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whor3ing · 3 months ago

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𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 | 𝑪.𝑺

▶︎ ၊၊||၊ BREAK FROM TORONTO , PARTYNEXTDOOR

chris sturniolo!bf x f!reader

WARNINGS : smut, phone sex, FaceTime, tapping it on the screen, established relationship, lots of dirty talk, mutual masturbation, mentions of breeding! mentions of spitting (in mouth) usage of “slut”

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IN WHICH.. after a rough day and missing Chris while he’s away, What starts as playful teasing to cheer you up, quickly turns intense. Chris guides you through the heat of the moment, making the distance between you feel like nothing.

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

second tumblr post! word count : 4.4k ♡

Any day without Chris' arms around you late at night felt like something was missing, similar to the last piece to a nearly finished puzzle, the one that had made everything click into place.

You'd gotten used to his warmth, the way his body seemed to fit against yours so perfectly, the steady beat of his heart slowly lulling you to sleep every night without fail. Being in his arms made you feel safe, loved, and wanted. With each breath, each beat of his heart, you felt your mind grow quiet and your body relax, as if each hum of his heart was him whispering "i love you' over and over.

You knew him going on this brand deal trip had been a good idea for the channel, and you knew that it had already been planned months in advance, but missing him was hard, and missing him was painful. It was only supposed to be a few days now, but each one seemed to drag on longer than the last and it made you relentlessly question if the clock was against you, if time moved slower than it actually did.

Just the night before he had left, his arms had been curled around you and you had been resting on top of his chest, his fingers combing through your hair. Everything had been perfect, everything had felt complete. But tonight, you were alone, and it felt like the quiet of the room echoed louder than it should.

Your day at work had been a full-on nightmare—endless tasks, long hours, all of it seemed to last forever. Every email you had sent felt as if it was another weight added onto your shoulders, and every conversation felt like it had drained every ounce of energy from you. Even now, the fluorescent lights of the office still lingered in your eyes, making your head throb with a dull ache.

Usually, you would come home to Chris, the soft sound of his voice greeting you, followed by his arms pulling you into a warm embrace. He would hold you close, put on a random film and snuggle into you, his hands always wandering to your thighs. He would rub his palms on them, cursing at how soft your skin was while smiling at you, and with that, he would lean in to kiss your forehead as you would drift off.

But tonight was different. The apartment was cold without him, the sheets of your shared bed empty and frigid.

With a sigh, you pick up your phone, swiping up to enter your password.

Your thumb hovers over Chris' name in your contacts; needing to hear his voice, needing him to somehow fill the empty space in your chest, the same emptiness lingering throughout the entire apartment.

Without thinking too much, you press call.

The phone rings only twice before Chris picks up and upon the first word he speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice, immediately warm and familiar.

"Hey, sweetheart, wasn't expecting you to call so early, what's up?"

Sinking into your bed, you let out a heavy sigh, letting your gaze drift upward to the ceiling fan, its quiet hum the only other noise in your quiet apartment.

"Hey," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the word catching in your throat. You clear your throat, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed there, and continue, "I needed to hear your voice, I miss you."

As the words leave your lips, you feel a slight tremble in your voice, something that your boyfriend, Chris would never dare to let slide.

There's a pause on the other end, and when he speaks again, his tone is softer, full of concern. "I miss you too, you alright, baby?"

You nod, even though he can’t see it, your eyes fluttering shut as you take in his warm voice. "Just… it’s been a rough day," you admit, curling into your blanket. "I can’t stop thinking about you, Chris. It’s so hard without you here."

You hear him chuckle from the other side of the phone, his voice still soft and concerned, "I wish I could be there with you right now. You know I’d make it all better, right?"

"I know," you murmur, your lips pursing. "I just miss everything about you. I miss your arms around me, I miss your smell."

He lets out a light, teasing laugh, cutting out slightly over the phone as he inhales afterward. "My smell, huh? Really, ma? You miss the way I smell?" He chuckles his laugh sweet, "You sure it’s not just my cologne you’re missing?"

You shake your head as he talks, sitting up and propping your back against your headboard, a smile finding its way onto your face. "No," you say pausing as you try to sound serious, "It's you. It's just you."

You smile as Chris lets out another laugh, his voice playful, "Well, well, aren’t you the romantic." He pauses, letting out another soft giggle. "You must really be going crazy without me, huh? Can’t even sleep without my scent on your pillow."

Without thinking you laugh, slapping your hand down onto your comforter as you giggle, "Shut up, it's not funny!"

"It’s a little funny," he teases, his voice husky. "There's that laugh I love," he murmurs.

His words settle in your chest, and a warmth spreading through you. "You’re ridiculous," the smile tugging at your lips as you talk. "But I missed you, I missed you so much."

"I know, baby, I miss you too," he murmurs, chuckling. "Maybe I should become a therapist, I should start charging you for daily sessions with how fast I brought that smile back."

You roll your eyes as you let out another small laugh, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's the payment plan like? Not sure I can afford daily, maybe weekly."

"Depends," Chris pauses and there's a silence on the other end of the phone.

After a few seconds, a low chuckle leaves his lips. "You offering cash, or are we talking.. other forms of payment?"

You smile, licking your lips and leaning your head back to rest against the headboard. "Wow, so nasty of you to be talking like this when your brothers are god knows where."

You hear rustling for a moment over the phone before you hear Chris chuckle again, the sound absolutely adorable. "I may be a little dirty, but I'm still a gentleman," He whispers, his voice like velvet even despite the crackles of the air in the background as he speaks.

You can almost hear the heat in his voice and it burns you even through all of the distance, leaving tingles on your body as he continues, "Matt and Nick went out, some stupid costume store for a video idea. They're going to be gone for a while, and I have to admit, I'm kind of glad."

His voice drops to a low, husky tone, sending shivers down your spine. "I was thinking about you baby, and I couldn't focus on anything else."

You feel a warm blush rise to your cheeks as you hear his words through the phone, your pulse beating faster, so loud you can nearly hear it through your ears. "What were you thinking about?" You ask curiously, soft grin reaches your face and your hands begin to toy with themselves as you lay the phone on your lap to listen.

"I was thinking about how your breath hitches when I do that thing with my tongue, and how your fingers would dig into my back when I do that thing with my hands."

"How your back arches when I fuck you," He pauses, his voice exasperated. "When I tell you to keep looking me in the eyes while you take my cock in that dripping pussy of yours."

His words leave you breathless and full of desire. You can feel your face burning with heat, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your top with every word he speaks, as if his words are urging you to want him even more than you already do.

"Chris..." You whisper, his name barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I want you," you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you so bad, Chris."

"I want you, let me see you, baby," You hear him lick his lips, his breathing just as loud as yours. Turn on your camera, can I see your pretty face?"

You smile, pressing the familiar FaceTime button, and as the camera flickers to life, you adjust yourself to fit in frame, the soft light from your room casting a glow over your features, putting them on full display for him.

Chris' camera flutters to life soon after, you see him in the corner of the screen.

The first thing you notice is his hair, tousled and messy as if he's been running his fingers through it out of habit. The soft lights of his hotel room and the sunset outside of his window catch faint golden undertones onto his skin, making him look like an absolute dream.

His jawline catches the light when he shifts slightly to look closer at you, the shadow of his stubble visible to you as a grin forms at the corners of his mouth, a grin that's just for you.

He looks absolutely perfect, in fact, you weren't even sure how a person could manage to look that good during every second of the day until you had met him.

The most amazing part? He was all yours.

His voice pulls you back to reality, warm and teasing. "See something you like, or are you just gonna keep staring, baby?"

You roll your eyes, though the blush creeping up your neck betrays you. "Oh, please," you tease. "You’re the one who wanted to see me."

Chris leans a little closer to his screen, his piercing blue eyes sharpening as he takes you all in. His eyes travel over your frame, lingering for a moment before his lips part slightly, his voice dropping just a bit. "I mean, can you blame me? Look at you."

His eyes trail over you slowly, and then he pauses, his lips curling into a smirk. "Wait a second... Is that my shirt?"

You glance down, your fingers instinctively brushing over the soft fabric, the only thing you were wearing a side from your underwear, "What if it is?" you ask, arching a brow, trying to sound casual despite the sudden flutter of your pulse in your chest.

His laughter comes easy, warm and deep. "You’re unbelievable," he mutters, but there’s something softer behind his tone. "I was wondering where that went."

Relaxing a bit, Chris leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair, but his gaze never leaves you. When he speaks again his voice is soft but teasing, "You know, you wearing my shirt like that? It's not fair."

"Fair?" you repeat, tilting your head with a playful smile. "What’s not fair about it?"

Chris sighs, tugging at his hair,"The fact that I’m sitting here wishing I could take it off you myself."

"Maybe if you were here, I’d let you," you murmur, your eyes locked onto his.

"Don’t tease me like that, baby." You watch as his tongue licks around his lips, his eyes laced with desire, "You know I’d do it in a heartbeat."

"Who’s teasing?" you reply softly, your fingers toying with the hem of the shirt. There’s a moment of silence, charged with electricity, before you meet his gaze again. "What if I took it off right now?"

Chris’s breath hitches audibly, his confidence momentarily faltering as his eyes darken. "Don’t say that if you don’t mean it," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Adrenaline and desire course through you as you slowly lift the hem of the shirt, just enough to tease him, right below your breasts, allowing them to peek out, just a little bit. His reaction is immediate—his eyes are glued to the screen, his jaw falling open as he takes in the sight of you. .

"Your turn," you say softly, smiling as you tease him. Your hands reach up to rub at your tits, the hem just covering your nipples.

Within an instant, Chris shuffles slightly letting the camera fall to the side of the bed. You hear the sound of fabric sliding against his skin and a moment later, he picks up the phone resting it on top of his stomach, one of his arms behind his head as he props it up to see you rubbing your tits for him.

Suddenly, he angles the camera even further down, revealing a very obvious bulge in his boxers. His boxers are tight against his cock and you feel yourself nearly drool as the outline of his hard dick is directly on display in front of you, straining against the fabric.

You watch as his fingers trail over the waistband of his boxers, teasing you just as much as you’ve been teasing him. He’s still staring at you, waiting for your next move.

Your hands move instinctively, pulling your shirt off, your tits falling out from underneath his shirt. You reach over, letting it fall to the side of the bed as you arch your back slightly, giving him a better view, as your fingertips trail across your bare chest. His eyes seem to devour you from the screen, and you know he’s getting just as impatient as you are.

You drag your fingers down your body, feeling the slight shiver of anticipation in your fingertips. The way his eyes stay locked on you makes your pulse race faster, a part of you already craving him even more. You glance, making sure he’s watching as your hand moves lower, slipping down to rub against your thighs, just as he would if he were with you.

His breath hitches as you continue rubbing yourself, the sound of his voice a low growl in your ears, even with the static from the call.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful."

His breath is hoarse as you see his hand slide down his body, down his abs as he rubs them for you through the phone, just as you would.

"I want you to take those panties off, please baby. Let me see all of you."

His words stir something deep inside you, and without thinking twice, you push your pants down, dragging them past your thighs, over your hips. Your heart races as you make sure he’s watching, feeling the weight of his gaze as you slowly expose yourself to him, piece by piece, just like a puzzle.

His eyes glisten as he watches you take them off, his mouth open, full of drool as you open your legs for him, placing the camera directly in front of your pussy.

"God, fuck. You're so fucking wet."

His words send shivers down your spine as you feel your body heat up, the anticipation of what's to come making your heart race. You watch him on the screen, his hand still rubbing his abs, his eyes locked on the camera pointed at your pussy.

"I want you to touch yourself, show me how much you want me," he murmurs as his hands slide further down his body. He smiles, angling the camera right below his bulge as he begins to rub on his v-line.

With instinct, your right hand slides up your body slowly. Your hands slide against your thighs, your stomach, all the way up to your mouth where you silently spit into your hand.

Your hand slides back down your body, your fingertips brushing against your needy clit, so wet and so wanting.

"Wish I was there, my god.. I would spit in that beautiful mouth and make you use that to rub yourself," he murmurs. Your eyes stay trained on his and on his body as he slides his boxers down, his cock springing out from under them.

His words are like a drug to you, making you even more aroused. You moan into the phone, your breath coming in short gasps. Your eyes follow his cock as he spits onto his hand in the same way, his hand sliding to hold the base of his cock.

With a small chuckle, he positions his phone to be right below it. You can see how big he is, how thick he is. He smiles, leaning his cock forward gently to tap it directly onto the camera.

The head of his cock hits the camera with a loud thud three times, you can hear how hard he is.

"Do you like what you see, baby?" he asks, his voice low and seductive as his cock stands straight up, his fingers beginning to slowly stroke against his rigid shaft.

“Do you like it when I slap this dick on this camera for you, just like how I should be slapping it against your clit while I make you cum for me with my fingers.”

He continues to tease you, slowly stroking his cock as he talks dirty to you. "I bet you wish you were here with me, don't you? Feeling my hot cum on your tongue."

His words cause you to rub your clit even faster, your hands diving into your wet folds as you watch him stroke himself.

He leans in closer to the camera, his cock just inches from the lens.

"Mmm, you're such a dirty girl, aren't you?"

He moans, biting on his lips as he watches you pleasure yourself to him. "You love watching me jerk off over the phone for you, don't you?"

He gives a slight thrust of his hips, his cock twitching in his hand. "I bet you'd love to taste it, wouldn't you? To have my cock in your mouth, down your throat, choking on it as I fuck your face."

You moan, murmuring yes a thousand times as you rub your puffy wet pussy for him, your breath hitching every second with just how good he makes you feel.

"Take your fingers and slide them into your wet pussy, baby," he moans out, his hand working magic on his cock as he strokes it even faster for you.

You can see so much precum, so much of his spit running down the sides of it with every stroke he makes. You can't help but wish that it was your spit, that his precum was deep down your throat, and looking at him, that's all you can think about.

You wish you could run your tongue against the shaft of his dick, you wish his hand could be replaced with yours. You wish it was your mouth he was fucking into instead of his hand, wishing that it was your pussy making him feel that divine.

He groans as he sees you slide your fingers inside of your pussy, smiling with his tongue over his teeth as he sees you begin to finger yourself.

You moan softly, arching your back as you push your fingers deeper into your wetness. You glance down at the phone, watching his eyes follow your every move. You can see the lust in his gaze, the desire to be with you right now.

"Oh fuck," he breathes, his voice thick with need. "I wish I was there with you."

The tip of his cock swells, his shaft hard and rigid, just aching for you, and his hand immediately picks up the pace on his cock as he imagines that your fingers inside of you is his cock instead, fucking you so deep.

"I want to fuck you so bad," he whispers, voice strained with desire. "I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around my cock, milking me dry."

He groans, his hips thrusting forward as if he could push his cock through the screen and into you, if only it were that simple.

"I want to breed you," he whispers, his voice thick with desire as he pumps his cock with his hand, stroking it so good for you. "I want to fill your pretty pussy with my cum and make a baby with you."

“tell me you want that”

You gasp, your fingers only moving faster at the mention of having his cum inside of you, spilling out onto your thighs. "Oh god, yes Chris, I want you to breed me.” you moan, slipping your fingers out of your warmth to rub at your swollen clit again in large circles.

You can hear him taking deep breaths on the other end of the line, trying to control his voice from faltering as he rapidly strokes his cock for you. "I wish I was there with you," he says again, his voice strained.

"I would cum inside you, I would cum in you and then I would finger that pussy and rub it all over that wet clit," he moans in the middle of his talking, his voice coming out as if it was meant to be a whine.

You can feel your orgasm building, your fingers moving faster and faster on your clit as you moan louder. You moan, reaching your other hand down to finger yourself at the same exact time, "Oh god, I'm going to come, Chris please come with me," you gasp, your voice breaking.

It's as if you can almost feel him with you, his hands on your thighs holding them for you as he watches you come undone.

“No, slut. Hold it for me,” he coos suddenly.

You gasp out exasperated, your mouth quivering as you slow down your pace, trying to hold yourself together. You want to come so bad for Chris, you want to soak your sheets and scream out his name.

But he won’t let you.

You look at him pleadingly, he can see you so exposed so vulnerable as you look at him, pleading with your eyes.

“Aw, does my baby want to cum for me?” Chris’ voice is soft, as he spits into his hand, his hand slimy and wet as he slides it back onto his cock, rubbing it so fast for you.

You can hear him grunt as he urges you to continue, “I didn’t tell you to slow down. Rub that pussy, now.”

Obeying, your hands find your clit again and you rub your wetness in circles, his eyes never leaving you, moving from your cunt to your face to your tits and back again.

Your legs shake as your movements urge you closer to release, your pussy clenching, begging for his cock inside of you.

Chris nods at you, his voice whiney, “Oh fuck, ma. Oh god, put your fingers back in there for me.”

You whimper as your fingers enter you once again. Staring at his cock, you imagine that instead, it’s him entering you. Chris fucking your pussy so good, Chris in front of you pounding you into the bed.

He lets out a moan, his cock making you salivate and his noises driving you insane with how badly you crave him.

Within an instant, Chris can’t seem to hold himself anymore and instead of denying you like he loves, he’s too close to make you beg anymore.

"Come for me baby," he groans, struggling to keep his eyes open to look at you. "Come all over your pretty hands for me, yes.. God yes."

“Please, Chris,” you whimper, your voice pleading, desperate to come with him, “I need you… I need to feel you.."

"Show me how much you need me, do it slut," he moans, stroking faster. "Show me baby, let me watch you."

Chris leans forward, his lips parted as he breathes your name, his hand still gripping the phone tightly, positioning it so he can see you, and you can see him.

You move your fingers faster, harder, needing that release more than anything else. You hear him do the same, his hand moving faster, each stroke pushing him closer to his ownrelease.

"Come on, baby," he urges, his voice a low growl. "Let go for me. I want to see you fall apart, tell me you want my come.”

“I want you to come, Chris. Please come for me,” you murmur as your body starts to convulse.

You feel your whole body tense with his words, your back arching as the pleasure rips through you, your hands nearly dropping the phone as you finally come for him.

You're lost in the moment, unable to think, unable to do anything but gasp for air, your hand still between your legs as your body quivers, waiting and watching for Chris to come for you.

As promised, Chris follows right behind you, his moans louder than before, and you can hear the sound of him finishing, his voice raw with release and raw with pleasure. You watch as his come drips from the tip of his cock, begging to be licked up.

On the other end of the screen, Chris collapses back onto his bed, laying fully down, his face flushed and his hair messy, his cum all over his stomach.

"Well… that was definitely worth the wait," he murmurs, his voice warm and affectionate. "God, I wish I could kiss you, baby."

You smile to yourself, your heart fluttering at his words. "I wish you could too, Chris," you whisper back, "Come back soon, I'm dying without you here."

"Just a few more days, my love. I promise." He smiles, messing with his hair as he smiles at you. "And when I get back, I’ll take you out, wherever you want to go. Maybe a fancy dinner… or," he pauses, giving you a sly grin, "we could go somewhere more fun, like an amusement park. Y'know, so I can win you a giant teddy bear."

You can’t help but laugh at the image of him winning you a stuffed animal, and you playfully roll your eyes. "An amusement park? Really?" you tease, "You’re gonna win me a stuffed bear?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I’ll win you the biggest one, just so you can carry it around everywhere and make everyone jealous." His smile widens, a grin too big for his face. "And then, we’ll ride all the roller coasters, just to make sure you’re holding onto me the whole time."

He chuckles, throwing his head back at his own remarks.

He makes a soft kiss sound as he continues,"hey, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t fly off the ride. Somebody’s gotta keep you safe, right?" You roll your eyes, smiling at how adorable he is.

"And I think you’d be holding onto me for more reasons than just the ride."

You raise an eyebrow, your heart racing a little as you grin back at him. "Is that so?" you tease a serious undertone to your voice. "Well, maybe I’ll just hold on tight to you then, but only if you win me that bear."

"I'm gonna win you the biggest damn bear you've ever seen."

i love my cutie endings, thank you so much for reading! sorry for any writing mistakes

𖧧 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

matt version : here !

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cloudtransprncy · 2 months ago

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One Night Only - Directors Cut

Jennie Kim X Male Reader | 8k words

One night. That’s all you ever get. By morning, she’ll be gone. You’ll tell yourself this was the last time. You’ll both know it’s not.

AN: Ya’ll might remember this if you followed me last year. Spent the last few weeks reworking it—call it the director’s cut. Also Jennie is still my ult and so her coming back into the light is great.

Consequence. The word sits heavy in your mind as you watch the city from your hotel window. Thirty floors below, New York keeps moving. Never stops.

You flick ash from your cigarette. Every choice has weight. You know this. You called her anyway.

Jennie's mouth is on yours, soft and demanding at once. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and expensive gin, sweet and sharp. Her full lips part against yours, tongue sliding against your bottom lip. Her fingers pull at your hair, just rough enough to send shivers down your spine. Between kisses she breathes, "This is stupid," but her body presses closer, breasts pushing against your chest, hips finding yours.

