#the amount of classical music on my wrapped this year....

[mrschwartz]

69, 72, 84 for spotify

69. rêverie by debussy

72. the suburbs by arcade fire

84. nuvole bianche by ludovico einaudi (he was one of the artists who left a message and it was really cute lol)

[whatcanido]

need to stop listening to chappell roan and reneé rapp my spotify wrapped is going to be a coming out

[tkwrites]

Back to You - Matthew Tkachuk x Jessie (ofc)

gif from @drysaladandketchup

Title: Back To You

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Matthew Tkachuck  x Jessie (ofc)

Warnings: Swearing, lots of flirting. Slow burn. Smut at the end: fingering (f receiving), oral (f and m receiving).

Summary: Jessie and Matthew meet at a New Years Eve party and form an instant connection. When a fire rips them apart, can fate bring them back together? 

Word Count: 12,700

Comments: This is my entry for @wyattjohnston‘s winter fic exchange written for @luvsherleafs

This is by far the longest piece I’ve written for Tumblr. I had a really clear vision of where I wanted it to go, and I eventually got it there. In the end, I’m so proud of how it turned out. I hope you enjoy, and would love to know what you think.

Many, many thanks to Mari @eyesthatroll and Bre @fallinallincurls for looking this over and assuring me it wasn’t garbage when I was in the trenches of writing. 

Me and you  We were a strange situation  And kissing you  Felt like Christmas Vacation  An exciting place to escape  Sometimes I wish that I could've stayed Cause you were my favorite Holiday  -Christmas Vacation by LØLØ

Back to You

Matthew couldn't tear his eyes away from her and knew he wasn't the only one. 

With dark hair cascading down her back in a long, shiny waterfall, big eyes and a plump little mouth that looked just made for kissing, she was the kind of classic girl next door people wrote into movies and books for the hero to find his way back to.

He especially liked what she was wearing. Bare legs weren’t really something he would advise at two hours to January in Ottawa, but at least it wasn’t a mini skirt like most women were tugging at constantly. Her shorts had a gold stripe on the sides that caught the flashing lights, as if they might have once been extravagant tuxedo pants tailored explicitly to show off her curvy legs. Her dark shirt had flecks of something metallic in the fabric - a wrapped and tied number like he’d never seen before. 

Laughter was all over her face as she danced with the people around her. Slamming her foot (clad in gold oxfords) down with the beat before circling her hips in time with the music. 

“Do you need a towel, man?” 

“What?” Matthew asked, pulling his eyes away to look at his brother.

“I asked if you needed a towel,” Brady repeated, failing to keep the teasing smile off his face, “for the drool.”    

Matthew flipped him off, and Brady laughed. 

“Go talk to her,” he encouraged, pushing Matthew off the bar stool. “I’m sick of watching you sit here and stare at her. Go do something about it.”  

He hesitated. It hadn't been that long since he’d broken up with Heidi.

“Go,” Brady repeated, shoving him across the walkway onto the dance floor. “Move on.”

Although he wasn't sure if he was ready to meet someone new, Matthew knew Brady was right. He’d be kicking himself come morning if he let a woman this good looking go without at least shooting his shot. 

As he weaved through the crowd of dancers, his competitive drive growled in his chest, pleased. He’d be damned if he let someone else get to her first.

“Your admirer is coming this way,” Roger said, nodding to someone over Jessie’s shoulder. 

She glanced over. A tallish guy with curly hair was walking right at her, a determined intensity all over his handsome face. Her gaze swung back to Roge, eyes wide. 

“Just letting you know so you can prepare,” he said with a wink. “I told you those shorts would bring all the boys.” 

Although she'd made them for the occasion, she didn't think they would pull the amount of attention they were getting. Her clothes often garnered a lot of lingering glances, though they usually came from other women. 

Someone tapped on her shoulder and she turned.

The same guy was standing in front of her. He was much taller up close, had light eyes, and his hair looked like it might be blonde. It was hard to tell under the dim dancefloor lights. 

He flashed her a charismatic smile. The gap between his front teeth only added to his charm. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, leaning in and yelling to be heard over the music. 

Jessie wasn’t generally the type to accept drinks from random strangers, but this guy was hot, had nice style, and of all the dudes that had stared at her that evening, was the first one to do something about it. 

“Sure,” she yelled back. 

“Wanna go to the bar?”

After she nodded and they started walking through the mass of dancers, she glanced over her shoulder. Roge lifted his phone out of his pocket and shook it at her. His flashlight turned on. 

She sent him a text about going to the bar and his flashlight, made sure the ringer was turned on, and slipped her phone back into her shorts pocket. Another good thing about making her own clothes: she could make the pockets as big as she needed.

Matthew couldn’t keep the smug smile off his face at the glares and disappointed looks that followed them to the bar.

“What'll you have?” the bartender asked as they came to a stop in the corner of the club. It was a bit quieter. 

“A mojito, please” she said, before gathering her hair into a fist behind her and running her hand down the length of it. 

Momentarily distracted by her actions and the flash of dark red, the bartender had to ask him again what he wanted. 

“Beer would be great,” he said, flashing a bright smile, “whatever light you recommend.” Glancing back at the girl, he ran a hand through his hair to make sure it wasn’t doing something stupid, and said, “I'm Matthew, by the way. “

“Jessie. Are you from around here?”

“No, but my brother lives here. You?”

“My family is from here, but I'm usually in the states.” she said, watching the bartender muddle the mint in her drink. He didn’t seem to be doing anything funny with it. 

“Yeah? Which one?”

“New York. Well, technically New Jersey, but I study in New York.”

“What do you study?” Matthew asked, lifting his beer bottle to his lips. 

“Fashion.”

“I should have guessed,” he said. 

“You should have?”

“Yeah. You have great style.”

The smile that spread over her face made him want to kiss her. 

“What do you do, Matthew?” she asked, as she brought the black straw in her drink to her mouth. She caught it between her tongue and teeth before her lips wrapped around it. 

His train of thought ran off the rails with visions of her mouth wrapping around other things.

Thankfully, autopilot kicked in and saved him from looking like a total creep, “I play hockey.” 

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “I'm based in Florida.”

“Why the hell are you in Ottawa for New Years,” she asked, aghast, “when you could be somewhere warm?”

“We played here yesterday, so my family are all staying with my brother. Why are you here?”

“My dad grew up here, and wanted us to experience the joys of the frozen tundra at Christmastime,” she said with a long sweep of her hand, as if gesturing to the whole country. 

He laughed again, and held her eye contact. It was so intense, she was the one to break it. 

“Anyway,” she flipped her free hand, “what do you do for fun?” 

“I honestly don’t have that much free time, but I always enjoy a good libation,” he said, holding up his bottle. 

A wide smile spread over his face when she clinked her glass against it as she said, “amen.” 

“And I like to hang out with people and I play a lot of other sports.” 

“I will never understand why athletes always want to play other sports. It’s not like I sew upholstery when I’m not making clothes.” 

He laughed, loud and genuine, and Jessie felt her heart flutter a little. 

“It can be hard to turn off the competitive drive, so it helps to have somewhere to channel it. So did you make these clothes?” he asked, nodding at her outfit. 

“Yeah. I found this gold fabric,” her fingers ran down the stripe on her left hip, “and fell in love with the idea of tuxedo shorts for New Years. I play around with a lot of menswear styles.” 

“I like them,” he said. If he, by some miracle, got nominated for another award, maybe he would get a gold striped tux made. 

“We have to wear suits to all of our games, so I’m always looking for something new and interesting,” he said. 

The conversation lulled for a moment, and he continued, “what do you do for fun?” 

“I also enjoy a good libation,” she clinked her glass against his again, “and I like to play tennis and I love movies.” 

The rest of the night was spent in that little corner of the bar, talking and laughing - Matthew was funny. Quick with a movie quote and a sarcastic comment in her ear. She told him about coming to the club with her cousins, only one of whom she really knew, and he told her about coming with his family. A younger, married brother, and a sister still in college. 

He refreshed their drinks and marveled at finding a woman who could keep up with his banter, genuinely laughed at his jokes and seemed interested in him as a person rather than as Matthew Tkachuk. 

They talked about hockey, she knew some as her dad was Canadian, but not a lot, then about fashion. 

She admitted one of the reasons she’d said yes to his drink had been his pants. 

“Listen, more American men need to understand how many more girls they’d get if they just wore the right pants!” 

He cocked an eyebrow. 

“Your pants are fitted properly so I can see your ass and your thighs, and it makes you about a thousand times more attractive.” 

A cocky smile spread over his face, “Oh, yeah?” he asked, leaning into her space. 

She gulped, “yeah. If more men wore pants like yours, they wouldn’t be single.” 

He stayed in her space, and her eyes darted to his lips. He licked them, just to see what she would do at the flash of his tongue. 

Her eyes darted back to his and her cheeks pinked. He smiled. 

The music changed to a slower, more house-style song he recognised. Jessie bumped her shoulders to the beat. 

“Do you want to dance?” Matthew asked.  

“Sure.” 

They moved to the floor, and he watched, entranced as she swung her hips in rhythm.

When she turned around, pressing flush against him, his right hand immediately grasped her hip, as if that might provide some kind of grounding from the fluttering feeling in his chest. 

It wasn’t like this had never happened - girls grinding up on him. It happened quite a lot, actually. Sometimes without any kind of consent. But this? Jessie? He couldn't get enough. She was pretty and they had the kind of instant chemistry you couldn't fake. 

He found himself thinking about her beyond that night. A first since Heidi. 

For her part, Jessie couldn't stand not touching him any longer. The chemistry between them was so palpable, she was surprised other club goers weren’t getting caught in it. Feeling him move against her made desire rumble to life in her belly, growling to be released. 

They danced that way for - Matthew lost track of how many songs. She felt amazing pressed up against him. He was so in tune with how they moved together, the dancing felt like foreplay. 

When the countdown to midnight began, she turned to face him. They were still so close - she could feel his body heat seeping through his clothing and into hers, see the way his button down was just starting to cling to his skin. 

Matthew looked down at her, not hiding any of his interest. She looked back with so much hope and lust in her eyes, his stomach twisted. 

“Three, two, one!” the crowd cheered. 

He leaned down, then paused, “okay?” 

Rising onto her toes, she closed the gap between them in answer. 

All of their flirting was leading up to this moment, and Jessie wasn’t disappointed at all. It was as if everything around them faded into soft focus and the din of the crowd melted away. It was better than she could have imagined. His tongue brushed along hers, and heat flooded her stomach. 

Matthew angled closer when her fingers slid into his hair. His hand splayed over her lower back. He wished he didn’t have this beer bottle so he could have both hands on her.

It went on and on for what felt like ages - a promise of things to come. 

Someone cat called from nearby, and Jessie broke away, pursing her lips to hide how flustered she felt. At least he was as breathless as she was, his chest expanding to the confines of his shirt with every inhale. 

They stared at each other for a moment longer, not quite engaged with the crowd, which was growing increasingly restless with the New Year in full swing.

She was debating between kissing him again, or asking if he wanted to leave all together when the lights went out, plunging them into total darkness. 

The suddenness of it made her laugh. She thought it must be some kind of prank until all at once, a mono tone alarm started to scream. Lights began to strobe - harsh, bright flashes that instantly made spots appear in her vision. 

The word “fire” was popping up in the crowd.

Just as he was starting to register what was happening, murky water cascaded from the ceiling. 

The club was dissolving into chaos. Matthew snapped out of his reverie, and looked around for Taryn. 

“I have to find my sister,” he told her.

As Jessie's face was illuminated by the flashing lights, she looked stricken and worried. 

“I’ll call you, though!” he promised.

“But -” she watched him run off, knowing she hadn't given him her number. She didn't even know his last name. 

“Jessie!” Roger yelled from somewhere to her left. Her eyes roved for him, and landed when he shouted again, waving his cell phone flashlight in his own face.

She ran to him, and they followed the swarming crowd outside. 

To her complete surprise, smoke was pouring out of the building and the fire department was pulling up. She had been certain someone had pulled the alarm as a prank. 

“Fuck it’s cold out here,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, as if that would do any good. Her coat was inside, a pair of wool tights tucked in one of the pockets. She'd planned to put them on in the bathroom before they left. 

“We should call it,” Lacey said. “Catch the next train. If we hurry we won't have to wait for another one.”

“But my coat’s in there,” Jessie complained. She hadn't made it, but she may as well have, she’d altered it so much. It was the best thing in her wardrobe. 

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Roger assured, “but Lacey’s right, we should get out of here. We’re soaked and it’s below freezing.”

It wasn't just the coat. She didn’t want to lose Matthew. She hoped she might run into him in the parking lot, but had yet to see him.   

Roger and Lacey were right. Her wet clothing was already starting to freeze - stiffening and biting into her skin. Glancing around the crowd once more, she hoped she might see him, but there were too many people moving in too many different directions. 

As Roger pulled her away, she hoped against hope the universe would bring them back together. It had been so long since she'd felt a spark like she had with him.

“Who was that girl you were kissing at midnight?” Taryn asked, her tone suggestive as she waggled her eyebrows at her oldest brother. 

“Her name is Jessie,” he said, looking around for Brady. He finally spotted him with Emma and some of the Sens guys across the parking lot. 

“Seemed pretty serious.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “We got on, that’s all.” 

“I’ve seen you look like that before, and that was not just getting on with someone,” Taryn argued. “I hope you got her number.” 

“I did,” he assured, then stopped dead in their pursuit through the crowd. 

Taryn ran into his back. “Matthew!” she complained. 

He was too busy digging his phone out of his pocket to apologize or move out of the way. Thankfully, it wasn’t ruined. As he opened his recent contacts, though, he found his fear confirmed. 

Taryn pushed on his back, “Matthew, move! I wanna get inside.” 

The older brother in him took control, wrapping his arm around Taryn's shoulder to lead them to Brady and finally into the car to go home. 

As they settled into the SUV, heat blasting to melt the ice that had formed in their hair and on their cheeks, Emma punched Matthew in the arm. “That was some New Year's kiss, Matty.” 

The disappointment of reality bit into him, and he snapped, “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Whoa,” Brady said in warning. 

Matthew leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. The possibility of her was still buzzing on his skin. 

The future was being ripped out of his grasp. How could so much hope be dashed so quickly? So completely? He'd been making plans in his head. Immediately, where they were going to spend the night if she was willing. Beyond that, how he would see her whenever he was in New York, and beyond that? Hopefully something that ended up with them together. 

“Oh no,” Taryn whispered, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. “You didn’t get her number did you?” 

He shook his head. 

“Oh, Matthew,” Taryn said, laying a hand on his back, “I’m sorry.” 

The rest of the night, he lay in Brady’s guest bedroom, Taryn in the bed next to his, and tried to relax. It wasn’t working. He could still feel the phantom of her grinding up against him, and if he thought about it too much, he got hard. 

Opening Instagram, he typed “Jessie” into the search. There were pages and pages of results. He scrolled through, hoping he might see her face. When the photos started to blur together, he clicked off the app. 

