#thank you darling!!!!

[live-from-flaturn]

L. favourite fic of yours?

Probably "A Silver Sky, A Golden Night"! It started as a simple "knight/prince" oneshot to thank @just-slightly-chayotic for their super-supportive tags and comments... And snowballed out of control into a roughly 50k fairytale epic.

I'm also currently writing Kim’s "mating dance" scene right now and it's giving me life.

[sloelimbs]

Babe I'm gonna give you total creative freedom bc I trust you completely, BUT if you want a prompt, let's go with 'pineapple.'

since i'm down to my last two requests (i know it's taking me forever, i'm sorry, i have medical shit going down) i'm just going to pop in here that my askbox is open and i take requests! now, the story:

The line comes to him with the same kind of flash of inspiration as a riff, or a brilliant lyric, several years into his employment at the Hideout. He still plays on Tuesdays, because he and the guys could never give up on the double Cs, but more or less every other night of the week he’s in there serving drinks and cleaning glasses. It’s not without resentment that Eddie acknowledges he’s met more girls with a cocktail shaker in his hand (because Fridays are ladies nights, so cocktails are on the menu) than with his guitar.

Of course, that was before Chrissy Cunningham started working with him. Okay, so she doesn’t exactly work with him but she’s in the goddamn bar, ain’t she? It doesn’t matter that she’s also, you know, on the bar. He wouldn’t let anyone actually touch her (and nor would the other girls, for that matter) but God what do they do to the cheerleaders in this town to make them so consistently hot? It’s clearly not the uniform (he’d been worried about that), so what? The natural rhythm she has, moving so that her skin lights up like she’s covered in scales, hipbones glowing beneath low riding shorts, and how (even covered in sweat with her hair dark and curling from it) beautifully alive she is with the music replacing the blood in her veins? He knows she feels that too. Music is a living thing that takes a person over; this he knows because he makes it. Eddie suspects Chrissy was born with it.

Anyway, the line he comes up with smacks him clear between the eyes - a chord progression, a bridge appearing from nowhere - just as the last stragglers are being shooed out of the door and Chrissy is drying her hair perched on a table. It’s beyond fucking genius, he just knows it. He’s about to pick her up with the smoothest shit that’ll ever leave his mouth and he’s extra fucking cocky about swaggering up to her with a towel over his shoulder and his arms crossed over his chest. He’s always grateful that his work clothes are flattering but tonight he’s seriously considering thanking a God he doesn’t really believe in for his luck. She looks up at him quizzically, then smiles a smile so big that actually he thinks his smoothness might have a little pulp in it after all. Shit. Fuck. It’s too late, he’s already opening his mouth, and what falls out of it is;

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.” What that fuck was that, Munson, you enormous fucking clowncar of a man? Smooth his fucking foot oh God he’s going to run his own head over with his van. The fuck is he talking about? What is this nonsense?

Why can’t Chrissy be as easy to talk to as the bimbos that come in here with their bachelorette parties?

“Wow.” But she’s laughing! That’s a good sign! It’s not even polite laughter - it’s a hideous little giggle that he immediately wants to find again, grin immediate on his mouth, watching the gaps between her teeth. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Normally I’m much better than this.”

“You realise that makes you sound like a womanising jerk, right?” Chrissy crosses one long bare leg over the other and brushes the rhinestones hanging against her collarbone over her shoulder, raises her eyebrows and puckers her mouth at him. Sweet baby Jesus. That’s not true, not really, not from his perspective but if this is a game and this is how she wants the rules to be then he can do that. He sits at the table and folds his arms on the top.

“Maybe you should make an honest man of me, Cunningham. What time do you get off?”

“Same time as you, obviously.”

“I have some kush back at my trailer, if you felt like joining me.” The smile on her face grows, and her eyes flick from his own to his mouth, and it doesn’t matter that the pick up line ended up being the most embarrassing thing he could ever say because she leans down over him and slots her fingers along the bone of his jaw. Now he knows how all the heroines feel when the hero finally catches up with them. It’s a very strange place to be. Worth it, though. Oh God, so worth it, because she parts her lips against his and her tongue is coated in sugar and cinnamon from shots of cherry sours and Big Red bubblegum. When she pulls back, that tongue lingers for a second between his teeth and with a shiver he starts to laugh. He can’t help it. “It’s pineapple. The kush.”

“Wow. I can’t believe I’m going home with you and you’re this much of an idiot.”

“Chrissy, what can I say? I’m a talented guy.”

[meo-eiru]

Delusional Yandere Elf

Quick colored sketch to show his colors

[maria-ruta]

"what if chilchuck was a butch?" we thought

and Ryoko said - "say no more!" - and made Meijack, can you believe it???

anyway I'm surprised nobody's done it before, you can have it!

original panels under read more

p.s. - she just doodled chilchuck genderbend once and couldnt let go of the design and BAM Meijack was born lol its so funnt tbh. but fucking valid

[senditcolton]

AAAAH! Okay, I’m so obsessed with the vibes of the header alone! My OG hockey husband?! Plus the Sabrina Carpenter inspired title?! New Year’s fic!? I’M SO READY FOR THIS!! (reactions below)

Ah, yes the dread of relatives during the holidays, very relatable (and when you’re going through a divorce, double yikes!)

“You shed 75 pounds of jackass” already in love with these friends!

The sage cleansing!! Essential for after a breakup!

YES THE ERAS TOUR!! Have to have the Taylor Swift nods in here!

Honestly thank god you dumped him girl!! I would be right there with Nic and Katie and Nora!

The way she still has her cheating husbands credit card!?!? You fucking go girl!!!

“They’re laughing and shoving each other like overgrown frat boys” never have I ever heard a more accurate description of hockey players

It’s okay, my body would have the same reaction to ten-seconds of eye contact with Tyler Seguin

Listen… being pinned between the bar and Tyler freaking Seguin?! This is already one of the hottest things ever.

AAAANNND it just got hotter! Whew! My lord! In the secluded VIP section of the club (which I have absolutely no qualms about [if you’ve been here long enough, you know this])

Also, Tyler being a goofball even in the middle of sex… I will say it’s completely on brand.

Also, also, we’re all picturing the “Feather Sabrina Carpenter Heels” right? Because I am. And those are 100% staying on.

I… feel like there are worse ways to wake up. But hungover and newly married is definitely up there on the list.

“He looks like he was attacked by a feral animal – and it’s a jolt to the system when you realize the feral animal had to have been you” Relatable

The fact that Tyler is so casual about all of this has me giggling

“Any man that has his dogs as he phone screen can’t be a total sociopath” gotta mention the goodest boys!

The headshot! I would fall in love immediately because it is very truly ridiculously endearing

Tyler! It’s not a bad idea but wow, suggesting you stay married to the woman you just met – and married – last night and neither of you knew each others full names until this moment is certainly a Choice!

...but again, I hate to say that it feels very on brand.

Oh god, I can only imagine that flight home.

The progression! Learning about his job, learning about each other, a vacation to Mexico, some more ‘compatibility testing’, moving in together, meeting the family, I love it!!

And then the (second) proposal!!! And then the surprise ‘wedding’ on New Year’s Eve!!

THEIR BANTER IS JUST SO PERFECT!!! I ADORE THIS!!

“I’m really glad you’re the one I drunk married in Vegas” I’m sorry, why is this so stinking cute!?

I am in love with this! It was so hot and cute and adorable and ridiculously endearing, all at the same time!!! Drunk marriage in Vegas that turns into something real is such a cool concept and you executed it so well!!! And it had like, everything I love! New Year’s, nods to my two favorite blonde pop stars, and – of course – TYLER FREAKING SEGUIN. I can’t believe this is your first time writing for him, you captured that loveable goofball energy that I adore about him so perfectly!!! I would 100% not complain if you decide to write more for him. But overall, AAAAAAAAHHHH THANK YOU!!!

a/n: my @wyattjohnston winter fic exchange fic for @senditcolton (whose writing i am OBSSESSED with - praise you like i should made me see the light on matty t) 🥰 i’ve never written for tyler seguin and my only familiarity with him was him showing his own headshot to get into the arena which immediately made me love him lol. i had fun writing this one and i hope you enjoy!!!

word count: 12.1k

tw: drinking , fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, hangovers, mild cursing

summary: new year’s eve in las vegas gets out of hand when you meet tyler, a gorgeous stranger in the club

After your divorce papers are signed, sealed, and delivered - on Christmas day no less, leave it to your jackass ex to find the only lawyer in the entire Fort Worth area willing to work on a national fucking holiday - your best friends appear at your front door with suitcases, bottles of champagne, and round trip tickets to Las Vegas, leaving on the 27th.

“No,” you tell them flatly, arms crossed over your flannel shirt, hair in a three-day old knot on top of your head. “I’m not in the mood to go anywhere, much less Vegas.”

You hadn’t even taken your parents up on the offer to pay for a plane ticket back home to New York for the holidays. It was too much to face them after your marriage had imploded and getting the third degree from your relatives wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do. Spending the holidays alone had seemed like a better option, even if the day had been a little lonely. But a spiked hot chocolate and a string of Christmas movie classics had kept you from getting too depressed.

“Honey,” Nora says, in her Christmas sweat set, the cartoon Grinch blazoned across the front giving you a nasty smirk, a patient smile on her face, “now is exactly the time to get away. You just shed a hundred seventy five pounds of jackass, you need a distraction.”

She muscles past you and nearly drags her rolling suitcase’s wheels over your bare toes. You pull your foot back and lean against the wall as Katie and Nic follow her inside, a makeshift parade to celebrate your divorce. Nic at least has the decency to shoot you an apologetic look as she passes, whispering, “I tried to get her to settle for a little trip to a spa, you know, manis, pedis, massage. But you know Nora…”

“Never Takes No for an Answer Nora,” you finish when Nic trails off, smiling a little despite yourself. Nic gives you a little smile and bumps your hip with hers.

“Seriously though,” she says as you close the door behind her, “if you really don’t want to go, Nor will understand.”

You sigh and shake your head. “No, I…it’s probably good for me to get out of town,” you admit reluctantly. It’s been a depressing few months, full of anger and tears and tense phone calls and curt emails. You’re tired of being sad, of being angry, but mostly you’re tired of being in the same city as your asshole ex-husband. Even though you moved out of the house you shared and into an apartment, the entire city holds reminders of your relationship. Now that the divorce is official, you’re starting to wonder if staying in Fort Worth is the right move. Your friends and your job are here, but the risk of running into Jason is astronomically high and maybe a change of scenery would be good. You rub at your forehead - that’s a problem for the new year.