Commitment. You've spent years avoiding that word. Being tied down always felt wrong. You need movement, new cities, different faces. Maybe that's why things fell apart—she saw what you couldn't admit. You'd always choose the road over staying still.

Her skin burns under your hands, smooth and impossibly soft. When you slide your palm down the curve of her waist to the flare of her hip, she sighs against your neck, her breath hot on your skin. "I've missed this," she says quietly, like she's admitting something she shouldn't. You back her against the wall, pinning her with your body. She arches into you, head tilting back in invitation. You feel her pulse jump beneath your lips when you kiss her throat, right at that spot that always makes her grip your shoulders tighter.

The hotel room is all clean lines and empty space. King bed with white sheets. Bathroom with too many mirrors. Mini-fridge you've already raided. View of the city that probably costs extra. Your record label covers it, so you don't care.

As a kid, you'd search for Virgo in the night sky. Stars were constant when nothing else was. Jennie's like that. No matter how far you go, you always circle back to her.

In the half-dark, her eyes catch the light from outside. She's always seen through you, always known the parts you try to hide from everyone else.

---

She'll come. She always does.

You know she's with someone else now—an actor with a jawline made for billboards. In her world of flashbulbs and red carpets, he makes sense. But you were there first, and somehow, you're still not gone.

It's been a year since you ended things, if you can call it an ending. When you call, she answers. When she texts, you drop everything. Some connections don't break clean.

Stop. Go. Stop. Go.

A day between Chicago and Toronto shows up in your tour schedule. When you hear she's in New York for some event, changing your plans feels inevitable.

At sunset, you text her from your hotel room. The message is simple: Here for the night. Room 3045.

She replies with just a question mark. Your conversations have become this—shorthand that only works because you share history.

"I'm in the city for one night," you say when you call her. The silence on her end isn't hesitation; it's calculation. Background noise filters through the phone—glasses clinking, people talking.

"I got a room, for me and you" you add. "One night only." You hang up knowing she'll decide whether to come. You also know what that decision will be.

The knock comes at 12:17. Three quick taps.

When you open the door, your breath catches in your throat. Jennie leans against the frame, champagne glass dangling between her fingers, but it's her body that has your full attention. Her black dress hugs every curve like it was painted on, stopping mid-thigh to reveal legs that seem endless. The material stretches tight across her hips, then tapers at her waist before swelling to accommodate her breasts. The neckline dips just low enough to make your mouth go dry.

"Started without me?" you nod toward her drink, trying to sound casual while your pulse hammers in your ears.

"Needed something to get me here," she says, her lips curving into that smile that's haunted you for months. Her eyes are dark and knowing, lined with perfect black wings that make them look even more dangerous.

Jennie walks in like she owns the place, hips swaying with each step. Those knee-high socks hug her calves, leading up to a thin garter belt that disappears beneath her dress—a promise of what waits underneath. Her skin glows warm and golden against the black fabric. Her dark hair tumbles in loose waves past her shoulders, the kind of perfectly tousled look that makes your fingers itch to grab it.

Her perfume wraps around you—roses with something darker underneath, expensive and intoxicating. The scent that's followed you to hotel rooms across the country, lingering on your sheets and clothes long after she's gone.

She finishes her drink and sets the glass down with deliberate slowness. Her red-painted nails catch the light as her hand moves to your chest. "We shouldn't keep doing this," she says, but her fingers are already working your shirt buttons, knuckles brushing against your skin with each one. Her touch leaves heat trails down your torso. "It's not fair."

"When has anything been fair?" you ask. Her mouth curves into the smile that's always meant trouble.

"Never," she agrees, pressing her hand against your chest. "So we might as well take what we can get."

When she kisses you, it feels like she's taking something back, something she left with you months ago. Tonight, in this room, she's not the girl from magazine covers or someone's girlfriend. She's yours again, temporarily.

"It's been a while," she whispers against your mouth.

"Too long," you admit.

The door clicks shut behind her. You have until sunrise.

Something electric sparks between you the moment the door clicks shut. The air feels different - charged with memory and want. Your bodies remember each other before your minds can catch up.

You're on the couch in minutes, her weight settling into your lap like she belongs there. This kiss is different from the ones you remember - hungrier, more desperate. Her tongue slides against yours, and you taste gin and desire. Her body presses against yours, soft in all the places you've missed.

Your hands find her curves through the thin fabric of her dress. You squeeze her ass, pulling her closer until there's nothing between you but clothing. She moans into your mouth when you press your hardness against her. You can feel her heat even through layers of fabric.

Jennie breaks the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips for a second before it breaks. Her eyes are dark pools reflecting the city lights outside. They hold yours with an intensity that makes your throat tight.

"I've missed this, Owen," she whispers. Her voice is rough at the edges. She grinds against you, slow and deliberate, the friction making your breath catch. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you back to her mouth. This kiss is deeper, messier, with teeth and tongue and need.

Your hands slide under her dress, finding warm skin. The sound she makes when you touch her bare thighs shoots straight to your groin. You push the fabric higher, revealing more of her, inch by inch. Her breathing quickens as her hips roll against yours. Her nipples are hard points pressing through the fabric, rubbing against your chest.

She lifts her arms as you pull the dress over her head. You toss it aside, forgotten before it hits the floor.

Moonlight spills through the windows, painting her skin silver. She's all smooth curves and shadows in the half-light. Her body is a map you once knew by heart - the slight curve of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, the dip of her collarbone. You take it all in again, relearning her.

Your hands can't stay still. You need to touch every inch of her, remind yourself that she's real. Her skin is impossibly soft under your fingertips, warm and alive. Each touch makes her shift against you, seeking more pressure, more contact.

The sounds she makes are better than any song you've written. Small gasps when you squeeze her thighs. A sharp intake of breath when your thumb grazes her nipple. Low hums of pleasure when you find a spot she likes. Each sound builds on the last, creating a rhythm that guides your hands.

You need to taste her. Starting at her collarbone, you press your lips to her skin. Salt and sweetness and expensive perfume fill your senses. She sighs, her head falling back to give you better access. You work your way across her shoulder, down her arm, learning the texture of her skin with your mouth.

When you reach her breast, you feel her whole body tense in anticipation. The skin here is softer, more delicate. You circle her nipple with your tongue, feeling it harden further. Your hand finds her other breast, thumb rolling over the stiff peak.

"Oh my god," she moans when you take her nipple into your mouth. Her back arches, pushing more of her into your face. The taste of her skin goes straight to your head like strong liquor. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath.

Your free hand slides down her stomach, fingers spread wide to feel as much of her as possible. You trace the edge of her panties, feeling the lace against your fingertips. She rocks against your hand, seeking more pressure. You cup her between her legs, feeling the heat and dampness through the thin fabric. Jennie gasps, her thighs trembling as you press your palm firmly against her covered pussy.

"Fuck," she breathes, grinding down on your hand. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your scalp tingle. The slight pain only makes you harder.

You move to her neck, dragging your teeth along the sensitive skin below her ear. When you bite down - not hard enough to mark, but enough to make her feel it - she whimpers, her whole body shuddering. Your thumb makes slow circles against her covered clit while your teeth work at her neck, finding the spots that make her grip your shoulders.

"I forgot how good you feel," you say against her skin, your voice rough with wanting.

"I want to feel you too," she says, eyes locked on yours. Her pupils are blown wide with desire. Her hand traces up your arm, across your shoulder, around to your back. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving trails of sensation. She tugs at your shirt, impatient now. You let her pull it over your head.

Her hands are everywhere at once, exploring your chest, your shoulders, your back. Her touch starts gentle but quickly turns hungry. She leans down to kiss your neck, her lips hot against your pulse point. Her teeth graze your skin, just hard enough to make you hiss.

As her mouth works its way down your chest, a thought flickers through your mind - does she do this with him? Does she make these same sounds, move in these same ways? The thought knifes through the pleasure for a split second before her touch pulls you back.

Nothing exists outside this room. Not her boyfriend. Not your tour. Just her hands on your skin and her breath in your ear.

"Fuck! I need your dick in my mouth," Jennie says, her voice thick with desire. She slides from your lap in one fluid motion, her body moving with practiced grace. She settles between your legs, her knees pressed against the hotel carpet, thighs spread slightly apart. Her hair falls forward, framing her face as she looks up at you through her lashes.

In the half-light, she's a vision – lips parted and swollen from kissing, chest flushed and rising with quick breaths, her breasts full and nipples still hard from your attention. The garter and stockings against her bare skin create a contrast that makes your mouth go dry.

She runs her hands up your thighs, fingers pressing into your muscles. Her red nails stand out against your skin as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. There's something almost reverential in how she tugs them down – slowly at first, then with growing urgency. Her eyes never leave yours, even as she licks her lower lip in anticipation.

The fabric slides past your hips, and your cock springs free, hard and aching. A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth as she takes you in. She leans closer, her breath warm against your sensitive skin. When she finally looks up at you, her eyes are dark pools of hunger and something deeper – a look that's always been reserved just for you.

"You can have it tonight," you say, your voice rough as her hands wrap around your cock.

"All of it?" Jennie asks with a smile that's pure trouble. Her eyes don't leave yours. You nod, unable to form words.

She leans closer, parts her lips, and lets a strand of spit fall onto the tip. The warm wetness makes you twitch. She uses her fingers to spread it down your length, coating you. Her hand starts moving in slow strokes that make your breath catch.

Jennie sweeps her hair to one side, giving you a clear view. She doesn't break eye contact as she moves closer. Her breath hits you first, warm against sensitive skin. Then her tongue, wet and soft, circles the head of your cock. Your hands grip the couch cushions.

When she takes you into her mouth, the heat is shocking. Her lips stretch around you as she slides down, taking you deeper than you expected. Her tongue works against the underside, finding spots that make your thighs tense. The wet sounds fill the quiet room.

She pulls back, only keeping the tip in her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, teasing the sensitive spot just underneath. Then she moves down again, a little deeper this time. The rhythm is maddening – not enough to get you there, just enough to keep you desperate for more.

Jennie pulls off completely, her hand still working you in slow strokes. She looks up, studying your reaction. Her free hand moves to your balls, cupping them gently, then rolling them between her fingers. The touch is unexpectedly tender compared to the hunger in her eyes.

"You like that?" she asks, knowing the answer. Her thumb traces circles at the base of your cock while her other hand continues its exploration. "You always did."

She leans down and runs her tongue from base to tip in one long, wet stroke. Then does it again on the underside, where you're most sensitive. Your hips lift off the couch involuntarily. She smiles at your reaction, clearly enjoying the power she has over you.

Jennie takes her time, alternating between her mouth and her hands. Sometimes she focuses just on the head, sucking gently while her hand works the shaft. Other times she takes you deep, then pulls back to circle the tip with her tongue. There's no pattern to follow, nothing to prepare you for what comes next.

Her hand slides lower, massaging your balls again before moving even further back. The unexpected pressure makes your whole body tense. She watches your reaction with dark, knowing eyes.

"Hold my hair," she says, pulling off for a moment. She grabs your hands and places them on either side of her head. "I want you to watch."

With your hands holding her hair back, you have a perfect view of her face, of her lips as they stretch around you again. She takes you deeper this time, her eyes watering slightly at the corners. The sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

She pulls off but keeps stroking you with her hand, tight and slick with spit. With her hair pulled back, you can see everything – her flushed cheeks, her bare shoulders, the tops of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. She looks like something from a dream you've had too many times.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" she says, her voice low and teasing. Her hand never stops moving on you. "Always calling me back. Always wanting one more night."

She takes you back into her mouth, just the tip, sucking hard before releasing you with a pop.

"You think about this when you're with other girls?" She speeds up her strokes, twisting her wrist in a way that makes your vision blur. "Bet you do. Bet none of them do it like I do."

Her words hit something deep inside you – a truth you don't want to admit. You tighten your grip on her hair, pulling just enough to make her eyes flash. She smiles, knowing she's struck a nerve.

"That's why you keep coming back," she continues, dropping her head to lick a slow circle around the base of your cock. She moves lower, taking one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently while her hand keeps working your shaft. The dual sensation makes your legs shake.

When she looks up again, there's challenge in her eyes. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Before you can answer, she takes you deep into her mouth again, all the way until you hit the back of her throat. She holds there, swallowing around you, her eyes never leaving yours. The sensation is overwhelming – wet heat and pressure and the sight of her taking all of you.

"Fuck," is all you can manage, and she hums in satisfaction around you.

Jennie works you with perfect focus. Sometimes she takes you deep, her nose nearly touching your stomach, staying there until she needs to breathe. Other times she pulls back to use her hand with her mouth, twisting her wrist in a way that makes spots dance behind your eyes.

Every few strokes she pulls off completely, gathering more spit, making everything wetter, messier. Saliva coats your cock and her chin now, catching the dim light. It should be gross but it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

Time stretches and blurs. It could be minutes or hours. There's just Jennie's mouth, her hands, the heat building at the base of your spine.

She changes her approach, focusing just on the head, sucking harder while her hand works the shaft in quick, tight strokes. The new sensation makes your leg muscles jump. You feel yourself getting close.

"Fuck, Jennie, I'm—" you try to warn her, reaching to pull her head back. You want to make this last, to feel more of her tonight.

She slaps your hand away, hard enough to sting.

"You're giving this to me now," she says, voice raspy from having you in her throat. "And you're giving me more later." Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Jennie doubles down, moving with new determination. One hand squeezes the base while her mouth works the rest. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingernails lightly scratching your inner thigh. The unexpected touch makes you gasp.

She takes you deeper again, moaning around you like she's enjoying this as much as you are. The vibration, the suction, the sight of her – it all becomes too much.

The orgasm hits you like a punch. Your vision blurs at the edges as waves of pleasure roll through you. Jennie doesn't pull away, keeping perfect suction as you come. She swallows around you, the motion extending your pleasure until you're gripping her shoulders to stay upright.

She keeps going until you're too sensitive, until you have to gently push at her shoulders. Only then does she finally release you, looking up with satisfaction in her eyes. A small drop of white clings to her bottom lip before her tongue darts out to catch it.

She reaches for your discarded shirt and wipes her mouth and hands, casual as if she'd just finished a meal. The sight of her using your clothes like this only adds to the intimacy.

Jennie rises to her feet in one fluid motion, her body unfolding before you. She's petite but perfectly proportioned - slim waist, delicate shoulders, toned legs that seem to go on forever despite her height. Standing there in just her knee-high socks and garter, her small, perky breasts catch the dim light. Her skin has a golden glow against the darkness of the room.

She steps between your legs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. Her slender fingers reach for your chin, tilting your face up to meet hers. The gesture is possessive, almost commanding. She leans down, her straight dark hair falling forward to frame both your faces, creating a private world. Her lips find yours, softer now but still hungry. You taste yourself on her tongue, salt and skin.

"I'm not done with you," she whispers against your lips. "You brought me here. We're gonna make the most of it." Her fingertips trace your jawline before she steps back, grabbing your hand to pull you toward the bed.

As you follow her across the room, the city sounds filter through the windows – car horns, distant music, the constant hum of life that never stops. The soft lighting catches on her skin, giving it a warm glow that makes you want to touch her all over again.

Jennie moves onto the bed with natural grace. The curve of her spine draws your eye down to where her waist narrows before flaring into her hips. The small black thong she still wears cuts across her skin, the thin fabric disappearing between her cheeks in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

She positions herself in the center of the bed, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She folds her legs into a 'W' shape, showcasing their length despite her petite frame. The knee-high socks create a striking contrast against her bare thighs. The entire pose is an invitation you could never refuse.

Her hands begin to move across her own body, touching herself with slow confidence. She traces circles around her small breasts, fingers dancing across her skin with a self-assurance that's hypnotic to watch. In the dim light, every movement feels like it's meant just for you.

You notice how different she looks now compared to when she arrived at your door. Her carefully applied makeup is smudged around her eyes. Her hair, once smooth and perfect, is wild from your hands. She looks beautifully undone, more real somehow, and even more stunning for it.

She runs a finger across her lips, still swollen from taking you in her mouth. Then trails it down her neck and over her chest, drawing your eye along the path.

"Come here," she says, her voice low but commanding. She rolls onto her back, her body a landscape of curves and shadows in the half-light.

Though still wearing her thong, the thin black fabric does little to hide what's underneath. As you move closer to the bed, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband and slides it down her legs with deliberate slowness. The last barrier between you disappears as she kicks it aside.

With the same unhurried confidence, Jennie reaches down and uses her fingers to part herself. The gesture is both vulnerable and bold – showing you exactly what you've been missing all these months. Even in the dim light, you can see how wet she is, glistening with want.

You climb onto the bed, feeling the expensive sheets against your palms. The fabric is cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the heat building between you. The mattress gives slightly under your weight as you move between her legs.

Jennie is breathtaking beneath you. Her skin has a slight sheen in the low light, catching the glow from the bedside lamp. Her dark hair fans out against the white pillows, framing a face that's haunted your dreams for months. Her chest rises and falls with quickening breaths, her small breasts topped with hardened nipples that beg for your touch.

But you're not rushing this. Not after all these months apart.

You start at her ankles, where the knee-high socks still cling to her calves. Your lips press against the delicate bone there, feeling her pulse beneath the skin. She watches you through half-lidded eyes as you work your way higher, placing open-mouthed kisses up her calf.

When you reach the top of her sock, you peel it down slowly, revealing more of her skin inch by inch. The newly exposed flesh gets special attention – your lips, your tongue, even the gentle scrape of teeth that makes her shiver.

"What are you doing?" she asks, but there's no impatience in her voice, just wonder.

"Appreciating the view," you murmur against her knee. "Been thinking about this body for months."

You move to her other leg, giving it the same treatment – slow, deliberate kisses that make her skin prickle with goosebumps. Your hands slide up her thighs as your mouth follows, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch.

Her inner thighs are softer, more sensitive. When your tongue traces the crease where leg meets hip, she gasps, her fingers flexing against the sheets. The scent of her arousal is stronger here, making your mouth water.

You detour, moving up to kiss her stomach, the dip of her navel, the subtle ridges of her ribs. Each breath she takes makes her abdomen rise and fall beneath your lips. You work your way to her breasts, taking your time with each one – circling the nipple with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth, feeling it harden further.

"Owen," she sighs, arching into your touch.

Your hands never stop moving, exploring every inch of her like you're memorizing her by touch alone. The curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her sides – all of it perfect, all of it Jennie.

You make your way back down, leaving a trail of kisses from her sternum to her stomach. Her breathing quickens as you move lower, anticipation making her shift restlessly beneath you. When you reach the neat strip of dark hair between her legs, you pause, looking up to meet her eyes.

"You're fucking beautiful," you say, your voice rougher than intended.

Her eyes soften for just a moment before that familiar challenge returns. "Are you going to stare all night, or are you going to do something about it?"

You answer by settling between her legs, pushing her thighs wider. You can't help but stare at the view before you. There's something almost reverent in how you look at her – taking in every detail, every curve and shadow. Her thighs part further, an invitation that needs no words. Between her legs, you notice she's not completely bare – a neat, dark landing strip of hair points down like an arrow, the contrast of it against her skin making your mouth water.

The scent of her hits you first – warm and musky and distinctly Jennie. You breathe her in, letting it flood your senses and cloud your thoughts. Nothing exists but this bed, this woman, this moment.

You lower your head slowly, maintaining eye contact until the last possible second. The first broad stroke of your tongue makes her gasp. You take your time, exploring her with long, flat licks that cover her entirely. Her taste is familiar yet new – sweet and tangy and addictive. You could drown here and die happy.

"Fuck," she breathes, her hips already lifting slightly to meet your mouth.

You switch to softer, more focused touches, tracing her folds with the tip of your tongue. Each pass draws different sounds from her – soft sighs that gradually build to more urgent moans. You map her with your mouth, relearning what makes her breath catch, what makes her thighs shake.

When you find her clit, you circle it slowly, teasingly, not giving her the direct pressure you know she craves. Her fingers find your hair, tightening in frustration.

"Don't tease me," she warns, but there's no real threat in her voice – just desire strained to its breaking point.

You smile against her before giving in, wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking gently. The reaction is immediate – her back arches off the bed, a strangled curse falling from her lips.

Your free hand slides up her body, finding the toned plane of her stomach. You press down firmly, holding her in place as your mouth works against her. The contrast of your hand on her abs while your tongue explores her most sensitive areas makes her writhe beneath you.

She's getting wetter, her arousal coating your chin as you work. You move your tongue in circles, then switch to quick flicks across her clit that make her thighs tremble. Each change in pressure or rhythm pulls new sounds from her throat.

"Oh god, right there," she gasps when you find a particularly sensitive spot.

You slip a finger inside her, feeling her heat clench around you immediately. She's impossibly tight and wet, her body welcoming the intrusion. You curl your finger to find that spot that always drove her crazy. When you find it, her whole body jerks like she's been shocked.

