prompt you’re distracting me / wc 455 / pairing john “soap” mactavish x f!reader / warnings swearing and an american girl’s attempt at a scottish accent

★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★

“For you.” You chuckle, ducking back into the car and handing over the multi-colored scratch card to Johnny. A groan escapes his lips as he takes it in his hands, rolling his eyes playfully as you set the last of materials, a good six-pack, needed for your trip in the backseat.

“M’not gonna tell ya shat anymore if this is tha treatment I get, lassie.” He waves the card in front of your face, the reminder of his admission. You arrived in Johnny’s life at the right place and the right time, a beaming glory that distracted him from a trickshot in a dingy bar in a losing game against his teammate; when two billiards sank Johnny gathered the courage and sought you out.

Now, you were like a lucky penny. With a polaroid of you safety stored in his tactical vest over his heart, he shoots better. And with your arm wrapped lazily around Johnny’s waist, the darts always manage to land in the right spot.

“Well, I’ll scratch it off then if you’re going to complain.” You say, attempting to snatch it out of his hand.

“Absolutely not happenin’, this is mine. Not yours, lassie.” Giggling from your seat behind the wheel, you reach for your lip gloss while he searches for loose change to scratch the metallic cover away. His blue eyes dart across the central console as you carefully apply his favorite shade, pink tinting his cheek as Johnny blinks away and the shilling begins to scratch away for a surprise.

“Yer distracting me, it’s not fair. I’ve gotta focus if I’mma win the Powerball fer ya.” Johnny lights scolds, looking up at you as you smack your lips together. The satisfying sound caused his skin to tingle.

“Good, a little distraction is necessary in a time like this.” You say, tempting him as you lean against the console. It didn’t matter if you had a rental waiting, you were going to take all the time in the world.

“Aye, no, quit!” He gripes as you start to kiss his cheek, the fresh layer of gloss marking his skin and stubble. Johnny’s knuckles are white while trying to focus on finishing his scratch ticket instead of you. “Lassie!”

The card finally displays his numbers, and winnings, a twenty pound prize shining up at them. “See, I’m still lucky. That’s enough for another six-pack and a Mars bar.” You snatch up the card between your nails, drawing his attention away from it to you.

“Never said ya weren’t.” Johnny snorts, mitts cupping your cheeks and pulling you in. The taste of your lips drives him crazy. “But I’m tha luckiest fuckin’ man in tha ‘ole bloody world kissin’ a lassie like ya.”

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Northern Light

Thirty-six hours before Jeff Buckley died, I saw him standing on a quiet Memphis street corner. A sheriff's car had pulled over, and the beige-suited federale stood towering above him. Jeff was my neighbor and friend, so I turned my car around to see if I could extract him from his tangle.

The incident had ended by the time I got there. It began raining. I pulled up next to Jeff. He didn't like strangers stopping him, and he kept his face forward as I drove beside him. He didn't look up until I spoke, then he stormed into the car, furious that the deputy had stopped to ask who he was; Jeff thought the lawman recognized him from his videos. I tried telling him their paths happened to cross at a corner that was known for drug activity, but he wouldn't hear it.

At the corner, instead of turning toward our street to go home--he lived a few doors from us in a rental house--I turned away. An anger I didn't know flared up. He demanded to be let out and opened the door while we were moving. The rain was hard and heavy, a dark rain. He did not want to know that I was only going one block out of the way. To calm him I told him I would take him home directly. F---it, if he wanted to act like a rock star, I'd indulge his fame, don my chauffeur's hat, take his assholiness home, and then do my errand.

If he'd not died, the incident would have meant nothing.

I see my happening onto him right after the cop as proof--if he was seeking proof--that he could not take a walk and be alone. He had owned Manhattan and walked away for a place he could be alone.

He leapt out of my car and was immediatelly soaked. "I'll walk," he said. "It's nice out." It was not nice out. Is that what he had to say to be alone?

Jeff rang our doorbell at six sharp. "Look at this," he told my wife, leading Mr. Clean into the kitchen. He wore a frilly green three-piece thrift-store suit, two-tone black and white shoes, and a wide-brimmed hat tilted forward over his face. I assumed a matching green Cadillac with a fake fur steering wheel was parked out front. He said, "I like to dress for dinner."