The girls leave their suitcases in a pile in your front hall. Two pairs of Nikes and a pair of Ugg platforms join the suitcases and you’re pulled into a pile on your couch - the college tradition for a broken relationship. Back then it had been cheap wine coolers and binge watching The Bachelor. Now, Nora hands you a bottle of champagne, cheers when you pop the cork, and drops her head to your shoulder after you take a huge gulp. You drape your legs over Katie’s lap and rest your cheek on the top of Nora’s head. It’s not the way you thought you’d be spending the holidays, but you’re so grateful for your friends.

“In about an hour, we’re going to start helping you pack,” Nora says, taking the second bottle of champagne from Nic and swigging from it. “But right now, it’s time to tell us every single negative thought you’ve had about Jackass Jason and didn’t want to say before.“

“Have to cleanse the energy,” Nic says, “by putting all his negative traits into the air and I’ll light some sage.”

“Sage?” You lift an eyebrow, warm and cozy in the cocoon of your friends.

Nic digs into her giant purse and pulls out a wad of sage, tied up with white string. She beams. “Sage! It’s very cleansing.”

Katie cackles a laugh. She kicks Nic’s thigh lightly and grins, “never change those hippie ways, Nicky.”

“Pass me a lighter,” Nic holds out her free hand and wiggles her fingers. Nora drops a well used plastic Bic onto her palm and you lean in to cup your hands under the sage bundle. The last thing you want is ashy smudges on your couch.

It takes two tries, but eventually Nic manages to get the lighter to catch and she holds the flame to the top of the bundle. It immediately starts to smell of the burning herb and smoke rises to the ceiling when she blows out the small fire. You cough a little, the scent of sage stinging your nose. Nic rolls off the couch and begins to wave the stick around, explaining what she’s doing as she goes.

“So, we’re getting rid of all of Jason’s negative energy and karma,” she waves the stick and you wince when a little clump of ashes falls to the carpet and then sigh when Nic’s bare foot grinds them further into the fibers.

“Jason never lived here,” you point out reasonably, the bottle of champagne lighter in your hand as you take another drink. Your chest already feels lighter and less knotted with grief and anxiety.

Nic looks at you like you’re an idiot and you feel strangely chastened, taking another swig from the bottle. “Honey, his negative energy and toxicity was absorbed by you and all the stuff you took from the house. We have to just, like, get his energy out of here.” She cocks her head at you, squints, asks, “would you consider cutting your hair? Hair holds onto a lot of trauma.”

“No!” You yelp, hand flying up to clutch at the knotted mess on top of your head. “I thought you were the ones to talk me out of breakup bangs when he first left? Now I’m supposed to cut my hair?”

“Just a suggestion,” she says, even as the other two chime in from the couch to encourage a change in your hairstyle. Nora mentions a bob and you resist the urge to kick her.

With a roll of your eyes, you say firmly, “I’m not cutting my hair. Let’s move on from this.”

Nic nods and finishes sageing the apartment, leaving a faint haze of smoke in the air and you’re honestly very grateful when she puts the bundle in a ziploc bag and stashes it back in her purse. “Okay,” she beams, dusting off her hands, “bad energy officially cleansed. We can move onto the fun part!” She drinks from the bottle that you’ve mostly emptied on your own and before you can ask what the fun part is, you’re being pushed into your bedroom and the girls are rummaging in your closet for your suitcase.

They work in coordination, while you’re sitting stupid in the middle of your bed, to throw your skimpiest clothes into the opened suitcase. You watch as a colourful array of fabric is tossed from your drawers and wonder what, exactly, they have planned for the trip.

“This one, for sure,” Katie’s voice is muffled from deep in your closet. Her hand appears, the mirrored minidress you bought and wore for the Eras Tour swinging from its hanger. The mirrors sparkle under the hi-hats in your room and throw discs of light onto your bedroom walls.

“What are we doing in Vegas?” You ask finally, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. “I mean, I love that dress, but can’t this just be a chill trip? Like what if we just got tickets to see Adele? And I can cry to her music?”

“Absolutely not,” Nora shakes her head and Katie shakes the dress at you again. “We’re going to get you to forget about the jackass and the divorce one way or another. Whether it’s drinks or dick, that’s your choice, but you deserve to let loose after taking care of him all these years.”

“Besides,” Katie pipes up, “how good do you think we are that we could get last minute Adele tickets? That shit was sold out months ago!”

Tears prickle at your eyes, your nose burning a little. Divorced at 27 isn’t exactly how you pictured your life going after meeting Jason in college, getting married at 22, and supporting him all throughout his time in law school, but you’re beyond grateful for your girls.

“No dick,” you murmur, a shaky smile on your face. “I’m not ready for that, but drinks I can do.”

The trio cheers and starts tossing more clothes into your suitcase.

——

The next day is spent nursing your mild hangover and repacking the drunken mess you’d all made of your suitcase the night before. Once you’re packed to your satisfaction - mirrored mini dress and platform heels included - you run out for a quick wax before meeting the girls for a manicure.

“I meant to say it last night,” you say watching your crusty old gel polish disappear into dust, “but let me know what I owe you, for the flight and hotel and everything. I’ll Venmo you.”

Nora waves you off, apologising quickly to the manicurist when she complains as Nora’s hand is ripped away. “Don’t even worry about that. I used miles for the flights and -“

“The guy I’ve been seeing?” Nic cuts in. “The hedge fund guy, Mark, he’s treating for the hotel suite.”

Katie’s eyebrows shoot up along with yours. Clearly she didn’t know about the hotel connect. “Whoa,” she grins, “Nicky with the high roller! Hold onto him with two hands.”

Nic blushes. “He’s really sweet too.” She continues talking about him for a few minutes until she stops herself and looks at you with wide eyes and an apologetic expression. “Oh god, I’m so sorry! Here I am rambling on and you’re going through -“

“Oh my god, don’t do that!” You cut her off. “I’m okay! I want to hear about the guys you’re dating. Just because I’m single again doesn’t mean I want death to love for everyone.” You snort a laugh that sounds a little forced even to your own ears. The girls share a look that you hate, but continue talking about the dates they’ve been on and the mediocre sex they’ve been having. Truthfully, you tune them out a little bit, cranky about the divorce, about the trip that was sprung on you, and embarrassingly enough, jealous that they’re having sex at all.

Even before Jason started the divorce proceedings six months ago, it had been nearly eight months before that the last time you had sex. You should’ve realized he was seeing someone else on the side because there was no way he had gone that long without sex. And yet. You’d been caught off guard by the cliched texts found in his phone, the lacy thong found in his car, and the divorce petition delivered to you while he was “working late.” Thinking back on it, you feel supremely stupid.

Now that the paperwork is signed and you’re officially, legally single again, you’re just glad you didn’t have kids or anything really significant to fight over. It’s almost a blessing that the process wasn’t as drawn out as it could’ve been.

You make a conscious effort to push all thoughts of Jason from your mind and try to be in the moment, a task made easier once you’re in the air en route to Vegas and then actually in the city itself. It’s both like the movies and not, colorful and loud and a little sketchy. But you immediately make twenty bucks on a slot machine in the airport, so you figure that’s a good omen for the trip.

The first four days of the trip pass in a blur - all you can eat buffets, drinking, dancing, spas, too little sleep, and too much gambling. You’re up nearly three hundred dollars after being down almost a thousand the day before, so that’s cause to celebrate with drinks. Not that you really need an excuse - you’ve had more alcohol in the last four days than in the last four months. You’re exhausted, but you’ve also laughed more than you have in a year and your face hurts from smiling. The entire city has a numbing effect on your lingering emotions and you feel yourself starting to rediscover who you were before the Jason of it all.

“Time for the mirrorball dress!” Nora singsongs, dancing around the suite in her plush robe. It’s New Year’s Eve and the city feels even sparklier than usual. The streets have been packed with people and the casinos are at capacity - apparently there’s a hockey game tonight too, so the sports bettors are having a field day. You’ve been going to different hotel bars and clubs the past few nights, but tonight is the big night out before you fly back to Texas tomorrow night.

The entire Strip is shut down to traffic for the night and you’re planning on going to TAO for dinner and dancing since it’s inside the Venitian, where you’re staying. It’s a major splurge, but fuck it, you’re about to get alimony from your corporate lawyer ex-husband. You still have Jason’s credit card, so you’re fully planning on putting dinner on his tab, before he realizes that the card is in your possession. For all the little details Jason remembers, he’s surprisingly bad about his finances.

For now though, you dig your hand into the pillowcase that had been full of the little shot sized bottles of alcohol four days ago and is now mostly empty. You groan when you pull out a little bottle of Pink Whitney, the pink lemonade vodka is your least favorite drink. You knock back the shot while the girls cheer you on, all three of them already in various states of tipsy. It honestly feels like you haven’t been completely sober since you left Texas.

Nic blasts a classic 2000s playlist while you’re getting ready and you dance around the huge suite, feeling light and floaty.

It’s complete chaos out on the Strip, even though it’s barely after 7. You could’ve gotten to the restaurant directly through the hotel, but you decide to walk outside for a bit to see what’s happening. It’s chillier than you expected, so by the time you get to the restaurant, you’re more than ready for a drink and dinner. You fill up on sushi and expensive drinks, gossiping about people you knew in college, spilling some more of the more extreme details of Jason’s cheating when you’re finished with your third TAO-tini.

“FUCK HIM!” Katie shouts in the middle of the restaurant, drawing attention to your table. You giggle and shush her drunkenly, waving a hand to get her to lower her voice. “No,” she shakes her head, only marginally quieter, “you really are so much better than that douche. When we get downstairs, we’re finding a man and you’re fucking him!”

Nic giggles and leans a little sideways in her seat, “new dick to cleanse Jackass Jason from your vagina!”

You flush with embarrassment as more people look over, but thank god the waiter comes by with the check. You toss Jason’s platinum AmEx onto the little dish and grin wickedly as you tell the girls, “dinner was on Jason.” They cheer and Nora laughs, “I should’ve ordered another drink!”

Once the bill is paid, with a generous 30% tip added, you traipse downstairs into the club part of the restaurant. The lights are low and the music is loud, plenty of people already drunkenly dancing just three hours before midnight. Nic and Nora join the fray immediately while you and Katie detour off to the bathroom quickly where you fix up your makeup and fluff up your hair, inspecting your face in the mirror. You look tired, but there’s a spark in your eyes that you hadn’t noticed was missing in the last year of your relationship with Jason.