"Right there," she gasps. "Don't stop."

You add a second finger, stretching her gently while continuing to work her clit with your mouth. The combination makes her hips buck wildly against your face. Her hands tighten in your hair, pulling almost painfully.

With each thrust of your fingers, you quicken the tempo, driving deeper into her. Her muscles clench around you rhythmically, like she's trying to pull you further in. Your tongue never stops its assault on her clit, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention.

"Owen," she moans, her voice breaking. "I'm so close."

You pull back just enough to look up at her, your fingers still working inside her. "You still think about this when you're with him?" The question slips out before you can stop it. Your thumb replaces your tongue, circling her clit as you watch her face.

She glares down at you, but her body betrays her, clenching around your fingers. "You're such a dick."

"But you're here anyway," you say, curling your fingers against that spot that makes her whole body jerk. "In my bed, not his."

Her breath catches. "Shut up."

You lower your head again, sucking her clit between your lips while adding a third finger. The stretch makes her gasp, her back arching. You can feel her getting closer – her thighs tensing, her breathing becoming irregular. Her entire body is flushed with heat, a thin sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the dim light.

You establish a relentless rhythm – fingers pumping while your tongue works her clit. The wet sounds of your movements fill the room, mixing with her increasingly desperate moans.

Just as she's about to peak, you ease back, slowing down just enough to keep her on the edge.

"Tell me you missed this," you say against her inner thigh, your breath hot on her wet skin.

"Don't stop," she pleads, hips lifting to chase your mouth.

You stay just out of reach. "Tell me no one does this like I do."

Her hands tighten in your hair, trying to force you back down. "I hate you," she says, but there's no conviction in it.

"No, you don't." You circle her entrance with your fingers, teasing but not pushing in. "Say it, Jennie."

She fights it for a moment, pride warring with desire. Then breaks. "No one does it like you do. Now please—" her voice cracks with need, "please don't stop."

The desperation in her voice sends heat through your entire body. You give her what she wants, diving back in with renewed hunger. Your tongue circles her clit rapidly while your fingers press firmly against that sweet spot inside her. The dual sensations push her toward the edge fast.

Her legs wrap around your head, thighs clamping against your ears as her body tenses. Your free hand reaches up to find her breast, pinching her nipple between your fingers. The added stimulation makes her cry out, her voice cracking with pleasure.

"Owen," she warns, her voice tight and strained. "I'm gonna—"

"Come for me," you command, increasing the pressure, the speed, giving her exactly what she needs.

Her breathing turns ragged, her moans more frantic. The muscles in her stomach tense under your hand as her body coils tight, ready to snap. Her inner walls clench rhythmically around your fingers, the first tremors of her orgasm beginning.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—" Her words dissolve into a broken cry as it hits her. Her back arches high off the bed, her body going rigid. Her thighs shake violently around your head as waves of pleasure crash through her.

"Oh my God!" The words tear from her throat as her fingers pull painfully at your hair. Her body convulses beneath your mouth, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her. "You're so good at that, Owen."

She bites her lower lip hard, her neck straining as her hips jerk uncontrollably against your face. You don't let up, working her through the peak, extending her pleasure until she's gasping and writhing from the intensity.

The aftershocks ripple through her body like tremors, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. Only when she weakly pushes at your head, too sensitive to take any more, do you finally ease back. You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her wrecked expression.

Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks utterly spent, flushed and beautiful in her satisfaction.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks down at you, her gaze dropping to your obvious arousal. Without a word, she reaches forward and spits on it, her saliva glistening as she begins to stroke you. You groan at the contact, your body responding instantly to her touch. You don't let up, working her through the orgasm, only easing the pressure when her hand pushes weakly against your head, oversensitive.

You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her flushed face. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks wrecked in the best possible way.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks up at you, a predatory gleam replacing the post-orgasm haze in her eyes. Without warning, she reaches for your cock and spits on it, her saliva mixing with the wetness still coating her lips from going down on you earlier.

"Now," she says, voice raspy and demanding, "I'm going to fuck you."

She doesn't wait for your response, just straddles your hips and positions herself above you. Her thighs flex as she hovers, teasing you with the heat of her center just inches away from where you need it.

"Tell me how bad you want this," she demands, one hand flat against your chest for balance.

"Just get on my dick already," you growl, grabbing her hips to pull her down.

She resists, maintaining control. "Say please," she taunts, her eyes challenging you.

You nearly laugh. "Fuck you."

"That's the idea," she says with a wicked smile, then finally sinks down in one swift movement, taking you to the hilt.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you hiss as her heat surrounds you. She's impossibly tight after her orgasm, still pulsing slightly from the aftershocks.

"You're so fucking big," she gasps, adjusting to the stretch. There's no sweetness in her voice – just raw appreciation for how you fill her.

Jennie starts to move, not with gentle rises and falls but with demanding, forceful motions. Her thighs flex powerfully as she lifts herself almost completely off before slamming back down. Each drop makes a slapping sound that fills the room, punctuated by her sharp gasps.

The sight of her riding you is mesmerizing. Her small breasts bounce with each movement, nipples hard and dark against her golden skin. Her stomach muscles visibly tighten with each rise and fall, showing off the definition in her abs that she works so hard for. Her hair, now completely wild from your hands, whips around her shoulders as she moves.

"Touch my tits," she commands, grabbing your hands and placing them on her chest.

You squeeze roughly, pinching her nipples the way you remember she likes. Her head falls back, exposing the elegant column of her throat, a string of curses falling from her lips.

"Fucking hell, your cock feels so good," she says, grinding down hard. "Tell me you've missed this pussy."

"Every fucking day," you admit, thrusting up to meet her movements. The force of it nearly bounces her off you, but she adjusts her balance, her strong thighs gripping your sides.

She leans forward, her hands braced on your chest. The new angle lets her grind her clit against your pubic bone with each thrust. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent marks that burn. Her face hovers above yours, her hair creating a curtain around you both. Sweat beads along her hairline, one drop sliding down her temple to her jaw.

"No one fucks me like you do," she admits, the words sounding torn from her. "No one."

With a surge of need, you move between her thighs, pressing her into the mattress. Her legs wrap around your waist, drawing you closer. Your eyes lock as you drive into her, taking control of the pace.

"Fuck, I missed this tight pussy," you growl, watching her eyes flash at your words.

"Shut up and fuck me harder," she snaps back, digging her heels into your lower back.

You slam into her, setting a brutal pace that has the headboard cracking against the wall. Each thrust jolts her body up the bed, her hair splaying across the pillows like spilled ink. Her small breasts bounce with the impact, nipples hard and begging for attention.

Your hands move to her waist, fingers nearly meeting around her small frame. The contrast of your large hands against her tiny waist makes your head spin. You can feel her hip bones under your thumbs, the delicate architecture of her body beneath your palms.

"Like that? This how you want it?" Your voice is rough, almost unrecognizable with need.

"Yes—don't fucking stop," she gasps, her nails raking down your back hard enough to leave welts.

You lean down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss. Your tongues battle for dominance as your bodies slam together. The taste of her—sweet with a hint of salt from her sweat—fills your senses. You break away to trail bites down her neck, leaving marks that will remind her of this night long after you're gone.

She arches into you, offering more of herself. You take advantage, moving to her shoulder, then her arm, leaving a trail of bites and kisses along her skin. The salt of her sweat makes your head spin. When you reach the sensitive skin of her inner arm, she lets out a surprised gasp that turns into a deep moan.

"Oh fuck, don't stop," she pants as you run your tongue along the delicate skin of her armpit, tasting the most primal part of her.

In this position, you can see everything—her face contorting with each thrust, the way her stomach muscles tighten when you hit deep, how her lips part on silent screams when you find the perfect angle. Her hair sticks to her temples with sweat, dark strands clinging to her flushed skin.

Sweat makes your bodies slide together, the hotel room filling with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin. You grip her thigh, pushing it higher, opening her wider. The position stretches her leg up toward her chest, showing off the flexibility from her years of dance training.

"Harder," she demands, her voice breaking as you comply. "Fucking wreck me."

You reach down, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at you as you pound into her. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown with arousal. "This what you came here for? This what you needed?"

Her breathing changes, becoming more ragged. You recognize the signs—she's close again. You adjust your position slightly, hitting that spot inside her that you know drives her wild.

"There!" she cries out, her nails digging crescents into your shoulders.

You maintain the angle, the rhythm, watching her face as pleasure builds. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her body tenses beneath you, on the edge but not quite there.

"Let go," you urge, your thumb finding her clit. "Come for me again."

She shakes her head. "Not yet—not without you."

Something snaps in you at her words. Without warning, you pull out completely and flip her over in one rough motion. She gasps, surprised by the sudden movement as you manhandle her onto her hands and knees. Your hand lands hard on her ass, leaving a bright red handprint on her skin.

"Fuck!" she cries out, more in arousal than pain.

You grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back as you position yourself behind her. Sweat drips down your chest, landing on her back as you line yourself up. You can hear her panting, waiting, her thighs trembling slightly in anticipation.

"This what you want?" you growl against her ear, your chest pressed to her back, cock teasing her entrance.

"Yes," she hisses. "Give it to me."

You slam into her without further warning, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The sound she makes is primal—half scream, half moan. Her arms nearly buckle under the force, but you hold her up with your grip on her hair.

"Fuck!" she cries out, her fingers clawing at the sheets.

You establish a punishing rhythm, each thrust making her entire body jerk forward. Her hair is wrapped tight around your fist like a leash, forcing her back to arch at a severe angle. Sweat makes your bodies slide together, your skin slapping against hers with obscene wet sounds. The musky scent of sex fills the air, heavy and intoxicating.

"Look at you taking it," you say, giving her ass another sharp slap that leaves a fresh handprint. "Always said you were made for this."

She looks back over her shoulder, her face a perfect picture of pleasure-pain, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes. "Fuck you," she pants, but pushes back harder against you, contradicting her words.

The sight of her is overwhelming – her narrow waist flaring out to perfectly rounded hips, the elegant curve of her spine dipping then rising, her hair tangled in your fist. From this angle, you can see everything – the way her back hollows out, how her ass bounces against your hips, the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you both.

You lean forward, running your free hand up her side to roughly grab her breast. The position pushes you deeper, making her gasp. Your fingers find her nipple, pinching hard as you maintain your relentless pace.

"Oh god," she moans, her arms shaking from supporting her weight. "Don't stop."

Her body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, making her skin glow in the dim light. You can see the muscles in her back shifting beneath her skin with each impact, the way her shoulder blades move as she braces against your thrusts.

"Owen," she warns, voice strained with need. "I'm so close."

Her words push you closer to the edge. You increase your pace, chasing both her pleasure and your own. Each thrust now has purpose, driving deeper, harder. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, your control slipping with every sound she makes.

"I'm close too," you admit, rhythm becoming erratic. "I'm gonna cum."

Her body tenses beneath you, muscles tightening as she approaches her peak. You can feel it building—the way she clenches around you, the trembling in her thighs, her increasingly desperate sounds.

"Oh my God, Owen!" she cries out, her voice breaking on your name. "Fill me up!"

Her orgasm crashes through her—you feel it in the way her body convulses, in how she rhythmically tightens around you, in the broken sounds that escape her throat. The sensation of her pulsing around you pushes you over the edge.

Your release hits with an intensity that whites out your vision—powerful, overwhelming, unstoppable. You empty yourself inside her, every pulse accompanied by a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. Her body milks you, drawing out every last sensation until you're both trembling from the force of it.

As the intensity fades, you collapse beside her on the bed, pulling her close against you. Your arm wraps around her waist as you press gentle kisses to her neck and shoulder. Her body still trembles with small aftershocks, her breathing gradually slowing to normal.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sounds in the room are your labored breathing and the distant city noise filtering through the windows. Sweat cools on your skin, making you shiver slightly. Despite the roughness of what just happened, she turns toward you with unexpected tenderness, her small hand coming up to cup your cheek.

She presses her forehead against yours, eyes closed, just breathing you in. A small, almost inaudible snort escapes her as she tries to catch her breath – a startlingly human sound that cuts through the haze of post-sex euphoria. It makes her seem more real somehow, more Jennie than the polished celebrity the world knows.

Her chest still rises and falls rapidly, her heartbeat a quick rhythm you can feel where your bodies press together. Her fingers trace idle patterns on your skin, moving from your chest to your shoulder and back again. It's these quiet moments that always feel more dangerous than the sex – this gentle intimacy that makes you think of what could have been.

"Shit," she finally whispers, a small laugh bubbling up. She looks slightly dazed, her makeup completely ruined, hair a tangled mess. "I forgot how good we are at that."

You brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The gesture is too tender for what this is supposed to be, but you can't help yourself. "Some things you don't forget."

She looks into your eyes and you see a complex mix of satisfaction and something deeper—a longing that mirrors your own. Her hair sticks to her face in damp strands, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light. Even like this—especially like this—she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

As she lies in your arms, her breathing gradually steadying, you can't help but think about what might have been between you in another life—one where you could stay instead of always leaving. One where "one night only" wasn't all you ever had.

---

Hours later, once you’re sure she’s asleep, you slip out of the bed. The sheets make a soft sound as you untangle yourself from her limbs. She doesn't stir.

The hotel room feels different at 3 AM. Quieter. The luxury that seemed impressive earlier now feels hollow, just expensive emptiness. You find your sweatpants on the floor where she pulled them off you hours ago.

The balcony door slides open with a whisper. Thirty floors up, the city spreads out like someone spilled light across black velvet. You light a cigarette, cupping your hand against the wind even though there's no one here to see the brief flare of your lighter.

Inside, Jennie sleeps. Her small body barely disturbs the white sheets. In the dim light filtering from the bathroom, you can see the marks you left on her neck, her shoulders. Evidence that you were here. That this happened.

She belongs to someone else now. The thought should bother you more than it does. Maybe you're just used to it - this pattern of coming together briefly, then separating again. Maybe you've convinced yourself it's better this way.

You take a deep drag, feeling the burn in your lungs. It's cold out here in just sweatpants, but the chill feels necessary after the heat of her body against yours for hours.

You've never been good at staying. It's not a point of pride, just a fact, like your height or the sound of your voice. Commitment feels like drowning to you, always has. You've tried to explain this to her before. She said she understood, but the way she looked at you afterward told a different story.

Below, taxis crawl along streets like yellow insects. People spill out of late-night bars, laughing too loud. The city that never sleeps. You'll be gone from it tomorrow. Another show, another hotel room indistinguishable from this one.

You wonder if her boyfriend knows where she is tonight. If he senses something when she slips back into their shared life tomorrow. If he can somehow smell you on her skin despite the shower she'll take before going home.

The cigarette burns down to your fingers. You flick it over the edge, watching its orange tip tumble into darkness.

Jennie knows you better than anyone. This is the thought that keeps you up at night in cities whose names you sometimes forget. She knows your body, your sounds, the things that make you come undone. Worse, she knows the parts of yourself you try to hide from everyone else.

A melody forms in your head. Something slow and hazy, like smoke curling off a cigarette. Words follow naturally - about being in town just for one night. About needing her. About the room you got for just the two of you.

You mouth the words silently, testing how they feel:

I'm in town for one night,

one night only

I came around to put it down, for one night only

Your fans will think it's just another song about sex. They won't know about the way Jennie looked at you when she came. How her body felt like coming home. How you're already planning when you can see her again, even as you tell yourself this was the last time.

Just one night

Got a room for me and you, for one night only

You wanna ride for a lifetime, this is one night only

The song takes shape in your mind, already feeling like a hit. Your producer will love it. Your label will push it. No one will know it's about her. No one except Jennie, if she ever hears it.

The city is turning blue at the edges when you finally go back inside. Morning approaching. Soon you'll have to leave for the airport, for the next city, the next crowd.

Jennie hasn't moved. You slide in beside her, your skin cold from the night air. She makes a small sound in her sleep and shifts toward your body heat, instinctively seeking you out. Her hand finds your chest, rests over your heart.

You wonder what she'd say if you asked her to come with you to Toronto. You won't ask. You both know the routine by now.

One night only. It's never enough. It's all you can handle.

END.

#cloudtrnsprncy #malereader #smut #kpop smut #cloudtsmut #jennie kim #jennie #male reader x jennie #Spotify

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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The Coprophagic AI crisis

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TORONTO on Mar 22, then with LAURA POITRAS in NYC on Mar 24, then Anaheim, and more!

A key requirement for being a science fiction writer without losing your mind is the ability to distinguish between science fiction (futuristic thought experiments) and predictions. SF writers who lack this trait come to fancy themselves fortune-tellers who SEE! THE! FUTURE!

The thing is, sf writers cheat. We palm cards in order to set up pulp adventure stories that let us indulge our thought experiments. These palmed cards – say, faster-than-light drives or time-machines – are narrative devices, not scientifically grounded proposals.

Historically, the fact that some people – both writers and readers – couldn't tell the difference wasn't all that important, because people who fell prey to the sf-as-prophecy delusion didn't have the power to re-orient our society around their mistaken beliefs. But with the rise and rise of sf-obsessed tech billionaires who keep trying to invent the torment nexus, sf writers are starting to be more vocal about distinguishing between our made-up funny stories and predictions (AKA "cyberpunk is a warning, not a suggestion"):

https://www.antipope.org/charlie/blog-static/2023/11/dont-create-the-torment-nexus.html

In that spirit, I'd like to point to how one of sf's most frequently palmed cards has become a commonplace of the AI crowd. That sleight of hand is: "add enough compute and the computer will wake up." This is a shopworn cliche of sf, the idea that once a computer matches the human brain for "complexity" or "power" (or some other simple-seeming but profoundly nebulous metric), the computer will become conscious. Think of "Mike" in Heinlein's *The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Moon_Is_a_Harsh_Mistress#Plot

For people inflating the current AI hype bubble, this idea that making the AI "more powerful" will correct its defects is key. Whenever an AI "hallucinates" in a way that seems to disqualify it from the high-value applications that justify the torrent of investment in the field, boosters say, "Sure, the AI isn't good enough…yet. But once we shovel an order of magnitude more training data into the hopper, we'll solve that, because (as everyone knows) making the computer 'more powerful' solves the AI problem":

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

As the lawyers say, this "cites facts not in evidence." But let's stipulate that it's true for a moment. If all we need to make the AI better is more training data, is that something we can count on? Consider the problem of "botshit," Andre Spicer and co's very useful coinage describing "inaccurate or fabricated content" shat out at scale by AIs:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4678265

"Botshit" was coined last December, but the internet is already drowning in it. Desperate people, confronted with an economy modeled on a high-speed game of musical chairs in which the opportunities for a decent livelihood grow ever scarcer, are being scammed into generating mountains of botshit in the hopes of securing the elusive "passive income":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Botshit can be produced at a scale and velocity that beggars the imagination. Consider that Amazon has had to cap the number of self-published "books" an author can submit to a mere three books per day:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/sep/20/amazon-restricts-authors-from-self-publishing-more-than-three-books-a-day-after-ai-concerns

As the web becomes an anaerobic lagoon for botshit, the quantum of human-generated "content" in any internet core sample is dwindling to homeopathic levels. Even sources considered to be nominally high-quality, from Cnet articles to legal briefs, are contaminated with botshit:

https://theconversation.com/ai-is-creating-fake-legal-cases-and-making-its-way-into-real-courtrooms-with-disastrous-results-225080

Ironically, AI companies are setting themselves up for this problem. Google and Microsoft's full-court press for "AI powered search" imagines a future for the web in which search-engines stop returning links to web-pages, and instead summarize their content. The question is, why the fuck would anyone write the web if the only "person" who can find what they write is an AI's crawler, which ingests the writing for its own training, but has no interest in steering readers to see what you've written? If AI search ever becomes a thing, the open web will become an AI CAFO and search crawlers will increasingly end up imbibing the contents of its manure lagoon.

This problem has been a long time coming. Just over a year ago, Jathan Sadowski coined the term "Habsburg AI" to describe a model trained on the output of another model:

https://twitter.com/jathansadowski/status/1625245803211272194

There's a certain intuitive case for this being a bad idea, akin to feeding cows a slurry made of the diseased brains of other cows:

https://www.cdc.gov/prions/bse/index.html

But "The Curse of Recursion: Training on Generated Data Makes Models Forget," a recent paper, goes beyond the ick factor of AI that is fed on botshit and delves into the mathematical consequences of AI coprophagia:

https://arxiv.org/abs/2305.17493

Co-author Ross Anderson summarizes the finding neatly: "using model-generated content in training causes irreversible defects":

https://www.lightbluetouchpaper.org/2023/06/06/will-gpt-models-choke-on-their-own-exhaust/

Which is all to say: even if you accept the mystical proposition that more training data "solves" the AI problems that constitute total unsuitability for high-value applications that justify the trillions in valuation analysts are touting, that training data is going to be ever-more elusive.