Feeling hopeless, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Jessie’s face was etched on the inside of his eyelids. He saw her smiling, heard her laugh ringing in his ears, felt her lips so perfectly fitted between his own. They should have been tangled up in bed together. The actuality of his loneliness was a slap in the face every time he turned over. 

It was after four when he finally fell asleep.

He woke sometime around 10am when Taryn sat by his feet. 

“Mom wants to know why you’re still in bed,” she said when he sat up, rubbing his hands over his face. “I told her you were hungover.” 

“Thanks,” he said dryly.  

“Listen, I heard you last night.” 

His hands dropped and he gave her a suspicious look. “And what did you hear last night?” 

She took a deep breath. “I heard you crying.” 

A groan fell out of his mouth as his head tipped back. He didn’t even try to deny it. It hadn’t lasted long, the crying, but he hadn’t been able to stop it for a few minutes. He was sure Taryn heard his sniffling. 

“Is this about that girl?” 

“Listen, Taryn, I don’t want to -” 

She cut in, “Matthew, I saw the way you looked after you kissed her. It’s the same way Brady looks at Emma.”

Shit. He was in deeper than he thought. And they hadn’t even slept together yet. He didn’t even know her last name. If he knew her last name, he’d be able to find her. 

Letting his hands fall in his lap, he slouched over, and let the reality of what happened wash over him again. He would get over it eventually, but now? It felt too close to push aside. 

Taryn’s hand came to rest on his knee, “I was thinking, what if she left something at the club? I mean, people must have left coats and things with the fire alarm. We could at least try. See if you can leave your number for her, or something.” 

A spark of hope flickered to life in his chest. “Yeah, that’s a really good idea.” 

Jessie wasn’t too surprised to see the tent in front of the club when they pulled up. The post on their Instagram page said they would be available for people to pick up their belongings all day. Two women were sitting there, bundled up to the hilt. As she got closer, she saw the propane heaters. At least that was something. 

“How can we help you, darlin?” 

“Yeah, I was here last night, and I hoped I could get my coat that I left with the coat check?” 

One of the women stood, “what does it look like?” 

“It’s a black wool trench, and it has sort of wavy lapels,” she demonstrated on herself. “There’s a pair of gray wool tights in the left pocket.” 

She walked over to a rack behind their table.

The Club had seen better days, that was for sure. Some of the glass had been blown out from the heat, and there were charred bricks on the front from where the flames had licked out the windows. 

“Is it condemned?” 

“No, but it’ll take us a while to remodel, especially with the winter,” the other woman said, giving her a smile. 

“Did they find out what caused it?” 

“Not yet, but we’re pretty sure it was some faulty wiring.” 

“Here we go. Is this it?” The other woman, the one with pink hair, turned the coat around. 

Jessie smiled, relieved, “Yes.”

As she reached for the coat, she debated about the next part. What was the harm really? She knew she would be kicking herself all the way home if she didn’t. 

“I know this is a little strange, but I met someone last night, but we were separated before we could exchange numbers, and I wondered if he’d come by?” 

“I’m not sure. We’ve seen quite a few people today.”

“His name was Matthew, and he had curly hair, light eyes, and he was tall.” 

They looked at each other, each shaking their head. “I don’t think we’ve seen anyone like that today.”

She wasn’t sure what she would have done if they had. 

“Do you want to leave a note for him, or something?” 

She chewed on her lip, petting the smoke soaked coat draped over her arm. If he happened to come by, it might work. But what if he didn’t? Or what if some other guy with curly hair came by, and they gave him her note? 

She shouldn’t have even asked. It was fruitless. What did she expect? That he would just walk out of the building: here I am! 

“No,” she said, defeated. “I was just hoping.”

“Well, love has a way of coming back when you least expect it.” 

It felt like such a throw-away thing to say. “Yeah, I hope so,” Jessie said, turning back to her parents' car, parked in the lot.  

Matthew walked up to the women sitting in front of the club. He knew he was used to the Florida warmth by now, and just despised the cold on principle, but sitting out here? In this? They were nuts. 

“Hi, honey,” the older, motherly looking one greeted, “did you leave something here last night?” 

Yeah, my future, he thought. 

“No, I was hoping,” he reached up to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, I met someone here last night and I was -” 

“Are you Matthew?” the other woman interrupted. 

His eyes shot to hers. “Yeah,” he said, breathless with anticipation. 

“Oh no,” the women looked at each other. One had her hand over her mouth. 

“Someone was just here looking for you.” 

Hope started hammering in his chest. 

“Pretty little thing, lovely red hair.” 

“Yeah,” his heart was running so fast he felt like he might be sick. 

“I’m so sorry honey, we asked her if she wanted to leave a note or something, but she decided not to.” 

Now he really was going to throw up. 

They had been so close. So close to meeting again. Why hadn’t she left a note? Why didn’t he just get her number last night? 

Because he’d planned on asking her for it in the morning. 

“Well, thanks anyway,” he said, hand falling limply at his side. 

“Good luck. I hope she finds her way back to you.” 

“Thanks,” he said, turning back to the car. Taryn was watching with rapt anticipation. He shook his head and her expression fell. 

**Nine Months Later**

For the first time since moving, the bright Florida sunshine didn't make Jessie smile as she got out of bed. That September morning, she woke up to an anxious fluttering in her chest, trying to tell herself it was going to be a day like any other. She would go to the shop and sew that new sculptural blazer for the window. She'd help Raul with his clients and do the same things she’d been doing every other work day for the past three months. 

It didn’t matter that some of the Florida professional hockey team were coming in for suits for the new season. She’d already checked, and there wasn’t a Matthew on the books. 

Even if he did show up, he had probably moved on. It was just her romantic streak that kept him alive in her memory. 

After a few miserable, sulky hours on New Year's Day, Roger had finally suggested she look him up. 

“I don’t know his last name, Roge.” 

“Didn’t you say he plays hockey in Florida?” he’d asked, pulling out his phone. He found a roster for her to look through - all men in blue, none of them Matthew. There wasn’t even a Matthew on the team. 

“I think it’s hopeless,” she said. 

“Hold on, there’s another one.”

“Another what?” 

“Another team.” 

“Here, I think this is him?” he turned the phone around and Matthew was staring at her, a smug little smile on his face. 

Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were blue. And his hair was a dark blonde, with almost a gingery tone to it. 

“Matthew Tkachuk?” she asked, trying to pronounce all the letters. It came out a bit of a garbled mess. 

“Look him up on Insta.” 

So she had. She found him easily. He was verified with over 150 thousand followers. 

She messaged him, hoping. 

Hey this is Jessie from last night before the fire stole our thunder. 

He’d never even seen her message. She had checked every day for a while, then every couple of weeks until she'd all but forgotten about it, moving on with her life. 

Pulling out her phone now, she scrolled down to the thread. The date was still staring at her, no read notifications in sight. 

Matthew wasn't even all that great. That’s what she told herself every time she went on another failed date with some guy so boring she wanted to just drop off the chair and fall asleep on the bar floor. If she let herself believe he really was as charming and interested and built just for her as he’d seemed, she would never go on another set up or app date again. It had been the alcohol and the rush of the new year that had painted him in such rosy light. It was likely he was just another boring dude like all the rest. 

The pink lace she put on under her clothes before going to work was for her, and she wasn’t hoping anyone would get to see it. 

She absorbed herself with structuring the new women’s blazer all morning until the appointment at 2. 

Matthew wasn’t entirely certain why he’d agreed to go with Benny that afternoon. He already had a suit guy in St. Louis. He didn’t need another one. But Sam was persuasive, a few other guys were going, and Matthew was always looking for something new. When you have to wear the same item of clothing over and over again, might as well make it something interesting. 

Walking into the little shop, he could see why Sam liked it. There were racks and racks of interesting fabrics. Subtle and bold patterns and solid colors he never would have considered for a suit before. 

As the other guys got to browsing, Matthew wandered over to the wall of photos. In every one, a short, dark haired man was posing with various people in beautiful suits. Sam was up there as were Barky and Bob. He didn’t know they came here too. Apparently, this was the place to be. 

Something rustled in the back, and he turned. Nothing was there, but a glass cabinet that housed a display of cufflinks. 

“Matthew?” 

His head shot up. 

A pretty young woman who wasn't in any of the photos was standing in the doorway behind the display case, holding up the heavy velvet curtain. He could see a row of sewing machines under her arm. She had on a blue skirt and a green blouse. A fabric flower was attached to her wrist, a porcupine of pins sticking out of it. 

His breath locked in his chest. She was here. In Florida. She was in front of him. The girl from the New Years Eve party he couldn’t quite convince himself to let go of for half a season and the whole summer. 

Her hair was shorter than it had been - ending at her collar bone - and a dark auburn red. He supposed it had probably always been that color. She had creamy pale skin with a dusting of freckles across her nose, and shit, had her eyes always been that green? 

He’d never seen her out of that harsh club lighting, he realized. Of course she would be prettier in the daylight. 

The murmuring behind him hushed into silence, and his mind went completely blank, as if he’d never had a thought in his life. 

“Hey,” he heard himself say. The shock of seeing her was so intense, he couldn’t remember her name. He’d just been thinking about her last week after another failed third date.

Sam shot him a questioning look.  

He was in shock. He was overwhelmed. He was… he was… he was acting like an idiot. 

His heart thundered in his ears. She was looking at him like she was trying to figure out if he remembered who she was. 

“Jessie,” she said hesitantly, pointing to her chest. “From New Years?”

Didn’t he remember? His face was branded into her memory. The dream of him - of them - roared to life in her chest unbidden. Her body reacted instantly, as if no time had passed. 

Right. Jessie, Jessie, Jessie, he thought.

Cool. He needed to play this cool. “Oh, hey,” he said. “How’ve you been?” 

As soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Hope fell right off her face. He saw the moment it happened, and it sliced through him like a knife to the gut. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

She wasn’t some old acquaintance he hadn’t seen in a while. She was the girl he kept coming back to. The one he thought about after failed dates or that relationship that started at the beginning of the summer only to fizzle out six weeks later. She was his, it might have been, girl.

The man walked in then, forcing her into the shop. “Ah, I see you have met Jessica. She just graduated from FIT in New York,” he bragged, “and is helping us expand into womens suiting. She’s also a marvelous tailor, so she’ll be helping with the suits as well. Jessica, these are the clients I was telling you about. From the ice hockey team. Good clients. They like interesting things.” 

She painted a smile on her face that almost looked convincing. “I can’t wait to help.” 

“You,” Raul said, “I don't know you.”

“Matthew,” he said, holding a hand out to the older Italian man. “Sam said you make the best suits on the eastern seaboard.”

Raul pulled out the leather bound book that served as his ledger, and flipped to the section Jessie had been looking at that morning, simply marked, Hockey.

“Last name?” he asked. 

He spelled it out, then pronounced it, “Tkachuk. The T is silent.” 

Raul nodded, noting the silent letter next to his name. 

“Jessica and I will take your measurements,” he said, gesturing him over to the plinth near the mirrors surrounded by dark wood. 

Jessie picked up a notebook and followed Raul. Matthew had definitely recognised her, he’d been shocked by her appearance, even. Then he treated her like…like a one night stand or an acquaintance he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to reunite with. It hurt more than it should have to have the things she was telling herself come true. 

She had hoped Raul would let her help the other clients, but luck seemed to be against her. At least he hadn’t handed her the tape. She didn’t know what she would have done if  her hands brushed against Matthew’s body. She already felt on edge just being in the same room as him. 

“Very important to get the thigh measurement with these hockey players,” Raul was saying as he threaded a measuring tape around Matthews upper thigh. “Big legs.” 

“It’s from all the skating,” Matthew said, almost out of habit. 

Jessie was doing a very good job of not looking at him. She had a little notebook in her hands and she kept her eyes trained on it as she wrote down every body part and corresponding number Raul called out. Upper thigh, lower thigh, calf, hip to knee, knee to ankle. Matthew had been measured like this before, so he just stood still and let the man do his work. 

“So, Jessie, right?” Josh asked, leaning onto one of the mirrors, nearby where she was standing, not quite in Matthew’s peripheral vision. 

She hummed in agreement. Raul was still calling out numbers to her, and she couldn’t divide her focus that well. 

“What brought you all the way down to Florida from New York?” 

Matthew clenched his jaw to keep from telling Josh off. As much as he wanted it, he didn’t have any claim over Jessie.

“Um,” she said, still jotting numbers. She spared a glance at him. He had long, unruly, dark hair, dark eyes, and a goofy smile. She smiled back, “can you give me just a minute to finish up here?” she asked, pointing at Matthew’s stomach with the cap of her pen. 

Josh blushed, “yeah, of course.” 

She went back to her notebook, face impassive once more. 

Josh stayed where he was. 

“So Chucky, what do you think about the schedule this year?” 

Matthew shrugged, then snapped himself back into place at Rauls reprimand. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

Jessie gagged internally. hoping that wasn’t really his nickname. Chucky was either a possessed doll, or a possessed rat mascot, neither of which she liked to think about for very long. 

They continued to talk about something with their team. When she and Raul finished, she handed the notebook off to him, which he would transcribe into the ledger. He still didn’t trust her to do it the way he liked. 

Matthew didn’t move off the plinth, but she turned to the other man, “sorry, what was your question?” 

She sounded so polite, so formal. Sure, they’d only met that one night, but she hadn’t been guarded like this at that club in Ottawa. He supposed that was probably his fault. God, why was he such an idiot?

“I wondered what brought you to Florida. It’s a long way from New York.” 

“Oh, the heat,” she said. “I was so tired of the north-east cold.”

“And you know Raul…”

“He and one of my mentors are great friends, and he got us in touch. I have some family down here, and wanted to live somewhere warm for a change. Raul wanted to expand into some womenswear, and tailoring happens to be one of my specialties.” She said it without much emotion. Just stating the facts. “We met, I made him and myself a suit to audition, and here we are.” 

Matthew opened his mouth to say something about how he was glad she was here, but she walked away before he could force the words out. 

Josh gave him a look that said something like, women, right? 

Matthew walked away before he said something stupid.

“While I update the rest of your measurements, Jessica can help you with fabrics. She’s excellent with color. Jessica, why don’t you get the samples and help them pick out what they need.” 

She nodded, went into the back and came out with five big binders. She set them on the table, and flipped some of them open. 

She helped Reino pick out a dark teal, a blue and a few subtle plaids before moving on to someone else. 

Matthew was the last at the table. 

“What are you looking for?” she asked, trying to keep her voice and demeanor level. No need to let him know how her heart still pounded just looking at him when it was so obvious he didn’t care about her. 

“I'm always looking for something interesting,” he said. “What would you suggest?” 

Her eyes darted up to his face. His eyes were so blue - much more intense in person. He had the kind of eyes poets say hold summer skies and glacial lakes. It was the first time she really saw them, and they took her breath away. 

“Well,” she forced herself back to work, “you could pull off almost anything with your coloring. How adventurous are you?” 