“I’m serious,” Katie says, her solemn tone betrayed by the slight slur to her ‘s’. “Pick a guy in here and I will make sure you fuck him. You deserve a little fun.”

“I have been having fun,” you assure her, your reflection grinning at hers. The alcohol is making your brain pleasantly fuzzy, thoughts drifting away as easily as they come. “I don’t need a man right now,” you continue. “Even for the night. I just want to dance.”

“Okay!” Katie chirps, grabbing your hand and pulling you back out into the club. “Let’s dance!”

And you do. You find Nic and Nora and for a handful of songs, the four of you are jumping and screaming and having a blast.

Sweaty and thirsty, you break off from the girls and wobble towards the bar, weaving in between the throngs of people. The line for the bar is two or three people deep, so you settle in for a wait, looking around the room and people watching. The crowd seems pretty typical for New Year’s Eve in Las Vegas, but your gaze lands on a group of men and your heart skips a beat.

There’s at least four of them huddled together, maybe five, and you know you’re drunk, but you didn’t think you were drunk enough to be seeing double. You blink and they come into sharper focus - not seeing double, just two incredibly handsome, dark haired and bearded men. Another dark haired man with no beard and a curly haired blond man. They’re all in slacks and white button downs in various states of unbuttoned, like they came from the office or something. They don’t look out of place in the club though, with drinks in their hands and the way they’re grouped together.

They’re laughing and shoving at each other, like overgrown frat boys, and you can’t look away. You’re captivated by the way they hold themselves, clearly confident in their bodies. Even in the dark of the club, you can see the faint outlines of ink through the white fabric of one of the guys’ shirts.

You’re still staring like a creep when the tattooed guy turns and looks directly at you, making and holding eye contact. A little gasp slips from your lips and your stomach flips, the familiar and nearly forgotten feeling of arousal sparking to life in your stomach. His friends shove at his arms, laughing. You blink and look away, feeling shaky and not from the alcohol. A faint flutter between your legs has you pressing your thighs together. “This is stupid,” you mutter to yourself. Ten seconds of eye contact shouldn’t have had you reacting like this. Yes, it had been a while since you last had sex, but jeez.

You rub your fingers over the bridge of your nose and nearly jump out of your skin when a deep, unfamiliar voice says, “what are you drinking?” right in your ear.

“Oh!” You turn, stumbling just enough that a hand shoots out and grips your elbow to steady you. A warm, broad hand. Attached to a tanned, tattooed forearm. Attached to a broad chest barely covered by an obscenely unbuttoned white shirt - tattoos and chest hair exposed and making your body react. Attached to the dark haired man you had made eye contact with. You blink up into warm brown eyes and ignore the way your stomach clenches up. His thumb brushes against the inside of your elbow and your skin feels like it’s on fire.

His mouth, full lower lip and thinner upper lip surrounded by a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, quirks up at the corner. “In case I wasn’t clear,” he says and you can hear the laughter in his tone, “can I buy you a drink?”

A faint smile touches your own lips and you nod. “Double vodka cranberry,” you say, voice a little raspy from screaming along to the music.

Mystery Man nods, smiling, “good choice. Come with me?” Without waiting for an answer, he slides his hand down your forearm and laces his fingers with yours to pull you behind him while he uses his broad shoulders to muscle past the crowd around the bar. When you reach the bar, he does a quick maneuver, dragging you in front of him so you’re sandwiched between the bar and his chest, heat pouring off his body. He leans forward a bit, pressing against you, and catches the bartender’s attention. Your entire body feels too warm, the thin fabric of your thong growing damp from the solid mass of his chest against your back.

“Double vodka cranberry for the lady,” he orders. “And double scotch on the rocks for me.”

His forearms come to rest on the bar top, trapping you in the circle of his arms. The alcohol is lowering your inhibitions and your intrusive thoughts win out and you arch your back a little, pressing your ass into his crotch, turning your head to look back at him. He wears a shit eating grin on his face.

“I don’t usually let strangers buy me drinks,” you say, heart pounding in your chest. He doesn’t feel like a threat, doesn’t feel like someone you should be afraid of. You lean a little closer to him, something crackling in the air between your bodies.

Something flitters across his expression, but you’re just this side of drunk and can’t manage to identify it before it’s gone. “Tyler,” he introduces himself, trailing a finger over your arm and up to your shoulder where he plays with the thin silver strap holding your dress in place. “Not a stranger now.” Goosebumps lift on your arms as his fingertip twists in the skimpy strap. His gaze is searing, flickering from your eyes to your lips to the hint of cleavage exposed by the draping of your dress. Your nipples tighten under the fabric, pinching almost painfully.

You offer up your own name in return, taking the drink directly from the bartender when he returns. You sip at it and it tastes stronger than a double or maybe that’s just Tyler’s proximity that’s clouding your senses.

He takes a sip of his own drink and leads you away from the bar, giving you another opportunity to watch his back muscles move under his shirt as he works his way through the crowd. A gym rat, you think, with the way he’s all lean muscle and quiet strength. He’s muscled, but not disgustingly so.

“What are you doing in Vegas?” He asks, when you’re alone again, just off to the side of the bar. You can see the girls out of the corner of your eye, staring at you with matching ‘you go, girl!’ expressions on their faces. You giggle a little.

“Celebrating,” you reply vaguely, taking a sip of your drink and fluttering your lashes. You’re flirting, you realize. You haven’t flirted with anyone since Jason. The bubbly feeling in your chest expands and you smile up at him.

“Huh,” he laughs warmly, “what do you know, me too. And the only thing my night was missing is a pretty girl.”

Alcohol fuels your confidence, along with the hungry way Tyler’s gaze takes in your body, and you reply, “good thing you found me then.”

Your gaze lingers on the notch of his collarbone, the dusting of hair over his chest, the dark lines of his tattoos. Your cunt gives an enthusiastic throb and you swallow heavily.

Tyler leans in a little and you catch a whiff of spicy cologne mixed with the scotch on his breath. This isn’t his first drink of the night either. “Would your friends mind if I monopolized your time tonight?”

Biting your lip, you look over at the girls. Katie is moving her hand near her mouth in the universal sign for blowjob and Nic is giving you the biggest, most encouraging puppy dog eyes. Nora flashes you a double thumbs up, spilling some of her drink in the process. A laugh huffs through your nose and you look back up at Tyler, “no, I don’t think they’ll mind.”

“Good,” his smile is adorable, his hand lands on your waist, and you completely forget why you told Katie you weren’t interested in a hook up tonight. “Want to dance?”

You’re not quite sure how it happened - one minute you were dancing with Tyler, one of his arms wrapped securely around your waist while your hips gyrated against his pelvis, the hard bulge of his cock obvious every time you moved and the next minute you found yourself pressed up against a wall in the VIP section of TAO, with Tyler’s tongue deep down your throat and his hand sliding up the side of your thigh, fingertips playing at the hem of your dress. Your hands are fisted around the collar of his shirt, pulling him as close as you can while you moan into his mouth and cant your hips towards his, spreading your legs a little to encourage his hand’s exploration.

His fingertips make contact with the soaked fabric of your thong and you whimper, knees going weak. Tyler’s lips turn up in a smile against yours and he uses more pressure, finding your clit easily through the fabric until you have to pull back and gasp for air, your head thrown back while you pant.

“Jesus, baby,” he mutters, kissing a trail down your jaw and over your throat. “You’re fucking soaked.” He sucks gently at your pulse point, your heart hammering in your chest.

He slips his fingers under the fabric, rough pads of his fingers catching against your slick folds. “Oh my god,” you mutter, grinding against his fingers. “More, please, Tyler.”

He obeys, thumb catching on your clit and middle finger teasing at your entrance before sliding inside easily. A whine catches in your throat and it feels so good, too good. Between the alcohol and the lust and the months long celibacy, you’re at the edge of an orgasm in less than a minute, dripping around Tyler’s fingers before you can even process that you’ve come. White spots dance in your vision and it could be the strobe lights or the searing pleasure from having your clit rolled between Tyler’s thick fingers.

“Good girl,” he grins against your neck, beard and teeth scraping against your skin. Your face already feels rubbed raw with beard burn, but you don’t want him to stop. “Think you can do it again?”

Truthfully you think that you’re so worked up and horny you could come just from Tyler looking at you, but you nod and squeak out a yes.

Tyler bites a mark against your collarbone and drops to his knees, wedging his shoulders between your thighs and forcing them apart. He looks up at you from between your legs, dark eyes even darker with lust and a wicked grin on his face, “hold on, baby, gonna make you see fireworks for the New Year.”

You laugh at the corny line, choking off into a prolonged moan when he buries his face between your legs and presses his tongue flat against your cunt, the wet heat of his tongue pressing your damp thong into your sensitive clit.

You’re beyond thankful for the darkness of the VIP area and the loud music because you can’t contain the noises that Tyler’s drawing from your mouth. You tangle one hand in his hair - fuck, it’s so soft - and hold his face up against your cunt. The other hand reaches blindly for the magnum bottle of champagne you’d been sharing. Technically it’s the second bottle and it’s more than half gone when you tip it up to your mouth for a drink.

“I - ah! I don’t usually doooooh my god, right there - this,” you gasp, writhing over Tyler’s face. His nose is pressed against your clit and his tongue is flat against you, licking with purpose. You grind against his face, making sure the tip of his nose rubs against your clit.

“What,” he pulls back with a wicked grin that only grows when you whine and try to push him back in place with your grip on his hair, “get your pussy licked?”

The bottom half of his face is glistening in the strobe lights and you feel the blush rise on your chest knowing that your body did that to him.

“Um, yes,” you admit quietly, “and the whole, uh, stranger in a club thing too.”

His smile turns a little soft, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Happy to be your first then,” he kisses the inside of your thigh and lifts your leg so it’s draped over his shoulder and you’re spread even wider for him. You’re impossibly exposed to him and all it does is make you wetter. Tyler tilts his head back a little and opens his mouth, you instinctively pour some champagne into his mouth, the both of you laughing when it splatters onto his face and shirt, making the white fabric nearly see-through. He wipes a little at his face, fingers scraping at his beard, and he shrugs. “Was gonna get all wet and messy anyway.”

He holds his champagne covered fingers up to your face and you lick at his skin, sucking his fingertips into your mouth and letting them rest on your tongue for a moment before he pushes them a little further past your lips, until saliva is dripping down his palm.