What's more, while the proposition that "more training data will linearly improve the quality of AI predictions" is a mere article of faith, "training an AI on the output of another AI makes it exponentially worse" is a matter of fact.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/14/14/inhuman-centipede#enshittibottification

Image: Plamenart (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Double_Mobius_Strip.JPG

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #ai #generative ai #André Spicer #botshit #habsburg ai #jathan sadowski #ross anderson #inhuman centipede #science fiction #mysticism

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daydreamgoddess14 · 20 days ago

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💫 For Your Consideration - Act 1 💫

actor!Bucky x fem!actress!Reader (no use of y/n, l/n, reader is not described in any great detail. I save that for the gowns 💃)

Warnings: Hollywood AU, language, internet nasties, flirty!Bucky, a little power imbalance, age-gap (Bucky is around 40, actress reader is closer to 30 or younger if you prefer 🤭)... more to be added later.

Bucky Barnes, the suave and talented leading man of the 'Winter Soldier' movie series, finds himself on the red carpet circuit during awards season with his latest film 'The Howling Commandos'. But the season takes an unexpected turn when he crosses paths with a mesmerizing newcomer - the actress who has become the talk of Tinseltown with her captivating performance in her most recent film. Sparks fly as they navigate silly season in Hollywood, with a spotlight on their every move will their chemistry ignite a real life romance?

< Prev Act | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Next Act >

SEPTEMBER 2025

You hadn't known what to expect.

Sure, you'd done your fair share of press nights, television awards, red carpets and ceremonies, even the occasional movie premiere where (inexplicably) minor b, c and d-listers were invited.

You'd rubbed shoulders with the winners of Love Island, or the quarter finalists of The Voice, wide eyed and looking at each other like you were equally surprised to have been invited to these things.

Toronto was at a whole other level.

You’d miraculously been recognised in a public gym class at your hotel that morning, but other than that you’d been able to blend in like the millions of other tourists.

The studio had ‘loaned’ you the same stylist who’d handled the small flurry of media activity when you’d first been cast in the movie. Becka had been in Toronto ahead of you and had slotted into the third pillar of moral support alongside Dani and Lulu. She’d already taken Lulu with her to track down a selection of outfits to last the week, while you and Dani had been picked up to attend an opening weekend welcome lunch.

Faces of people you’d only ever seen on TV and the big screen breezed past you both while you stayed glued to the wall.

“You should say hello to someone,” Dani muttered into her mimosa.

“If I knew anyone…” you grimaced. You scanned the room again, hoping to see someone, anyone from your movie. “They sent me here to die,” you lamented with a frown.

“Ahh, none of that,” Dani chastised, taking your hand in her own soft palm. “Look at me, this is fine. You entertain strangers all day, every day. This is just an extension of that. Now breathe, smile, relax.”

You did as she asked.

“God, your skin looks incredible,” you marvel, “only you could get off a ten hour flight looking like that.”

“Come on, silly. Let’s at least have a walk around the room and look like we belong here.” She tucked her hand into the bend of your elbow, and nudged you along. “That’s Sam Wilson,” she whispered under her breath, “he’s Bucky Barnes’ agent, and that’s Joaquin Torres with him.”

You looked briefly as Wilson embraced Torres in a huge hug, both of them smiling widely. Distracted, you didn’t notice Dani slip ahead of you to avoid bumping into anyone, leaving you to walk straight into the next person to cross your path.

“Oh, shit,” you hissed, barely managing to keep hold of your glass. A warm hand with a tight grip held your elbow as the collision threatened to send you to the floor.

“You should watch where you’re walking,” a familiar voice chided.

The gruff tone of the Winter Soldier star, Bucky Barnes, was surprisingly gentle despite the harshness of his words. He’d taken a step back out of your personal space, his eyes locked on your face as he waited for you to respond.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, aghast. “I’m really so sorry.”

You stumbled back another step, his hand leaving your elbow.

His eyes narrowed, studying you.

He seemed more curious than annoyed at your embarrassment.

You, on the other hand, turned to retreat quickly with eyes like saucers.

Behind you, Dani had traced her steps back to find you and on seeing Bucky, gave an unintentional squeak of surprise. She clapped one hand over her mouth, the other seeking out yours.

Her gaze darted between you and Bucky.

He gave her a cursory glance before his eyes slid back to you, taking in the flush on your cheeks and the tension in your shoulders. He wondered absently why he found himself unable to look away.

Dani tugged lightly on your hand.

“Please, excuse me,” you breathed, your voice far braver and stronger than you’d expected it to be.

He nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t reply, watching as Dani led you away through the throng of producers, agents and PR reps. Bucky found himself still watching the space you’d previously occupied, his usually stern expression slightly softer than normal.

“Ladies fallin’ at your feet again, old man?” Sam grinned, giving Bucky’s shoulder a gentle shake.

Bucky rolled his eyes and took a long sip of his drink.

“Shut it, Wilson,” he muttered. Sam laughed, clearly enjoying Bucky’s discomfort.

“Ah, come on, Barnes,” he teased. ”Can’t handle a couple of adoring fans? It comes with the territory, you know that.”

You’d caught the tail end of the comment before the surrounding noise had filled the air.

“Oh god,” you mumbled under your breath, glancing over your shoulder as Dani dragged you through the crowd. “I just collided with Bucky Barnes.”

Dani nodded sympathetically, her hand tightening around yours.

“Don’t worry babe, this is a big place. You probably won’t see him again.”

“You think?” You asked, your voice small and tight with the embarrassment of almost falling over in front of the hottest, most famous actor in the room.

“Sure,” she smiled, taking a glass of champagne from a passing tray and replacing your empty one with the full one. “Put it out of your head.”

You nodded.

“Right. No point worrying about it.” Your eyes darted around the room, half hoping to catch another glimpse of Bucky, half hoping to avoid any further encounters.

It wasn’t long before you found your own group of castmates, producers and studio bodies, the memory of bumping into Bucky fading into the background. You were soon caught up in the whirlwind of conversations about upcoming projects, gossip and industry news.

The afternoon slipped away, with Dani diligently whipping out her phone to note down the various commitments and events you were being invited to. Your schedule was becoming increasingly hectic, and the thought of everything the rest of the week had in store caused a riot of nerves in your stomach.

“You should run a side hustle as my glamorous assistant,” you teased.

“Hmm, the best organised hair stylist in the industry. Curling wand in one hand, calendar in the other.” She laughed, linking her arm through yours.

“Thank you,” you kissed her cheek softly.

“The studio would get you an assistant, you know?”

“I think I prefer you, if you’re not too busy?”

“You’re the only one I’m here for, babe. Just make sure I have enough time to do your hair.”

You grinned at her, your heart swelling with affection.

“You’re the best. No one else is stealing you away.”

“You dragged me to Toronto,” she said as if it had been a hardship, “of course no one else is stealing me!”

Relief washed over you, having her and Lulu with you was grounding and comforting.

You made your way towards the exit, ready for a reprieve from the hectic, whirlwind of an afternoon.

The cinema was dark, filled with a growing hum of anticipation. You’d dressed down today, in jeans and a sweater, the polar opposite of awards season glam. It was a relief to be an unknown, no one paid you any mind as you slunk down into your seat and took the popcorn box from Lulu.

Your studio had given you tickets to the Howling Commandos premiere and panel and as the opening credits rolled, you noticed Bucky Barnes slip into the theatre and take a seat next to Yelena Belova on the front row, their heads bent as they whispered to each other.

You tore your eyes away and concentrated on the movie.

It quickly pulled you in, the dialogue, the visuals, the acting. You could feel the tension radiating from the screen.

Two hours later, tears streaked your face, the film's emotional punches had hit just right. It had been more powerful than you anticipated and you couldn’t wait to hear from the director as the lights flicked back on.

The energy in the theatre was electric as Belova, Barnes and Torres made their way to the stage, guided by a local journalist acting as the moderator.

You paid close attention.

You were used to a surface level of media scrutiny, the local paper outside the theatre after a show, but you had a feeling that nothing could prepare you for your own up and coming premiere.

The cast of the Howling Commandos were clearly comfortable in front of such a large audience, and played off the panel's questions with ease.

They were a joy to watch.

Insightful, witty… Belova heaped praise on her starring actors and they responded in kind.

They left you in awe.

You'd crept forwards, onto the edge of your seat.

“And what are you guys looking forward to seeing over the next few days?” The moderator asked curiously.

“The Stark documentary for me,” Joaquin Torres grinned.

“Cabaret looks so fun.” Yelena added.

“For me, it's Cabaret and also the new John Walker movie,” Bucky said with a smirk, the audience erupted into laughter at the mention of his box office rival and Winter Soldier co-star.

“Musical fans, huh? Think we might see you in a musical one day?”

Bucky scoffed.

“God no, no one wants to hear me sing,” he laughed. The audience vehemently disagreed, as did Yelena.

“She's gonna put you in one,” Torres laughed, slapping Bucky on the back.

“She can try!”

“I'm gonna write it next,” she teased.

From far up in the auditorium, you could see the tops of Bucky’s ears pink.

Next to you, Lulu's hand reached for yours, gripping tightly and leaving crescent moon shapes on your palm.

“He's coming to see your movie tomorrow,” she hissed.

“Of course he's not, he's just saying that to be polite. He probably can't even go and get a coffee without getting mobbed. How's he going to sit in a movie theatre?” You fobbed her off but her words lingered in your mind.

The panel concluded its questions, and the auditorium burst into applause.

The cast was shepherded out of the room, fans already gathering, eager to catch a glimpse of their favourite actors.

You slipped through the crowded space, trying to stay out of the way. Lulu was ahead of you, navigating her way out of the area, and Dani stayed right behind you.

It was highly unlikely you’d be recognised here, but you'd already begun to notice an uptick in the number of people doing a double take when they saw you, from the girl in your gym class that morning, to the barista at the coffee shop at lunchtime.

You couldn't help but notice that the thin veil of anonymity you had enjoyed was quickly slipping away. With your own movie premiere just around the corner, you knew it was only a matter of time before your face was plastered everywhere.

“Sit still please,” Lulu breathed, her face millimeters from yours and pinched in concentration as she applied false lashes to your own.

You did as she asked and tried not to look past her at the outfit Becka was steaming. The first of three, one for morning interviews, one for the premiere and one for the party your studio was hosting that night. Next to Lulu, Dani unfurled her case of equipment.

“Hair up or down?” She asked, not you though, she was asking Becka.

Becka took a moment to examine the outfits.

“Can we do up today and have it down later tonight?”

“That’s fine, I can style it loosely so it’s easy to take down this evening.”

“It’s so exciting!” Lulu giggled. She finished the lashes and stood up straight, stretching her back.

“Scary exciting,” you corrected her. “My butterflies have got butterflies.”

She switched places with Dani who squeezed your shoulder before brushing through your hair.

“Just be yourself and have fun,” she chimed in.

Easier said than done.

You embraced the interviews, your confidence growing with each publication. It was a relief to know you’d done all you could to support your movie and to give it the hype - and the premiere - you felt it deserved.

The girls had gone ahead of you to the theatre, leaving you to walk the red carpet alone.

Your co-stars took you under their wing.

Despite it being your face (and ass) on the billboards, there were relatively few flashes from the photographers.

“They’ll regret sleeping on this moment, love,” your charming movie love interest, Steve Rogers told you warmly from a few steps further along the carpet.

“Doesn’t bother me in the slightest,” you smiled, “I think I prefer them not caring who I am.”

“Spoken like a true star in the making,” he moved to your side and the photographers went into a frenzy, “they’ll be fighting for your attention soon enough.”

Steve offered you his arm and you took it gratefully, leaving the red carpet behind and heading into the theatre.

It was a bigger auditorium than the one the previous night for the Howling Commandos movie, but yours was there on a much bigger budget and with a well known director attached.

You squeezed Steve's arm, slightly hesitant to follow him, but he pulled you along and into the room.

A cheer went up through the room at the sight of you both and you scanned the crowd for a glimpse of the girls as the lights began to fade. Just as you gave up hope of spotting them, you saw Dani’s hand fly into the air and wave. You blew her a quick kiss and sat down.

You could hear the murmurs of anticipation in the darkness, rustles of people shifting in their seats and getting comfortable.

This was the first time you would see the finished product - the final edit of the film you’d poured your soul into, upended your entire life for.

You were nervous at seeing yourself on screen, but there was also a thread of excitement, making your heart race.

This was the kind of life changing event that you, and others in your circumstances, had always talked about.

And yes, it could all be over by this time tomorrow.

The movie could flop, and you’d go back to being one of the nuns on the Sister Act tour, or one of the Mean Girls.

Your company would welcome you back with plenty of gin and hugs, and life would go on.

But for this night, this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you wanted to soak it all in.

As the film unravelled before you, you hardly recognised yourself on screen.

The movie transported you, your memories of filming and rehearsals merging with the outcome you were now finally watching.

An overwhelming sense of pride filled you.

When the screen went black and the credits rolled, the audience erupted into a deafening applause.

It drowned out everything around you and you could barely hear the moderator call you to the stage for the panel.

As you lined up on the stage, the applause slowly died down.

The host smiled warmly.

“Welcome, and congratulations! It seems like these guys are pretty happy with the movie!”

Cheers and shouts filled the room again.

“Thank you so much!” Steve called out to the audience.

“We'll come to our leading lady first of all, huge experience for you, how's it feel?” She asked you excitedly.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the words to describe the mix of emotions coursing through you. It was hard to articulate something that was so difficult to explain, it all felt so alien to you.

“Gosh, it's crazy!” You exclaimed happily. “I'm blown away by all the support - I can't thank you enough.”

The audience cheered in response to your heartfelt gratitude, the energy in the room sky high.

“Now, for those who don't know, you're an accomplished stage performer, how different was this to your usual?” The moderator asked.

You took a moment to consider the question.

“It's definitely a different experience. Theater is live, it's raw and in the moment - no redos or do overs,” you explained, pausing for a breath.

“You say that, but is it true you sang each take live?” she queried.

“Yeah, I didn't realise until a few takes in that I didn't have to belt it out every time,” you admitted sheepishly.

There was a murmurer of laughter through the audience. You laughed with them, your cheeks turning pink at the revelation.

“Oh, your poor voice! I can only guess how your throat must have felt after a few takes on those songs.”

The questions progressed quickly through updating the original musical for a modern audience and the casting process before the host wrapped up with some more lighthearted queries.

“Were there any other inspirations both you and the production team drew on aside from the movie and the stage show?” She asked.

“Absolutely, for me in particular I watched a lot of Chicago, Sweet Charity, Burlesque… movies with incredible choreography and those instantly recognisable songs.”

“Well it certainly shows, the movie blends seamlessly into the modern era,” the host encouraged.

“It does, I think it helps that it was already such a forward-thinking show to begin with. The themes really are timeless.” Steve added.

“And finally, have you had a chance to see any of the movies being shopped around yet?”

“I'm seeing the Stark documentary tomorrow,” Steve offered.

“And I saw Howling Commandos yesterday,” you smiled.

“How was it?”

“A masterpiece. I cried through the whole thing. The cast were incredible -”

“Bucky Barnes, right?” She interrupted and the audience in your theatre cheered loudly. You nodded in agreement.

“He was… beautiful to watch. And so lucky to work with Yelena Belova, she's a visionary.”

The host thanked you and the rest of the cast, and the event security appeared from the wings, ready to prevent the audience from rushing down to the stage and mobbing the cast.

From your vantage point, you could see Dani sitting about halfway back in the auditorium, waving enthusiastically.

You caught her eye and waved back, the brightness of the auditorium lights now illuminating her features clearly.

The man sitting directly in front of her seemed a little bewildered by your exchange, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity.

He appeared familiar, but the baseball cap he was wearing hid most of his face from your view.

You found yourself squinting, trying to get a better look at him.

The man's shoulders looked broad and toned, his frame solid. As you leaned slightly to the side to get a better angle, the man jerked his head up, noticing your curious gaze.

Bucky Barnes remained unphased and held your gaze for a moment without blinking, challenging you to make a scene by drawing attention to him.

After what felt like an eternity, he winked, the corner of his mouth lifted into a sly smirk.

You felt your cheeks heat up under the bright lights, and embarrassed, tore your eyes away from him, focusing your attention back on the studio PR rep who was outlining the plan for the short meet-and-greet sessions and the after-party event following the screening.

Your heart thundered in your chest, your mouth suddenly dry but your hands clammy.

It felt inevitable that you’d run into Bucky again - though hopefully figuratively rather than literally - the Hollywood press was in a frenzy, hyping up the impact that both movies would have on the upcoming awards season.

Anticipation coiled and twisted in your stomach at the thought of seeing him again, and the very real possibility of talking to him. You’d be lying if you said the notion didn’t exhilarate you.

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asunsetgrace16 · 2 months ago

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✧ 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗗 ⎥ 𝗙𝗠45

Pairing: Fraser Minten x fem!reader

Warnings: sad sad sad, swearing

Summary: Fraser gets traded, and it's a sad day for the Marlies

Notes: So this is sad. I'm sad. everyone is sad. apologies in advance.

masterlist⎥ navigation

Word Count: 716

Fraser’s ringing phone interrupts the sounds of Criminal Minds playing on the hotel tv. He’s already set up in his hotel room and is taking the chance to lounge before the game. It’s different being alone, with Grebs being traded to Philly in the morning and leaving Fraser without a roommate.

The caller ID says GM Treliving, which Fraser finds strange. He saw the news of some Toronto trades but was putting it out of his mind as best he could. It was hard enough having to say goodbye to Grebs already this morning and ship him off to Lehigh Valley.

His palms are sweating as he slides to answer the call, “Hello.”

“Hi Fraser. How are you?”

“Good, I guess. We are in Providence today.”

“Yes, that’s what this is about. Earlier today we traded for Brandon Carlo on the Bruins. I just finished ironing out the details with Sweeny, and we packaged you as part of the return. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done as a Leaf, and wish you the best of luck in Boston. I gave Sweeny your number, so he should be calling you shortly. Thank you again, Fraser.”

“Ok…thanks. Bye.” He replies, hanging up in a daze. Traded. He’s been traded. And the Marlies play Providence tonight. What are the goddamn odds?

Fraser should be going to find his coaches, his teammates, but he picks up the phone and dials your number instead. His fingers anxiously tap on his knee as the call rings.

“Hi baby, what’s up? You don’t usually call this close to a game.”

The sound of your voice brings him to tears, and he chokes out, “I was traded. To Boston.”

The line is silent for a second as you get your bearings. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. I wish I could be there. Is there anything I can do?”

“Um…I’m just trying to wrap my head around it. I kinda feel like I should’ve expected this since Treliving got Laughton today too, so between him and JT, there wasn’t really a spot for me any time soon,” Fraser says, voice wavering and thick with emotion, “Can you go over to my place amd pack some stuff?”

“Yeah of course. I will come down as soon as I can. Let me know where to ship things.Are you going to play for Providence tonight?” you ask.

“Mhmm. I don’t know if I’ll play. I don’t even know.”

“Ok. Let me know if anything changes, alright? And Fraser?”

“Yeah?”

“Two years. Two years until I’m done with school. We got this. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The silence of his room is deafening. Absent-mindedly Fraser throws his suitcase on Grebs’ –the other bed, shoving clothes and dress shoes and toiletries back inside. He grabs his suit and garment bag from the closet and triple checks that he has everything. He wipes at his face, having forgotten that he was crying when his hands come away wet. Standing alone in a Rhode Island hotel room, wearing Marlies gear and wishing for you, Fraser cries.

Hockey’s a business, and Fraser knows that. But secretly, tucked away deep down inside, he had hoped that he meant more to the Leafs, at least enough that they would keep him despite being one of few true trade chips. He zips up his suitcase, throws a charger in his backpack and goes to find his coaches. Down the hall to the left, last door. He knocks and waits. Fraser knows his face is red and puffy, obvious that he’s been crying. His coach isn’t surprised to see him, and opens the door wider for Fraser to enter. There are handshakes and more thank you’s and good luck’s, pats on the back and comforting squeezes.

Fraser gets the call from Sweeny back in his room, exchanging pleasantries before being told to report to Providence. He shoots a text to the group chat and goes next door to Denis’s room. The next round of goodbyes is even harder, even more emotional. Everyone is supportive, lightning the mood with good-natured chirps about Fraser being the enemy now that he’s a Bruin. His step is a little lighter when he walks out of the hotel doors, Uber ordered and on to the next chapter.