“I’m willing to try anything once,” he said, trying to sound flirtatious. It just came off desperate. 

She chewed on the inside of her lip. “How many suits are you looking for?” 

“Eight,” he said. 

He didn’t need eight suits. But if it kept him at this table for longer, he would buy as many as she would sell him. 

“All for here?” 

“For here?”

“To be worn here, in Florida? The others have mentioned needing some for travel.”

“Oh, I’ll need three or four for travel, three at least for the cold.” 

They talked through colors. She opened a binder she hadn’t given anyone else. None of the other guys were as handsome, or seemed as adventurous with their style as Matthew. 

“If you’re brave enough, I think this lilac would look really good on you,” she said, pulling the pastel fabric sample off the board and holding it up. He was more bronze than he had been when they’d met, but it would still look good when his summer tan faded. 

“Okay,” he said. He trusted her style. He’d never worn lilac, but if she thought it would look good, he’d give it a shot.

Jessie got the feeling he was just agreeing with her to get this whole thing over with. Still, she couldn’t help pulling the best fabrics for him, even an expensive light blue linen blend that would make him look like Brad Pitt in Santorini. He didn't balk when she mentioned the price. He didn't even seem to notice. 

“Chucky, how did you know Jessie?” Bennet said as they walked down the block to the public parking they’d all met at. 

“A party,” he said, trying to sound non-committal. 

People got into their cars, but before Matthew could leave, Benny came up to his driver's window. “You wanna tell us what’s going on?” 

“You’re never this quiet,” Reino said from his place on Benny’s left. 

Matthew sighed and got out of the car. This was going to take a while. Sam had always been a bit of a brother to him and he knew he wouldn’t let him go without an explanation. 

“Jessie and I met last New Years Eve,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the hood of his car. 

“Okay, and what did you do? Hookup and never call her again?” 

“No!” He sounded too defensive, even to his own ears. 

Reino raised an eyebrow, “so what happened?” 

His hands raked into his hair so he didn't have to look at them as he told the story. “We met at this club in Ottawa, and we had this amazing connection. I've never felt anything like it before. Like, boom: Instant chemistry.” It felt even worse to say it out loud. 

Both guys just waited. 

“But the club caught fire.” 

“Wait, what?” Benny asked. “Really?”

“I know, man,” Matthew said, throwing his hands up, “and I thought I had her number, so I left her to find Taryn, but I didn’t, and I couldn't find her after. I didn’t think I was ever going to see her again, and then, all of a sudden she was here,” he gestured in the direction of the shop, “and I just…” 

“Fucked it?” Benny asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“So go back and talk to her,” Reino said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

He scoffed. “What would I say? ‘Hey, sorry I completely forgot your name and treated you like our connection didn't matter, but I actually haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for the past nine months?’” 

“Better than not saying anything,” Benny said. 

Matthew shook his head, “I can’t go back in there.” 

“Why not?” 

“You didn’t see her face. There’s no way she wants to talk to me.” 

A few weeks later, Jessie was piecing Matthew’s jacket from the blue linen in the back of the shop. The fabric was so light and delicate, she couldn’t even have music going while working with it. One wrong move and there would be pulled threads all over the place. She knew Raul would disapprove, but she gave herself twice the seam allowance to make sure she could finish the inside raw edges. Otherwise the fabric would start to pull apart - eventually, quite literally, fraying at the seams. 

“Uh, hello?” someone asked. 

She jumped and dropped the scissors. She let them clatter to the floor with a curse. She’d been so focused on the task at hand, she hadn’t heard the bell ring. 

“One second,” she called, before securing her pattern with an extra pin, picking up the scissors and coming out to the sales floor. 

“Hi, sorry about that. I got kind of in the zone. What can I do for you?” 

It was one of the hockey guys. The one with strawberry hair. She couldn’t help but glance around him to see if he’d brought anyone with him. 

She shouldn’t even be looking for Matthew, especially considering he'd ignored all of her phone calls about his suiting. All the same, seeing him again had awoken her longing in a way she couldn’t quite tamp down. 

“Raul said I had some suits he wanted me to try on,” he said. 

She asked his name, then went to the back to retrieve the garment bag. She remembered this one. She’d convinced him an oxblood red wouldn’t look too harsh with his coloring, and she was hoping he would like the results. 

Giving him a pair of pants, she left him in the changing room while she cut extra threads on the inside of the jacket.

Immediately, she could see the pants were a smidge too loose. They talked about his preferred fit, and he avoided looking at her as she pinned the inner thigh. All men reacted this way, but to Jessie, this was all about the garment. As far as she was concerned, he was a mannequin under these clothes. 

Finally, the questions that had been ruminating in her mind got the best of her. “So, did Matthew get traded or something?” 

“Chucky?” he asked, surprised.  

“I guess so.” 

“No,” he was laughing as he said it, “he has seven more years on his contract.”

“Oh.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve just called him a few times about measurements, or fittings, and he’s never called back or come in.”

“Really? He told me he was here yesterday.” 

Of course he was coming in on her day off. Why had she even told him that in the message?

She stood up, and moved onto the jacket after asking him if he ever planned to wear it with a sweater. He wasn’t sure. Or if she should shorten the sleeves. He liked them a little longer. 

“Chucky told us what happened in Ottawa,” he said. 

Jessie felt her shoulders tense, but kept working. “Yeah?” she asked, not daring to look up. All this still felt too close to the surface, and she didn’t want this man she barely knew to know how much it had hurt when Matthew brushed her aside. 

“Yeah, he said he looked for you after the fire.” 

“I tried to stay, but my cousins and I were soaking wet and it was below freezing so we had to catch the train.” 

“He said he went back the next day and you’d been there, but didn’t leave a note.” 

That made Jessie gasp. Audibly. She blushed and tried to brush it off, “I was worried it might go to the wrong person,” she said, “plus I messaged him on Instagram and he never responded.” 

He hummed, debating the best way to approach this. He wanted to do some digging without letting on that’s what he was doing. “He said you guys had quite the connection.” 

Was she really going to go into this with one of his teammates? She hadn’t talked to anyone about it but Roger. Words bubbled up into her mouth so fast, she guessed she was. 

“Yeah, we did.” God, why did she have to sound so moony?

“Do you think there’s still something there?” 

“He made it pretty obvious there’s not.” 

“I don’t think he meant to do that. He was pretty shocked to see you.”

“I was shocked to see him too, but I didn’t just brush him aside.” 

“Listen, Jessie - it’s Jessie, right?”

She nodded.

“Matthew can be pretty thick. He gets so in his head, sometimes he doesn’t really think things through, but he told us what happened, and how much he liked you, and he said he fucked it and you wouldn’t want to see him again.”

She hummed, and got him a new suit to try on. She’d been right. The oxblood did look killer on him, like he could be in a GQ shoot. He looked impressed. 

“Would you want to see him again?” Sam asked. 

“If he came in here himself?”

He nodded. 

“I’d at least give him a chance.” 

Even though she would usually just move on, she’d never felt anything like the instant connection she and Matthew shared on New Years. It was the kind of thing she thought only existed in books and rom coms. Experiencing it in real life made it into something she couldn’t just walk away from.  

They talked about where they were from and made comfortable small talk for the duration of the fitting. She told him how relieved she was when Raul trusted her enough to run the shop by herself one day a week. 

“Listen, I’ll tell Chucky to come by next Wednesday. We’re leaving for the opening roadie that day, but I’ll try to get his head out of his ass before then.” 

She giggled. 

He could see why Matthew liked her, and could see how their personalities would match up well. She was kind and easy to talk to - quiet at first, but got louder as she got comfortable, and Chucky was just loud all the time. He could tell they both valued relationships more than things. 

The next week, after their final practice before the season opening road trip, Benny cornered Matthew in his stall. “You need to go see Jessie.”

“She doesn't want to talk to me, man.”

“The way she asked me about you last week would say otherwise.”

He scoffed. 

“I told her you still like her -”

“You what?!”

“She brought you up first, and you weren't doing shit, so don’t tell me I'm ruining your plans or some bull. She said she's called you a bunch of times, but you only show up when she's not there.”

“It's just easier,” Matthew mumbled. It wasn't his fault she told him when she'd be gone.

Benny rolled his eyes. “Dude, wake up. She still likes you.” 

Matthew looked at him, skeptical, “she told you that?” 

“Yes, but she didn’t need to. The first thing she asked me was if you’d been traded. We weren’t even talking about you.”

 A ridiculous amount of hope lit up his face.

“I knew it! You still like her too!”

What’s not to like? Matthew thought.

“She runs the shop on Wednesdays. Just go talk to her.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I went there last Wednesday, dumbass. She told me.” 

Matthew hesitated, still unconvinced. 

“Go. Now. I’ll drive you myself if I have to. I’m sick and tired of you moping around when there’s such an easy solution to your problem.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” Matthew said, holding his hands up in defeat. 

“And check your instagram. She said she sent you a message.” 

Usually when she walked onto the sales floor after the doorbell dinged, Jessie would have to search for someone among the racks of fabric samples and ready to be tailored suits. This time, a man was standing at the counter, watching her with the same determined intensity he’d shown the first time they met.

He was here. Finally. Four of his suits had been sitting in the storage room for more than a week, further proof that he was avoiding her. 

“Hi Matthew,” she greeted hesitantly. 

“Hey Jessie.”

They looked at each other in awkward silence for a moment. 

“Can I help you with something?” 

“Yeah, Raul told me some of the suits were ready?”

“They are.”

“I just came to pick those up.” 

“Oh,” the tiny spark of hope fizzled out again. Sam must not have made it through to him. 

She looked instantly downcast. 

To hell with it. He couldn't make any more of an ass of himself. “And I wanted to see you,” he blurted.

“You wanted to see…me?” she repeated, pulling a pen from her ponytail to start fiddling with it. He didn’t know why, but it struck him as such an endearing gesture. 

“Yeah,” he said, heart falling. Was Sam setting him up? He was a prankster, but not to this level, usually. Not when it was this important. 

“Why would you want to see me?” she asked, feeling that guard go up. Every time she got her hopes up about Matthew, he tore them down.

Thoughts raced through his mind. He could lie so easily, but where would that get him? It was time to just own up and blurt it out. Her reaction be damned. “Because I really like you.”

She looked surprised. Way more surprised than he’d expected. “I thought you didn’t remember.”

“How could I forget?” he asked. “I thought you must hate me since I forgot your name and acted like such an ass that first day.”

Shaking her head, Jessie wondered how on earth they got into this situation. “I mean, I was disappointed, but then, you backed it up by never coming to the shop when I was working, I thought you must be trying to avoid me.”

“I was.”

One of her eyebrows shot up.

“Not like that,” he floundered. “Like, I couldn’t stand to see you and remember how well we got on, and how much I like you, and how pretty you are when I knew I'd blown my chance and you hated me.”

She let out a laugh. “That makes no sense. What did I ever do to make you think I hated you? I called you every time something was finished, or we needed a new measurement. I gave you the best fabric selections.”

Had that been because she liked him? “I don’t know, it did in my brain. I guess I was so embarrassed I forgot your name when I like you so much, I was telling myself you must be angry with me.”

Jessie rolled her eyes. “You know, Matthew, for someone so smart, you can be pretty dumb.” 

“You think I’m smart?” He’d been called many things in his life, but smart was rarely one of them. 

“Yes. I think you’re very smart, except when it comes to romance, I guess.” 

He chuffed a laugh, grabbing the back of his neck. “I really fucked this one up, didn’t I?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to be cool and hoping against hope that this last shot would land on target. If it didn’t, she was kicking him out and scrubbing him from all her memories. “I think you might still have a chance.” 

His eyes snapped to hers. “Yeah?” 

She nodded. 

Heart pounding, but trying to keep that flirty, cool skin on, he walked around the counter to remove the barrier between them. 

Knowing he still liked her brought all those feelings from the club rushing back. She’d never felt like that with anyone else. If only he knew how many times she’d replayed that night. How many times she remembered how he felt and how no one had ever kissed her like that, or swept her off her feet so quickly.

“Play your cards right,” she said, feeling breathless with the nearness of him. “And I think you might get another chance at bat.”

As he leaned in closer, her pupils dilated, and her eyes darted to his mouth. He licked his lips just to see her force her eyes back to his like last time. Her blush was even more adorable in the daylight.

“If I swing, what are my odds of getting a home run?” 

She laughed. It didn’t break the spell. It turned out that palpable chemistry was still between them, just waiting to be ignited. Their eye contact was hot and glued together.

“Maybe not today,” she said, “but I think it’s a safe bet that you’ll get on base.” 

Time moved in slow motion as he leaned in further, looking at her mouth, then her neck, then her cleavage, barely visible through the two undone buttons of her starched, white shirt, before snapping back to hers as she stopped him with a hand pressed tightly to his chest.  

“We can’t do this here. There are cameras on the floor,” she said. 

His head dropped forward in defeat. “I have to leave for Vegas in two hours,” he said, feeling more than a bit desperate. “I really don’t want to wait until I’m back.” 

“I don’t want to either, but I’m telling you, if Raul catches me making out with a client, I’m going to be out on my ass.” 

“So what do we do?”

She thought for a moment before an idea struck her. “Follow me.” 

She made a big show of walking into the back, digging his new lilac suit out of the garment bag and hanging it in the private dressing room. “You go in there. When I come back and ask you how it’s fitting, you need to tell me something needs to be adjusted and invite me in, okay?” 

“Right. Yeah, okay.” 

She put out the sign that said she would return soon and locked the front door. It wasn’t that unusual to lock up when they were helping a high profile client, anyway. Plus, Wednesdays were always the slowest day of the week, hence why she was allowed to man the shop alone. She just hoped Raul wouldn’t have any reason to review the tapes. 

Her whole chest felt like it was full of helium as she walked back to him. Were they really about to do this? 

“Everything going okay in there?” she asked. 

“Something’s wrong with this suit jacket,” he said. “Can you come take a look?” 

Upon entering, she found Matthew with his shirt already off.

Sweet Jesus, she was not prepared for that. For his sculpted body, and his chest hair, that tapered into a thin trail running down the center of his abs before it dipped enticingly into the waistband of his pants. 

“That’s not fair,” she said. 

“What’s not fair?” he reached for her and drew her to him, hands splaying over her waist.

“You’re already half naked,” she said, eyes wandering down his chest again. 

“You could be too,” he teased, playfully pulling at the shirt tucked into her waistband. He didn’t actually pull any of the fabric loose, which she appreciated. He was letting her set the pace.

“Damn, Jessie. You’re the only woman I know who can make a pant suit look sexy.” 

She laughed, and pulled the whole shirt over her head, leaving her in a white camisole, a black lace bra peeking out from underneath it. 

“Do you always wear black lingerie to work?” he asked, voice gone husky as he ran a finger under one of the straps. 

“Only when I think you might come in.” 

His eyes snapped to hers, thrilled but questioning. 

“Sam told me he was going to try to get you to come by today.”

“So this really is for me?” he felt dizzy with the prospect.