He and I drank red wine outside in the pre-summer heat. My four-month-old daughter cooed at him, he cooed back, and they laughed. After dinner he wanted to retrieve a notebook he'd left at the downtown club where he had a weekly gig. "Sure they're open," he said, "live bands seven nights a week." We walked to his house, where he got the keys to his rental car. Before leaving the house, he put on a Dead Kennedys CD and left it at top volume. One the street I could hear every thudding syllable. An Avon lady lived next door to him. I didn't ask questions.

He drove like his verbal riffs: all over the place. The club was, of course, closed. But his outfit was glowing, we were half-lit, and we hit a Beale Street beer hall that had a pool table. He put down two quarters in line for a game and steadily pumped the jukebox.

In Memphis Jeff could play at anonymity: a dangerous, green-suited pool hustler running Beale. The bartender found his Grifters selection too noisy and pulled the plug. Jeff leapt onto the pool table and demanded not only that the machine be turned back on, but that he be given his money back so he could play the song again. A pretty girl recognized him and between pool shots she handed him a menu and asked him for an autograph. He was polite; I think the occasional recognition was enough to sate his ego, but not so much that it interfered with his daily affairs.

My wife and I fed him a couple of times, hung out a bit. Usually his blinds were drawn, and we mostly left him to his work. One evening I stopped by on my way to the neighborhood bar. He talked about his dad that night, also a singer with a clarion voice. Tim Buckley was twenty-eight when he found a packet of powder and, mistaking the heroine for cocaine, laid out a fat line, inhaled, and died. Jeff was eight at the time. He lived with his mother, her husband, and his half brothers, and back then his name was Scott J. Moorhead. Then he'd entered his old man's business, and though he didn't know him (he'd only spent a week with his dad), he was feeling the weight of his father's shadow. Dead at such an early age, Tim Buckley would be forever young. "The only way I can rebel against him," Jeff told me, "is to live."

You don't go swimming in your boots without some kind of intent somewhere. Jeff was thirty when he drowned in the Mississippi River. I don't imagine that his father's specter ever left him, but I do believe life must have refracted through the ghost differently during Jeff's last couple of years. My wife's father died accidentally when she was a child, and she speaks of the mixed feelings she had when she passed her father's age. Survivors' guilt tinged with survivors' triumph: "It didn't happen to me" becomes "it couldn't."

People like me who write about musicians have a relationship with celebrity that is either symbiotic or parasitic, depending on the perspective. Jeff and I had met accidentally, laughed a lot at that first meeting but were never introduced, and I left thinking he was just some new guy in town. It took an effort by me to supress the opportunism presented by his fame and maintain that purity in our friendship. We never discussed doing an interview, though I took notes for one. He had recorded an Alex Chilton song on his first EP; Chilton plays a significant role in my first book, It Came From Memphis, but we never discussed that either. He'd never played his fame card before, and offering to drive him a mile home that day it rained, when I was a block from doing that anyway, made me painfully aware of the shared natures of fan and servant.

Fame is a buoy that raises you up and a weight that brings you down. Jeff Buckley was beautiful to behold, a blast to be around, a singular talent. He seemed strong enough for fame. His core bubbled with energy, an excitement that sometimes overpowered him. Talking about his dad in the bar, he bent to his drink and gnawed on the glass with his teeth. Though he could wrangle his power, like when he made music, he seemed most at ease letting it pour fourth: A rush of comic routines. Impulsive actions. His wardrobe. Swimming in the river.

The day after the rain, I saw a furniture rental truck unloading beds at his house; Jeff's band was arriving. When a British magazine editor called the next morning asking me to confirm that Jeff had died of a drug overdose, I reamed the guy. "Let him work!" I said. "He wants to be alone." The editor assured me that this news was based in fact, that someone from Microsoft News had--but I cut him off and told him to leave the guy alone. Ten minutes later a friend at Jeff's label called to say that reports were that Jeff had drowned, and what did I know about it? Geez, I thought, can't anyone let this guy work?