#ᐩ☉｡.〈 sunset works 〉＞ fics #〈 fraser minten 〉#fraser minten #fraser minten x reader #hockey imagine #nhl x reader #fraser minten imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl imagine #nhl fic

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taratarotgreene · 7 months ago

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Weekly Astrology Jupiter Retrograde, Pluto Direct

Oct. 7- October 14 Oct. 7 Saggy Moon minor moon Saturn square aspect. It’s the one-year anniversary of the Hamas-Israel attack. Sagittarius rules International Politics. Asteroid 4332 Milton is currently at 22° Sagittarius. opposite a Stationing Jupiter at 21° Gemini, the midpoint of Saturn and Neptune in Pisces. Jupiter, the thunder and lightning sky god in an Air sign, definitely creating…

#Astrology psychic Tarot card reader Tara Greene #Canada #Canada&039;s 1 Psychic Voted and Certified #Canada&039;s 1 Psychic Voted and Certified Psychic #Holiday party and event psychic tarot readers palm tea leaf lipstick #Jupiter turns Retrograde #Mercury Quincunx Uranus #Pluto stations direct #psychic spiritual consultant Tara Greene Toronto #the last stand #Toronto 1 Tarot Reader #Venus opposite Uranus

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qrrieterisunnq · 11 months ago

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can you write about Jamie being anxious about having another surgery again but the reader is the best girlfriend and is there to soothe and comfort him.

here you go my sweet nonnie! this is my first time writing for Jamie so I hope it doesn't suck!🤭😅

This has to stop. Jamie is like a body without a soul. For the past four days, he’s been walking around the apartment like a ghost. He’s supposed to undergo yet another shoulder surgery.

You thought he was ready for it since he had undergone it before but seeing him so anxious about it is something you didn’t expect.

“Jamie,” you start carefully not wanting to startle him as he’s sitting on the couch focused on the game playing on the tv.

“Mhmm?” he nods his head but doesn’t look at you, his eyes never leaving the game. You walk over to him, sitting next to him, your knee hitting his leg.

“What is going on?” you nudge his knee, tilting your head to the side.

“Nothing.” He sends you a tipped-lipped smile.

“Jaimie, I know you,” you sigh, turning more at him, now sitting cross-legged on the couch. “Don’t even start with that.”

“Baby,” he looks over at you, his head thrown slightly backward. “I don’t really want to talk about that.”

“But I want to talk about it. I can see how it’s eating you alive,” you place your hand on his tight, giving it a tender squeeze. “What is going on?” you ask shaking with his tight. “Is it the surgery?”

Jaimie looks at you, the anxiety in his eyes is looking straight at you. “Yeah,” he nods, taking in a deep breath. He turns to look at your hands gripping yours. “I-I know I shouldn’t have been anxious about it when I underwent that same one, but it’s scary,” you bring your hands to your lips kissing his knuckles. “Something can go wrong and my entire career is in shit.”

“I know baby, but the doctors know what to do, and they do this surgery on a daily basis. I know it can be scary, but you’ll be okay. And in a few months, you’ll have the first game of the new season.” You smile at him, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah, but what if somethi-“ he tries to say but you shut him off by pressing your lips on his in a deep loving kiss.

“No ‘what if’s’. Everything will be okay, baby, no need to stress about those things.” You stroke his cheeks with your thumbs, the soft skin of your palms against his scared skin on his cheeks is something that can calm him down every time.

“Thank you, y/n,” he let out a sigh, a tear sliding down his cheek. “So much. I don’t know what I would do without you.” He kisses your palm and then your fingertips.

“Starved probably,” you giggle when you see the pout on his lips. “No I’m kidding, you would be fine without me.”

Jaimie, laughs, laying his head on your breasts. You shift under him in a lying position so he’s now lying flat on top of you between your tights.

“I love you y/n. And when I’ll have after surgery, we’ll drive to Toronto to see my parents and you’ll spend some time with my mom.” He smiles up at you, his cheeks flushed pink a little bit.

“And I love you too, now come get some sleep. I need my nap.” You mumble in his hair, earning a low chuckle from him. Before you draft to your sweet dreams, you feel his lips pressed against your left upper breast, right where your heart is. This is what he does every time before sleeping. Kissing your heart so you know he loves you so fucking much.

#jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale x reader #jd9 #jamie drysdale blurb #jamie drysdale fluff #nhl #philadephia flyers #flyers lb #nhl hockey #nhl players #ask rez 🫶🏼#answered🫧

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misshoneyimhome · 9 months ago

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500 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

“You can rest your head on me, I don’t mind.” I Joseph Woll ✿

Requested: yes/no [I hope this is close to what you imagined bb]

Summary: From the moment Joseph Woll steps into the small café, everything shifts. Despite the shadows of your past, no one seems a better match than the goaltender in his shining hockey gear.

Tropes & warnings: no warnings, it's just pure fluff 😊✿ strangers to lovers, hesitant reader, adorable boyfriend!Joe x reader

Other notes: At our next stop for the Followers Festival, I'm thrilled to introduce Joseph Woll once more 🤗 He’s as charming as ever, and with his extension with the Leafs, he remains close to our hearts ❤️

Word count: 3.6K

➼｡ﾟ

When you started your shift as nothing but a regular barista on this seemingly ordinary July morning, you had no idea what the day had in store for you. The air was already warm and slightly humid, typical for Toronto in midsummer, and the sun peeked through the buildings, casting a soft golden glow on the cobblestone streets. You took a deep breath, savouring the stillness of the early morning before the city fully awoke. Everything seemed perfectly normal.

You unlocked the doors of the small, cosy café, tucked away in one of the hidden corners of the city, its charm known only to locals and a few lucky tourists. The scent of freshly baked pastries from the bakery next door mingled with the aroma of coffee beans, creating a comforting atmosphere that always lifted your spirits. You spent the first hour preparing to open, moving through the familiar routine with practised ease. The rich, earthy scent of coffee filled the air as you ground the beans, the soft hiss of the espresso machine breaking the silence.

The café itself was a quaint little place, with mismatched furniture that somehow fit together perfectly. Vintage posters adorned the walls, and small potted plants added a touch of greenery. You arranged the pastries in the display case, making sure the croissants, muffins, and cookies looked enticing. You wiped down the tables, fluffed the cushions on the worn leather sofas, and set up the chalkboard sign outside, detailing the day's specials in your best attempt at fancy handwriting.

Despite the tranquillity of the café, your mind was a whirlwind. It was going to be a slow Sunday, just what you needed after the stressful week you had endured. The memories of several heated arguments with your now ex-boyfriend played on a loop in your head, as the fights had been intense, filled with hurtful words and accusations. Yet, the breakup, though painful, had brought a strange sense of relief. You were free from the constant tension, but the wounds were still fresh, and the loneliness was starting to creep in.

It had been everything you dreaded. The two of you had been together for three years, slowly growing older together. But you were both still very young, only 20 years old, just stepping into adulthood and trying to navigate the complexities that came with it.

You worked your part-time job at the café alongside your studies in English literature, as you had always been captivated by romance novels, losing yourself in stories of passionate love and soulmates. You dreamed of experiencing the kind of love that made your heart race and your breath catch. But your boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend as of two days ago—was far from any of the book boyfriends you’d read about. He was sweet and kind, sure, and he treated you well enough and never harmed you. Yet, you never felt like you were truly in love, like how they described it in those books. You never had the flutter in your stomach or the difficulty in breathing just thinking of him. Your palms didn’t get sweaty, and your knees didn’t go weak. You could think perfectly logically, and you never longed for him when you were apart.

With your ex, you simply felt secure. It was as though you were fulfilling the norms and expectations of society by finding a partner to settle down with. Everything was planned. When you’d both finished your studies, you’d then move in together after finding secure jobs and a stable income. And then you’d prioritise building a family after your wedding. It was all mapped out.

But you couldn’t help but feel like it was all wrong. Over the years, he grew less sweet and kind, becoming more rude and cruel in the way he spoke to you. His once gentle words turned harsh, and his patience wore thin over the smallest things. You had never been an explorer in regards to sexual activity, yet he’d encouraged you to try things out with him. Though a part of you felt pressured, you went along with it, but you never truly experienced the wonderful high many women spoke of. It was more just him doing his thing while you followed along until he reached his release. It felt wrong. It was nothing like you imagined a romantic relationship should feel like. Nothing like the tales you read about.

As time went on, you grew more convinced that those stories were just that—stories. The passionate love, the soulmates, the fairy tale endings—they all seemed like fantasies, unattainable and unrealistic. Your relationship had become a checklist of societal expectations rather than a journey of love and discovery. Moreover, your boyfriend wasn’t as good a person as you’d thought all those years. And though the realisation was painful, it also brought a sense of clarity. You knew you couldn’t continue living a life that felt so hollow, so far removed from the dreams you once cherished.

And so, you made the difficult decision to end things. For the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope, a belief that perhaps, somewhere out there, the kind of love you had read about in your beloved romance novels could exist for you.

You took a moment for yourself, leaning against the counter and closing your eyes. The café was your sanctuary, a place where you could escape from the chaos of your personal life. Here, you could lose yourself in the rhythm of making coffee, the friendly chatter of regular customers, and the peaceful ambience. You embraced the day with a smile, determined to find solace in the simple joys of your job.

So, as you flipped the sign to "Open," you took another deep breath, ready to face whatever the day might bring. The familiar routine was comforting, and you hoped the slow yet steady stream of customers would help keep your mind off your troubles. Little did you know, this ordinary July morning was about to turn into something far from ordinary.

And his name was Joseph Woll.

You were wiping down the counter when the bell above the door chimed, announcing the arrival of a new customer. You looked up and were greeted by a tall figure stepping inside, shaking off the light drizzle that had just begun outside. At first, you didn’t recognise him. His scruffy beard was a departure from the clean-shaven look he sported in all the pictures and interviews you had seen. Yet, it added a rugged charm to his already handsome face. But then, his eyes—those dreamy, captivating eyes—met yours, and it hit you. Joseph Woll, the Toronto Maple Leafs goaltender, was standing right in front of you.

Joseph approached the counter with a relaxed smile, his presence bringing warmth to the otherwise dull day. "Good morning," he said, his voice soft yet confident. "Can I get a medium latte, please?"

You could hardly believe it. Here was a professional athlete, a local celebrity, standing in your little café. Yet, you managed to respond, though a bit shakily, "Of course, coming right up."

And as you began preparing his order, you couldn't help but steal glances at him. He was casually dressed in a hoodie and jeans, yet he carried himself with a relaxed elegance. You noticed how his eyes scanned the café, taking in the cosy decor, the mismatched furniture, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. And when his gaze then returned to you, there was a softness in his expression that made your heart skip a beat.

Joseph was an absolute sweetheart.

You felt his eyes linger on you a little longer than perhaps they should have, just like yours lingered on him. It was as if there was an inexplicable connection, a silent understanding that passed between you. Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you hoped he didn't notice the blush creeping up your neck.

You were almost unable to speak, yet you managed to say the simple words any barista would instinctively say to a customer. "Here you go, one medium latte." Your hands felt slightly shaky as you handed him the cup, but you managed to keep your composure.

Joseph took the coffee with a grateful nod. "Thanks," he said, his eyes twinkling.

As he turned to leave, you couldn't help but mentally facepalm yourself. What’s wrong with me? you muttered under your breath. It was the first time someone, let alone a stranger, had made you feel so weak in the knees, caused your heartbeat to quicken, and your lips to tingle.

You watched him walk out into the drizzle, the bell above the door chiming softly as he left. It was just a brief encounter, a one-off experience, and you knew you’d probably never see him again. Yet, you felt a thrill you hadn’t experienced in a long time—a flutter of excitement that lingered long after he was gone.

For the rest of your shift, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. Every time the door opened, you found yourself hoping it was him coming back - the memory of his kind eyes and warm smile stayed with you, a small beacon of light in an otherwise grey day. Even though you knew it was probably unlikely, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. It was a sensation you’d thought was reserved for fairy tales, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, those romance stories you adored could hold a kernel of truth.

However, to your great surprise, the following Sunday, Joseph came back. It was the same early morning time, just as the sun was starting to break through the clouds and cast a soft light into the café. The shop was quiet, with only a few regulars occupying the cosy corners. When the door opened and the bell chimed, you looked up to see him standing there, a familiar, charming smile spreading across his face.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice warm and friendly. "One medium latte, please,” he placed his order, and you noticed how his eyes seemed to light up when they met yours.

"Coming right up," you nodded, trying to keep your composure, but inside, your heart was racing.

And as you prepared his drink, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him again, feeling that familiar flutter in your stomach. When you then handed him the latte, he thanked you with that same sweet smile before turning to leave. The bell chimed again as he exited, and you found yourself staring after him once more, a small, hopeful smile on your lips.

The next time you saw Joseph was on Wednesday evening, when you were working an extra shift to earn a bit more money during the summer. The café was busier this time, with a steady stream of customers keeping you on your toes. Yet, as you were in the middle of making a cappuccino, you saw him walk in again, causing your heart to skip a beat, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

He waited patiently while you finished the order you were working on, and when it was his turn, you shared a silent moment of recognition. "Medium latte?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, please," he replied with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling.

And as you yet again prepared his drink, you felt his gaze on you, and you couldn’t help but look up. Your eyes met, and for a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world faded away. You then handed him his drink, and he offered a quiet thank you before turning to leave. Yet, just as he reached the door, he glanced back, catching you looking in his direction - causing you to quickly look away, feeling your cheeks flush.

"Shit…" you muttered to yourself, slightly embarrassed.

Over a week passed before you saw Joseph again, this time on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Most people were out enjoying the lovely weather, so the café was relatively quiet. And with only one other coworker busy chatting with a friend, you decided to pick up one of your favourite romance novels to pass the time.

You had no idea how long you had been absorbed in your book when a familiar, endearing voice suddenly broke into your dream world. "What are you reading?"

Startled, you looked up to see Joseph standing there, his handsome face alight with curiosity. "Oh, um… it’s just a silly romance… nothing special," you stammered, feeling a bit self-conscious.

"It must be pretty engaging if you were so absorbed," he chuckled. "I think I’ve been standing here for about ten minutes and you didn’t even notice me."

"Oh my god, I’m so sorry about that," you quickly apologised, feeling rather unprofessional.

But Joseph simply laughed, waving off your apology. "It’s fine. It was actually quite entertaining watching you read."

You felt your cheeks flush a little. "So… the usual?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation back to familiar ground.

"Yes, please. And maybe you could help me with something else…" he trailed off, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"Sure, anything," you replied, curious.

"So, how many times do I have to come here and hope that you’re working before it doesn’t seem weird for me to ask for your name and number?" he asked, his tone playful yet sincere.

You found yourself gasping, completely caught off guard. "Well… um… maybe… this could be the final one?" you managed to say, a shy smile forming on your lips. “I’m y/n.”

Joseph’s smile widened, and he handed you his phone. "Great. Here you go. I’m Joe by the way.”

With trembling fingers, you then typed in your name and number, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. And as you handed his phone back, you couldn’t help but feel that this might be the beginning of something special, something that could finally make you believe in the kind of love you had always dreamed of.

Dating Joseph Woll turned out to be remarkably close to what you’d imagined from your romance novels, and it felt as though the universe had conspired to make your dreams come true. And with it being the hockey off-season, Joseph had plenty of time to spend with you, and he made every moment count.

Your early dates were a delightful blend of excitement and comfort. Joseph would pick you up with a thoughtful compliment and occasionally a bouquet of your favourite flowers. You visited cosy cafes, museums, explored Toronto’s hidden gems, and enjoyed long walks by the lake, where he’d hold your hand and listen intently to your stories and dreams.

One evening, he then surprised you with a picnic at a quiet spot in High Park. And as you sat together on a chequered blanket, sharing laughter and homemade sandwiches, you felt a deep sense of contentment. Joseph’s gentle, caring nature made you feel cherished in a way you’d never experienced before. His eyes often lingered on you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter, and every touch, every gentle kiss, felt like a promise of something beautiful and romantic.

Then during another one of your dates, you found yourself at a quaint bookstore. And as you browsed through the shelves, Joseph noticed you eyeing a romance novel. Quietly, while you were distracted, he decided to purchase it and later that evening, he presented it to you with a shy smile. "I thought you might enjoy this," he said, his eyes twinkling with delight. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to you.

Except for one week when he had to go home to St. Louis, Joseph was always around. During that week, you missed him terribly, but he made sure the distance didn’t feel so great. You chatted or called every day, sharing the little details of your lives, your hopes, and your dreams. His voice over the phone was a comforting balm, and his laughter a melody that brightened your days. And as the days passed, you both exchanged pictures and videos, keeping the connection strong despite the miles between you.

And the week apart only strengthened your bond. When Joseph finally returned, he wrapped you in a tight embrace, lifting you off your feet as he whispered how much he had missed you. The separation had only made your hearts grow fonder, and you realised that this was the kind of love you had always dreamed of—a love that was patient, kind, and unwavering.

Joseph had a way of turning even the simplest moments into something magical. Whether you were cooking together, watching a movie, or simply enjoying a comfortable silence, he made you feel like the most important person in the world. His steadfast support and understanding helped you heal from the wounds of your past relationship, and for the first time in a long while, you felt genuinely happy. And as the summer days gave way to crisp autumn evenings, your relationship with Joseph only continued to flourish.

However, as you and Joseph grew closer, he began to notice the subtle signs of your hesitation. Despite the kisses and intimate moments you shared, he observed how you occasionally tensed up or hesitated before fully relaxing into his embrace. There were times when, while wrapped in each other's arms, he could sense a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes or a momentary withdrawal in your touch. It was as if you were constantly bracing yourself, hesitant to fully surrender to the emotions you were feeling.

So, Joseph chose to approach you with a gentle patience that he didn’t mind at all. His priority was to make you feel completely at ease with him. He focused on ensuring that every touch was tender, every word was kind, and he never pressured you into anything more than you were ready to give. He believed in creating a space where you felt safe and cherished. Every date, every conversation, and every shared moment was filled with understanding and care. He became attuned to your needs, ensuring that his actions and words always conveyed his respect for your boundaries.

But one evening, as autumn shadows began to lengthen and the first hints of a chilly breeze crept through the open windows, something felt off. It might have been the stress of the new hockey season starting or perhaps the quiet, introspective mood you’d been in all night. Joseph couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of your discomfort, but he could sense that something was troubling you.

So, as you both sat on the couch, the soft glow of the TV casting a gentle light over the room, he turned to you. His expression was serious yet full of concern.

“You can rest your head on me, love, I don’t mind,” he said softly, his voice laced with genuine care. “Or if you need to cry or just need a moment to relax. I don't care. I just want you to feel comfortable and happy with me.”

His words cut through the fog of your thoughts, and you felt a pang in your chest. It was clear that Joseph was offering you an emotional sanctuary, and you knew it was time to open up. You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth and reassurance of his embrace, and finally allowed yourself to lean into him.

“I’ve been cautious about fully committing because of a bad relationship I had before,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “Not that I think you’re anything like that. On the contrary, you’re so perfect that I’m scared of making a mistake.”

Joseph listened attentively, his hand gently stroking your back as you spoke. When you finished, he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his expression a blend of warmth and understanding.

“You don’t have to worry about making mistakes, Y/N,” he said softly. “I want you just the way you are—past relationships and all.”

You exhaled slowly, feeling a mix of relief and vulnerability. “But why? Why are you so patient with me?”

The tenderness in his gaze was unmistakable, and his smile was both gentle and reassuring. “I get it now,” he said quietly, “you’ve never been in love before.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confusion knitting your brows together.

“Y/N, you could never do anything wrong with me. I am so in love with you that it doesn’t matter what you say or do, as long as it’s not that you don’t want to be with me. All I want is to be with you, to see you happy. And when you’re ready, I’d love to ask you to be my girlfriend.”

You couldn’t help but feel your heart sink as you took in the moment. Here was the sweetest man you’d ever known, and he was with you. The realisation of his unwavering support and love brought tears to your eyes.

“I think… I think I’m in love with you too, Joe,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You make me feel all those wonderful, amazing, mind-blowing, and indescribable things that no one else ever has.”

Joseph’s smile widened, his eyes shimmering with joy. He pulled you closer, his lips gently brushing your forehead. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear,” he murmured. “I promise to always be here for you, to make you feel loved and cherished every single day.”

And as you nestled into his embrace, a profound sense of peace washed over you. For the first time, you let yourself fully believe in the love you had always dreamed of, knowing that with Joseph, it was not just a dream, but a beautiful reality.