“No. It’s for me. I put it on this morning, thinking that at the very least if you came in and you were an ass again, you wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing how hot I look in my bra,” she said, before stripping off the camisole so he could see exactly how hot she looked in her bra. 

Seeing her, in black suit pants, a gold belt buckle flashing at her waist, and her sheer, floral lace bra that plunged between her breasts, the breath was sucked out of his lungs. 

His ongoing ache for her intensified, pressing insistently against the confines of his jeans. 

He stepped toward her when she once again stopped his progress with a hand to the chest. “I really like you, Matthew,” she said, swooning a little at the happiness that lit up his face, “but I was serious. I don't want to have sex.” 

“Can you define that a little more?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like you don't want oral sex, or…” 

She wouldn't have guessed oral sex would even be on the table. She practically had to beg past boyfriends for it. 

“I mean I don't want to have penetrative sex. The first time with someone new is hard enough. I don't want to make it more complicated by taking a bed out of the equation.” 

“I get that. Plus, it'll give me something to look forward to when I get back,” he said with a grin and a cheeky wink. 

God, maybe they really were made for each other. 

As his left hand slipped to the back of her neck, the other spread over her rib cage, thumb brushing against the soft lace that cupped her breast. 

She sucked in a breath, letting her hand ghost up his torso over the ridges and valleys, until her fingers hooked over his shoulder. The other slid around to his back.

It felt like it had been a million years since they’d last done this. Not the touching, not the skin to skin, which felt like…it felt like heaven, but the longing. 

Jessie was looking at him with that same hope and lust in her eyes. It made his stomach twist with that same wanting to fulfill them both. 

It was so long coming, he wanted to savor every movement, every breath, every glance. Her eyes were so green. Somehow even more green up close. 

Finally, when their lips met, she sighed, melting against him. 

This was all together more intense and less hurried than their first kiss had been. It was a slow burn, a thorough seduction, a fulfillment of everything Matthew had been dreaming of that night they lost each other. 

When he pulled away, their heavy breaths crashed together. 

Fingertips sliding up her back, he tried to memorize the feel of her. Her skin was so soft. 

Jessie was growing impatient. Any other moment, she would love this slow seduction. Most of the time she felt like men moved too fast. Today though, she had so much sexual frustration built up for him that the weight of desire was already heavy between her legs. 

Taking matters into her own hands, she leaned in and trailed her mouth along his jaw before nipping the soft spot behind it, just under his ear. He shuddered when she soothed it with her tongue. 

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long,” she confessed, barely above a whisper.

That snapped him into action. Taking her waist, he pulled her flush to him, and crushed his mouth to hers. 

There was the passion she’d been looking for. 

As they surged together, she felt so restless and turned on, she tried to hook a knee over his hip in an attempt to slot him between her legs. 

Groaning against her, his hand slid over her rear and down her leg to keep it elevated and wrapped around him. 

Kissing her was so much better than he remembered. How was that possible? She was so good in his dreams. In reality, she was living - flesh and bone and wanting - and he couldn’t get enough. 

Moving to her neck, he sucked her pulse point. He felt her tremble against him, but her hand still came up to pull him back to her mouth. “Nothing visible, okay? I have to go back to work.” 

He nodded and caught her lips. It might be too late for that one, but he wouldn’t do it again. 

Her desire was a wildfire, consuming every part of her. It wanted to consume him, too. 

When she tucked two of her fingers behind the button of his jeans, a moan fell into her mouth. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” 

She tore the zipper down, and palmed him through his boxers. His hips jumped into her hand as a moan ripped from his throat.

His fingers fumbled to her belt buckle and paused. 

“Please,” she whimpered. 

He was clumsy with desperation and the distraction of her kissing and biting his neck, but he finally got it open and her pants undone. 

The weight of the buckle sunk the waistband to the floor with a heavy clink, and Jessie stepped out of it, kicking off her shoes at the same time. Sinking her hand into his pants, she shoved them down his muscular legs. 

He nearly fell over in his attempt to get out of his shoes so he could free himself from the shackle of the fabric around his ankles. 

Jessie giggled, and moved with him as he stepped away. He finally got his first look at her in her underwear. Made of some fabric he couldn’t name, they were also black and cut high on her hip. He could see it was a thong in the mirrored wall behind her. 

His jaw grew heavy with longing, but managed to make his mouth work enough to tell her, “you’re so beautiful, Jessie.”

“Thank you. I think you’re really handsome.” she said, running a hand down his chest. And he was - he could be a living sculpture in the Greek wing of the Louvre with his curly hair and sculpted body. 

Sliding his hands over her hips, he pulled her to him once more. He hesitated for a moment, and Jessie took charge, too impatient to wait. “Matthew?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I really appreciate you getting my consent, I really, really do, but you can just move forward. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” 

“Okay.” 

She captured his mouth again and the fire roared to life between them, stoked hotter by so much skin touching skin. 

Sneaking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, he pushed them down, trusting that she would stop him if she wanted to.

She didn’t want him to. 

His fingers traced back up her leg and when he stroked her, she broke from the kiss to let her head lull forward onto his shoulder. Her panting breaths were the stuff of his dreams. She was already so wet, and he wanted nothing more than to bring her pleasure. 

“Oh,” she moaned when he explored more, running a couple of rough fingers from her entrance to her throbbing bundle of nerves. She rocked into his hand, and he took the hint, caressing her over and over again until she was trembling and moaning. 

“Matthew,” her voice was wrecked: desperate and thick with longing. 

“What do you need?” 

“Your fingers,” she begged, “inside me.” 

He obeyed, following the rhythm she set. Pressing the pad of his thumb to her clit, a wicked, self satisfied smile took over his face as her head tipped back, and her breath hitched. 

“Oh,” she moaned, “just like that.” Her hands slid to his arms, clinging to his biceps. 

He wanted to eat her pleasure for breakfast - sustain himself with it on long, lonely nights. He knew he would dream of her voice and all her little sounds through the whole ten days away, anxious to come back to the very actual reality of her. He kept having to remind himself this wasn’t a dream.

He rutted against her thigh in an attempt to pacify some of his own lust. 

Body shaking, she cried out. 

Matthew continued to stroke and leaned in, kissing her right through her orgasm.

Feeling her core pulse around him again and again, the release was so long coming, it seemed to go on forever.

As her breathing finally slowed, he eased his fingers from her. 

“Oh my god,” she said, still clutching him to stay upright. “I’m so pissed we had to wait nine months for this.” 

Laughter barked out of his mouth.

When she could make her hands work, Jessie pulled his hard, hot length from his boxers, and stroked a few times. 

His mouth fell open, and he panted, “it’s bullshit, right?”

“Such bullshit,” she agreed, devouring the pleasure that washed over his face.

“Wait,” he said, grasping her wrist. “I want this to last.” 

“You already got me off,” she said. “What do you need to wait for?” 

“I'm not going until you've come at least twice. What's the point of women being able to have multiple orgasms if I can't give them to you?”

That was some flawed logic, but she allowed him to pull her hand away. She wasn’t going to say no.

“Can I taste you?” 

“If you want,” she said hesitantly, as if he might be pulling some kind of prank. She'd never had a man offer to go down on her first.

“I do want,” he said, guiding her to lean against the mirrored wall and sinking to his knees. “I've been wondering how you taste since we met.”

Maybe that oral fixation all the girls talked about online was actually true.

“Can you put your leg up here?” he asked, sliding a gentle hand to the back of her knee, and lifting so the joint bent around his palm. He guided her foot to the stool. 

When he looked up at her, his blue eyes shining with excitement, she retraced their steps to get there. Not even ten minutes before would she have expected to end up with Matthew Tkachuk eating her out in the back dressing room. 

“That feels okay?” he confirmed, palm stroking back up her thigh.

God, he was even making sure she was comfortable. Her whole body fluttered in anticipation. “Yeah,” she breathed. 

Every other time a man had given her oral, they were fast and sloppy, obviously trying to get it over with as soon as possible. With Matthew, he seemed to be dragging it out for his own pleasure, tasting and teasing like he just couldn’t get enough. He was driving her crazy - winding her tighter and tighter. 

“Matthew,” she moaned. It was better than any of his dreams. Better than any fantasy. “More. Please. More.” 

She felt his lips briefly curve into a smile against her before he really got to work. Licking with the whole flat of his tongue, then flicking with the tip, he was suddenly everywhere. 

Her hand scrambled for purchase on the wall behind her. Met only with the slick mirror, her fingers fumbled into his hair, searching for anything to hold on to. 

He groaned into her, almost as if in pain.

“O-okay?” she asked, voice shaking as she attempted to loosen her grip.

When she felt his response but couldn't hear it, it took all her willpower to push him away. She was not going to hurt him, especially when he had been so insistent on her consent. She could feel his hard breathing rushing over her and it set her skin to trembling. 

“Okay?” she asked again. 

“Good,” he assured, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “I'll let you know if you pull too hard,” he said with a wink before diving back in. 

Her head thunked back against the mirror. He really was made for her, that was the only explanation. 

 God, she was perfect. She tasted like paradise, like water in the desert, like his favorite meal after a long period of fasting. She satiated his every craving. 

His competitive drive growled into a higher gear, demanding to please her until she whimpered and begged. He licked and sucked and spelled his own name with his tongue, gauging where she liked to be touched most. 

“Matthew,” she moaned. “Oh my god, Matthew.”

Pleasure began to tingle low in her pelvis. It loosened her hips and turned her legs to putty. She'd never had a man take this much interest, let alone put so much effort into her pleasure. She moaned something unintelligible, even to her own ears.

He slipped a finger into her, and she cried out. Her hand tightened in his hair when he added another. 

A whimper on every exhale, she panted, trying to keep some semblance of control. It shattered when he gently kneaded her g spot. 

Pleasure thundered low in her belly, and she was forced over the cliff, glad to know Matthew would be there to catch her fall. Her vision turned hazy as she crashed. Time and space exploded into nothing more than shadowy constructs. She heard herself shout as if listening from another room.

When she came back to herself, Matthew was still languidly tasting her folds, one of his forearms braced over her hips to keep her upright. 

Pushing him away from her core, she tried to catch her breath. 

As he sat back, he wiped his face with his free hand. The satisfaction of pleasing her rumbled contentedly in his chest. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I fucking love you.” 

He laughed, a look of delighted surprise on his face.

The reality of what she'd just said hit her and Jessie covered her face with her hands, “oh my god. I can't believe I just said that out loud.”

“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me during sex.” 

Relief sunk into her bones. Soul mates. They had to be soul mates. 

A few moments later, she finally found her feet and pushed away from the mirror.

“Alright,” she said, reaching for him and wrapping her fingers around his erection. He stumbled toward her, anxious to feel more. 

She smoothed the precome leaking from the tip onto the shaft with her thumb. “I think it's my turn to taste now.” 

Matthew wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected her to do, but lowering to her knees in front of him right away hadn't been at the top of the list. He expected her to jerk him off for a minute, maybe kiss and tease him a little. Not that he was complaining. If she was willing, he'd gladly accept. 

“Do you like more suction or more mouth?” she asked before licking the underside of his shaft. 

Oh God.

“I dont - I don't care.” He wasn't sure he was even going to last long enough for it to make a difference. He felt so close to the surface already. 

“You don't care?” she repeated, sitting back on her haunches to look up at him. 

With her mouth off of him, he could explain his reasoning a little better. 

“Frankly, I've been dreaming about this for so long, I could almost bust just from seeing you on your knees.” 

She was flattered and also a little relieved she wasn't the only one. 

“Okay,” she said as she reached up to pump him a few times. “Something we'll figure out later.”

The fact that she was thinking about the future, too, made him weak. 

Her lips wrapped around his tip, tongue caressing, and he was right there. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Jessie,” he moaned, “god that feels good.”

Was it the best blow job ever? Objectively no, but it was Jessie, so it felt more important than any that came before it. He felt like he was fifteen again, getting his first head, amazed by everything and having no restraint. 

“I'm - I'm gonna come,” he moaned, trying to pull back so as not to come in her mouth. 

Jessie would rather have it in her mouth than all over her, so she gripped the backs of his thighs to keep him in place. 

“Oh, fuck.” How could she possibly be this perfect? 

She sucked and caressed and he exploded with a long low groan. 

She kept licking, albeit more gently, until he pulled back, sensitivity making it too much to bear.

“Holy shit,” he said. The room felt muggy and he felt content in a way he'd been longing for since they'd lost each other. 

“Yeah,” she agreed. 

He helped her to her feet, and pulled her against him, wanting to feel her close. 

A while later, her phone, which had fallen out of one of her pants pockets, buzzed and the time flashed. 

“Shit! I have to go,” he said, scrambling for his clothes. “I still have stuff to pack!” 

“When’s your flight?”

“In an hour, but I have to drive home and then to the airport.”

They rushed to get their clothes back on. He hated seeing her bra disappear under the camisole again. 

As soon as he was dressed, he grabbed her jaw and kissed her. Her hands floated from tucking her shirt to cup his face. 

He'd just had her, but the wanting roared back to life as soon as she touched him, as if his body was trying to remind him what was possible between them. Like he could ever forget. 

“This was so amazing. I promise I'll take you on a real date when I'm back, and I'll call you while I’m gone,” he said. “I'm sorry I have to dash out of here.”

He kissed her again, hard and purposefully, before rushing out of the dressing room. 

“Wait!” she chased him onto the sales floor still tucking her shirt, “my number. You need my number.” 

“Oh my god,” he slapped a palm to his forehead. “I can't believe I almost left without it again!”

She giggled, “you're not getting away from me this time.”

They exchanged numbers and Matthew raced home. 

He rushed to pack the last of his things, grateful for the example his dad set, in always having a base bag packed the day before a road trip just in case something came up. 

He was the last one on the plane, a first for him.

“Chucky just got fucked!” someone yelled. 

Matthew felt his cheeks get hot. His hair was probably wild from Jessie's hands, and he could feel the love bite on his neck, a sure sign it would soon be a full blown mark. 

Reino met his eyes and raised a brow. Jessie? he mouthed. 

Matthew nodded. 

He wiped the back of his hand over his brow in mock relief. 

“Oh thank God,” Bennett exclaimed from across the aisle. “I thought I was going to have to lock you two in a room until you got together.”

Matthew laughed. 

When he got settled, he sent Jessie a text. Just on the plane, but I'm missing you already. I'm back on the 14th, so pencil me in for that date. 

I have you in for the weekend. We have a lot of time to make up for. 

Fanciction Masterlist

[nartml]

To Pimp a Butterfly and 1989: a rant

Listen here, three things about me are that I'm a) white as snow, b) Greek, c) still a minor.

What does this mean? It means that I obviously wasn't raised with hip-hop, and I got into Kendrick Lamar's music pretty late.

As in, early this year.

I've known of him for some time, and the moment I found out he had a Pulitzer prize at some point in late-ish 2023, I decided I had to sit my ass down and pull out Spotify.