My wife said if I'd been called about another of my neighbors having an accident, I'd have run to their door and knocked, made sure everything was okay. I did walk down to Jeff's house and stood in front of it dumbly--his house looked like his house--but I wasn't about to disturb him with rumors of himself. An hour later, back home, I glanced out front and an image of his bandmates--their stooped backs, the shade of the magnolia tree, red Converse high-tops on asphalt--seared into my brain. Death. I'd never seen them before, but their dyed hair and disheveled look announced them as Jeff's guests, and their dazed walk and stupefied manner instantly confirmed the worst. It rained for four days after that.

The first daylight hours passed as we waited for the phone to ring--for Jeff to tell us that the current had swept him away and deposited him, tired and delirious, in a foresaken corner of a cotton field, and he walked for hours between rows to dirt paths to gravel and was finally calling from a gas station near a stupid Tunica casino, could someone please come pick him up right away and bring dry clothes, he was miserable. But that call didn't come. His mother came, his girlfriend, an aunt, a lawyer, and some record company people.

When Jeff Buckley immersed himself in that inlet of the the Mississippi River, he swam out on his back, looking at the stars, singing a Led Zeppelin song. A tugboat passed and left a wake. He swallowed water. The shadow was heavy. The refraction was blinding. His boots were full.

It's said about the blues singer Robert Johnson that he lived a compartmentalized life. That to some he was Robert Dusty, to others Robert Spencer, and that his personae were as varied and as independent as the people to whom each was known. Jeff had a life in New York I knew little about, and his family was in California. But his absence broke down those partitions, and we survivors clung to each other in his house, surrounded by his belongings, waiting for him.

The undercurrents in Memphis swelled in Jeff's absence. This city reveres obscurity, is hostile toward success. Beneath the reverence for the celebrated--here or anywhere--is a mean-spirited envy, a rooting for the lions over the gladiator. The tide of gossip rose: He staged his death for publicity. Or for solitude. He was on drugs. Suicide. Black magic.

On the fourth day, before his body floated up, his mother called his friends to his house for a wake. His beautiful photograph was propped on the table, along with a candle and maybe a flower. She wanted to celebrate her son's life and she made a toast, reminding me how little we can each know of even the ones we call friends. She raised her glass, and we raised ours. Her words startled me: "To Scotty."

His singing was magisterial, like a pipe organ, natural like the northern lights. Jeff's voice made me want to build shrines--though now I see Jeff Buckley was the shrine to his voice. His sudden end has seeped into my memories of his passion and vitality, and I can't seperate the purity of his tone from the tragedy of his fate.

My child is drifting off to sleep in my arms. She has learned to crawl, is beginning to understand spacial relations. The puzzle that is everything she sees is beginning to have pieces, and the pieces are beginning to fit. Her dreams have become more lifelike, and as she is momentarily disturbed into consciousness, her eyes open. She can't tell the worlds apart, and since the dream feels so much nicer than the coldness of reality, she doesn't fight the return. She drifts off.

Source: Robert Gordon

[terahwatsonyt]

✧✧ Build a Save File Challenge ✧✧

We're building a save file through gameplay!

[29-11-2024 Updated to include Ravenwood]

Either bulldoze each lot, or use Srslys sims' blank save file

Set lifespan on normal, and aging on ONLY for the selected household.

You can build each lot yourself or download them from the gallery, or both.

How to start

1. Spin the wheel of worlds, this is the world you start in

2. Create 3 households with a maximum of 2 sims (you can use the story mode if you wish) UNLESS you the world you chose has less residential lots (see bottom of this post for details)

3. Place those households in empty lots.

4. Pick one household and play with them for a sim week

5. Move on to the next household, play with them for a sim week

This way you'll cycle through all your households.

Optional, but fun: fill the calendar with fun holidays if you have seasons.

Build your world

Every time you complete an adult aspiration, or get to the maximum level of a career you can spin the wheel of community lots.

Build or download that community lot in the world you're playing in. OR bank the community lot to use at a later time. Remember: it's your game! If you don't like the community lot you get, you can pick another.

You can only build in the world you are playing in right now!

If you don't have a pack, spin the wheel again.

Your sims can go to university, but can't live in dorms unless you unlocked the world of Britechester. After they finish their degree, they move back to their home world.

Fill your world with sims

Fill the other houses with the children of you 3 households. Children can be born normally, be a science baby, be an alien baby through abduction or be adopted.