#500 followers festival #jw60 #joseph woll imagine #joseph woll x reader #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl hockey fanfiction #hockey goalies #nhl hockey imagine

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cellythefloshie · 5 months ago

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;; All Too Well (10-Minute Version) Written for The Eras Tour Hockeyblr Fic Challange

Summary: Love blossoms quickly, but fades even faster. When a chance meeting at a cocktail party introduces you to Vince, your whirlwind connection feels like the beginning of something lasting. But as seasons change, so do intentions. Kinks & TW: age gap (younger reader), implied car sex, toxic relationship, unprotected sex — the smut in this fic is REALLY mild. Like blink and you miss it, because it just didn't fit the vibes like I had expected it to. There was so much more story to tell. Word Count: 14.9k+ Author Notes: A huge thank you to @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston for putting this challenge together. I have found myself to be a blossoming Swiftie since the release of Midnights, so I was very excited to take part! And it was very much a challenge to me (though @hockeyboysimagines would probably argue differently) when I received All Too Well as my song. This was a song I had listened to 2 times before this fic. Once upon its release while watching the video, and again while watching The Eras Tour when it was released on streaming platforms. So I had this song on repeat a lot while planning and writing this fic. I would also like to say a huge THANK YOU to @laurenairay who was sweet enough to review my outline AND the fic when it was complete because I was terrified that I was missing key points to the song and needed another Swiftie's opinion. This is a well loved song, and therefore an intimidating song. I hope I did it justice ❤️ This fic is also posted in chapters on Archive of Our Own.

As the bright orange and turquoise taxi drove further from the heart of downtown Toronto, the more out of place it became. Towering buildings became squat, and traffic thinned as it traveled over the smooth streets. Soon, buildings did not stand side by side with nothing but a mere alley between them, Yards began to sprawl and trees stood tall as your ride took you further into what you called cottage country - though it was nothing more than a quiet neighborhood that had Lake Ontario at their doorstep.

It was a long ride from the city, and you kept yourself busy in the back of the taxi. You fixed your hair with the help of the rearview mirror and a few bobby pins. Next, you fixed your makeup, taking it from day to night with a little more mascara and a darker shade of lipstick. Then, you checked your phone, rereading the message from your best friend:

Dinner and cocktails tonight, dress for the occasion.

Sighing softly, you looked down at the slinky slip dress that had spent the day in the bottom of your purse. It was a color that was your favorite, but no matter how desperately you smoothed your hands over the fabric, you could still see the wrinkles left behind. It was a little detail you would have to force yourself to ignore, and one you hoped no one else would notice. You fiddled with the fabric until you felt the taxi come to the stop at your destination.

You looked up at the crowded driveway first, taking a nervous breath through your teeth as you noticed how many cars were parked along it and down the street. Your eyes lingered on the cars as you dug through your purse for your wallet. Then you looked at your driver, smiling as you paid your fare and thanked him for the ride. As you stepped out of the back seat, your heels clicking again on the pavement, feelings of excitement and nerves swirled in your chest. Sweaty palms attempted to smooth out the fabric of your dress one last time before you approached the house. At first, all you could hear was the sound of your own footsteps, but as you grew closer, you could already hear the hum of conversation and clinking glasses before you could cross the threshold of the door.

When you reached the large, heavy door, you wasted no time knocking. You didn’t need to. Your best friend’s place was practically your second home. Besides, no one would have heard it, anyway. Inside, the warm glow of the chandelier greeted you in the entryway. There was no one there to greet you, but you could hear the beckoning of voices in the dining room. Taking a deep breath, you tucked your purse away with the coats and delved into the party as if you were walking into the cold of the lake: one toe at a time.

Moving into the dining room, you wore a soft smile to hide the panic that festered in the back of your mind. You didn’t recognize anyone - and judging by the side eyes they greeted you with; they didn’t recognize you either. Great.

Hands flexing into fists before relaxing at your side, you moved deeper into the dining room and found the table set up with drinks and finger food to hold everyone over until dinner was served. You took a flute of champagne between your fingers, and for a moment considered grabbing two. Smiling, you reached out for a second glass, but then you heard your friend excitedly greeting you. So you settled on one.

You sipped your sweet champagne slowly as you turned in place, your lips curling up along the rim of the glass at the sight of your best friend. She was stunning, dressed in a white cocktail gown that fluttered around her knees as she seemed to glide through the room. She looked almost ethereal in the light, the perfect host, and the beautiful bride to be. Your lips parted to compliment her, your arms opening to accept her incoming hug, but you teased her instead, “I didn’t realize you knew so many people.”

She laughed into your hair before she pulled back, her arm looping through yours. “Blame my fiance. This is practically his event. All of his teammates, plus their wives and girlfriends. Some family and friends too. Thought hosting a night at the house was the least we could do after having everyone travel in for the wedding—and speaking of the least I could do…” her words trailed off as she looked around the room for something - or someone, “... I have someone I want to introduce you to.”

Your interest piqued, your eyebrow raising as she led you through the home and into the backyard. The deck seemed to glow in the dim light of fairy lights. But the fire that burned down below, where a group of men gathered, burned brighter. Some had women on their arms, like subtle accessories, as the men seemed to hold the conversation, while others stood alone. Behind them all as they stood together, dressed in relaxed suits and party dresses as they drank from champagne flutes or crisp aluminum cans, the sun sunk low on the horizon.

Among them was your best friend’s fiance, his smile easy and welcoming as you approached. It attracted your friends like gravity, her arm slipping away from yours and she glided to him, fitting into the group so effortlessly that, for a moment, it left you feeling out of place. You took a long, nervous sip of your drink that almost left you choking as she returned her attention to you. She beckoned you with the simple wave of her arm, enticing you to join the circle around the dancing flames.

“Everyone, this is my best friend,” she finished the introduction with your name.

“The one she never shuts up about,” her husband teased her, earning a playful slap from the back of her hand against his chest.

You laughed along with everyone softly, quietly finding your place among the group, intending to be nothing more but a wallflower until dinner time. That was until she was speaking your name again to capture your attention. Then, she was calling out to someone else, “Vince, hey!”

When you saw who exactly she was speaking to, your stomach did a small flip that made it feel knotted. Vince was just on the other side of the crowd, lost in laughter, until his name cut through the conversation. Your friend’s voice had demanded attention in an instant and he answered it with a smile that sent a rush of warmth through you. Suddenly you devoted attention completely to him, the world narrowing just to him and the party suddenly gone. Looking at Vince was like looking at a Disney Prince. His dark hair that curled just above his forehead, and his green eyes that paled in the amber glow of the fire. Your gaze fixated on his stare as he moved around the crowd and closer to you—and when his eyes flickered away from your friend and to you for a mere moment, you could see a glimmer of something there. What that was, you would have to figure out.

“This is the friend I was telling you about,” your friend smiled and with the introduction made she found her place at her fiance’s side.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Vince spoke. His voice was smooth and warm like velvet as he extended his hand out to clasp yours. You shook it slowly, your touch lingering as your pulse pounded against the delicate flesh of your neck.

“I wish I could say the same,” you admitted slowly, trying to calm the thoughts that raced through your mind, “but I appear to be at a disadvantage. Seems she talks a lot more about me than she has to me about you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Your words had come off harsher than you had meant to. But it was just the reality of it all. Your best friend hadn’t spoken of Vince at all. No texts, no calls. All you knew of him was what you could see on the surface, but you knew better than to judge a book by its pretty cover. And while you hoped your appearance alone would make a good first impression, you didn’t want Vince walking away with superficial feelings.

The two of you talked until dinner time, scraping the mere surface of your lives. You told him what you did for work, and how he had spent his summer training for the next season of hockey. Conversation had flown with ease, and it left you disappointed as you both went your separate ways in the dining room. You circled the table slowly, watching as people slowly found their way into place seated in front of their place card.

Of course, she would have assigned seating.

You had hoped that you would spend your night seated beside your friend, but now you would be stuck making small talk with strangers. You took a desperate sip of your drink as you rounded the table, chugging back the harsh bubbles of your champagne as you found your place card at the opposite end of the table, right next to Vince.

You smiled inwardly at your friend’s not-so-subtle matchmaking move. While you wish she had been a little more coy, it was one you couldn’t help but appreciate.

The conversation reignited between you and Vince with soft pleasantries - before the first course finished; his easy humor left you laughing. Vince was funny, effortlessly making you laugh in ways that made you laugh in ways that you forget strangers surrounded you and you were doing your best to play it cool. Throughout dinner, the conversation flowed easily between you and Vince. The clatter of plates and mummer of voices faded into the background as you lost track of time, engrossed in his stories, his laugh and the way his eyes seemed to linger on yours. Vince made you feel like the only person at the table, and despite what you learned to be a seven-year age gap, the two of you shared an undeniable spark that you couldn’t quite explain.

The conversation you shared over dinner felt intimate. Almost like a first date, though you were surrounded by people—or at least, you thought you were. As time slipped by, the two of you didn’t notice how the table cleared around you, or how the guests had slipped away until it was just the two of you that remained. Only did you notice when your friend approached, her evening wear replaced with a fluffy robe and a sleepy smile on her face.

“Do I need to get a room ready for you?” she teased gently, her eyes flicking between you and Vince.

You gasped out a soft apology, only then realizing just how late it had gotten. “No, I should really just catch a cab home.”

You stood quickly; the chair dragging harshly across the floor as you quickly moved to gather your things. Your cheeks were red hot with embarrassment at how you let yourself get carried away with him - but he didn’t seem to mind. He followed just behind you in your stride, gathering his own coat that now hung alone next to your own.

“Let me walk you out?” He offered gently.

You accepted the offer with your own smile, your eyes falling to your feet as he opened the front door. The night air was cool, a welcome relief from the warmth of the party. It left you shrugging on your coat as you walked together down the driveway, your steps slow and hesitant. You didn’t want the night to end, not when Vince had made what you expected to be an awkward night one you didn’t want to forget. You reached the end of the driveway together, waiting awkwardly at the curb for your taxi to arrive, but it was the first moment that night the two of you were truly alone.

That thought gave you butterflies in your stomach as you watched him reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. “Here, put your number in?”

“Yeah,” you smiled a little too wide as you reached into your bag and pulled out your own phone. You traded them, and you added yourself as a contact in his phone. As you returned his phone to him, the subtle touch of his fingers against your hand leaving you to hold your breath, a taxi arrived and parked at the end of the drive.

“You take the first one,” Vince told you, stepping towards the taxi to open the door for you. He gave you just enough room to slip inside before he was leaning down, one arm on the door of the cab and the other over the top. If it were anyone else, you might have panicked, feeling confined in the tiny back seat of the taxi, but as stupid as it was, you felt safe with Vince.

“Goodnight,” he said, his smile soft as his eyes left yours to linger on your lips for just a moment before he closed the door behind you.

You leaned your head back against the seat, silently cursing how pathetic you were for wishing he had tried to kiss you. Biting your lip, you rolled the window down, and leaned your head out of it, echoing his voice with your own feeble, “goodnight.”

You settled into your seat with a sinking heart. Your night was over. Meeting the eyes of your driver in the rearview mirror, you gave him the address of home and you left your friend's home and Vince behind you. But your thoughts remained on Vince — the way he made you laugh, the way his presence made the whole evening feel different. Special. You didn’t know what had started that night, but you knew something was there, and you could wait to see where it would go.

Your best friend’s wedding had been beautiful, but it paled in comparison to what continued to grow between you and Vince in the week that followed. Seemingly overnight, the two of you had become inseparable. If you weren’t together, you were always texting or calling, your connection seeming to grow deeper with each casual date you shared. It was like the last days of summer, hot and vibrant. But as the days became consumed by the cooler temperature that would become autumn, whatever you and Vince shared only continued to grow.

Friday of the September long weekend, he picked you up from your downtown Toronto apartment, and the two of you took to the road. The city skyline was shrinking behind you, seen only in the rearview mirror. You didn’t know where Vince was taking you, but you didn’t need to. You were happy just being there with him, one of his hands on the wheel while the other rested comfortably on your knee. The radio was turned up loud. Shania Twain’s greatest hits the soundtrack of your road trip, her lyrics leaving both of your lips as you sang along. You danced in your seat, the seatbelt the only thing holding you back as you felt the music. And Vince sang, his tone carefree and out of tune as his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles on your knee. Your eyes dropped, watching the careful stroke, smiling as you sang.

But then your gaze shifted upward, and the world around you snapped back into focus. The glow of the solid red light was harsh against your eyes, but the car was still moving full speed. Vince hadn’t even tried to slow down, because instead of looking at the lights, he had been looking over at you.

“Vince!” you shouted, pointing towards the red light.

His head whipped around, his soft expression hardening with alarm as his foot slammed onto the brake. The car screeched to a stop, your seatbelt restricting around your chest as your body jerked forward before falling back against the seat.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the radio and the sound of your hastened breaths as the shock of what could have been hung over you both. Then Vince turned in his seat, the seatbelt straining against his chest as he looked at you. He reached out with both hands, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he looked you over with his eyes that were left wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his thumb stroking your skin as if to soothe the shock that left you feeling sick to your stomach.

You nodded, your heart still pounding against your chest. And then he kissed you. The touch of his lips against yours brought an instant calm. He brushed over yours so sweetly, so gently, that it washed away all the tension, and when he pulled back, his kiss lingered in the calm between you until an impatient honk from the car broke it.

The light had turned green.

Pulling back, Vince smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back, leaning your head against the seat as you relaxed. You let it lull to the side, watching the trees as they passed, their leaves only just beginning to change from their vibrant greens to shades of gold and crimson and had yet to fall lazily to the ground. You watched them until you noticed the car turn off the main road. The anticipation built as the car wound its way up a long driveway lined with trees. You sat up straight in your seat at the sight of the house at the end of the drive. It was a cozy home, nestled against the horizon where the sun was already beginning to set. Your hands gripped into fists in your lap nervously. Vince hadn’t told you where you were going. You didn’t know whose house this was, or why you were there. So as he switched the music off, you looked to him for answers.

“Come on, it and meet everybody,” he said with an easy smile, and he was already climbing out of the car before you had the chance to answer.

“Everyone?” You muttered to yourself, slowly stepping out of the car to hear a small crunch beneath your feet. Looking down, you narrowed your eyes. A child’s toy? Kneeling down, you picked up the broken pieces and cradled them in your hands. Then you looked out over the sprawling yard, taking in the little details you hadn’t quite noticed on the drive up. The yard was alive with the signs of a family. Scattered in the grass were children’s toys, and a small play structure with swings sat in the shadow of the house. You could even hear faint laughter in the distance. For a moment, you stood still, taking it all in before following the path Vince had taken inside.

The front door swung open to a rush of warmth that graced your cheeks like a kiss. It came from both the heat of the house, and the feeling of home that lingered there. You didn’t know what quite gave you the feeling. It could have been the soft lighting from decorative table lamps, the scent of a home cooked meal that lingered in the air, or the symphony of voices you could hear in the next room - or a combination of them all - but it all put you at ease. The unfamiliar place felt so familiar as you stepped out of your shoes and hung your red scarf and coat over the bannister where other coats were already piled.

With the broken toy in hand, you walked deeper into the house, where many unfamiliar faces greeted you. The first, after a quick introduction, you learned was Vince’s mother, who smiled at you warmly and pulled you into a soft hug. Then, there was his brother and his wife who welcomed you into their home as if you were no stranger at all. Vince’s step-father was too caught up with the kids to offer much more than a quick hello and a smile, but it all still felt natural, so easy. Like you belonged there.

“I’m sorry,” you told Vince’s sister-in-law with a soft voice, “I stepped on one of the toys in the yard.”

You offered the pieces to her on the bed of your palms, but she waved it off like it was nothing.

“They have so many they won’t even notice this one’s gone,” she assured with a soft smile. And while you just met her, her smile felt genuine. “Mom and I were just going to finish up dinner. Would you like to join us in the kitchen?”

You shot a quick side-eyes glance to Vince, his nephew’s swarmed him, taking all of his attention. Their laughter rang throughout the room as they clung to his legs, pulling him towards the games they were playing with their grandfather. You got lost in the sight of his care and gentleness with the children, but also the carefree silliness that sent them wild with laughter. A part of you wanted to join him, but Vince had brought you there to meet his family, so you offered his sister-in-law a smile and followed her into the kitchen.

There wasn’t much more to be done for dinner. Vince’s brother had chicken and ribs out on the barbeque, leaving the rest of you to work on the sides. You were quickly assigned to chopping up vegetables for a salad. But Vince’s mother, who snuck into the kitchen with a photo album, quickly interrupted your duties cradled in her arms.

“You have to see these,” she said, a mischievous smile on her lips as she opened the album up in an open space on the counter. You stood alongside her as she flipped through the pages, your smile growing when you saw a young Vince among the photographs. He couldn’t have been more than five in the picture, and wore a pair of thick glasses on his face, and a shy smile on his lips as he sat on his bed in his bedroom that was decorated floor to ceiling with Toronto Maple Leafs memorabilia.

“That’s him,” Tracy confirmed, her words laced with a laugh that was warm like a mother's embrace, “back when he was on the Timbits team. His grandfather took him to every single game.” The stories flowed easily, and you couldn’t help but laugh as Tracy pointed at another picture of Vince. He was around the same age in the last picture, but this time, he was beaming proudly as he stood in his oversized hockey equipment. “He used to trip over his skates more than he’d actually skate.”

Leaning over the book, you admired each photograph and welcomed each story his mother offered to tell. You were so completely enthralled in the moment that you didn’t even notice Vince approaching until his one arm was around your shoulders and the other rested around his mothers. He planted a quick kiss on your cheek, yet he was the one with flushed cheeks, embarrassed.

“You’re telling stories, aren’t you?” Vince grinned as he reached out for the family photo album. He shut it slowly before reaching it up to place it on a shelf up high and out of reach.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” his mother teased. “Why bring a girl home if that means I don’t get to embarrass you?”

“You do that well enough without breaking out the photo albums,” he assured, pressing a kiss to her temple before he took his place next to you. He offered you a sweet smile before reaching out for the knife you had abandoned and continued with your work in the kitchen. You helped him where he could. His presence beside you felt easy - like you were already part of the family, fitting so effortlessly into his line.

That feeling only grew throughout the evening. It felt right, like the changing of the seasons-natural, inevitable, and beautiful.

When it had come time to leave, the sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting a deep indigo hue over the world outside. The air was cool, the warmth of the house fading as you and Vince stepped out onto the front porch. Both hands raised to clutch at the breast of your jacket, trying to keep the chill of the night from your neck as the cold enveloped you. A single hand clutched the neck of your coat, your steps stuttering down the steps as you realized you had forgotten your scarf on the banister. But before you could go back, before you could even say a word, Vince was smiling at you as he tossed his car keys at you.

Your eyes went wide, your hands reaching out only to fumble for them. The keys jingled as they hit the ground, his keychain half buried in the dirt. It left your hands dusty as you knelt down and picked it up from where they rested at your feet.

“You drive,” Vince smiled at you playfully, “we’re just going up the road.”

The soft glow of the porch light cast a soft twinkle in his eyes as he spoke. You mirrored his soft smile as you gripped the cool metal of his keys in your hand and moved towards the car. It was another small, simple moment between the two of you, yet your stomach fluttered full of butterflies every time. You didn’t know if it was excitement, nerves or the anxiety of knowing that summer was over and autumn was to begin and all of what you had in just a week could be gone. But you didn’t dwell on it. Instead, you slipped into the driver's seat, taking the time to adjust the mirrors, and started the engine.

Its rumble cut through the stillness of the night, the grinding of rubber tired against gravel roads, the new soundtrack of your night as you drove down the quiet country road. It was lined with trees that cast long shadows across the ground, their leaves beginning to bare as their leaves changed from the brilliant green of summer to the gold and maroons of fall.

Vince sat, relaxed in the passenger seat beside you, his seat leaned back and his arm draped casually across the back of your seat. It remained there during the short drive down the road, one that led you to a secluded dead end nestle deep within the property. You looked around, the car lights illuminating the trees and brush around you. Then, suddenly, the light was gone, and darkness surrounded you. You almost jumped, startled, before you realized Vince’s hand had left the back of your seat and he had reached across and turned off the engine. Then, without a word, his hand fell to your seatbelt. He unbuckled it with the simple press of two fingers before his hands, gentle but insistent, found your hip. Vince guided you across the center console and into his lap.

Your knees rested on each side of him, squished between the car door, the console, and his body. It left the passenger seat feeling small, intimate, as you shifted your weight just right to comfortably settle against him. Your hands came to rest on the car seat, on each side of his head, but Vince’s hands came up to stroke loose strands of hair from your face. The gesture made your heart race, the world outside the car falling away, leaving you both seemingly the only two people in it. Then, with his hand still lingering on your cheek, Vince drew you in, and placed a slow kiss on your lips.

His kiss sent a wave of warmth to spread through your body, your breath hitching in the back of your throat. You shuddered in his lap, your lips meeting his sweet and gentle kiss that became deeper as he felt your eagerness to kiss and be kissed by him. Slowly, his hands strayed from the angles of your face, his feather light touch dragging down your body. His touch coasted over your shoulder, knocking your cardigan sleeve down your arm and teasing the exposed skin with the ghost of his touch before each of his hands settled on the swell of your hip. His grip tightened there, drawing you closer, your skirt inching up your thigh, and you let out a soft sound. It was not quite a moan, but more than a sigh, as your stomach swirled with the dance of butterflies. Your entire body was buzzing with the electric, weightless feeling—it felt like you might float away if Vince dared to let you go.