Now, as an avid reader of both fanfiction (ao3 raised me) and books [I feel the immense need to clarify that I don't associate myself with mainstream booktok. Capitalism's consumerism has overrun that shit and all I see are the same 20 books being recycled and recommended (a substantial amount of those are Colleen Hoover and her variants). Tropes and spice* are officially the defining factors of whether a book is worth it (*your porn addiction ain't cute) and quantity is heavily prioritized at the expense of quality. Also, diversity who?], I was, for a lack of a better word, hyped.

A Pulitzer prize is nothing to scoff at in general, more so in music, more so in hip-hop.

(Edit: Upon quick reflection, I realize that putting emphasis on hip-hop can come across as coded.

I am in no way, shape, or form trying to undermine hip-hop or say that it's somehow less 'sophisticated' than, for example, classical music. I'm very aware of the amount of skill and technique one needs to write a masterful hip-hop album, and I'm not doubting that there are hip-hop artists out there who are also incredibly deserving of such a prize. I meant it in the sense that I've unfortunately never heard of another hip-hop artist who won a Pulitzer before, which is quite telling.)

That's some huge shit, and I'd be a fool not to be intrigued.

Admittedly, I didn't get on that immediately. For a while I procrastinated, because I wasn't in the mood to hyper-fixate on anything new just yet.

Which of course meant I ended up forgetting about it for a few months, because of course I did.

But then I came across a TikTok that talked about how it was insane that '1989' won the Grammy when To Pimp a Butterfly was right there.

Now, a fourth thing about me is that I don't fuck with Taylor Swift.

And a fifth thing about me is that I'm not baseless in anything that I do, say or feel, and that includes annoyance.

Her immature understanding of activism and feminism leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The way she built up her fan base around this portrayal of her as a relatable girl's girl, her refusal to accept criticism, and always making a victim out of herself (even now when she's in her thirties and is a fucking billionaire) while never using her position of power and privilege for good are all reasons that serve to fuel my dispassionate dislike.

And before any Swifties get on my ass, no, I don't think that "But she's a singer! Why are you expecting so much out of her, she isn't even qualified to speak on XYZ—" is a good enough excuse.

She has always been rich, and now she's a billionaire. There are no ethical billionaires, and that includes her.

Fame is influence is power. Uncle Ben said it all: With great power comes great responsibility.

And let me tell you, I don't see her owning up to that responsibility, especially after all that talk about how she supports women, supports the LGBTQ community, and supports the BLM movement. Has she ever actually put her abundant money where her mouth is?

I've never seen her speak about anything that doesn't immediately concern her.

Don't get me wrong. She's not the only celebrity like this out there. I'm sure there are worse cases. I know it for a fact.

To wrap this segment up before I get even more sidetracked, I'll outright state that I don't hate her, because hating her would by definition mean that I, in some way, actually care about her, and that just sounds exhausting.

Best way to describe me is indifferent, leaning towards distasteful.

She's annoying.

And that's how I feel about both her as a person and her as an artist.

I'm not denying her talent, nor her impact on the industry, nor the fact that she does have good songs that even I like.

A select few, of course, but still.

Apart from those...what? Ten songs? I have never, ever been able to listen to any other song of her's all the way through.

I get bored. They do nothing for me. They sound empty. Hollow. Plastic. Repetitive.

Her lyrics, that are praised by fans for being deep and complex, sound pretty surface level to me.

Not all of them. But I'm a sucker for analysis. A literature nerd. Greek is my native language. I can tell when something's deep and when something wants to be deep.

(Not necessarily including Folklore and Evermore in that category. Her storytelling ability is actually great.)

Her music largely sounds like it wants to be deep.

Most recent example being her latest release, The Tortured Poets Department.

Anyway, back to Kendrick.

My initial plan was to listen to 'DAMN.' first, because that's what he won the Pulitzer for in the first place.

There was a change of plans after that TikTok.

I decided to compare the opening tacks.

I put on Welcome to New York, and predictably, I felt nothing.

The rhythm is dance-y, I suppose. But there's nothing substantial about it. There's nothing exciting about it.

The lyrics are juvenile, and I get it, it's a pop song and she was in her twenties.

Nobody is expecting Shakespeare (no matter how much you scream or kick your feet, the only reason Shakespeare couldn't write Taylor Swift is because he's in another league entirely) or Odysseus Elytis. Nobody is expecting mind-blowing lyricism.

But it's the opening track to an apparently Grammy-worthy album. The very least I'd expect from it would be some additional levels of artistry.

Am I being harsh? Probably. Do I care? No.

Disappointed but unsurprised, I put on Wesley's Theory.

I ascended within the first minute.

Don't get it twisted, I barely understood shit.

Not only am I white, I am also entirely removed from America and its culture as a whole. I don't know what's going on there in y'all's daily lives.

And this was baby's first proper introduction to hip-hop as a whole.

My untrained, white-ass ear barely caught two references. I got what the gist of the song was about, and that's about it.

I had to look up analyses of the track to fully grasp what Kendrick was on about, and even then, there was obviously still a disconnect.

And I expected all of that.

I didn't expect to get hooked on that song within the first listen.

I swear to fuck, the beat is addictive. I swear to fuck, even when I was fighting to understand what the lyrics were referencing, I was having the time of my life.

Even I, an amateur in every sense of the word, could tell that there was depth and there was quality and there was intentional meaning in every line of that song.

It didn't matter that I couldn't understand it. It mattered that I knew it was there. Not because someone told me that was the case. But because it was audible.

I listened to the next track. And the one after that. And the one after that. I had listened to all of the tracks, before I knew it.

And the evident permeance of quality, of substance, carried on throughout the whole album.

It had exactly the type of lyricism I'd expect a Grammy-worthy album to have. It had exactly the amount of artistry I expected a Grammy-worthy album to have.

Even better, it had all the ingredients I expected a timeless album to have.

The poetry Taylor Swift fans insist hides in her discography, I found in plain sight within Kendrick Lamar's.

After meticulously reading the lyrics, I watched video essay after video essay, searched for analysis after analysis on this album, each time understanding the meanings behind it a little better.

Needless to say that the Grammy's are rigged and I love Kendrick Lamar.

Hip-hop is gorgeous.

[anythingforjtk]

Scream for Me

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word count: ~2,500

Warnings: alcohol, cursing, unprotected sex (p in v) (wrap it up!), light choking, fingering, mentions of murder (not seriously), minors DNI!!!

a/n: I wanted to pick a halloween fic topic based off of the list @hearts-hunger created! I picked topic 17 (halloween party) It’s different from the other fic I recently wrote but it was fun to make! enjoy the halloween jake smut ��

“y/n would you hurry up! The uber will be here in two minutes!” Shouts your best friend Cam from the bottom of the staircase.

The two of you are about to leave for a Halloween party. You decided to go with a classic yet sexy costume, a pirate. You’re wearing an off the shoulder long white dress with a corset around your waist. You are covered in silver jewelry: necklaces, bracelets and earrings. You opted for a dark smokey eye and eyeliner in your waterline. Your finishing touches include fishnet stockings, black boots and a red bandanna over your hair.

“I’m coming Cam!” You reply before throwing your phone and keys into your purse and running down the stairs to meet her at the front door.

“You may have taken forever but I can see it was worth the wait, you look sexy girl. Now let’s go!” Cam pulls your arm and drags you through the front door, guiding you towards to uber.

Once you get inside of the car you finally have time to take in and appreciate her costume.

Not only is she dressed as Pennywise from the movie IT, but she is the sexy version. She’s wearing a white corset top, embellished with red pom-poms, small white shorts, clown makeup and a pretty orange wig.

“I admire your ability to be scary, funny and sexy all at once. You truly have a talent,” you giggle to her.

“Oh what can I say my dear? I’m multifaceted,” Cam says as she jokingly flicks her orange wig behind her shoulder.

The ride to the party is fast, only lasting about fifteen minutes. You both hop out of the car when you arrive and hook arms, walking to the front door together.

The party is hosted by Cams new boyfriend Daniel. You have only met him two times but he seems like a sweet guy.

Cam opens the front door without knocking and you’re immediately transported into a Halloween wonderland. You didn’t expect so many decorations.

The lighting in the house is dim. There are string lights and cob webs hanging from every inch of the ceiling. You see black and red streamers hanging from the walls and candles lit on every table. The kitchen island was filled with spooky treats and alcoholic punch. It is very impressive for a twenty-something year old guy.

“Wow Cam,” you shout over the loud and eerie music. “Daniel really goes all out. This is amazing.” You try to keep your jaw from hitting the floor.

“Isn’t it?!” She doesn’t seem shocked by his effort, only proud.

There are a good amount of people in the house. Not too many but not too little. Just enough for a comfortable party.

“Im going to search for Danny,” Cam shouts over the music into your ear. “Go get some punch and i’ll meet up with you when I find him.”

She runs off and you’re now left to fend for yourself.

You take her suggestion and walk over to the kitchen island to get a drink. You are completely sober currently and in need of something to lighten your anxiety.

Your pour yourself a class of the punch and it’s delicious. It’s strong, but really good. It is the perfect drink to get you drunk fast without feeling the burn of consuming alcohol.

You lean against the counter while sipping your drink and begin to people watch. You love taking in everyone’s costume choices. Some people are opting for a scary approach, some look beautiful and some look funny. It is interesting to see what people choose. As you’re looking at the crowd, you feel a presence beside you.

You look over to see a man wearing black from head to toe. He’s wearing black skinny jeans, black chelsea boots and a black shirt that is holding on by one button.

You think the outfit is rather sexy but you can’t see his face. That is because he’s wearing a Ghostface mask.

He speaks, breaking you from your thoughts. “Hey I haven’t seen you at one of Danny’s parties before. What are you doing standing over here alone?”

His voice is kind and boyish but raspy. It’s very attractive.

“Oh my friend just recently started dating him so this is my first time here. I don’t really know anyone but her and she’s looking for Daniel,” you reply.

He extends his hand out to you, “Well my name is Jake. Now you know someone else.” You can’t see his face but you can almost hear it in his voice that he’s smiling.

You reach out in return, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you Jake. I’m y/n.”

“Well y/n, I must tell you that I was intrigued to come over here and talk to you because you’re dressed as a pirate and if there’s one thing about me, I find pirates to be very intriguing.”

A blush comes across your face. You hope he can’t really see it through the mask he’s wearing.

“I hate to disappoint you Jacob but,” you lean in closer and whisper towards his ear, “I’m not a real pirate. Don’t tell anyone tho.” You shush him by putting your finger over your lips.

He giggles genuinely at your attempt at a lame joke.

Jake speaks up from behind the mask, “Well then you should know that i’m not a real cereal killer.”

“Oh damnit. I was kind of hoping you were,” you reply. Although you weren’t actually hoping that, the idea of a sexy and dangerous man in a mask turned you on.

“I mean, I can be anything you want me to be tonight darling,” Jake says with sex dripping in his voice.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the halloween party or the masked man in front of you but you wanted Jake to take you away from this party immediately.

“If you take me somewhere quiet i’ll show you exactly what I want from you mr. Ghostface. Just as long as you don’t kill me of course.”

Jake grips your wrist firmly and guides you up the stairs and away from the party noise at a fairly quickly pace.

He throws your body into what looks like a guest room, slams the door shut, locks it and pushes your body against the wall.

The room is dark, only lit by the moon in the night sky.

Jake begins to grab the bottom of his mask, getting ready to reveal his face to you but you quickly grab his hands to stop him.

“Keep it on.”

His strong hand then snaps around your neck. You can’t quit see his eyes but you know he’s staring at you like you’re his next meal. He slowly moves his head so his mouth is hovering over your ear.

“I like you sweetheart.”

You slowly begin to smirk, knowing he’s willing to keep it on.

His hand leaves your neck and slowly travels down your body. He lifts your skirt up, revealing your black thong covered in your fishnet tights.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

You nod your head quickly in reply.

His hand shoots back around your neck. “Words baby.”

“Y- yes. Yes it’s okay.” You struggle to say through your heavy breathing.

“Good girl,” he says while lowering his hand beneath the band of your thong. His fingers reached your heat and he begins swirling his middle and ring finger in your wetness.

Without much warning he shoves both of his fingers inside of you. You gasp at the sudden contact and grab at his strong forearm to ground yourself.

“How fast do you want it baby?” He questions, wanting to know the proper way to please you.

“Fast and hard,” you moan out to him while leaning your head back against the wall behind you to prepare yourself.

His fingers start plunging in and out of you at a painfully delicious speed. He curls his fingers at just the right angel to hit a spot that makes you nearly scream.

You feel sweat beading on your forehead as he drives his fingers into you. You squeeze around him as you feel yourself starting to unwind.

“Come on pretty girl. You’re about to cum, I can feel it. Be so good for me and cum on my fingers.” he demands.

Hearing his silky voice speak those words to you were enough to have you unraveling on his hand.

“fuuuckkkkkk,” you scream out at a volume too loud considering there are other people in the house.

When you come down from your orgasm he gently pulls his hand away from your core.

“Open up,” he requests.

You follow his order. He places his two fingers onto your tongue. With his other hand he guides your chin to close around his fingers and he slowly pulls them from your mouth as you suck them clean.

You look down at his pants and see how painfully hard he is. You softly trace your fingers over his bulge and he sucks in his breath sharply as if you were hurting him.

“I want all of you. I want to feel you,” you say to him.

He picks you up from under your ass, carries you over to the bed, and slams you down.

While hovering over you with his hands on both sides of your head Jake says, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

He removes his jeans and boxers while you remove your corset and dress.

He’s left in nothing but his low buttoned shirt and his mask, while you’re in just your tights and a thong.

You make eye contact with his dick and notice how thick it is. It excites you so much that you notice your wetness pooling beneath you.

“You don’t have to stare honey, it’s all yours tonight,” Jake giggles to you, noticing where your eyes have been lingering.

“Then what are you waiting for Jacob? Give it to me,” you demand from him as if you’ve grown impatient.

He wastes no time and crawls on top on you on the bed and you both move up until you hit the headboard.

He reaches down to your core with one hand and rips your fishnet tights to create a hole.

You feely annoyed that he ripped your clothing for one minute until you realize you were never going to wear them again anyway.

His hands begin to explore your body. He grabs at your breasts, massaging them firmly. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as you let out a heavy breath of ecstasy.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he compliments you.

“I’d say the same for you mystery man but I haven’t seen your face yet,” you wink back at him.

He chuckles in response to you and continues working his hands over your body.

“Please Jake I need you now,” you practically beg him.

“You need me to what darling?” He mockingly asks you, wanting to hear you plead for it.

“I need you to fuck me.”

“You want me to fuck you baby? Is that what you need?”

“Yes. Yes. Please,” you almost sound like you’re crying.

“Oh baby… I’ll fuck you so hard someone will think you are getting murdered in here.”

He pushes your thong to the side and lines himself up with your core. He snaps his hips against yours in one quick motion, causing you to shriek. He begins rapidly pounding into you.

He quickly grabs and pillow and puts it under your hips, making the pleasure triple. You grab at his back and dig your nails into him, slowly running them down his back, hoping to leave him with a memory of tonight.