Tyler’s head is back between your legs, a strong hang gripping at your thigh, his lips wrapped around your clit. He sucks at the swollen bud and your leg kicks out, the heel of your platform smacking against his back with an audible thunking noise. He grunts into you and you moan an apology, his fingers falling out of your mouth so you can take another gulp of champagne. The bubbles fizz on your tongue and burn going down.

He buries his wet fingers into your cunt, curling and pumping, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to keep from screaming. Not that anyone would hear you with how loud the music is in the club. You grind your hips against Tyler’s face and feel him smile, the coarse hair on his face scratching against your inner thighs when you subconsciously try to close your legs around his ears.

“Gonna kill me,” he pulls back and mutters, nipping at the junction of your thigh. You jolt when his hands squeeze at your asscheeks, the scrape of the sequins on your dress adding more overwhelming sensation. He adjusts your thigh over his shoulder, his other hand trailing down your leg and wrapping around your ankle. He pulls back a little and you whine at the loss of sensation. “I like these,” he says, his fingers tapping against the sparkle of your platforms. “When I fuck you later, I want you to keep these on.”

You laugh, about to deny that this is going any further than the club, when his mouth is back on your cunt, tongue stiff and warm as he licks at your clit. All thoughts are gone from your head, aware only of the pleasure Tyler’s giving you. His hands are all over your body, fidgeting from your thighs to your ass and back again, calloused fingertips ghosting over your skin and making you shiver.

You close your eyes against the pleasure building in your body, tears pooling at your waterline. How the fuck did you go this long in life without realizing that you’ve never had a satisfying orgasm? And some random, gorgeous man in a club in Vegas is the one to satisfy you over and over? It’s a shame this is a one night thing.

—-

Sunlight streams in through the windows and you screw your eyes shut tighter, nausea rolling your stomach even though you haven’t moved. It’s like an ice pick is stabbed into your temple, the throbbing somewhere deep in your brain a harsh reminder that you’re not 21 and immune to hangovers anymore.

You press your lips together and lift your hand to rub at your temple, trying to keep your movements as slow as possible so you don’t vomit. Something hard and sharp knocks against your brow bone and you crack one eye open to see what the hell it could possibly be since you don’t remember putting any jewelry on last night. A huge twinkly diamond ring stares back at you from your finger.

The ring finger.

The left ring finger.

…fuck

Your eyes fly open and you ignore the wave of nausea and shooting headache to look around the hotel room. The unfamiliar hotel room. The sheets slide down your chest, exposing you to cold air and making you shiver. Your nipples pebble from the cold and you look down, eyes widening at the little bruises and bite marks scattered over your chest and stomach. You’re naked under the sheets save for a pair of black boxer-briefs looped around one thigh, like you tried to put them on last night and got tired halfway. The fabric is soft and worn and they’re absolutely not your underwear.

“Fuck!” You yelp, gaze landing on Tyler’s prone form in the bed next to you. He’s flat on his back, one arm thrown over his face, the other out to his side with his fingers curled in your direction. “Oh my god!”

His chest is bare, tattoos a stark contrast against the white sheets and his tan skin. He’s got purpling bruises on his chest and stomach too, marks that you must’ve left on him. Marks that make a trail from his collarbone over his pecs, down his stomach, barely hidden by the sheet that rides low over his lap.

If you’re half wearing his briefs, he’s definitely completely naked from the waist down too. Before you can comprehend the thought, you wonder if you left marks lower on his body too.

Your head is moving around like it’s on a swivel, taking in all the details of the room that you’re pretty sure is Tyler’s. There’s a black suitcase in the corner and your dress is a shiny pile on the floor. Your thong tossed over the lampshade on the bedside table. You can’t find your shoes, until you notice them at the foot of the giant bed, left in a haphazard pile and you remember, faintly, Tyler’s words from last night - “When I fuck you later, I want you to keep these on.” They look like they were discarded in a rush, one ankle strap not even fully pulled from its buckle. His clothes are everywhere, tossed in a trail from the door that speaks to how fast you were trying to get him naked.

The hangover is clouding your brain, making it feel like your head is stuffed with cotton, and you haven’t even begun to consider what the ring on your finger means. Maybe it was just a joke? It had to have been a joke.

Tyler shifts, grunting a little in his sleep, and reaches his hand out in your direction like he’s trying to find your body. His movement startles you.

“Ah, fuck!” You yelp, scrambling out of the bed, legs all tangled in the sheets. The briefs slip down your leg and tangle around your ankle. You kick your leg wildly, the black fabric going sailing across the room with the force of your kick. Frantically, you yank at one of the blankets crumpled at the foot of the bed and wrap it around yourself like a toga. Your hands shake a little.

Tyler stirs and blinks sleepily, stretching his arms over his head, giving you a show with how the black ink of his tattoos move. His gaze is unfocused when his eyes finally open, landing on your blanket-wrapped form. A slow smile graces his lips and he rasps, “hey, morning.” There’s a smudge of your dark lipstick on his cheek, partially hidden by his beard. A bruise is sucked into the underside of his bearded jaw and you notice, for the first time, the ragged red nail marks on his shoulders and biceps. He looks like he was attacked by a feral animal - and it’s a jolt to the system when you realize that feral animal had to have been you.

You can’t even find words, mouth gaping open and shut at him like a fish. Now that you’re standing, you finally stop for a second to take stock of your own body. Sticky between the thighs, sore like you’ve never been sore before - in a pleasant, well taken care of way. Your inner thighs feel raw and you know that when you look later, you’re going to find beard burn on the sensitive skin. You can already feel it on your chin and cheeks.

“What is this?” You hold your left hand out to him, the gaudy ring - because now that you’ve gotten a better look at it, it’s not a real diamond, thank god. It’s cubic zirconia or something cloudier than a real diamond and it’s a huge oval, spanning the entirety of your knuckle - glinting in the early morning sunlight.

Tyler squints at you, rolling onto his side before sitting up, either unaware or unconcerned that he’s completely naked and the sheet pools low enough in his lap that you can see the trail of dark hair leading down to his dick and the hair at the very base of him. You try to keep your eyes from looking, but he reaches a hand up and rubs at the back of his neck, making his bicep pop and the sheet move around and you’re only a woman, you can’t help yourself from looking. Your clit throbs between your legs, clearly remembering what happened last night even if most of it after getting eaten out in TAO is a little fuzzy to your brain.

“It’s a ring,” he replies simply, looking like his brain is trying to come back on-line too. He shifts his hand and his eyebrows lift. “Oh, shit. I’ve got one too.”

Your gaze lands on the band on his left ring finger. It’s yellow gold, or something cheap that looks like yellow gold, and you hate that your immediate thought is that it looks good on him. The band contrasts nicely with his skin and he spins it with his thumb, your eyes tracking the rotation.

A little chuckle slips past his lips and you blink at him. He takes in your expression and laughs outright. “Come on, you can’t possibly think we what? Got married last night?” His laugh is warm and too familiar for someone you’ve known less than twelve hours. “That’s a Vegas cliché if I’ve ever heard one.”

You shake your head. “Right, no. Yeah, I’m just being stupid. It’s just—“ you hesitate, glancing around the room again, avoiding looking at him, noticing the - oh god - four condom wrappers discarded on the floor. No wonder you’re so sore. The tenting of the sheet in his lap isn’t doing much to hide his morning wood, the shape of him obvious even with the quick little glances you’ve been sneaking. Four times. It’s a minor miracle that you’re not walking bowlegged.

Tyler stretches again and looks around for something - his clothes, his phone, who knows - while clearly not caring that the sheet is covering next to nothing. “Hey, do you see my phone?” He asks, drawing your attention back to his face. “Just wanna check the time.”

He’s remarkably chill and you’re starting to feel a little crazy for overreacting so much to silly rings bought in a drunken haze. There’s a phone on one of the little decorative tables in the corner of the room and you’re not sure if it’s yours or his, but when you pad across the room to get it, you step on a piece of paper, crumpling it under your heel. Leaning down to pick it up, you fall back on your ass in shock when your eyes land on the words at the top.

Clark County Marriage License

“You okay?” Tyler asks, sounding concerned.

“No,” you manage to squeak out the word around the block in your throat. There in black and white - your name and Tyler’s. Tyler Paul Seguin, apparently, if the document is to be believed. You feel your stomach lurch when you see the date on the license. Last night, New Year’s Eve.

How drunk had you been?

Who the hell had let you get married?

You’re so caught up in the implications of the piece of paper you’re holding that you don’t realize Tyler’s out of bed and squatting next to you, wearing his briefs, thank god.

“Whatcha got - oh,” he cuts himself off, reading the words over your shoulder. “Oh. Shit. Wow.”

He sits down on the floor next to you and you look over at him, eyes wide. “We actually got fucking married in Las Vegas,” you breathe, chest tightening in panic.

“I mean, maybe we didn’t?” He says hopefully. “That’s just a license, doesn’t mean we actually did it.” He taps his fingers absently over one well-muscled thigh, an irregular beat that you somehow sync your breathing to. With a huge effort, you drag your gaze away from his fingers - long and thick and the last you remember, stuffed up your cunt and dragging an orgasm out of your body - and steady your breathing. One hand presses against your chest, fingers digging into your skin like you could reach in and squeeze your heart back into a normal rhythm.

The phone on the tabletop starts buzzing and Tyler reaches up to grab it - “mine,” he says, glancing at the screen and jabs his finger to silence the alarm. He reaches his hand back up on the table and comes back with a handful of Polaroids. He splays them out like a deck of cards and you look at them. “Huh.”

Each picture is blurry as hell, but they’re unmistakably wedding photos. You’ve got a little fluffy veil on. Tyler’s shirt is unbuttoned past is sternum, but tucked neatly into his pants. He’s got you dipped back at the waist, kissing you dramatically. You’re on his back, holding a bouquet of flowers in the air as you kiss his cheek. He’s holding you, chest to chest, one large hand splayed over your bare back, your hand slid underneath his shirt. The Little White Wedding Chapel sign behind you and Tyler in one photo makes what happened last night unavoidable.

“I think we got married,” Tyler states the obvious and you burst into hysterical, gasping laughter. He looks at you, concerned for a beat before starting to laugh himself. It’s not funny at all, but if you don’t laugh, you think you’ll cry.