Pick or randomize traits, pick or randomize the aspirations

Wheel of aspirations: https://wheelofnames.com/t7c-6a6

Age up your newborn when the game tells you it's their birthday

Age up your infant when they have 2 milestones in each cathegory, or when they are 3 days old, whatever you prefer

Age up your toddler when they have level 3 in all of their skills

Age up you child when they have an A in school OR finished an aspiration

Age up your teen when they have an A in school OR finished a teen aspiration (high school years pack)

Give your young adult sim their own lot in the world if there is room, otherwise they stay where they are. No moving to other worlds!

A residential lot can be any type of lot a sim can live in: normal, tiny, haunted, rental. Whatever you prefer

You can only move one world sim into each household. That sim must either be best friends, a romantic partner, fiancee or spouse to a sim that lives there.

Wheel of worlds: https://wheelofnames.com/d3h-cee

Wheel of community lots: https://wheelofnames.com/g8z-8m9

You can move on to the next world when the one you're working on is filled, or when you get bored with that world.

Number of Community lots and Residential lots for each world:

Oasis Springs : Community lots 9 Residental lots: 12

Willow Creek: Community lots 9 Residental lots: 12

NewCrest: Community lots 7 Residental lots: 8

Magnolia Promenade: Community lots 3 Residental lots: 1

Windenburg: Community lots 12 Residental lots: 15

San Myshuno: Community lots 7 Residental lots: 23

Forgotten Hollow: Community lots 2 Residental lots: 3

Brindleton Bay: Community lots 10 Residental lots: 6

Del Sol Valley: Community lots 5 Residental lots: 6

Strangerville: Community lots 5 Residental lots: 5

Sulani: Community lots 8 Residental lots: 6

Glimmerbrook: Community lots 3 Residental lots: 2

Britechester: Community lots 7 Residental lots: 2 plus dorms, build the dorms, but don't put sims there

Evergreen Harbor: Community lots 9 Residental lots: 6

Mt. Komorebi: Community lots 9 Residental lots: 5

Henford-on-bagley: Community lots 6 Residental lots: 6

Tartosa: Community lots 6 Residental lots: 3

Moonwood mill: Community lots 3 Residental lots: 2

Copperdale: Community lots 7 Residental lots: 4

San Sequoia: Community lots 8 Residental lots: 4

Chestnut Ridge: Community lots 7 Residental lots: 6

Tomarang: Community lots 6 Residental lots: 3

Ciudad Enamorada: Community lots 7 Residental lots: 6

Ravenwood: Community lots: 7 Residental lots: 5

[ja-lin]

Lovestruck in-game vs real life -- Los Angeles (Gangster's in Love, My Siren Crush backgrounds, but also used in other series), all photos taken by me w/ my phone

Los Angeles skyline (night) -- Photo taken from Griffith observatory. The observatory closes at 10PM, your car will be locked-in/cited if you park at the top and don't leave by 10PM. Suggestion is to park at Greek Theater and walk up to the observatory, it's a 15-20min walk. 2800 E Observatory Rd, Los Angeles, CA 90027 Griffith observatory (night) -- While the observatory is closed on Mondays, this is the best time to visit with less people there. You can still walk around the grounds and take photos. The parks, grounds close at 10PM. 2800 E Observatory Rd, Los Angeles, CA 90027 Rodeo Dr -- In Beverley Hills there's a street with all high end shopping and eateries. Worth a walk through even if you don't buy anything. 9480 Dayton Way, Beverly Hills, CA 90210 Santa Monica Pier -- During weekdays you can drive up to the boardwalk and park there. During weekends it gets pretty crowded and you'd have to park at the public garages nearby in downtown. The Ferris wheel is worth a ride during the day to get a high view of the entire beach. Surfing classes, rentals are available. 200 Santa Monica Pier, Santa Monica, CA 90401 Santa Monica beaches -- I went on a weekday and there were still a lot of people, but the beaches are nice especially at sunset. I didn't get a chance this time, but I heard beaches at Malibu are also very nice. Los Angeles skyline (day) -- There's free parking about 1 mile down from the observatory and a dirt hiking trail (it's kinda steep) that leads up to the observatory. The short hiking trail is a good spot to get a view of the skyline in the daytime. 2800 E Observatory Rd, Los Angeles, CA 90027