“Fuck- you feel so fucking good around my cock,” he says through his staggered breathing. “Does that feel good baby?”

“Yes Jake you feel so good inside of me I never want you to fucking leave,” you shout back to him.

Your response to him causes him to moan deeply in chest, so much so that it sounds like a growl.

He grabs one of your legs and wrap it around his waist so he can reach a new angel. Between the pillow placement, your position, and his rapid thrusts, your body is experiencing a feeling it never has before.

You can feel his dick brushing past your g-spot causing you to yell out his name and a string of curses.

You start to squeeze around his cock, getting close to your release. You can tell he’s almost there too as you feel him twitch inside of you.

“Cum with me y/n. I want you to soak my dick as I finish inside of you. Come on baby you’re almost there. Be good for me.”

His final praises bring you to the finish line as your body shakes through a mind bending orgasm. You let out a chorus of yeses and grab at his arms with all of your might. As you’re finishing you feel him twitch inside of you.

You both come down and catch your breath before he pulls out of you and falls onto his back on the bed beside you.

You turn your head to look over at him, still wearing the Ghostface mask, “That was fucking amazing.”

“Holy shit, yea it was,” he responds. “Can I take this fucking thing off now,” he laughs referring to the mask on his face.

“Oh please do,” you reply.

You feel nervous watching him begging to situate the mask to lift over his head. You have no idea what he looks like yet but you had been extremely attracted to everything he’s offered so far and there was no denying he is the best sex you’ve ever had.

The mask gets fully yanked off of him to reveal one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.

You gasp out loud.

His hair is shoulder legnth and chestnut brown. His eyes are dark and filled with honey. His thick eyebrows and long eyelashes compliment his deep eyes so well. He has a strong and sharp nose and plump pink lips. He smirks slightly at you, revealing his perfectly straight teeth.

“What? Did my face scare you sweetheart?” He asks as a joke.

You press your body into his and brush the sweaty hair sticking to his face behind his ears.

“The only thing that scares me is how attracted I am to you,” you say in full seriousness.

“You’re in luck because I feel the same way about you.” He gives a quick peck to your nose. “Give me your phone. Let me put my number in it.”

You reach down to the floor where your purse was thrown and grab your phone from it.

You hand it over to him and let him type in his contact himself.

When he hands the phone back you look down to see the information he filled out and giggle at the screen.

His number was put in its rightful place and his contact name was labeled as “Ghostface🔪”

[theboombutton]

Spoilers Ahead

OK let's talk about the lore implications of The Magnus Protocol episode 4's statement.

Timeframe

The Mannheim School was founded in 1741-1742; and the Royal Court of the Palatinate left Mannheim in 1778. This gives us a roughly 35-year timeframe within which which our violinist could have made his initial carriage journey to Germany - barring timeline differences.

This absolutely destroys my theory that the Fears arrived here from the TMA universe, found a universe without Fear, and broke through in East Germany during the Cold War. This episode firmly establishes that there were Fears in the Protocolverse in the late 18th century, and that they were well-established at the time - established enough to have a guy giving out cursed artifacts in the woods of Baden.

Were they the Archiverse Fears, that just happened to arrive earlier than I thought? Were they Protocolverse Fears? Were they Fears from yet another universe, escaped from their own Fearpocalypse?

The Fears

So this is a really fascinating statement because it seems to marry our old friend TMA Slaughter Classic, with whatever the fuck Ink5oul was doing in TMAGP episode 2, with just a mention of the Archivist-associated power to elicit an unintended confession.

The Slaughter connection I'm sure I won't have to argue - it's straight out of TMA. In fact, it's so straight-out-of-TMA that to me it suggests that this is almost certainly the Archiverse's The Slaughter. If we were dealing with an artifact of a different universe's Fear of violence, I wouldn't expect it to be so connected to music. There's nothing about music that inherently connects it to horrific violence, and yet Bardwell jumps out of a carriage and dashes his skull on the rocks because of what seems an awful lot like the Piper's Song. Violin Audrey Two goes full Grifter's Bone when it's unable to get blood.

The interesting part though is that these incidents are the exception to the rule of the violin's favor. At first it seems happy to make small, flesh wound mutilations of its player, which doesn't sound like the Slaughter at all. Yes, he moves on to serial killing, but it's a very methodical, planned kind of violence - not at all what I'd expect from the Archiverse Slaughter. And the theme of an artist mutilating themselves in service of their art seems very similar to Daria in Protocol episode 2.

Of course, the art connection might just be a coincidence. There is a disproportionate amount of art about art and artists, just because it's high on the list of things artists tend to think about. It's the same reason there's not a whole lot of art about septic tank maintenance*.

I doubt it, though.

Here's my working theory: I think there are at least two universes' Fears at work here, and there wasn't enough room in the Fear-Space for two full sets of entities to represent and feed on essentially the same fears. So they got smooshed together.

The Archiverse Slaughter got smooshed with a close equivalent - a fear that included Archiverse-style violence, yes, but also included a significant element of self-harm, and was culturally wrapped up with artistic performance in the same way that the Archiverse Slaughter was wrapped up with the sound, but not always the performance, of music. The Smooshed Slaughter teeters between its aspects, showing one face or the other depending upon the situation.

OK but what was with the Archivist powers?

idk tbh. I can think of two theories, neither of which I find particularly compelling:

The guy in the woods wasn't actually an avatar. Instead, he was a Salesa type, a distributor of supernatural trinkets. He had some kind of artifact of the Eye on him that gave him archivist compulsion powers.

All of the Archiverse Entities were changed by their time under the rule of the Eye, so being strongly-enough touched by an Archiverse Fear gives you mild Eye Powers for free.

Augustus

Yes I know everyone thinks this is Jonah, and I admit there is a good chance it is Jonah. But I don't like it, and I hold out hope that it isn't.

Personally, I like the idea that the Fears were specifically attached to the voices that told the stories in TMA, in which case Jonah wouldn't have been dragged along; but, if it was based purely on the physical presence of the people in the top room of the Panopticon, then yes, Jonah could have been brought along. To our knowledge nobody ever went after Jonah's body down in the labyrinth, so his eyes would presumably have been left alive in Elias's head for like, the whole episode.

I still hold out hope that Augustus is an Archivist-equivalent from another universe that also went Fearpocalypse and also released its Fears to the multiverse. While I'm pretty certain we're dealing with two sets of Fears here, possibly combined into one set of Smooshed Fears, I'm not at all certain that the non-Archiverse Fears are originally from the Protocolverse.

Conclusion

It's 3 AM and I have to go to bed. I think I've properly scheduled this to post an hour after the episode drops; if I'm wrong about the episode timing and accidentally spoil someone, I'm very sorry.

---

* yes I know there's septic tank dive fetish photos, I said "not a whole lot" not "none whatsoever."

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 13/03/2024

Nuclear Pomeranian

Season 8 Featured on: Now That's What I Call Quality! 3

Ripped by Half Pixel

Requested by Oetam! (Discord)

I've covered a number of rips featured in Now That's What I Call Quality! 3 already on here, and I maintain that it's likely the best album the channel has yet put out in terms of raw concise quality on offer. Beautiful Dreamer, Initial Deluxe (I've Just Raced on this Course Before) and Owner of a Mahjong Board are all absolute highlights of Season 7, and it feels like the entire SiIvaGunner team came together to truly show the best of the best on the album. Yet beyond featuring classics from the Season that was then wrapping up, Now That's What I Call Quality! 3 also featured a good few rips that had yet to be uploaded to the YouTube channel - that is to say, some of the first-ever rips that you could consider to be part of Season 8. Its in this category that Nuclear Pomeranian finds itself in: the seventh rip of Rhythm Doctor makes an incredible first impression on what to expect from Season 8 in the months to come.

Honestly, it wasn't as if Half Pixel had to prove his prowess in creating these sorts of dense meme medleys: Since way back when I first heard Everybody's Special Course in Season 1, I'd known the guy had an undeniable knack for these sorts of rips. It may be coincidence, but it, Nuclear Pomeranian and Siiva Lining all just have this immense energy and adrenaline to them, a celebratory party atmosphere that never fails to bring a smile to my face. So then, I suppose Nuclear Pomeranian mainly shows just how much Half Pixel has grown as a ripper in those years, how many creative flourishes are added and implemented with complete confidence. The lyrical silliness in the opening is one of my favorite examples: transitioning Infinite's lyrics of "I am the last one that's standing, don't try and stand in my way" into a simple "okay" sound, followed by a response of "and now you're in my way" from Call Me Maybe. That's so fun! That has nothing to do with Rhythm Doctor, or SiIva's own memes, or Season 8 or anything, it's just a little bit of flavor added to the rip by Half Pixel to make it a funnier listen.

It goes through so many phases, yet compared to something like Memey Hell, it feels as if each part featured is allowed room to breathe in isolation from one another. Some of the sources. such as PSY's music, feel like they're subtly in the background almost throughout the whole rip, but segments focusing on just one source at a time feel like they strike such a perfect balance in terms of how long they're featured. The rip will for instance use Bo Burnham's Bezos I for a six second segment to give you just enough time to register the song as both funny and catchy in its context, before using a snappy Among Us sound effect break to transition into an equally-as-long segment using Boulevard of Broken Dreams, repeating the cycle. Much of that is of course owed to the structure of the original Bomb-Sniffing Pomeranian itself, but it's incredibly commendable just how well Half Pixel adapted that frantic, back-and-fourth pacing of the Rhythm Doctor song into such a different format. Very few of the sources, even when focused on as the sole joke for seconds at a time, are left completely unedited: small little quips from other sources, little interjections and pieces will play alongside or over the joke in focus, althewhile remaining completely harmonious.

I realize that a lot of what I'm describing is just the standard procedure on what to think of when creating a meme mashup medley like this in general, but what I'm aiming to say is that Nuclear Pomeranian is one of the best examples of how to do things right across the board. The amount of sources featured span across the channel's entire life, from the aforementioned PSY to appearances from Smooth of 【＝３】e-MUNO Disco (vs. 音MAD AGENT) fame in Season 2, the Season 1 classic Chip the Ripper closing the rip off, the Big Chungus-posting of Season 4 Episode 2 and AIN'T NOTHIN' LIKE A CHUNKY BEAT, the Among Us posting of Season 5 and Among Drip Drop Galaxy, and oh so many more. Yet compared to something like, say, the Season premiere collabs such as Joke-Explainer™ 7000 Fusion Collab and Bramble Blast Collab, the rip doesn't place more emphasis on these nostalgic, well-remembered sources than anything else featured in its vast list of sources. SiIvaGunner classics or not, Half Pixel uses what sounds best and what's funniest at every possible moment to create a rip that works incredibly well even outside the context of the SiIvaGunner channel, as a huge tribute to Rhythm Doctor and the art of ripping itself.

Put concisely - Nuclear Pomeranian is a banger, and was a fantastic showcase of the level of quality that we've now seen many examples of in the last month and a half. The SiIvaGunner team is truly firing on all cylinders, and I'm all here for it.

[bay-sil]

Hello everyone, I'm here to deliver my offering to the masses as a Halloween treat. Also let me know if you like this head cannoning sort of style! I'd love to hear more feedback from you all!

Enjoy~

Jordan - Would be a Werewolf because he is big and protective. If the two went as a couple to a Halloween party he would spend days and days trying to get her to be little Red Riding Hood. While at the party he would have his arm wrapped around her growling in her ear whenever she attempted to escape.

Maria - Would be the little Mermaid as that's she is every year. She loved her red hair, why not show it off? While at the party she'd then bring up how tight the shell bra made her boobs look (clearly fishing for compliments from Y/n).

Michael - He'd by default be Prince Eric, not that he was complaining. He liked the simplicity of it and his heart swells seeing how well he matched his wife. Y/n would end up being Vanessa. She begged to be anything else but the couple had said no.

Christoph - This is his first Halloween and he doesn't want to fuck it up. Letting Y/n pick his costume. The two end up being Fred and Daphne. He has no idea who the Scooby Gang is but loves seeing how happy it made Y/n. Though he hates the amount of men who say "Jinkies!" when they see them together.

Stephan - Would be Sabrina Carpenter, he's been planning this costume for months and now is so excited to show it off. He's overjoyed when he eventually tricks Y/n into agreeing to be Barry Keoghan from the Please Please Pleasd music video. The entire night he is showing off the lipstick kiss print she made on his neck (just like the Album cover).

Wyatt - He hates Halloween. Would literally never dress up, would much rather stay at home and cuddle, but understood that you enjoyed this in his opinion stupid holiday. Would end up being a cheap devil and you a gorgeous angel. Which in itself would inspire a new book.

Tara - Would be a ghost. She is not usually one to participate in Halloween a real leave the bowl at the door kind of girl, but with Y/n she forced her to match as a ghost and her as a ghost buster. Her meticulous costume was a strong contrast to her literal sheet.

Cameron - Would be an astronaut. Wearing a plastic fishbowl on his head and a silver suit he'd be so ecstatic. Halloween was brand new for him and he couldn't believe the concept when it was first told to him. Free candy?? Not to mention how adorable Y/n was as the space alien. He may or not be covered in green paint by the end of the night.

Saylor - Saylor would be having a 24 hour Halloween Stream and would have Y/n open on a different monitor. She was dressed in a classic Zombie costume that he found cute. After the many compliments he received from her it would be hard to get him out of his Hatsune Miku costume at the end of the night.

Ellis - He'd be Ron Weasely like every other year since he first say the movie. Being compared to him since early childhood. He had sent many Facebook messages requesting Y/n to dress up as Hermione Granger to match but it seemed her computer was deleting his messages..?

Brandon - Would be fake paparazzi and Y/n would dress as any celebrity she wished. Was this whole costume just an excuse to take as many photos of her as possible? Yes. Did he care? No. He would at one point step away to upload the photos on a hard drive only for Ellis to barge in on the verge of crying, asking to have some photos.

Vincent - Would simply be a vampire. He digs up all his old romantic clothing and just uses lipstick to make it looks as if his lip has smudged lipstick. Y/n would be Van Hesling much to his disappointment. The ugly cross around her neck warded him off and he pouted all evening.

Tanner - Would dress up as Victor Frankenstein and Y/n would be the Bride of Frankenstein. He would practise hid evil laugh in the mirror as he drew cracks on his prop glasses. Every time someone would attempt to talk to Y/n he'd "summon" her with said laugh.

Pedro - He would be Michael Myers and not talk all evening. He loved the feeling of making people around him uneasy. He had Y/n dress up as Jason Vorhees to sort of match. The masked killers were a hit despite no one knowing who was under the mask.

Lee - Would be Victor from the Corpse Bride. He would be almost silent at the party. Many women approaching to flirt with the man only for him to extend his hand to show the faux wedding ring and explain how he was taken by the woman dressed as Emily, only to see her dressed as a witch.

Odessa - Would be Wanda from the Fairly Odd Parents. She'd explain her pink hair as dye and totally not that she just used her abilities to turn it pink. The entire night she'd be confused on what she really was doing, but had a good time anyways.