Once you catch your breath, you hiccup a little noise that sounds like a sob and carefully put the license up on the table. Tyler watches you and then glances back down at his phone, wincing at the time. “So, uh, hate to get married and run, but I have to go,” he taps his phone screen. “I’m on a flight to San Jose in an hour and I really can’t afford to miss that.”

You catch a glimpse of his lock screen and it’s a picture of him cuddling three dogs, which makes you feel marginally better because at least it’s not a woman that he’s cheating on and any man that has his dogs as his phone screen can’t be a total sociopath. A little bit of the knot in your chest unravels.

“San Jose,” you repeat, finally catching onto what he said. “Is that where you live?” You ask the question realizing you know nothing about this man that you’ve married. You didn’t even know his last name until five minutes ago. Oh god. You’re going to have to manage a time difference while filing for divorce. Your thoughts spiral out. Can you even get divorced in a state that’s not Nevada? You should know this, you’re probably the divorce expert in the room. He isn’t giving off divorced man energy, but do you give off divorced woman energy? You hadn’t thought about that and now it’s all you can focus on.

Tyler laughs a little, drawing your attention and stopping your panic attack. “No, thank god. I’m, uh, not to sound conceited,” he says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck, “but you really didn’t recognize me?”

“Should I?” You frown, studying his face. Maybe he looks familiar? But in that way that most dark haired white men look alike. You’re almost positive that you’ve never seen him before.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “This is awkward. But I play for the Dallas Stars, the hockey team? We played Vegas last night, San Jose tomorrow.”

You cock your head at him, this new information sinking in. Dallas. Just thirty minutes from your place in Fort Worth. You’ve obviously heard of the Stars, you don’t live under a rock, but you’ve never been to a game, never cared about sports enough to learn any of the players’ names. It would be a weird thing to lie about, but - “prove it.”

“Prove it?” Tyler repeats incredulously. You nod. He frowns and looks like he’s trying to make a decision. After a second, he huffs a little laugh to himself and mutters, “well, it already worked once,” before unlocking his phone and typing away on the screen. A second later he holds it up next to his face, a Google search open on the screen. A headshot - Tyler’s headshot in a green jersey - looks back at you. He grins wryly, “proof enough?” The search bar at the bottom of the screen shows that he typed in ‘tyler seguin dallas stars headshot’ and misspelled his own name as ‘tylor’ - you don’t know why, but it makes you bite your lip to smother a laugh. The little typo is endearing.

You look back and forth between the screen and Tyler, long enough that he starts to genuinely laugh. “C’mon,” he teases, putting his phone down on his thigh, “you’re a tougher sell than security at the arena.”

“Okay,” you offer him a tiny smile, “I believe you. I’m just, um, a little overwhelmed. I don’t do this kind of thing.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever done it before either,” he replies, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be on the road for a bit, west coast swing, but if you put your number in my phone, I’ll have my lawyer start working on the paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

He coughs a little awkwardly. “The divorce? Or annulment? Divorce though right? ‘Cause we obviously slept together,” he gestures at the condom wrappers, “so we can’t just sweep it under the rug. Like Ross and Rachel in Friends.”

“No!” The word slips out before you can stop it and Tyler frowns.

“We can annul it? My knowledge of ending Vegas weddings is pretty minimal.” He pauses and then as if to reassure you, says, “my knowledge of ending marriages in general is pretty limited too.”

“No,” you chew at your lip, “it’s still a divorce. But, fuck, this is mortifying. A second fucking divorce before I’m even 28. Good fucking job with your life.” You mutter the last bit more to yourself than to Tyler, tears welling up in your eyes. That would be the last thing you need, to tell your family and friends about this whole debacle. Literally a week after your first divorce is finalized, you go out and get married again. Drunkenly. In Las Vegas!

Tyler’s eyebrow lifts and he doesn’t ask the question he so clearly wants to ask. You scrub a hand over your face, nausea returning but you’re not sure if it’s the hangover this time or the way he’s looking at you.

“What if,” he says slowly, studying you carefully for a reaction, “what if, we just…didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” You shift, the floor uncomfortable under your sore ass. The blanket wrapped around your body isn’t the softest and you’re starting to sweat a little despite the cold air pumping into the room. Tyler’s presence next to you is becoming distracting, the movement of his chest muscles, the rasp of his voice. Your body wants more of him.

“Didn’t get divorced…” he tilts his head at you, keeps looking you in the eye, even after your jaw drops and the blanket slips a little. “We could, I don’t know, just -“

“Stay married?” You finish for him, eyebrows up in your hairline. He nods, shrugs - why not? “Oh my god.”

Tyler’s phone vibrates on his thigh and he glances down at the alarm. It reminds you that you have no idea where your own phone is and you really, really need to talk to the girls. He jabs at the alarm again and looks apologetic. “I really do have to go,” he gets to his feet and holds out a hand to pull you up. A spark shoots up your arm when his fingers clasp around yours. He doesn’t let go right away, his thumb rubbing against the backs of your fingers. “Think about it,” he looks at you more softly than you think he really should be in this moment. “You said you don’t do this kind of thing,” he continues, “but new year, new you?” The tiny smile he gives you sends your heartbeat into overdrive and this cannot be good for your health.

“Drunk married in Vegas would be a really new me,” you reply faintly. His hand finally falls away from yours and you’re mildly concerned to realize that you miss his touch. Your fingers flex at your side.

His smile doesn’t waver and he reaches out to brush a piece of hair off your cheek, fingertips lingering on your skin. “I’ll be back in Dallas in two weeks. Think about it, I’ll take you to dinner and we can just…go from there.”

He says it so simply, like it’s nothing. Strangely enough, you do feel calmer than you had a few moments ago, Tyler’s steady calm rubbing off on you.

“Okay,” you nod, repeating yourself. “Okay. I’ll…two weeks.”

Tyler grins a little wickedly. “At least we know we’re good together in bed,” he teases, kicking at a condom wrapper with his bare foot.

A laugh startles out of your chest and you find yourself nodding in agreement. “I, ah, definitely agree with that,” you murmur, your entire face flaming with heat.

——

One Year Later - New Year’s Eve. Dallas. TX

Tyler greets you at the door, suited up and bouquet of flowers in hand. “Hi, Mrs. Seguin,” he grins at you.

“Mr. Seguin,” you laugh back, leaning in to loop your arms around his neck and kiss him soundly, nipping at his lower lip. When you pull back, you’re breathless. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”

His hands roam up and down your back, catching in the fabric of your sparkly white minidress, sliding up under the hem to knead at the flesh of your ass. He grins wickedly when his hands don’t find any fabric covering your ass. You smirk at him and wink, giggling when he pinches a cheek.

You lean into his touch with a contented purr. If it wouldn’t make you late for your own party, you’d pull him inside the house for a quickie. You’d already had sex this morning - a wedding present, according to Tyler when he’d given you back to back, mind numbing orgasms with his tongue and dick before you’d returned the favor with a blowjob that had rendered him speechless for twenty minutes - but you would never get enough of being in Tyler’s arms.

“Does it count as bad luck if none of the guests know they’re coming to a wedding?” He asks, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Or a vow renewal, technically.”

The last twelve months have been a little insane and honestly, looking back, you don’t think you’d have it any other way.

After getting dressed quickly, Tyler had found your phone wedged in the cushions of the hotel room’s armchair. The battery was nearly drained but your screen was lit up with more than a hundred texts in the group chat with the girls and nearly as many missed calls. When you had finally called back, all three had shrieked that they were twenty minutes away from reporting you missing. You’d kept the little surprise of legally binding matrimony to yourself, but had admitted to the girls that you’d spent the night with Tyler and that he lived in Dallas and that you were going to see where it went. The flight home was full of whispered shrieking and more questions than you had honestly had answers for at the time. The gaudy engagement ring was buried in the bottom of your toiletry case, acting like the tell-tale heart, blood rushing in your head every time you thought about it.

When you got home, you’d shoved the ring in your jewelry box, determined not to think about it, but found yourself absently running the pad of your thumb over the underside of your ring finger when you let your mind wander to Tyler.

After Tyler had returned to Dallas from his two week road trip - during which you’d basically internet stalked him and spiralled out quietly about not filling for a divorce right away - you’d finally decided to give it, give Tyler a chance. He’d texted nearly every day he was gone, sending stupid jokes or a picture of something he thought would amuse you. Worst case scenario, you filed for divorce and went through the process all over again. By the time Tyler took you out for dinner at a quiet dive-y taco place in Fort Worth where you could actually hear each other, both of your memories of the wedding night had returned, although yours were coloured in a hazy film that made the whole thing seem like a fever dream.

The little ceremony had been officiated by an Elvis impersonator, another Vegas cliché, a fact that you’d learned when Tyler had found another Polaroid in his wallet when he was on the plane to San Jose. You’d cracked up when he finally showed it to you in person - Elvis in the middle, clearly past his prime, with you and Tyler on either side of him doing your best air guitar? Maybe?

“I think I’m trying to do an Elvis hip swivel,” Tyler had laughed.

“Whatever it is, it looks like we’re both mid-seizure,” you’d nearly snorted your drink out of your nose. Looking at the photographs was fun now, a little warmth building in the pit of your stomach, not the tight, nauseous coil of anxiety that you’d experienced when you had first seen them.

Other wedding details were still a little hazy, like where you had picked up the rings or what exactly the ceremony had consisted of, beyond being declared man and wife and being told to kiss and cement your “burning love.”

(What you remembered and what Tyler made sure you didn’t forget was just how good you were in bed together. The four condom wrappers on the floor were not an anomaly with Tyler.)

He’d gotten you tickets for games, right up against the glass so he could skate by you during warmups and tap his glove against the glass to capture your attention. After a few games, once you’d decided to really commit to the relationship and were official within your friendship circles, he picked up the habit of blowing you a kiss, grinning when you’d blush.

He’s really good at his job and you’re only a little surprised to find that you actually love watching him play. It’s horrific watching him get hit or tossed into the boards, but when he scores a goal and celebrates in a big hug with his teammates you’re always the first one on your feet, screaming your head off.

You’d brought the girls to a game early on in your relationship and all three of them had been surprised at how comfortable you were in the arena and how quickly you’d picked up the rules of the game. It was hard to explain that you weren’t just trying to make a regular relationship work, but a whole marriage. The stakes were just a little bit higher than usual.