His hands didn’t leave you as you finally pulled back, breathless, your eyes meeting him in a dreamy stare. Taking a shuddering breath, your teeth caught your swollen bottom lip as his fingertips slipped beneath your skirt. His touch graced parts of you he was only just discovering as he whispered out, “I leave after the long weekend.”

His words were soft, almost apologetic, and hung in the air between you like a heavy weight. It sent your heart sinking a little in your chest, the reality of his departure setting in. It felt like a goodbye, your week-long whirlwind romance coming to its harsh and bitter end, as you should have expected from the start. Yet, a small voice inside you couldn’t help but wonder why Vince had made it more than just a fling. Why had gone through the trouble of taking you to meet his family if he was just going to leave?

You dwelled on that thought, your gaze leaving him to look out the window at the darkness that swallowed everything beyond the car window. You saw nothing but the blackness of night, your bite on your own lip growing sharper until Vince’s words cut through the quiet and eased your racing mind. “I want to fly you out to see me in Seattle when the preseason is over. Would you do that for me?”

His words sparked something inside you, excitement - no, hope - replacing the sinking feeling in your chest. Maybe this didn’t have to end today. You nodded quickly, your hair falling back into your face. It brought Vince’s touch back up to your face, his hands brushing it back behind your ear as he chuckled softly.

“Good,” he muttered, leaning in to kiss you again. But this time, the kiss was deeper, more urgent.

You parted your lips for him, welcoming the taste of his tongue as it met yours. The intoxication of his kiss left your head spinning in the best way. Your hands ran up over his chest, wrinkling the simple fabric of his t-shirt, wishing you could peel it off of him. You were ready; you wanted more, and as if he could read your mind, Vince’s hands inched higher up your skirt.

Your hold tilted back as you gasped, a single hand reaching out and finding the cold glass of the car window. It slipped briefly over the slick condensation, bracing yourself against it as the touch of his hands graced the most intimate parts of your body, as if solidifying the promise you’d just made.

The plane began its slow descent, the city of Seattle spreading out beneath you like an ocean of lights glittering against the early evening skies. Your head rested against the wall of the plane, your eyes watching out the window as the details of the skyline came into view. But you couldn’t focus on the landmarks in view, not when your thoughts were racing - drifting excitingly to Vince. It was later in the season than you had originally planned to visit him. But early in the season, Vince had been injured. He needed the time to heal, and he wanted you to see him play when you visited. It led to greater time apart, but it didn’t feel as distant as the miles between you. Not when he was so eager to text, to call, and when date night could still happen on a video call. The two of you had spent countless late nights together, and each one made you more excited to see him.

You smiled to yourself, your heart pounding and filled as your mind was clouded - stupid with the kind of love that made everything else seem insignificant. Your flight had been delayed, and you had spent hours seated beside a baby who wailed most of the flight. But you didn’t complain. Not once, because when it was all over, you’d get to see Vince. You let out a dreamy sigh. Love. You really did love him. You could feel it in how your heart skipped in just the thought of him. Sure, maybe it was too soon. The two of you had only been together three months, but you felt it. And you were sure Vince felt it too. Why else would he have introduced you to his family, and fly you all the way out to Seattle to spend the weekend with him? It felt like it was all building up to something bigger—for him to say the words. This weekend, Vince would tell you he loved you, you were sure of it.

The plane landed smoothly, and after gathering your carry-on, you made your way through the airport to the baggage carousel. You watched as each bag went around and around, the familiar buzz of the bustle that consumed airports all around you as you waited for your small bag to catch your eye. And when you found it, you were off like a shot, your focus on one thing: Finding Vince.

You found him standing just outside the doors for the pickup of arrivals. He was leaning up against the passenger door of his car, his black coat unbuttoned although the wind was cold and greeted you with the harsh reality that while winter on the coast was different, it was still cold. You regretted leaving your coat shoved in your bag, but you wasted no time in pulling it out to put it on. Instead, you ran to him, your smile growing with his as his eyes locked on you.

His arms and warmth wrapped around you, your bag dropping to the ground as your arms wrapped around him in return. Your fingers clung to him for the first time in months, his strength lifting you off the ground as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, and the soft kiss of his lips as he placed a simple kiss there before he returned you to your feet. Then, his hands slid down the angles of your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’ve missed you,” he spoke gently, sending a shy smile over your lips as he helped you into the passenger seat. You welcomed the warmth of the car as you tucked your carry on between your feet, finally opening it to pull out your coat as Vince put your bag in the back seat. You watched him in the mirrors as he rounded the car and met his smile as he sat beside you in the driver's seat.

“We’ve got the entire weekend,” Vince said, his smile easy. “I’ve got plans for us- dinner tonight, then tomorrow you’ll come to one of my games, and Monday morning, I’ll drop you off at the airport.”

“That sounds great,” you nodded, feeling the excitement bubble up inside you. It felt just as it had at the end of summer—there was a level of comfort you had with Vince that you couldn’t quite explain. One that simply being around him put you at ease, and left you excited for the weekend to come. It felt perfect, like a dream.

The ride from the airport to his apartment was quick, but with the delay you faced with your flight you were already running behind for your dinner reservation.

“The bathroom’s just there if you want to freshen up. I’ll call the guys and tell them we’re going to be a little late,” Vince told you gently, and you perked up? The guys? He was taking you to meet his friends — his teammates?

“I’ll just need a minute to change,” you assured, dragging your suitcase into the bathroom with you before you shut the door.

You looked over it with wide eyes and suddenly panicked. If you were going to be meeting his friends, you wanted to make a good impression. Dropping to your knees, you sorted through the clothes you had brought. At one time, while you were packing, you told yourself you had packed too much. That you wouldn’t have needed so much for two days, but now, as there were so many unknowns, you were relieved that you had let yourself over prepare. You traded your comfortable pants for a nice skirt and pair of tights, and your hooded sweatshirt for a turtleneck sweater and a dainty necklace. A pair of black boots replaced what you always wore to travel. And then all you had to worry about was hair and makeup. If you had more time, you would have styled it. But all you could really afford to do was touch up your lipstick, your mascara and tame any flyaway strands. Then, if you felt ready or not, it was time to leave.

Hand in hand, you walked with Vince down the sidewalks of Seattle. The restaurant was nearby, leaving you to enjoy the crisp autumn air that mingled with the smell of rain that had fallen and the scent of fallen leaves as they weighed down wet and heavy on the sidewalk. The wet pavement reflected the amber glow of the streetlights that flirted with the red, yellow and greens of the stoplights in your path. You admired every detail of the city Vince called his second home, small talk that didn’t really feel like small talk slipping from your lips. After months apart, there was so much for you to share, to catch up on, but the moment you walked through the restaurant doors and Vince’s hand fell from yours, the air became heavy, silent.

“Reservation under Dunn,” he spoke to the hostess, who greeted him with a soft smile and eyes that were only for him. You watched her for a moment, her everything the very opposite of you. It made your stomach sink as his smile matched hers, so easily — so effortlessly it seemed like more than just being nice.

Slowly, you slipped off your coat and hung it over your arms and hugged it to your chest. It was like a blanket of armor as you followed Vince through the restaurant like his shadow. You kept your head down, watching his heels, and scared to look up as the clamour of your table grew loud. It was only a small group of his friends, none of whose faces you recognised, but it sounded like an entire team. Four men, all comfortable in their seats with no girlfriends, only empty bottles to keep them company.

One hand slipped out from beneath your coat, reaching out to Vince for even a semblance of comfort, but he was already out of reach taking his seat at the table.

“Sorry, we're late,” Vince said casually. “Someone had to change.”

You had the sudden urge to vomit, the embarrassment all consuming as you draped your jacket over the last empty chair at the table. It was at the very corner of the table at one end. Vince sat to your right, and there was an empty walkway to your left.

He introduced you by name, before nodding around the table to each of his friends. Tye, Brandon, Ryan and Shane. Some of them offered subtle nods, others a simple hello as you seated yourself at the table and suddenly you felt out of place. As Vince fell into conversation with his friends, you felt like nothing more than a decoration as you glanced over the menu. Around you, the laughter felt distant, and the conversation felt impossible to contribute to. Your shoulders felt heavy with the feeling that you didn’t quite fit in, and it had you desperate or any kind of comfort.

You reached for Vince’s hand under the table, seeking his touch and reassurance. It brushed over the top of his thigh before flipping, laying your palm open for his hand to take. His hand dropped from the table, but instead of taking yours, he gently took you by the wrist and placed your hand back in your lap. And he left it there, untouched.

Your front teeth bit down on your lip to keep your mouth from falling open. His actions sent your heart sinking so deeply into your chest that you felt empty. Dread was all-consuming, and your embarrassment was so heavy that you thought about grabbing your coat and walking towards the door. Instead, you reached out for the glass of red wine in front of you. You took a long sip and tried to swallow that knot that formed in your throat down with it as you fought back the tears that threatened to spill.

When the server brought you your plate, you didn’t touch it, and once your first glass of wine was empty, you didn’t indulge yourself in another. The laughter, the conversations, even the clinking of silverware continued all around you, but you didn’t do more than breathe and stare at the empty glass that had nothing more than a single drop of wine resting at the very bottom. It was mere background noise as you retreated into your thoughts, heavy and spiraling.

Your silence followed you from the table and hung heavily over you and Vince on the walk back to his place. The autumn rain had left the streets glistening, and there was a chill in the air that left your skin prickled with goosebumps. As the temperature dropped, rain became glistening snow, and Vince’s hand reached out to yours as the two of you walked alone in the streets, but you didn’t take it. Not after he had made you feel the way he had, and your mind was spinning with questions you weren’t sure how to ask.

But the moment you arrived back at Vince’s place. His words cut through the silence.

“Why are you so pissed off?” Vince almost sounded offended, and if you weren’t so angry, you might have laughed at him.

You kicked off your shoes at the door, leaving them toppled over, before you walked away from him and to the kitchen with your left overs that your stomach was aching for. Your shoulders shrugged as you opened the fridge and tucked them away. When you closed it, Vince was leaning up against the cupboard just on the other side, waiting for answers.

“I’m not pissed off. Who said I was pissed off?” You answered him with a question of your own, your words firm and heavy with the hurt that still hung over you.

“Cause you’re acting pissed off,” Vince huffed, his hand reaching up to push through his curls, “Is it because of my friends? Because they were super fucking nice to you-”

“I liked your friends. I never said I didn’t like your friends,” you set him straight quickly. “I didn’t like the way you acted around them.”

“What do you mean?” His face softened, perplexed.

You laughed out a short and hollow ha as you circled in the kitchen. You couldn’t stand still.

“You didn’t even look at me once!” Your voice raised, though you were trying your best not to yell.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed.

“You didn’t say one to thing the entire night-”

“That’s such bullshit, and you know it,” he punctuated his words with your name, and it only made them sting more.

“And you dropped my fucking hand! What am I supposed to do with that?” Your voice strained as you grew closer and closer to tears.

“I didn’t even fucking notice–What are you talking about?” Vince’s brow furrowed. “I was catching up with my friends! What are you trying to make this entire night about you?”

It was at that moment you wanted to scream, because the night was supposed to be about you. He was the one who flew you out to Seattle just to see you. To show you the city and introduce him to his friends, his team, his life! And suddenly, this trip wasn’t all about you.

“You’re being so fucking selfish.” His words stung like a slap.

You stilled for the first time since coming in the door, and your head cocked to the side as you looked at Vince with narrowed eyes. “Oh, I’m selfish?”

“Right now, that’s exactly what’s happening!”

Your face went blank, wearing a doe eyes stare as you were suddenly void of any anger as you looked at him. You held only disbelief—had he just yelled at you?

Just as quickly as his tone shocked you, Vince’s voice softened. “Don’t look at me like that…” his words were a gentle plea as he came up beside you, his arms slipping around your waist to pull you into him.

You stood with your back against his chest, your arms hugging over his as he kissed the back of your neck softly. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “about dinner… About everything. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

His words were soothing, easing you into a forgiveness that you shouldn’t have wanted to give him. But you hadn’t wanted to fight, you had simply just wanted Vince to hear you and he had. He was sorry.

You let Vince turn you around in place slowly, his soft playful smile on his face and bringing one to your own. “I’m sorry,” you muttered into his shoulder as you let yourself cling to him, but Vince only let you hug him for so long. Too soon he was pulling back, but his touch didn’t leave you. Instead, he turned you around in place, and swayed with you to the hum of the refrigerator like it was music.

His sudden playfulness coaxed an easy laugh from your lips as you stumbled over your own feet. He caught you with ease and led you into a dance that eased the tension that had built up during the night. It lifted the heaviness that weighed down on your chest and your shoulders, and in that moment you were back to feeling like yourself in his embrace.

This was the Vince you travelled all the way to Seattle for.

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, your voice soft but teasing as you looked up at him.

Vince grinned, twirling you slowly one last time before his hands settled on your waist. He pulled you in close, the warmth of his body enveloping you in its embrace and the world beyond his door, cold and distant. It was just the two of you, and for now, that was enough.

With a simple glance down at your lips, Vince drew you in. It wasn’t his touch, or his words, but his mere gaze drew your lips to his in a kiss you had been craving since your flight had landed. At first the kiss was soft and gentle, like his apology. But it quickly became laced with hunger, with the caress of his tongue against your lips, and you could not deny him—because denying him would also be denying yourself.

Vince picked you up with ease, his hand squeezing the soft flesh of the back of thighs as he moved blindly through his apartment. You didn’t know where he was taking you until you were laying flat against his mattress with his body climbing on top of you. Your legs parted, making room for his body against yours as he knelt there, stripping his plaid shirt from his body to begin the pile of clothes on the floor. Then he’s hovering over you, kissing your lips, and down. Down over the angle of your jaw earning a desperate pant from your lips.

His every kiss against your skin was like striking a match, and the breath that followed the oxygen to keep the fire burning. As he kissed lower, he peeled each article of clothing you wore from your body and let it join his plaid shirt on the floor. You were naked before you could even think to pull his loose white t-shirt from his shoulders. Your eyes flickered away from his face, admiring his body as he revealed it to you. Still strong, still toned, just a little more bruised and a little less rested than the last time he had you. You stroked over his chest with a featherlight touch of your fingers and you watched his face melt in relaxation. It eased Vince back from you, his hand falling to his belt.

The leather whipped from the restraints of Vince’s belt loops with a flicker of a sound, and with the simple motions of his thumb, his pants were slipping down his hips. You reached to where they rested with eager hands, gripping at the leather and pushed them down the strength of his thighs. The denim pooled there until he picked it free, his own eager hands pushing down his briefs next before he was between your thighs.

“Vince,” you breathed out his name, your heart racing against your chest as it heaved a desperate breath.

He echoed his name with your own, a single hand reaching up to push your hair from your face with the gentle caress of his hand. You nuzzled into it, as you felt the weight of his body so fully against your own. Then, your lips parted in a soft moan and left his skin marked with your favorite shade of red lipstick as he made you his own.

You had imagined the moment many times in your head.

Entering Climate Pledge Arena, as much more than a fan. You had pictured it differently each time. Sometimes you had a special jacket, custom made and embellished with the glimmer of gems or embroidery. Other times, you wore a Kraken jersey with DUNN sprawled across your back. But in every scenario, all knew who you were there to watch your boyfriend Vince Dunn—though the two of you had yet to use the label. And you’d finally get to meet the other wives and girlfriends of Vince’s teammates. The warm and fuzzy feeling of being welcomed into the tight-knit circle of wives and girlfriends was something you daydreamed about. You hoped for instant connections, for friendships that felt like sisterhood—but harsh realities quickly betrayed your imagination.

You didn’t wear a fancy new jacket.

There was no jersey for you to wear.

And while the arena was buzzing with excitement, the energy of the crowd was not enough to ease the anxiety that bubbled inside you as you reached your seat. Your seat was in the middle of the crowd, with no one expecting you or welcoming you among them, and it left your mouth tasting sour. You were just another fan in the stands.

Forcing a smile, you sat among them, your hands gripping the edge of your seat with a knuckle-white grasp. You watched as the teams took the ice, your eyes naturally drawn to Vince in his uniform. He skated with the same ease and confidence that had drawn you in that first night the two of you had met. He looked so focused, so in his element, and for a moment you forgot about the uneasiness deep in your stomach and felt proud. Proud to be there, supporting him, proud of who he was.

But not even the pride could keep the doubt from seeping in as you sat there alone in the crowd of strangers. You glanced around the seats in your section, your ice shifting from the left, to the right and to the left again as your breathing swallowed. All around you, you noticed clusters of women scattered throughout the stands. They were laughing, chatting with each other as they sipped their beer and wine. It was almost enough to make you smile until you saw DUNN written across one of their backs and the look on her face. She was looking at him like her seat wasn’t high above the ice. Like he could see the batting of her thick lashes and the coy smile on her lips as she ogled him. And she looked at him like that because nobody knew about you - because she thought that she might have a shot.

Sinking into your seat, you felt small, alone.

The feeling hung over you as the game unfolded in front of you, but the excitement you should have felt didn’t reach you. You focused on Vince, watching how effortlessly he moved on the ice. You clapped when he made a good play, and cheered when the Kraken scored, but the joy felt hollow. By the time the final buzzer rang, and the Kraken celebrated their victory down at ice level; you were unmoving in your seat, unsure how to feel.

The eruption of cheers and applause, the post game high, was lost on you as you stood in the crowd of thousands in a daze. You moved with the crowd as the arena emptied, your hand grasping your phone tight in your hand, waiting for a message from Vince to come. It took thirty minutes of waiting outside the front of the arena for a message to bring your phone to life. You were cold, one hand on your phone while the other clutched your coat tight around your neck to keep yourself from catching a chill. He told you where to meet him, and as you walked along the sidewalk, you had to keep telling yourself this was just one game. But the hollow feeling lingered until Vince pulled up in front of you in his car and got out with such an expression you would have thought he lost you.

“There you are,” he muttered as he got out of the car and wrapped his arms around you. And you fell into him. Your face buried into the strength of his chest and your arms wrapped around him—desperately, pathetically — trying to grasp onto the only thing that made you feel you belonged.

Back home in Toronto, things felt different. With each passing day, you were hearing from Vince less and less. You didn’t wake up each day with a sweet good morning message, and he was no longer the last person you spoke to before you went to bed at night. That was, if you heard from him at all. You tried to tell yourself that it was normal. That he was busy with hockey. His career had a demanding schedule, one that went beyond playing a game almost every other night. You understood that. So it was easy to listen to the excuses he made when he would finally text or call, his stories making you so sympathetic to why it was so hard for him to find the time to connect.

Each time you spoke, it filled you with the same fluttering feelings you had back in the beginnings of autumn. It was a warm feeling that blossomed through you on the coldest of winter days—one of hope of the days to come and fueled by the simple promise he made you: He would call you on your birthday.

Vince had told you he wished he could have been there in person, but his schedule didn’t allow it. You were forced to celebrate it apart, divided by both land and time, but the promise of his call left you floating high on excitement. You clung to the promise all day, watching your phone for any sign of him as you ran your early morning errands and got ready in the afternoon. But as the hours slipped by, the silence from him grew louder.

The sound track of your night was supposed to start with the pop of a bottle of champagne and followed the clamor of cutlery against plates as you and your family friends enjoyed a meal together at your favorite restaurant. Their laughter surrounded you, and yet, like the rest of the noise, it felt distant. Like a mere echo in the back of your mind that felt empty, free of thought, save for the one fact that left you heavy in your chair at the head of the table.

Vince still hadn’t called.

You had to focus on your breathing, forcing a steady breath when you wanted to do nothing more than sob, as you reached for your phone that rested face down on the table. The brightness was low, the subtle glow casting across your face as you checked your phone, hoping for a message, a missed call—anything.

But you found nothing.

Your father, seated beside you, caught your eye. He smiled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes—he must have known something was wrong. He could see it in the way your mood shifted every time you looked down at your phone and found that Vince hadn’t even attempted to get hold of you.

He reached out, his warm hand resting over yours as it rested over your phone. You tried to force a smile, but as you met his gaze, it wavered. His hand squeezed yours gently, trying to offer the smallest comforts to the problem you had yet to tell him - and you didn’t want to tell him. Not when Vince had made such a good first impression when the two of them had met at the wedding months before. The conversation had been natural, and your father had laughed at every single one of his self-effacing jokes. But no one was laughing now.

On the verge of tears you pushed up from the table and let your hand slip away from the gentle hold of your fathers with every intent of running off to the bathroom to cry. But he followed in your wake, his strides on pace with yours as he followed you to the narrow hallway that divided the washrooms from the dining room. There you turned, falling back into his arms as your tears fell. You clutched to him, your fingers straining against his back as you sobbed. And he held you, one hand on your back, and the other on the back of your head, holding it carefully as you sobbed into his chest.

“He promised.” Your voice was strained, and you were sure you could hear his heart fall in his chest.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” your father’s words were soft as he murmured just low enough for you to hear, “I should’ve seen it. Should’ve known.”