Raphael - Would be Cosmo and not happy about it. This is far from his first Halloween party and he wished he could have made it special but spending the night with Y/n but alas they were at this party filled with humans who he didn't want to see.

Damien - He'd asked to wear his coat and just be a doctor but Y/n refused. Twisting his arm (both metaphorically and literally) until he agreed to be Alice and the Mad Hatter. At the party whenever he strayed too far he'd feel a familiar and delicious shock go through him. The collar around his neck was covered by the ridiculous ascot he was wearing.

Monty - Would be Johnny and Y/n would be Mavis. The circus would have an early and shorter show on Halloween with the pair needing to do a scene as their costumes. It put too many awful thoughts into the poor guys head. Little did he know Y/n and her boyfriend were going to have different costumes at the party they were attending :/

AND THERE WE GO!

All Eighteen little critters got a costume and a little nibble of a scenario. I think if I got the chance to see any of them in their costume I'd want to see Stephan as Sabrina Carpenter, he'd totally rock the purple dress and blonde wig lol.

Happy Halloween!

[flatbstanley]

Your Guide to Catholic Weddings

Y’all, I love a good wedding. In recognition of this fact, I thought we’d take a break from the heavier stuff and peek into the future. You may recognize some brides and bridesmaids, but no spoilers—you won’t see who they’re marrying.

Also, I’m writing from a US perspective. There are Catholics around the globe, so in reality there’s much, much more variation than you’ll see here. But this post reflects my experience as someone who’s experienced Catholic culture in multiple parts of the US.

All right—let’s take a walk down the aisle!

The Traditionalist Catholic Wedding

Format: A simple marriage ceremony followed by a full Latin Mass. One popular tradition at the end of the Mass is for the bride to place her bouquet in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary and spend a few moments in prayer.

Attire: For the bride and bridal party, shoulders and upper arms MUST be covered. Wraps or cardigans may be used to accomplish this if a suitable dress can’t be purchased off the rack (particularly for bridesmaids). Head coverings are required for women, and accordingly, elaborate bridal veils are common.

Music: The Mass itself is usually chanted. For the processional, popular choices include Charpentier’s “Te Deum”, Parry’s “I Was Glad,” and various hymns to Mary. There’s also “O God Beyond All Praising,” one of the very few post-1960 hymns deemed acceptable to traditionalist Catholics.

Fun fact: The Catholic Church actively discourages the bride being walked down the aisle by her father, saying that it’s a relic of a time when women were treated as property. In the US it’s permitted as a matter of “local custom,” but many traditional Catholic brides opt to walk with both parents or with their soon-to-be spouse.

The Standard Issue Catholic Wedding

Format: A brief wedding ceremony inserted into a typical Catholic Mass.

Attire: A little more modest than a non-Catholic wedding, but you can get away with bare shoulders, depending on the priest. Veils are treated as a fashion choice rather than a required covering.

Music: Recorded music and secular songs (except for some classical pieces) are strictly prohibited, but within that parameter, choices vary widely depending on the couple’s preferences and the abilities of the musicians. Popular choices for the processional are “Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring,” “Canon in D,” Clarke’s ��Trumpet Voluntary,” and various works by Handel.

Fun fact: It's customary to invite the priest to the reception (where copious amounts of alcohol will be served—Jesus turned water to wine at a wedding, after all!). At the most recent wedding I attended, the priest was last seen donning a purple cowboy hat and joining a conga line.

The "Oops, I Married a Protestant" Wedding

Format: Similar to a standard Catholic wedding, but you only get the first half of the Mass: the Liturgy of the Word, aka Bible readings. Also a few prayers, most notably the Lord's Prayer.

Attire: Same as the standard Catholic wedding.

Music: Similar to a standard Catholic wedding, but priests are generally more agreeable to including Protestant hymns when one party is, in fact, a Protestant.

Fun fact: The Church has no issues with a Catholic and a Protestant having a full Mass for their wedding, but somebody will have to tell Grandma that she can't take communion in a Catholic church even though she's been doing it in her own church for 80 years. You may also have to endure complaints from Protestant relatives regarding the "Catholic calisthenics" - sit down, stand up, kneel, stand up...

The Catholic Beach Wedding

Format: Catholic weddings MUST take place in a church. This can present a problem if your heart is set on a beach wedding. But if you have the money and the logistical know-how, there’s a solution: Find a Catholic church located near the ocean and have your wedding there.

Attire: Ranges from traditional to modern, but generally on the loose, flowing side due to the beach setting. Also, expensive—if you have the funds for a destination wedding, there’s generally money to burn on a gown.

Music: You have two choices: take your chances on the local musicians, or fly in the musicians of your choice (provided that the hosting church will even allow that). Aren’t logistics fun?!?

Fun fact: Because most priests are reluctant to perform weddings for people they don’t know, Catholic beach weddings are usually BYOP—Bring Your Own Priest. Given the massive amount of paperwork that is required to perform a wedding outside your home diocese, the poor guy will probably need a beach vacation after everything you’ve put him through.

[chaoticillness]

The Beach and the Boombox

»»————-　🎞　————-««

Featuring: modern au! Yoimiya, gn! reader

Warnings: None

Director’s Cut: This is my piece for the @favonius-library gift exchange event, and I’m gifting to @d0rmiens-fact0rem! I love Yoimiya so much, thank you for giving me an excuse to write her.

»»————-　🎞　————-««

The sand is pleasantly warm under your feet as you make your way towards the beckoning shoreline. Today was truly made to be a beach day- a few and far between occurrence in the temperamental weather of Inazuma. Not too hot, not too cold, not too humid. Hoisting the beach umbrella over your shoulder again, you glance over at the girl next to you.

Yoimiya is humming an upbeat tune. You guess it’s something the kids she hangs out with taught her. Feeling your gaze on her, she snaps to attention and returns your glance with an almost blinding smile. 

“Hey! Whatcha thinking about? We’re almost there, promise. I brought the absolute best CDs to put in the boombox.”

Smiling brightly right back at her, you quip, “Nothing inappropriate for the kiddos at the beach, I hope.”

“I would never!” She holds her hand over her heart, as if scandalized. You know better, of course, but it’s a running joke between you two nonetheless. The fence bordering your destination, the beach, comes into view. It’s faded from years of sand blowing against it, but it’s what’s past it that’s really the highlight of your view.

The ocean is calm, brushing over the sand and blowing up in the wind before falling back down and being pulled back out by the forces of the tide. You couldn’t have picked a better day, really. Passing the fence, Yoimiya pulls you two’s beach towels out of her tote bag (bright blue, bordering on neon in classic Yoimiya style), and plops down on them after unceremoniously dropping the towels on the sand. Stretching out her legs, she starts to fiddle with her CD player.

After a tense struggle with the beach umbrella you were carrying previously, you convince it to stand on its own and join her under its shade. 

“So, Yoi, what’s on the music market today?” you ask. She’s shuffling through an absurd amount of CDs, and you wonder how they all fit in that bag. 

Continuing to sort through them, she sing-songs, “Well, won’t you just have to wait and see?”

Finally deciding on one, she slots it into the player. It’s an upbeat dance song, and pulling you up by the hand she twirls you around in the sand to face her. How does she do it in those sandals? Every time you ask her, she’ll say it’s easy when you get used to them. Pondering this seems to lead directly to the chaos that follows, because in the struggle to twirl in the hot sand she loses her balance and brings both of you down hard on the towels.

It’s you who starts laughing first. Then she follows, shaking against your body from giggling so loudly. Wrapping your arms around her, you pull her closer and keep laughing. There’s really never a dull moment when you’re with Yoimiya.

[acacia-may]

Regarding how to deal with painful ships, dear Acacia, I have a few suggestions:

Soft and fluffy AU thoughts. Can be fix-it AUs or full blown coffee shops/high school/roommates AUs. You just have to think about the best case scenarios for the ship.

Remember the ship's softer canon moments. Think about the little moments of grace that the writer(s) give the characters in the ship.

Put on the cheesiest love duets you can find/your favorite love songs and mentally play some music videos. It works for me, at least.

Find a new ship (temporarily). Not the top recommended option but maybe thinking of another romance will take your brain off the pain of the pair you were initially thinking of?

Lean into the heartbreak and angst! Beat the writer at their own game of making the ship painful to deal with. Imagine the worst case scenario possible for your ship of choice. Cry your eyes out. And then look back at canon which hopefully isn't as bad as the heart-wrenching scenario you mentally cooked up.

Oh my goodness, I am just squealing over some of these, Erika! They're great suggestions!! Thank you so much! 🥰 I've been trying out number 3 with some classic bubblegum pop songs (and I'm pretty sure "She'd Rather Be With Me" by The Turtles is going to make my Spotify Wrapped this year...😅😂).

Now that I've had a little bit of time to sit with my ships (and my angst), I have been able to think up some story ideas which has been making me feel better about things. One of the ships has a week coming up so I've been trying to channel all of my feelings into writing for that. I've taken your advice and leaned into the angst--while also making an AU fix-it which has been a bit of an interesting combination, something new and different for me (which is a little exciting but also a little nerve-wracking). I've got part of it done, but we'll have to wait and see how it all works out in the end. They will eventually get their happy ending one way or another. I'm determined to make it happen! 💕

The other ship I haven't quite wrapped my head around yet. I absolutely love it, but I also like other ships for one of the characters involved so it's a bit more complicated. All of the ships for that character are sad as heck though so jumping ship to another one (no pun intended 😂) would probably also just depress me. I don't know why I do this to myself... 🙈 There's a third even more depressing ship than the two I mentioned in my post that I also recently picked up, but I'm starting to worry that there's no amount of fluff or wishful thinking that could fix that one. I tried to come up with a happy shenanigans AU for it today and was telling my sister about it (it's an OTP of hers) only to stumble at the last second when I couldn't figure out how to resurrect a character in a way that made sense so it ended up being sad in the end. I think I need more practice for coming up with "Everyone Lives AUs." 🙈 I will just have to keep trying!

Thank you so much again for the encouragement and the great suggestions! You really have such a gift for writing angst and the most beautiful tragic relationships so I knew I could count on you! Thanks, friend! Cheers & much love!! 💕

[thesinglesjukebox]

KIM PETRAS - "BRRR"

With Leah's help, we turn our attention to Kim Petras.

[4.94]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: When she's not being a trailblazer for the world's worst song (can you imagine the hypothetical TSJ blurbs for "Unholy"?), or receiving ire for Feed the Beast (which I secretly adore for how plodding and simple its pop vision is), it turns out Kim Petras remembers how to write a fun hook. "Brrrr" is camp embodied, far from transgressive, but delightful in its queer, whirring onomatopoeia. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I lived in queer co-ops from 2018 to 2020 so I've spent a non-negligible amount of time trying to appreciate Kim Petras. In that time -- and in the years following -- I've gotten precisely nothing out of this endeavor. The arc of Kim Petras's career is unintelligible to me, a grand chronicle in a language I can't read. If anything, her journey from "fake pop star my friends swear by" to "maybe real pop star that my friends don't talk about" is one of attenuation -- whatever star-like qualities could be discerned in her strongest early appearances ("I Don't Want It At All", the SOPHIE one, the Charli XCX one) is absent entirely on "Brrr" -- even the campy thrill of "Coconuts" and her vampy turn on "Unholy" is hard to discern here. The Kim Petras of "Brrr" is a rictus grin of forced slay, a joyless demonstration of force of will wrapping in third-generation Yeezus pop-industrial beats. [2]

Hannah Jocelyn: Alright, who gave Rami Yacoub the SOPHIE sample pack from Splice? Forget hyperpop; this is hypopop, devoid of any sort of invention or interesting production that once defined the genre. This is what CRASH sounds like to people that hate CRASH; this is what 10,000 Gecs sounds like to people who hate that record. Petras has no distinctive identity here; I don't even hear a woo-ahh; she even says "you don't know me all too well" and I agree. [3]

Oliver Maier: Don't have any idea what "if you think you're so cold, brr" is supposed to mean and producers ILYA and Rami evidently got overexcited with the SOPHIE sample pack. Improbably, it mostly gels. Kim Petras is probably evil but her performance here is seismic. [7]

Will Adams: I'll give her this: I can't remember the last time a pop song's central hook landed with such a tremendous thud as "IF YOU THINK YOU'RE SO COLD. BURRRRRR." [3]

Brad Shoup: That hook -- ouch. It would kill in the writers' room of an industry drama. The pre-chorus -- where she retreats for a second just to explode -- breaks up the squelch just fine. This looms more than it bangs, which feels right for a song I thought said if you like it baby, haunt a lobby. [4]

Nortey Dowuona: The bass drum in this is novel in that nothing is actually done upon closer inspection. There's a lot done with the synths, especially with the quick zaps of melodies that bubble up during the second pre-chorus, the quick bubbly riff at the tail end of the chorus, and the light motif at the beginning that is so thin it disappears upon quicker inspection. These all sound delightful, but listen to the bass drums, stripped of their ability to carry the baseline or shift the rhythm of the song. They could've been replaced with literally any kind of drum sound and it would function the same. It's just thrown in there since capital-p Pop music has absorbed rap production techniques wholesale without paying attention to how it's used. This could be coming from say, house or bass music, but nobody who made bass music would program bass drums this way, right? [4]

Micha Cavaseno: Extremely funny to hear the punchline flow still utilized as a hook in pop in 2023, because all the parts that feel very much like the past aren't the obviously retro-touches. The robotic elements of the production going for tech-electro knuckle-drag are nice and sleek, a classic vehicle if ever there was one even 40 years after this stuff was a trope. But the brrr, the filter on the backing vocals, the devil-may-care attitude gone world weary all meanwhile feels like the clichés of a decade ago that don't quite feel ready for nostalgia. I guess there's something to be said about a record that feels beholden to its dated elements being so "cold", but not everything cold is super inviting. [3]

Will Rivitz: As cold as a fridge set a degree or two above the FDA standard, and as enthralling as a piece of iceberg lettuce dessicated after a week left inside. [4]

Aaron Bergstrom: *Kenneth Parcell voice* "What's cocaine like?" [2]

Alfred Soto: What sucks is that this song doesn't suck. My students could've commissioned the vocal from several AI resources, the electronics don't grate. What sucks is that the hook sucks. "Did she really sing, 'If you think you're so cold, brr'?!" On first listen it sounded like "If you think you're so-ber." Guess which I prefer. [5]

Taylor Alatorre: Kim Petras released two albums in 2023 and I honestly didn't remember that this was on one of them. It provides a glimpse into one potential Bad Ending to her still-promising career: getting so hyped off the Sam Smith streaming numbers that she loses the ability to discriminate between "bad bitch energy" and movie trailer music. [4]

Harlan Talib Ockey: After the mediocre "Unholy" and laughable "If Jesus Was a Rockstar", "Brrr" actually sounded... good? Petras' delivery in the chorus is like getting smashed with a warhammer. The production is utterly headache-inducing (compliment). However, the verses feel less and less substantial on repeat listens, and it never builds to a peak higher than its first chorus. This is a solid album track, not a course-correcting lead single. [5]

Katherine St Asaph: Feed the Beast was named for its raison d'etre: source enough pop songs to hit your label KPIs, then spray and pray and slay. What's less remarked upon is how many of these songs come from writers and producers who really haven't released much lately: Sarah Hudson, Ali Tamposi, Ester Dean (!!), and "Brr" producer Ilya. (Unfortunately, Dr. Luke has released plenty lately.) Also involved in "Brr": a session guitarist for The Weeknd and a guy who goes by the Instagram handle @industryplant; this ain't the A-list. One wonders how long this material was sitting in the pantry before it fed the beast. Specifically, "Brr" sounds like a demo written for Thank U, Next (in which Ilya was heavily involved), then rejected for sounding less sexy than sad. Whatever the song's provenance, Petras has it now, and she executes the motions of flirtation with bleak competence. And I don't hate it! The record's already cynical as fuck; why not put that subtextual cynicism into the music? [7]

Ian Mathers: The sound of not just calling someone's bluff, but relishing in it. There's no winning; either way, you're going to prove her point. Rarely does a discussion of temperature sound so purely withering. [9]

Leah Isobel: SOPHIE's absence hovers over me a lot, which is dumb, because we never met. I am just a fan; I saw SOPHIE live exactly once, about six months after I started hormones. I can picture myself that night vividly -- in a thrifted jersey dress, cut low, that I had to duct tape to my tits so I wouldn't break the law; in impractical high heels that another girl, who I don't talk to anymore and who probably didn't really like me, gave to me; my eyeliner as sharp as I could draw it; my hair tangled and messy but long, the way I liked, the way I'd dreamed about for years. I remember that night and I remember the relief, the stupid fucking unbelievable unbearable incomprehensible relief of that whole year, how I had denied and ignored myself for so long that just being who I wanted 2 be was incredible enough to set my head spinning.