The league had a break for the All-Star Weekend in early February and Tyler had surprised you with a trip to Mexico, where you’d soaked up the sun and gotten to know each other better, giving him all the sordid details about your divorce and sharing stories from your childhoods over icy margaritas and more tacos than your body knew what to do with. He’d told you about his early career, his misbehavior in Boston and how much he loved being in Dallas. The long weekend was slow and lazy, leaving so much time for the two of you to really talk and get to know each other. The experimental sex in a hammock on the beach was the icing on the cake.

After that, it was like a switch flipped and all you wanted to do was be with him. Truthfully, you sometimes forgot that you were thrown into the relationship with a marriage and settled comfortably into dating Tyler, folding each other into your lives, moving in with him, telling him you love him and hearing him say it back, cheering him on when Dallas made it all the way to the Western Conference Finals before being bounced in seven games by, of all teams, the Vegas Golden Knights.

Summer break meant a road trip to Whitby to meet Tyler’s family. A drive that should’ve been two or three days took nearly a week because you kept making random stops to see the silliest monuments advertised on the highways. You’d nearly killed him driving through Illinois, convinced this was the end of the relationship and you’d have to pull the trigger on the divorce, and then he had surprised you by stopping at a corn maze and getting lost in it with you almost immediately. Your stomach had hurt from laughing with him and making out like teenagers.

The trip to his hometown had been beyond fun, getting Tyler to show you his childhood haunts and seeing all the baby pictures of him with his mom telling you stories too.

On the drive back to Dallas, halfway through Oklahoma and in the middle of the night, while you’re pulled over on the side of the road to look at the stars, Tyler asked you to marry him. Again.

This time you had the moment committed to memory, the way Tyler’s hands had been shaking slightly with the black velvet box popped open in his fingers. The way Tyler’s speech rambled, like he hadn’t prepared anything or had forgotten his words just as he started talking, explaining how your relationship had started in an unconventional manner, but he couldn’t picture his life without you now. The way you’d started crying almost the second he had turned to you on the hood of the car with that gorgeous ring glinting at you in the moonlight and how you hadn’t stopped until he’d slid the ring home on your finger and kissed you like he’d never kissed you before.

Over the months, the wedding plan shifts and changes, from a summer wedding so you can have a real ceremony and party, the whole nine yards, to what it actually ends up becoming - a quiet inside joke with the two of you in order to keep your anniversary date, a New Year’s Eve party for your closest family and friends to be surprised at midnight when you and Tyler recite your vows.

It’s much easier to plan a party in six months than it would’ve been to plan a wedding.

Jamie Benn, Tyler’s best friend and the dark haired man in Vegas you had initially thought was just you seeing double, is tapped as the officiant, getting ordained online and getting really into his role, not knowing it’s basically all just a front. He just loves that he’s the only one in on the secret, constantly wearing a shit eating grin any time any of your other friends discuss wedding plans for a summer wedding that’s not going to happen.

“I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces,” you admit, hooking your hand in the crook of Tyler’s elbow and letting him lead you out to the car. He does a double take when he notices your hand.

“What’s that?” He taps on the ring nestled on your ring finger. Your original wedding ring from a year ago had been replaced with a real diamond, still an oval, but smaller and more tasteful. But that’s not what you’re wearing right now.

Your lips twist up in a sly smile. The huge, gaudy cubic zirconia is back on your finger, your second engagement ring tucked safely in its box in your drawer. “It didn’t feel right to get married without it,” you admit, flexing your fingers against his arm so the fake gem will sparkle.

Tyler’s laugh is contagious. “Everyone’s going to ask about it,” he warns you.

“Let them,” you shrug. “I want to wear my original ring on my anniversary.”

Hours later, when the surprise has been pulled off and Jamie announces that Tyler may kiss his bride, you fall into your husband’s arms, kissing him with all that you’ve got.

Fireworks go off outside the venue, the countdown to midnight at less than a minute.

“Happy anniversary, wife,” Tyler grins against your lips, quiet enough that only you can hear him.

Around you, the countdown continues, seconds ticking away until it’s January first.

“Happy New Year, husband,” you whisper back, laughing when he dips you back dramatically.

The party continues well into the early hours of January first, you and Tyler having had the foresight to rent out the venue for twice as long as a normal party. You spend the night flitting between dancing with your friends and cuddling up against Tyler’s side, tucking yourself under his arm and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your cheek is pressed against Tyler’s side, the wrinkled fabric of his button down soft under your skin. Your fingers play with the buttons, slipping them from their holes one by one until his shirt is more unbuttoned than not.

Tyler smirks down at you, his hand rubbing an arc over your hip, rucking up the fabric with each upward stroke of his hand, exposing your thigh inch my inch. “Undressing me already, wife? Can’t wait for the wedding night?” He winks at you and you laugh into his chest.

“I think that ship has sailed,” you murmur, sliding your hand under the unbuttoned shirt and over the smooth skin of his stomach, ridged muscles dancing under your touch. You yawn a little, the weird combination of overtired and wide awake making your brain buzz.

Tyler holds you close and leans down a little to whisper in your ear, “want your anniversary gift?”

“Mmm,” you hum, “I thought I already got my gift this morning?”

“That was a wedding gift,” Tyler teases. “This is an anniversary gift, and no, it’s not in my pants.”

You giggle and look up at him, resting your chin on his chest. “Shame, I like what’s in your pants.”

“I’ll give you that later,” he promises, dropping a kiss to your forehead. “Come on, I stashed it in the coat closet.”

He tangles his fingers with yours and leads you off, getting stopped every few feet by someone else who wants to gush about what a great surprise the party was. “Just couldn’t wait another minute to marry her,” Tyler grins in response every time, making you laugh at his side, the inside secret of your Vegas marriage a warm fizz in your chest.

When you finally escape off to the coat closet, you try to loop your arms around Tyler’s neck and lift up on your toes to kiss him. He obliges you happily, cupping the back of your head and giving you a searing kiss before pulling away. You whine, “I thought we were sneaking off for a wedding night quickie?”

“I literally told you that your gift wasn’t in my pants,” Tyler laughs, kissing your cheek. “Why would you think I wasn’t being serious?”

Your hands find their way underneath his shirt again, fingertips digging into the muscles of his back, and drawing yourself closer to him. “Because I wanted you to be kidding,” you reply. “A little coat closet quickie would be a fun way to start the year.”

“And normally, I’d agree, baby. But I think you’re gonna like this gift,” he leans forward and reaches behind you, giving you the opportunity to press your nose against his collarbone. When he pulls back, he has a fairly large, flat wrapped package in his hand.

“What’s that?” You ask, taking the gift from Tyler as he leans back a little, shoulders resting against the wall, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The package is lighter than you thought it would be.

He nudges your foot with his, “open it.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” you chew at your lower lip. Neither of you had really discussed the fact that it’s your anniversary or gift giving and now you’re a little embarrassed that you hadn’t thought about it. You sway a little on your feet, fingers ripping a little at the corners of the paper until it crumples under your touch and the corner of the gift pokes through.

Tyler shakes his head. “Don’t care. It’s kind of something for both of us anyway,” he says and you wait for the little joke, the tease that you can let him unwrap you later, but it never comes and that’s how you know your husband is about to make you cry with whatever this gift is.

You can feel Tyler watching you as you pull back the paper - leftover Christmas wrapping that’s so clearly been wrapped by a man, too much tape and messy folds. God, you love him - and expose a frame. It takes you a second to process what’s behind the glass, but when you do, you hiccup a little gasp and tears well at your lash line.

Behind the glass is your marriage license with last year’s date and your pair of wobbly signatures. The Polaroids you’d taken that night surround the license and you trace trembling fingertips over the image of you kissing Tyler on the cheek.

“Tyler…” your voice cracks on his name and he gives you a soft little smile.

“This year his been batshit insane, baby,” he leans into your personal space and cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. “But I’m really glad you’re the one I drunk Vegas married.”

Tears are sliding down your cheeks and you nod, “I’m really glad you’re the one I drunk Vegas married, too.”

His laugh is muffled by all the coats surrounding you, but it’s warm and it feels like home. He pulls you into a hug, the frame smushed between your bodies and digging into your stomach, but you don’t care. Tyler’s hand curls around the back of your neck and you wipe at your eyes with the back of your wrist, black mascara smudges streaking across your skin. You giggle a little wetly, “I’m such a mess, oh my god.”

“Everyone will just think you dragged me off so you could have your wicked way with me,” Tyler teases, smirking at you.

“Coat closet quickie for the newlyweds,” you reply, grinning. You settle the frame on the floor, the back of it leaning against your leg, and really wrap your arms around Tyler’s neck, pressing a kiss against the hollow of his throat. The spice of his cologne invades your nostrils and you press your nose harder against his throat, enveloped in his warmth.

Tyler rests his chin on the top of your head and hums, rolling his hips against yours lazily so you can feel the bulge behind his fly. “I could give you a real quick one, just to make sure you don’t have to lie,” he ducks his head to whisper in your ear, kissing at the hinge of your jaw. His hand slides down to graze your ass and you’re nearly ready to say yes, suddenly desperate for him, when a loud bang on the door has you jumping back, heart pounding from the shock, nearly cracking Tyler’s chin with your head. The frame bounces off your leg with your movement, falling to the floor with a little clatter that you hope isn’t broken glass.

“Fuck!” He yelps and you clap your hands over your heart, gasping. “Jesus, who is it?”

Jamie’s voice is choked with laughter as it comes through the door. There’s a slight slur to his words too, as he shouts, “stop fucking on everyone’s coats, we’re doing body shots.”

Your jaw drops open and Tyler rolls his eyes at the interruption. He bangs on the door with a hand and shouts back, “fuck off! I’m trying to spend some time with my wife.”

“Actually,” you say slowly, a little smirk forming on your face, “body shots could be fun…”

“Yeah?” Tyler lifts an eyebrow at you, palm flat on the door.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a wicked grin, “you know I like the way champagne tastes on your skin.”

Tyler’s eyes shut like he’s in pain and your gaze slides down to see the bulge in his pants grow. “You’re a fucking menace and I’m so fucking glad you’re my wife,” he mutters, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you out of the coat closet, nearly knocking Jamie over in his hurry, your shrieked giggles drowned out by the music from the party.

The next morning, afternoon really by the time you finally open your eyes, you wake up with half of your body draped over Tyler’s completely naked one. His hip and thigh is securely wedged between your legs, his morning wood hot against the outside of your thigh. One of your arms is in the sleeve of Tyler’s button down, the rest of the fabric draped over your back like a blanket. The hangover pounds at your temples and the sunlight blinds you and it’s such a deja vu moment you almost think you’re back in Vegas, right until the moment Tyler’s hand twitches against your lower back and he rubs his bearded chin against the top of your head. You melt against him, sighing happily.