You frowned, your eyes blinking back heavy tears as you tilted your head back to look up at your father. “What are you talking about?”

His head shook slowly, solemnly, his grip on you loosening slightly so he could look down at you. “I should have known that boy was no good for you. Only a fool would make you feel like this on your birthday.” His words were soft, but were heavy with regret.

Your throat tightened as you looked away. You hated how he was blaming himself. He didn’t know Vince like you did - or rather, like you thought you did. He didn’t see the way things had been in the beginning - how Vince made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. Your father didn’t hear the promises that he made or the love you had felt. But what he did see were the broken promises and the heavy sorrow and how it consumed you.

But as you stood there in your father’s arms, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was right.

Your body shook with a quake of another sob, your father’s arms constricting around you again as he whispered, “It’s supposed to be fun, turning twenty-one.”

At the end of the night, when your parents had gone home and your friends took your party to a bar, you found your refuge at home. Your apartment was quiet, too quiet, as you closed the door behind you and let the entirety of your weight fall back against it. It was dark. The only light filtering in was from a streetlight outside your living room window. It was almost comforting just to stand there, but being back home alone only gave way for the anxiety to grow. It nagged at you in the back of your mind and consumed you so fully it felt like a snake constricted around your chest.

Your dress felt too tight around your ribs, almost suffocating. In need of any relief, you reached back to pull at the zipper, your fingers slipping along the zipper and the fabric as you struggled. The more you tugged, the more the frustration built. You stumbled on your feet in the doorway, your teeth gritting as you fought back another wave of tears, until finally your heels caught the edge of the rug. With a cry, you dropped to your knees, feeling the cold floor sting as the force rubbed your skin raw. Your vision blurred with tears, your hands clutching at the dress, desperately trying to remove it from your body with such force the zipper broke. It seemed to peel away from your skin, and you pushed it off, panting, leaving yourself to sit naked on the floor consumed by your tears.

You choked back a sob, but it slipped out anyway, filling the silence and drawing the attention of your cat that had been sleeping in your reading chair nearby. The cat perked up with a pur and jumped down to the floor with a soft thud. The little patter of the cat’s feet almost made you smile, and feeling the cat’s soft fur against your leg helped you try to focus on literally anything but your anxiety.

But it could rid you of the loneliness and betrayal you felt deep in your chest. And you were practically reeling at the memories that flooded you. Your mind was an echo chamber of Vince, his perfect smile and his laugh that had always flooded you with a happiness you couldn’t quite explain. It was like being haunted by a ghost of him, one that was born in the death of the man you knew and the birth of the man he really was.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this, not on your birthday, not in this way. Not when you thought that maybe you and Vince would be forever.

Your lip quivered as your eyes fell on your purse. It was a small clutch, just large enough for your phone, debit card and a lipstick inside. You reached for it, snatching it up with trembling fingers before you worked on the fastener. It clicked open, your phone screen dark as it rested inside. Slowly, you slipped it out onto one hard and for a second you just stared at it, your thumb hovering over the lifeless screen. Then, with a single press of your thumb, the screen came to life. No notifications greeted you. No messages from Vince. So, you sent him some of your own.

You stared at the sent messages, your eyes burning with tears that you wiped away with the back of your hand before they could leave trails down your cheeks. A sob slipped out of swollen lips, harsh and aching, as you forced yourself to your feet and finally kicked off your heels. You walked to the bathroom down the hall, and without turning the lights on, prepared to go to sleep. You scrubbed at your face, wiping away what remained of your smeared makeup, each brush of your face cloth harsh like you were trying to erase the entire night from your skin. Then, you brushed your teeth, the mint-flavored toothpaste almost making you gag as you stood bent over the sink.

Finally, you crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, feeling the hollow ache in the depth of your chest. You pressed a hand there, as if it could somehow ease the weight of the day from your heart. The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of your shallow breathing as you tried to force yourself to sleep. But sleep didn’t come, only the tears did. They trickled down your cheeks until you choked on them, feeling the hollow emptiness in the very depths of your being.

Then, in the dead of the night, your phone rang. If you had been asleep, you wouldn’t have heard it at all, beckoning to you from where you had left it on the living room floor. Yet, you didn’t move. You didn’t even open your eyes. You didn’t need to look at the screen to know it was him. Vince. His name pulsed in your mind as if it had its own heartbeat. A pulse that flooded an open wound and did nothing but bleed.

Suddenly, the ringing stopped, leaving a silence that settled like dust. A silence so pure you didn’t even breathe. The desperation for air burned in your chest, and only did you give yourself the relief when you heard the phone ring again. Again and again, like torture. You wanted to scream the very sound, leaving your chest so tight you thought you might have a heart attack - yet you lay there, unmoving.

You had been waiting all night for him to call, but now you only wanted silence. And when it came, when it stayed, exhaustion claimed you, lulling you into sleep and leaving the ache to linger as nothing but a thought as the peace of darkness consumed you.

Healing would come with time, was what you kept telling yourself every time you forced yourself to do anything. You had struggled to do even the littlest things at first. Brush your teeth. Make yourself a meal and eat it. Shower. Each small task had been one you struggled through with heavy exhaustion - and ask you branched back out into the world, a fake smile. But as each day passed, living became just a little easier. Your smile, a little more genuine, even if you still found yourself struggling to feel anything but sorrow below the surface.

The ache that would creep into the depth of your chest, or the nagging thoughts that snuck into the back of your mind, were forgotten when you were with friends. So you surrounded yourself with them whenever you could manage. Once, twice, sometimes three times a week, you found yourself in a crowded bar with your friends. Their voices and laughter swirled around you as you indulged in conversation and a bottle of wine. It was meant to be what it always was; a night to unwind. Somewhere you could go and leave everything else behind for a few hours. But when your phone buzzed on the table, and you couldn’t ignore its insistent, repetitive droning that called to you through the chaos of the bustling bar around you, you looked down and there it was. Vince’s name was on the screen.

It had been a month since the night he left you waiting, hoping for him to reach out with a birthday wish. A month of silence had followed since the message you had sent, ending whatever it was the two of you had shared.

Part of you wanted to ignore him, to let the phone ring and ring until he understood what it felt like to wait on someone who never showed. To be ignored by someone who never seemed to care. But you couldn’t deny that a part of you wanted closure.

Excusing yourself from the table, ignoring the looks your friends shot at you, you moved towards the bar’s restrooms. Leaning against the wall just outside, you crossed a single arm tightly across your chest and brought the other up to your ear as you accepted the call from Vince. You stood there, listening to the silence that hung on the line for a moment, stealing seconds from the conversation you were already wishing you hadn’t agreed to.

“Hello?” you whispered in fear that your voice would break if you had tried to be firm with him.

There was a pause. Then Vince spoke, “you picked up.”

You could almost hear the surprise in his voice. He sounded as though he hadn’t expected you to answer at all. And really, you shouldn’t have.

“What do you want, Vince?” You asked, your voice wavering as you shut your eyes tight. Just hearing his voice reignited all the feelings you had tried to cast aside. He made your heart race with all the same excitement as he had before, a high you would forever chase just for even a sliver of the feelings he had once given you. And maybe if it were another time, or another place, you would have let yourself fall back into him. To let his lies and betrayals fool you again. But you couldn’t, not while the wounds were still fresh.

“I miss you,” he said. His words were soft, almost pleading. And you almost scoffed as you gripped your ribcage just a little tighter. “I know I messed up,” he continued, “but I swear, I’m gonna change. Trust me.”

You let out a slow breath, your eyes cast out over the bar, staring back at the booth where all of your friends sat waiting, wondering where you had run off to. You focused on them, in a desperate attempt to ignore how the weight of his words were heavy on old wounds that were almost scars. Cutting them back open like a knife…but he would just leave you bleeding. Again. But you could still feel the weight of his words; Trust me. They echoed through you, but they felt hollow, disingenuous. You wanted to believe them, but you know you couldn’t. Not when they were leaving his lips.

Silence stretched between you, the kind that begged for a response, and you bit the inside or your cheek, trying to gather the courage to really end things. Your lips parted, a heavy breath near bringing you to a tremble before Vince’s words stole the air right from you.

“I still love you,” he spoke quickly.

The words cut through you, sharp and clear and desperate. He had never said those words before. The two of you had never put a label on what you had shared, and yet, the way he threw still in front of them stung. He said it as if you’d had something real, something that was worth keeping. And maybe, once upon a time, when the autumn leaves still hung in beautiful colors of red and gold before they fell into place like puzzle pieces on the ground, you might have called it love too. But now, as you stood there, alone, hiding away from your friends at the bar because you knew talking to him after all he would have put you through would upset them. You felt the truth settle over you.

Vince didn’t love you, he never did. Not really. Not in the way you had needed because during the short time you were together, he had always left you feeling like there should be more.

You gripped your phone tightly, letting the realization sink in. Every broken promise, every unanswered call, it brought you to this moment. And as each time Vince had let you down hung heavily over you, you found your voice, “we are never getting back together. Ever.”

The words felt final, grounding, like an anchor you could hold on to. You finally felt like you weren’t stuck in the same cycle of waiting for his text or call, the high of just getting to hear from him, followed by the lows of waiting for the next call. There would be no more uncertainty of never knowing where the two of you stood. What the two of you were. Now, you could walk away from Vince without looking back and wondering what if? Because the reality of it all was that Vince would never change.

There was a long pause, and on the other end of the call you could only hear his breath as he tried to find the right words for him to say in the space you had left for him. He was trying to think of the right words to reel you back in, to prove to you that things would be different. Until the next time he would miss your call, or break the promise that would leave you crying on the living room floor. But you listening to his empty promises, not this time.

“Goodbye, Vince.”

You hung up before he could say anything more.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket and let out a breath that could only be defined by relief. And as you walked back to your friends, something felt different. The weight you had been carrying had finally been lifted and, for the first time in a long time, you felt free of the burdens that came with loving Vince.

Your favorite downtown coffee show bustled with the sounds of clinking mugs and soft conversations, but you were lost in your own world, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. You sipped your latte, watching the steam rise in lazy spirals, casting a haze between your stare and the phone screen. The feed was the same as it always was, cat videos, the latest fashion trends and posts from your family and friends. Each one left you feeling warm as you were curled up in the seat, away from the harsh, cold Ontario winter that waited just outside for you on the coffee shop doorstep. But the warmth left you, if only for a moment, when a familiar name popped up on your feed. Vince.

You hadn’t made him much more than a passing thought since the night you ended things with him for good. And while the memory of him lingered, and was consuming on nights you lay alone with nothing more than your anxieties as you craved him, you had tried to rid your life of every bit of him. Yet, you’d forgotten to unfollow him on Instagram.

You took a long sip, the sweet latte not enough to rid your mouth of the bitterness on your tongue. It had been three months since that night you said your last goodbye. You should have just kept scrolling past and onto the next funny cat video that would fill you with laughter instead of dread—but against your better judgment, you let your curiosities win and you clicked to view his profile.

Vince had never posted all that often. You had noticed that since the moment you creeped his feed the night you first met him. His pictures were few and far in between. But there it was, something new - pictures from his vacation during the All-Star break. You chewed your lower lip as you scrolled through the carousel of pictures and your stomach clenched. There, in one photo, was Vince, smiling, with his arm slung around another woman. You couldn’t see her face as she looked away from the camera, but you could tell by the exposed skin of her body in nothing but an itty-bitty bikini that she was probably younger, vibrant and beautiful. The sight of them together hit you like a punch in the gut.

It shouldn’t have, but it did. Because it was you who ended things. Yet, you sat alone in the coffee shop still struggling with the memories of him while he was so quick to move on with someone new. It hurt, but it solidified what you knew all along. He didn’t love you, he never had.

Your chest tightened as you swiped through more pictures, your heart sinking deeper and deeper with each one. He never took pictures with you, not any he had shared on social media where anyone of his friends and fans could see. He had never made your relationship public beyond that one night in September when you had met his family. You had been his best kept secret that he hid away from the world, while your love for him had been at oath.

Seeing him with someone else left you feeling hollow. Sitting up straight in your seat, you told yourself that you let him go a long time ago. That the magic the two of you had found on those late summer nights faded and died with fall. That magic had been replaced with doubt and hurt. Hurt that you told yourself had healed, but it felt like a lie as you stared at the pictures of Vince happy with someone else.

“You’re okay,” you whispered to yourself in a stuttering breath. But you weren’t fine. Not at all.

Tears blurred your vision, and before you could stop it, a tear burned its way down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, but it was too late to stop the ache from rising in your throat. The beginning of a sob rested at the back of your throat as you grabbed your bag and coat, and abandoned your half-empty cup of latte on the table. You disappeared into the bathroom, arching over the sink only to see the streaks of mascara down each of your cheeks.

In the reflection of the mirror, you dabbed at your tear-streaked face with a cheap tissue. It stuck to your skin, forcing you to pick little white tufts of cotton from your cheek as the door swung open. You jumped slightly, startled as you tried to turn away from the door so whoever it was wouldn’t see the distress in your eyes—but as your eyes flicked up to the mirror, the sight of someone familiar met you. Your friend, your best friend, the one who had introduced you to Vince. The two of you had drifted apart when you were spending so much time with him, and later, when the weight of losing him had made you withdraw from everyone. You had tried to reconnect with so many of your other friends since then, but you couldn’t with her. Not when she was still so closely connected with Vince.

Her face lit up when she saw you, and before you could fully find your composure, she was wrapping you in a warm hug. “It’s been too long,” she said into your hair as you did your best to choke back every ounce of feeling that wanted to consume you. Slowly, she took a step back to look at you. “I don’t think we’ve seen each other since the wedding! You were so smitten with Vince that I didn’t even get to say goodbye before we left for the honeymoon. What happened between you two, anyway?”

Her words stung like a fresh cut through the wounds you’d tried so hard to heal. You stood there a moment, feeling paralyzed, the tears welling up in your eyes again, but you forced a smile. It was the same practiced smile you had been wearing for months.

“It just didn’t pan out,” you lied. You would spare her all the sad details. Quickly, you glanced down at your phone as if you were checking the time. “I’m sorry. I have somewhere I need to be.”

Her smile faltered, but she nodded, sensing the awkwardness in the air. “Of course. Let’s catch up soon, though, okay?”

You nodded quickly before slipping past her, leaving the bathroom and uncomfortable conversation behind. You didn’t return to your table. Instead, you went straight out the front door of the coffee shop and were greeted by the cold winter air. You let out a long exhale as the itchiness in the air hit you. Your breath left you in a soft cloud, and snow fluttered gently as it fell in glittering flakes. There was a peace in the cold that left you pulling your coat tighter around you, but it didn’t ease the ache in your hearts as you walked along the narrow snowy city sidewalks alone. And you truly were surrounded by no one. The streets were empty, as strangers sought refuge from a growing storm in the homes, storefronts or restaurants nearby. It truly mirrored just as lonely as you felt inside.

You kept your head down, and your hand clutched around your bare neck as you walked home. Your steps slipped and stuttered right up to the doorstep of your apartment. It was your only moment of stability as your caretaker had cleared the cement and spread sand out over the street. The icy winds gave you one last embrace as you dug your keys from your purse and let yourself inside. You stomped your feet free of snow in the entryway before walking up multiple flights of stairs. When you reached your floor, you looked up and down the narrow apartment hallway, and to your door at the end. There, a large box rested on the floor. You weren’t expecting a package. You approached it slowly and dropped to your knees in front of it. It wasn’t outside the wrong suite; it was addressed to you. Then you looked at the return address. Seattle.

You were slow to pick it up, and even considered leaving it in the hallway, but ultimately your curiosity won. You carried it inside, your cat greeting you as you entered by rubbing against your legs, and you placed it down on the kitchen table. Then you reached down and petted your cat casually, but your eyes never once left the package.

You took off your coat, hanging it on a rack by the door, and you kicked off your boots and left them on a heap on your door mat before you returned to the table. You stepped in a cold puddle you had created; the water seeping into your socks as you pulled at the packing tape. It tore open with a satisfying sound, but it wasn't enough to ease the racing of your heart as the box opened and you faced everything Vince had felt the need to return to you. Carefully you removed each item—Things you had left behind in Vince’s apartment, thinking that one day you’d be back to retrieve them. A tube of red lipstick, one that you quickly learned was his favorite. A pair of socks that you couldn’t find in the rush to pack your bags before heading to the airport for your flight home. CDs that had found a home in his glove compartment during your late summer drives. Each item brought back a memory, pulling you deeper and deeper into the memories of your time together.

But something was missing. The scarf you had forgotten at his family’s house that first night you were left feeling that what the two of you shared was love. It wasn’t there.

Everything else was, though. Every little thing that tied you to him, neatly packed away and shipped back to you, like trash to be discarded. What forced you to remember the early days of your love—the days that were filled with laughter, and the nights where he made you his own—they were supposed to be the beginning of something real. They were memories that you once held so fondly in your heart, but they only brought you heartache now. And Vince? Him sending them back to you made you feel like he had never really felt anything at all.

You stood there, over the box, staring at it. It’s emptiness and how the timeline of your love was spread in the mess over the tabletop—you had it all, all but the one item that symbolized the beginning of it all. And suddenly, it was too much. Your hands trembled as you stepped back from the table.

You stumbled down the hall and fell into your bed. Curling up, you hugged your knees to your chest, a crumpled piece of paper laying there as your tears flowed freely. You sobbed into your pillow, trying so desperately to let the memories of Vince go. They hurt too much to keep, but a part of you knew they were too precious to let go. You remembered it all, every little detail, and it consumed you, leaving you shattered. You had given him so much, and in the end, you were left with nothing but the memories of a love that would never last.

It was all too much. It was all too real. And you couldn’t help but wonder: The love you shared, did it maim him too?

Vince pulled open his dresser drawer with one hand while he tugged at his loose shirt collar with the other. He rifled through it carelessly, disturbing every neatly folded tie, looking for just the right one to match his suit on game day. His fingers moved quickly, digging deeper, searching for a color he had only worn once or twice—there, deep beneath the silk, the cashmere and the cotton, his hand brushed against something soft. Something he hadn’t touched in months.

At the bottom of the drawer, hidden away from anyone who decided they could snoop through his drawers, was the scarf you had left behind at his brother’s house all those months ago. Vince stopped to stare at it first, the bright red scarf so vibrant against the blacks, blues and greens of his eyes. Then he reached out, letting his fingers curl around the familiar fabric as he drew it from the darkness of the drawer out into the light of his bedroom. He stroked it slowly, only looking away from it when there was a clamour in the next room.

Vince had almost forgotten he had a guest.

His new fling was getting ready for the game in the bathroom. She was probably making a mess of something, and he could hear her humming softly as she applied her makeup and did her hair. She wouldn’t be sitting with the other wives and girlfriends—just like you, she would sit alone. And she would be but a memory in a week, maybe two weeks, if he was feeling generous. Even with that in mind, he didn’t need her walking in on him now, as he thought of you.

Vince watched the half-open door of his bedroom as he gripped the scarf in his fist. He could hear her shuffling around, and the sound of her heels clicking against the floor. As she stood there, staring at the scarf, he remembered that night he met you at dinner. How you had worn such a shy smile, but spoke with such confidence. He remembered how your smile would grow as you tried not to laugh at his jokes, and how you would fix the scarf around your neck just right on the days there were still summer, but so close to fall. It had still smelt of you the day his sister-in-law had returned it to him during the break for the holidays.

He lifted it up to his face slowly, inhaling deeply. The scent of you had only begun to fade, the traces of you still lingering enough to make his chest tightened with a familiar ache.

A heavy sighed rocked his shoulders as his grip loosed on the scarf. He had left the fabric wrinkled, but he smoothed them away with a certain care. He held it in both hands, ready to tuck it back where it hid for so long he had forgotten it was there. But as he lowered his hand, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Something made him stop. The scarf. Your scarf. It paired with his game day suit perfectly. A black jacket and pants with a white button down top. It was the pop of color he needed.

Vince draped it around his shoulders, the wool settling around him like a ghost of your embrace. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he adjusted it just right, the scent of you right under his nose, reminding him of what it smelt like to have his face buried in your soft hair. He smoothed it down carefully before turning away from the mirror and looking out the bedroom door. There, a shadow stretched across the hallway - his fling was lingering, ready to leave and completely unaware of the significance of what he had decided to wear to the game that night.

Putting on a smile, he stepped out of the room, the scarf resting over his heart—a quiet reminder of the love that had been, and the love he had lost.

TAGLIST: @mp0625 , @starshine-hockey-girl , @wingedwheelprxncess , @kurlyteuvo , @couldawouldashoulda50

#vince dunn #vince dunn fanfic #seattle kraken #nhl fanfic #nhl rpf #nhl fanfiction #hockey rpf #hockey romance #the eras tour fic challenge #dividers by: @firefly-graphics

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