“Anniversary party slash vow renewal every New Year’s Eve?” Tyler rasps against your hair, sliding his hand up your spine.

You hum into his skin, “as long as you get me electrolytes and a greasy breakfast on January first, I’m in.”

“How about a headache relieving orgasm first?” Tyler rolls you gently onto your back, already kissing a path down your body. You shiver with each brush of his lips and your legs fall open for him to slot himself between them. He rests his chin on your hip bone and looks up at you with a soft look in his eyes that doesn’t match the hungry smirk that curves his lips.

“What?” You ask, angling your neck to look at him, raking a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already was. There’s a little streak of glitter against his temple and you brush your thumb over it, wiping the smudge away.

He shakes his head a little. “Just thinking about this past year,” he lifts one shoulder in an awkward shrug. “How fun it’s been, how glad I am that we did the surprise last night.”

“Getting soft on me, Seguin?” you tease, poking at his side with your foot. He wiggles away a little from your touch, ticklish even though he won’t admit it.

“You know I’m anything but soft for you,” he laughs, nipping at your skin. “Let me prove it.” He presses a kiss against your hip bone and then lower and then there’s no more thoughts, just you and Tyler and the rest of forever stretching out in front of you.

[ohwarnette]

late summer thunderstorms 🎵

send me a word/phrase and I'll make a short playlist based on it 🫶

[hopeinthebox]

bts + reductress headlines pt.14

[sourcxre]

silly Wally thingy (:

i saw another artist (@//aljsthings) do this meme with Wally and wanted to make my own!

thank you <3

[zeenmrala]

oh my darling!!!!! this is absolutely INCREDIBLE. you are so kind and sweet and wonderful, thank you SO MUCH. i absolutely love your art and this is just everything to me, his face is sooooo perfect and cute, that little smirk and the detail on the cake and oh my goodness i absolutely ADORE it. i will treasure this forever. thank you so so much, you are so so lovely and thoughtful 🥹🫶🏻 HES SOOOOOOOOOO BEAUTIFUL I ADORE HIS LIL NOSE AND HORNS I CANT COPE. thank u!!!!

To my friend Moon @eloquentmoon. Happy birthday and never give up on anything <3 You are a talented and kind person and it is a pleasure to have known you.

I saw the tag birthday 24, I was wondering if that was supposed to mean April 24th or your 24th birthday, so I managed some time to have it done tonight, not missing the possible deadline at least!

I hope you enjoy this meager gift!

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere dragon x knight reader

Warning!!!: mild smut capturing

Just a twist on the yandere knight x dragon reader my single pringles~💜

Yandere dragon~ Who's the most feared dragon in all the land and has destroyed many Kingdoms with his wrath.

Yandere dragon~ Who, like any other dragon, collected precious and beautiful things and kingdoms would normally offer treasures in return for mercy and that's exactly what your kingdom did.

Yandere dragon~ Who soon got bored and displeased with the treasures offered and decided to take the princess instead and you had to rescue her since you're the most honored knight in the kingdom.

Yandere dragon~ Who was amused to see you demanding he release the princess. It was cute to see a tiny little knight facing the most feared dragon and he decided to toy with you for a bit before devouring you.

Yandere dragon~ Who was quite impressed with your skills but easily wore you out and was about to burn you to a crisp when suddenly your helmet fell off.

Yandere dragon~ Who is temporarily stunned by you. You were astonishing the most beautiful treasure he's ever come across.

Yandere dragon~ Who watches you ride away on your stead while he's distracted to safety his deep amber eyes lingering on your form.

Yandere dragon~ Who flies to your kingdom and makes s deal with the king, the princess in return you.

Yandere dragon~ Who grins at how the king immediate agreed and the villagers quickly give you to him and have you tied up so pretty like a gift on Christmas morning.

Yandere dragon~ Who shows you his human form in order to scare you a little less and in hopes it'll be easier for you to take him as your mate since he knows how captivating he is in that form.

Yandere dragon~ Who treats you like glass humans do tend to be quite fragile after all and he could never harm his little treasure.

Yandere dragon~ Who breeds you as soon as you warm up to him and makes sure to be extra gentle with you if he's just a little too rough he'll be sure to break you.

Yandere dragon~ Who covers you in jewels and rubies as a way to show you're his you didn't seem to like the love bites, but he still gives you some on occasion.

No one will ever harm you or our family my treasure…I'll make sure of it~

[killertoons]

Wally gives you a BIG OL SMOOCH! and to remember to wave up high!!!

[live-from-flaturn]

MY DARLING!!! 1, 5, 11, 30, 38 for the weird writer asks??? I am kissing your forehead and wrapping you in a blanket that’s warm from the dryer!! 💜💜💜💜

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

Monserrat, baybee.

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

Not really?

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

I'm more of a "beat your darlings mercilessly with a stick and then slowly nurse them back to heath for ultimate emotional payoff" kinda bitch. Call this the St. Ormond's Street Children's Hospital with all the Darlings we've got in here (this joke is hilarious for 6 people on this webbed site, myself included).

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

Yes! One time I had a really cool dream about pirates and I used it in an ancient Geraskier fic.

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird?

I still write all my outline notes by hand with systematic organization. I'm sure other people do this. Plenty of 'em. But I don't have many friends irl who still do that so it's weird to me.

[yooboobies]

'tiny kookliet' | dedicated for @btsjk-biased tiny tan (6/7)

{cr. namuspromised, 0613data}

[kiwiplaetzchen]

Character Sheet / Student ID

With the help of some cute Gremlins, I was able to create a Character Sheet / Student ID with different designs for each house for your Hogwarts (Legacy) OC/MC!

Please feel free to use it and share your character(s)! :3 💚💙💛❤️

[bunnyspine]

Happy birthday to @partycoffin !!!!!! 💫⭐️✨️🌟

[suugarbabe]

Origin Stories

summary: baby first year matty arrives at hogwarts and the first person he interacts with seems to not know him at all. matty is unsure how to feel when someone treats him like just another person instead of the dark lords son

warnings: fluff, little bit o angst, sad baby matty

an: something my hubby @musingsofahufflepuff and i have been yapping about constantly, there's more where this came from, and yes...it will continue to hurt you

Knees pulled to his chest, he sat at the window watching all the happy and excited parents dropping their children off for their first time at Hogwarts. It was Mattheo’s first time too, but instead of parents dropping him off he had Feindre, his house elf.

Feindre had gotten him there early enough for Mattheo to be one of the first students on the train and stayed long enough for Mattheo to see Feindre give a gentle wave before snapping his fingers and disappearing from the platform.

That’s what he’d been doing for the last half hour; watching family after family give loving hugs and cheek kisses and bidding their children farewell. Even Mr. Nott had come with his wife to see Theo off, giving a firm squeeze to the skinny boy's shoulder and a curt nod. 

The whistle blew overhead and Mattheo leaned his head back, closing his eyes and willing himself to think of at least one positive thing that may come for him this year. He’d be away from his mother; that was a plus. As far as Mattheo was aware even she couldn’t get onto the grounds without the proper permissions; that gave Mattheo at least four months free from torture.

As the train started to pull from the station he heard the train car door slide open, an entirely too excited voice suddenly speaking to him, “D’you mind? Every other car has four or so kids in it.” Mattheo shrugged his shoulders, not even opening his eyes to look.

He knew he didn’t recognize the voice. His cousin Draco’s was a little higher pitched, whiney. Theo’s was slower, like he had to think about each word before he said it. This voice was more neutral, but seemed to be speaking quickly, like they had so many thoughts and feelings they couldn’t get them out quick enough. 

“S’kinda weird we had to walk through a wall to get on the platform, right? Magic is so cool.” Mattheo peered an eye open, chancing a glance at the person across from him. It seemed as if you were vibrating, sitting cross legged on the seat across from him, hands braced on either side as your knees held a steady bounce.

Your smile was nearly splitting your face; Mattheo couldn’t decide if your question was indicative of a muggle upbringing or just the first born for your family. “So what house do you want to get into? I was doing some light reading in one of our textbooks, Hogwarts: A History, and I think any of them will be good.” 

Definitely muggle, Mattheo thought to himself as you kept talking, “I know that Hufflepuffs are very loyal, Ravenclaws are super smart I guess, Slytherins apparently are really clever and I read that Gryffindors are supposed to be just the bravest.” The scoff leaves Mattheos throat quicker than he could control.

“Well do you think differently? I know I can talk a lot but I’m also a good listener.” Mattheo lifted his head up at this, now choosing to stare at you with a quirked brow. You continued to press regardless, “What house do you think you’ll be in?” Mattheo stared out the window once more, watching the highland mountains pass by, “I already know my house.” This statement piqued your interest, “What do you think it is?”

Mattheo used all his mental energy not to roll his eyes, “I’ll be a Slytherin, my family has only ever been Slytherins.” You seemed to sit up straighter then, your tone getting more excited, if that was even possible, “So you’re from a family of wizards then? That’s so cool, what’s it like?”

He stared at you incredulously, “You being serious?” You simply tilted your head, smile never leaving your face, “Both of my parents are normal, erm, non-wizards? I don’t know what you guys call them but that’s what they are.” 

Mattheo wore an unimpressed look, “Shocker…never would have guessed by your raging enthusiasm.” You laughed softly, “I know, right. Mum cried for like an hour when I got my letter.” Mattheo sat up straighter then, eyes widening. He could feel his heart rate pick up slightly, a tinge of sweat beading on the back of his neck, “Why, because she was disappointed, was she mad? Where did you hide after she stopped crying?”

You looked at him with confusion, shaking your head and a small bit of concern in your tone, “What? No, because she was just so happy for me…” Mattheo shrank into himself, pulling his knees back up to his chest, “Right, yeah, a’course.” 

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, “So, ehm, do you know people who are coming to Hogwarts then? I don’t know anyone…well, except you now. What, erm, what was your name again?” Mattheo visibly stiffened. You could just be being polite, asking for his name like he was just any other student. Or his reputation precedes him even with muggle-born first years and you’re just too scared to tell him that you already know about him, his father, what he’s done. “Mattheo…erm, Riddle.” You nodded, “Cool name! I’m y/n y/l/n.”

Mattheo can’t help the quizzical look that takes over him at how breezily you move on and introduce yourself. How can you not be afraid of him, of his name. Not that he wants you to be, but if you’ve been reading as much as you say, surely you’ve heard of what his father has done. 

But all of it seems nonexistent as you start talking again, “Do you think we’ll have to wear those little cone hats I’ve seen in the textbook? They’re not very fashionable are they? And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to wear one either.” Mattheo took the bait, “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to wear one?”

You shrugged, smiling a little shyer than before, “Well because of your hair. If I had curls as pretty as yours I wouldn’t want to have to cover them up all the time.” The heat on Mattheo’s cheeks was nearly instantaneous, then he started to feel a bit of rage, “Are you making fun of me?”

You shook your head fiercely, “Oh no, no way! I figured you got complimented on your hair all the time.” Compliment? You were complimenting him. Why would you do that? What were you playing at? Mattheo was fighting an internal battle, not understanding why you were being so nice to him and trying desperately to understand the new feeling fluttering in his chest at your compliment. 

Thankfully the door to the train car opens and a jolly looking woman displays a trolly full of sweets and snacks in the doorway; the perfect distraction.

“Anything from the trolly, dears?” You’re excited once more, leaving your seat to get a closer look at the sweets. You turn towards Mattheo, “What’s your favorite candy? I’ve never heard of any of these before…chocolate frogs, cauldron cakes, fizzing whizzbees-” 

“The last one’s good I- erm, I think you’d like those,” Mattheo watched as you asked the trolly witch for one pack of cauldron cakes and two fizzing whizzbees. “That’ll be two galleons and a sickle, dear,” the trolly witch smiled kindly at you.

You pulled a handful of wizard coins from your pocket looking slightly confused. Mattheo cleared his throat, “Two gold ones and a silver one.” You nodded, taking the coins he described and exchanging them for your sweets. Sitting back down across from him you began opening your cauldron cakes.

You placed one on top of one of the fizzing whizzbees pack and then held it in front of you towards Mattheo. “What’re you doing?” he asked, finding your behavior rather odd, even for a muggle. You only smiled in return, “This is your half silly.” 

Mattheo hesitantly took the sweets, “Why would you share with me?” You sat back, taking a bite of the cauldron cake and humming in satisfaction, “Why wouldn’t I share with you?” you spoke around a cheek full of cake, “These are really good by the way.”

Mattheo felt a weird pang in his chest, something he didn’t recognize. It was almost like an adrenaline rush but he wasn’t in danger this time; his skin felt hot all of a sudden, his blood rushing to his ears. He pulled subtly on his curls on the side of his head, not sure exactly what he was trying to cover up. You didn’t take notice regardless, too engrossed in the foreign treat of your new world. 

The next few hours are filled with you making conversation, mostly one sided but you don’t even seem to notice. You’re the most at ease person Mattheo has ever met, finding interest in the smallest of things.

You talk about your family, and you do so with so much admiration and what Mattheo can only assume is love that he finds himself starting to get jealous. He does his best to shove that feeling down, like he does with most feelings. You’re the first person in his life that doesn’t seem to know him, his family, what that entails and he’d be damned if he let something like jealousy mess that up.

You try to ask him about his life, but he’s keeping it brief, somewhat deflective. He tells you that his father is not around, not dead but…working. He doesn’t know a good way to explain that his father has bits of his soul everywhere and your lack of knowledge on magical existence seems like that bit of information would cause your already highly wired brain to short circuit.

When you ask about his mum he stiffens involuntarily, “She’s, erm, passionate about me following in my father’s footsteps. Bit of an anger problem sometimes if I disagree about it.” You nod, a small frown on your face but seemingly understanding to not push the subject of his mothers anger further, “What’s your dad do?”

Mattheo’s eyes go wide, panic starting to spread through his body. He can feel himself starting to sweat as he looks out the window, trying to come up with an answer that’s not the truth when he sees his saving grace, “Look, Hogwarts.” 

If you’d had turned your head any faster Mattheo was sure it would have rolled off your shoulders and onto the car floor. Whatever he had anticipated Hogwarts to look like, his imagination could never have done it justice; and Mattheo hid in his imagination often at home.

Your nose was nearly pressed to the window, “Wicked.” Mattheo felt the corners of his mouth pull into a smile, half wishing the two of you never had to leave the train and could just stay here, in this bubble where you don’t know the horrible truths that come with being associated with him. 

As the train slowed to a stop, a whistle blew and the two of you noticed a flurry of students starting to clog the aisle between cars. “Guess that’s our cue,” you stood up, looking towards Mattheo and waiting for him to do the same. “You coming?” you opened the car door, looking back at him. “Erm, yeah. Yeah okay,” Mattheo pulled the hood of his cloak up and you gave him a curious look.

“Heard it’s supposed to be a bit chilly on the ride up to the castle,” he shoved his hands in his pockets, now staring down at the floor. You shrugged it off, only turning to join the plethora of students once you knew Mattheo was following behind. 

You couldn’t help but marvel at the giant man that led the pack of first years to what looked like ancient wooden boats. You looked everywhere you could, trying to drink in the whole experience; whereas Mattheo kept his head down, hood up and eyes on the bottom of the boat. If he did this long enough, maybe no one but you would know who he was until he was being sorted.

Once docked by the castle the pack of you were led through the castle by an older, stern looking witch. She had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. As she led you through the castle you kept tugging on Mattheo’s sleeve. Every so often he would peek from the side of his hood and give you a half smile. 

Once in front of what you learned to be the Great Hall, McGonagall stopped all of you, giving a quick speech. “Once inside you will all be sorted into your houses. Once your house has been announced please make your way to your house table. Banners above will lead you to the correct one. During each breakfast and lunch you will be able to mingle with other houses. However, dinners are strictly restricted to your own house tables.” You turned to Mattheo, whispering, “This is so exciting!” Mattheo gives an undignified hum with a small nod as the doors to the great all open, he can feel his heart rate quicken as all the older students turn to watch the group of first years file in. Will people notice him? Can he hear them whispering his name? 

His automatic negative thoughts are interrupted by you gripping his arm lightly. Immediately he flinches away and you begin apologizing, “Oh, I’m sorry Matty, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Mattheo shook his head, hoping his cheeks weren't flushing at the nickname you decided to don on him, “N-no, sorry. S’just I- erm, have this thing about people grabbing me…sorry.”

You shake your head as if to dismiss his apology as unnecessary, “S’my fault, I just get so excited. Look up there, it’s the sorting hat, I read about it in the same textbook as the houses; that’s what’s gonna tell us where we go.” 

Mattheo could feel his stomach knotting. He knew he would be sorted into Slytherin; the blood in his veins guaranteed it. But, Merlin, did he hope you were sorted there too. It would be nice to have an actual friend there with him, not just his irritating cousin and the sons of his father’s loyal followers.

He was pretty sure they were only nice to him out of fear. Did you want to get sorted with him too? Did you consider him a friend? You were already far too nice to him; far too nice for your own good he thought. There’s no way you actually got sorted into Slytherin; it‘d be a bloody miracle. 

Too lost in his worries spinning over and over in his head he seemed to have missed everyone before him getting sorted, being pulled from his thoughts for the second time that evening by Professor McGonagalls booming voice speaking his name, “Mattheo Riddle.”

A hushed whisper seemed to fall over all of the students and even some of the professors at the head table. Mattheo gave you a worried glance, but you only smiled encouragingly back at him. Either you didn’t notice the whispers, or you didn’t care; Mattheo wasn’t sure which option had him feeling that same weird pang in his chest that he felt on the train. 

He needn’t push his way through the crowd of first years as they seemed to part willingly for him. He slowly climbed his way up the steps and pulled himself up onto the stool, legs dangling in front of him. The professor placed the sorting hat atop his head.

It felt two sizes too big, falling down and covering his eyes, now encasing him in darkness. It was actually much better this way, Mattheo would rather pass than watch the judgment in everyone’s eyes, especially if they came from yours. “Hmm, Riddle, eh?” the hat spoke loudly, much to Mattheo’s dismay, “Well there’s simply no question then is there. Why of course it's…SLYTHERIN!” 

The slytherin table broke out into cheers, but they seemed to be the only students to do so apart from your clapping in the first year crowd. The hat was pulled from Mattheo’s head and he searched for your face. He found you beaming, giving him a double thumbs up as he made his way down the steps and toward his house table.

He clocked his cousin Draco immediately, platinum hair sticking out like a traffic cone. His cousin tried to greet him, along with the others at the table. But Mattheo ignored them all, turning instead to face the stool you would soon be sitting at and be told your fate. 

When your name was finally called Mattheo sat up straighter, nearly leaning forward as if that would help him hear more clearly. As you made your way onto the stool you looked over at the Slytherin table. Making eye contact with Mattheo you gave a quick wave. Warmth spread throughout his body and he found himself giving a small wave back.

The whining pitch of Draco’s voice appeared on Mattheo’s right, “Who is that, cousin?” Mattheo watched as you took a deep breath in as the hat was placed on your head, full of pride he made the statement, “That’s my friend.” Draco was obviously confused, “I didn’t know you had any friends besides us.”

Mattheo turned his sights away from you briefly to stare Draco in the eyes, “You’re not my friend. You’re my cousin, I’m forced to be around you. And if you keep talking I’ll hex out your tongue so I never have to hear your annoying voice again.” Draco held his hands up in defense, scooting over slightly on the bench. 

Turning back to you Mattheo watched as your legs bounced excitedly, just as they did on the train and Mattheo found himself smiling. This smile slowly dropped as the hat began to narrate the internal battle you seemed to be having with it.

“You want to be Slytherin, is that so? Mmm…curious, curious indeed. I do sense a bit of cunning, but your loyalty is much stronger. Better be…HUFFLEPUFF!” The tables throughout the hall cheered for you as they did every other student being sorted. Your smile never faded but Mattheo felt like his whole world was collapsing. 

There was a pain in his side that felt like someone was hexing him with a stinging jinx and his breaths were becoming more shallow. Usually he only felt like this when being punished by his mother, but in that case she was likely actually cursing him.

It seemed like the massive walls of the great hall were closing in on him as he saw you being greeted by the students at your house table. Everything from the last few hours was going to be thrown away in an instant. They would all tell you who he was, what he was, why you should hate him. And surely you’ll believe them, won’t you? Then he’ll be alone once more.

As if to twist the knife that was already being pushed between his ribs, Draco’s irritating voice was coming from next to him again, “Well cousin, guess they’re not your friend any longer.”