That year, the girl who doesn't talk to me anymore got into Kim Petras. I treated her work like a guilty pleasure; "Hills" was spacey and fun and exuberant, "Hillside Boys" was tender and sweet and exuberant, "All The Time" was bouncy and bright and exuberant. But all that joy was tempered by the knowledge of Dr. Luke's fucking greasy hands gripping her recording contract. His presence indicated something that I didn't understand yet, and maybe still don't, though it makes sense intellectually: that if you want to be a part of society, the recognition you feel within yourself doesn't actually matter that much if everyone around you hates you for it; that people are ultimately social, and being forced to choose between external ostracization (with the threat of physical death by violence) and internal spiritual death (with the threat of physical death by isolation) is one of the cruelest things to do to a person, and yet this is the choice I was given, that #girlslikeus are all given. No matter what I choose, there will be genuinely evil soulless fuckers who look at me and say that it was really my fault to begin with because my presence -- just my existence in the world -- is proof of moral, social, civilization-wide decay. Cisgender women get to talk about their innocence as if it's a birthright. Transgender women are not given any innocence to begin with. Kim was put in front of the media at sixteen years old to explain her decision to get bottom surgery; it makes me feel crazy to watch those interviews, to know that what everyone is actually talking about is her body. No matter how ostensibly supportive those interview segments were, no matter what the intent, the knock-on effect was to make her teenage body a matter of public record, to take away her privacy and dignity because it's just so interesting that trans girls exist and, please, tell us more about your genitals! I see the neon-bright straight line from the invasive, violating, violent "curious" "empathetic" gaze in these interviews to the music Kim would go on to make, in which the fact of her body hovers on the edges of her songs, freighting them with meaning, making their frivolity feel manic and fearful and rebellious and unbelievably significant.

Jules Giles-Peterson describes the opening line of "Hillside Boys" -- "My silhouette is in the frame of your shades again" -- as evidence of her desire just to be seen, linking the heterosexual gaze of the individual man and the patriarchal gaze of the pop industry together. Her whole perspective on herself is compromised by the knowledge that she has to constantly prove her worth to other people and to society at large; there is never, ever a moment of rest. But that song held up the capacity for feeling as proof that things could change someday. "It's over in your Range Rover... You look so pretty when you're breaking me, yeah" mourned the loss but rejoiced in the ability to feel it. But when "Brrr" revisits that Range Rover, it's to remove all sense of warmth, desire, or real emotion from the image: "Turn the heat up in your Rover Why don't you take it out on me?/ If you think you're so cold, brrr." "Brrr" leaves absolutely no space in its tense, cold atmosphere for Kim to express a desire that feels authentic and real; it is about embodying what other people want from you so thoroughly that you have gone numb to what it is that you want. In Kim's work, being a woman and being a pop star are the same thing; the gaze is constant and inescapable. There is no interiority anymore. The demands of disclosure and confession and surveillance are too great. In the background, faux-SOPHIE wubs and schwacks and clangs rattle like ghosts, banging on the wall between death and life, between what should be -- what was promised -- and what actually is. More than anything, in "Brrr" I hear a grief so wide it could -- and should -- swallow her whole. SOPHIE is gone. Kim remains. But in our broken promise of a world, where her body -- my body -- is public property that politicians and lovers and friends and music producers can dispose of at will, what is there left to take joy in? This is the truth: being trans is wonderful, and everyone around me sees it as terrible. Transitioning saved my life, and everyone around me thinks that I died. I have never been this happy; I have never been this desolate. I have never loved so deeply. I have never felt loss this acutely. "Brrr" is purely evil in its emotional perspective, in what it says about the world we live in. And it is also the most honest song ever made. [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[stingslikeabee]

It was known as Queen's Day ( or so Daigo affectionately called it ). Every year, on the day of Melissa's birth, Koutetsujima celebrated their King's wife ; the affair doubled as a sort of winter festival, while the weather was still serviceable to be out in. Daigo had declared the holiday official his first year as the new ruler of the islands, and it was secretly his favorite. All of Koutetsujima's citizens dressed traditionally, with Melissa's ladies helping her into her formal robes and pinning up her hair. The court reaffirmed the royal couple's marriage as well as their loyalty to the Queen and pricked their thumbs to stamp in blood on the scrolls stating so. Once the formalities of the day were through, Daigo took Melissa ( and their young children, each corralled and in the appropriate attire ) to the castle grounds. They were alive — with lanterns, fire pits, little games for anyone's amusement, classic Koutetsujima music, and warm foods. All of the royal family's friends and allies from the islands were in attendance, milling about and laughing.

Normally, Daigo and Melissa would stand in the entrance. This year, though, the former renegade prince had other plans. As they entered to applause and a swell of song, the King motioned for Mine, who was standing near, to take the children for a few moments. He was a sour - faced but secretly doting babysitter. Grinning, Daigo wrapped his arm around Melissa's waist and pulled her toward a knot of people.

"I have a surprise for you," he whispered, ducking his head down toward her. His dark eyes gleamed with his sense of purpose. "Where is . . . — ah."

Suddenly, the King stopped. His gift to his wife became clear the moment she turned around. Azumi Akiyama, Melissa's closest friend — and a face entirely unfamiliar to Koutetsujima. Even when her husband visited for diplomatic events, the Lady Akiyama preferred not to. She was always too scared to leave the Solarian palace in hands besides her own, and the rocking of boats made her horribly sick.

"Monaka," Azumi breathed. The blonde moved a little stiffly in the robes she wore, unused to the fabrics. She entwined her fingers with Melissa's, smiling. Two steps behind her was the Lord Akiyama himself, as well as their children.

"Your husband finally persuaded me to give the trip a try," Azumi said softly. "It was awful, as I expected, but he was right about one thing. Seeing your face right now is worth every hour." The noblewoman giggled and squeezed Melissa's hands. "Happy birthday, Melissa, from all of us. Daigo, Shun, myself — we are all so fond of you."

Daigo nodded. "She is right, as I have learned she usually is," he added, chuckling. "It is not the way of my home to speak with such openness, but the sentiment is true." The King's expression grew a touch more tender as his gaze returned to Melissa. "This land and yours are blessed to have you, my Queen."

( as am I. )

unscripted asks - birthday edition! . always accepting

In plans made many, many moons ago, Melissa had agreed to lend the renegade prince her own strength and army to overthrow the infamously cruel ruler of the neighboring kingdom and who threatened Solaris with war, should it spread; in exchange, Daigo had offered what he had of most importance: himself, as the heir. Originally, they had briefly discussed the possibility of unifying the lands and perhaps settle all conflict for good.

Now, Melissa was able to see the error of their ways - at least, of her own. Koutetsujima had its own traditions, beliefs and valorous people who were not inferior to any of their neighboring nations. Much of what she had known then had been steeped in prejudice and bias, in no small amount thanks to the way Sohei had ruled over his subjects with little to no compassion.

But during her marriage with Daigo, they had divided their time between both kingdoms - as the reigning queen of one country but a consort of another, Melissa had come to make the journey by sea more frequently than she had ever dared to dream as a child, and started to consider the hallways made of stone as a second home. It was different from Solaris - as it would always be - but it was growing on her; the food, the colorful ink, the intricate layers of clothing, the warmth of the people liberated to live according to their own traditions... It was all just lovely to see.

For some reason, to know the locals genuinely appreciated her as a person felt special; Melissa had never wished to be seen as an oppressing power from abroad, but she had come to terms with whatever reputation was required of her. It was fortunate that now the queen was welcomed into their arms, even if she kept some things secret - the tattoo was for family only, and the traditional robes only worn at the islands.

To be out and surrounded by the islanders was met with an easy smile and a trademark greeting from the queen - one Melissa had mastered and which followed the native custom. The woman was careful to walk just side by side with Daigo and never ahead, movements slower and more graceful than those of a warrior - the fact she was always extra careful around the heavily decorated kimonos helped, of course.

But when Daigo steered them to a different place, Melissa frowned - but only until the golden locks of her best friend gave away the identity of the mysterious guests, the queen losing composure for a second to immediately hold the hands of the one person who had been more of a sister to her than her own blood. As fate would have it, Azumi and Melissa had been afforded a luxury that their children now enjoyed, but which was not extended to the younger twins also descended from Eleanor, even if the current monarch cared for them deeply.

"You are... Here. By the Goddess, Azumi. I had never once considered..." the woman trailed off, a radiant grin on her face also gracing Daigo when the king spoke of his own part in the arrangement. In response to his evident tenderness, a lot of affection was in Melissa's own honeyed eyes, and she mouthed a love declaration for him in his own native tongue before turning around to Azumi once more, admiring her looks in the local style - as well as the of the one of her husband and children.

"I know this was no small endeavor for you all, as well for precious Beau. But it really means the world to me that you have all endured the journey. And, for what is worth - you all look beautiful dressed like this; I have no doubt that Niran agrees with me," the queen smiled softly at Azumi's oldest child - not by birth, but ferociously protected by her and Shun, and who looked delighted to be there. A refugee who could feel at peace to return to his homeland was a treasured birthday offering, too.

Sighing deeply, the woman turned to Daigo, releasing one of the hands from her friend to take his in return - perhaps a touch too forward for the locals, but they had grown used to some concessions. There was a day for the queen, after all, when none had been afforded such honor before.

"And you, my lord husband, is surely the greatest gift I could ever ask for - either of my Goddess or your venerable deities."

[mywifeleftme]

206: Harry Nilsson // Pussy Cats

Pussy Cats Harry Nilsson 1974, RCA

Someday I’ll find my way through the rest of Harry Nilsson’s scattershot catalogue, but for the moment I’m more than fine with Pussy Cats as my go-to. The 1974 LP’s drug-addled, vocal-cord-tearing reputation has thoroughly overshadowed Pussy Cats’ actual content, and it’s an interesting enough annal in the uh annals of rock ‘n’ roll misbehaviour. But if you’re not wedded to a 50-year grudge that an album-length collaboration between wunderkinds and mutual superfans Nilsson and John Lennon didn’t change the course of rock music, I’d argue it’s a great listen. Lennon was fresh from working with Phil Spector, and the album represents one of his attempts at building his own Wall of Sound: aside from a few Harry solo tunes, each track’s production employs a squadron of percussionists, horn players, pianists, and guitar players. You might expect that this elaborate studio personnel management would make for an ironic juxtaposition with the bleary, wasted vibe seeping from the wastrels at the bottom of it all, but I don’t hear it—for the most part, Pussy Cats reads as genuinely sweet, if occasionally sarcastic.

Since they represent half the track list, we might as well start with the covers. They are a fairly diverse bunch, though none of them qualifies as a deep cut. “Many Rivers to Cross” effectively transfers Jimmy Cliff’s gospel-inspired classic to the heavingly orchestrated Save the Children commercial-core balladry Lennon had dabbled in throughout his early solo career; Nilsson, always a preternaturally gifted mimic, debuts the raggedly Lennon-esque holler he uses throughout the LP. “Many Rivers” smoothly transitions into Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” a song I generally don’t need to hear any more renditions of—but this one works, thanks to a thumping, three-drummer arrangement by Lennon. (Another reviewer speculated it may’ve influenced Elvis Costello’s “Pump it Up,” a comparison I wouldn’t have come up with myself but find astute—especially given Costello’s professed love of an elegant lift.) Elsewhere, we get in-the-red takes on “Loop de Loop” (made famous by Johnny Thunder) and “Rock Around the Clock” (care of Bill Haley) that, while not much on their own, keep the record’s kooky energy up, plus a swaying version of “Save the Last Dance” (The Drifters) that forms a nice aesthetic bridge between the covers and the mostly lower-key originals.

My friend Jack recently got married and spent an inordinate amount of time crafting his ideal wedding playlist; I do the same thing, but for my funeral, and these days I usually open with “Don’t Forget Me.” A testimony to the magic Nilsson could still make when left to his own devices on a piano, it makes a quintessential goodbye to a loved one whose warts are visible from orbit. (Though a closer listen reveals Nilsson’s parting is due to divorce rather than death.) The refrain is heartrending in its simplicity, but it’s also a funny little character sketch, as the speaker, seemingly against his own will, keeps trying to convince his ex not to fuck anyone else, at least until he’s finished yearning.

The peculiar “Black Sails” is a pirate love ballad that moves between moments of horndog poetry (“A treasure map / Is hidden on your legs / Your veins are very close / Someday I’ll wrap my big yardarms / Around your legs and sail away”) and idiotic puns (“You’re so vein-y / You probably think this map belongs to you”). Apparently a rejected number written for a Peter Sellers/Spike Milligan movie, Nilsson delivers it (entrancingly) as a cabaret monologue over plutonian strings. He takes on another persona on “Old Forgotten Soldier,” a piano blues that wouldn’t be out of place on Yankee Hotel Foxtrot—turns out ruining his voice made him a dead ringer for Jeff Tweedy, and the layering on of recorded bird calls (and what sure sounds like a snippet of a Hitler speech) feel like Wilco-esque postmodern accoutrements. “All My Life” is the only song that directly addresses the Lennon/Nilsson duo’s present state of iniquity, but it feels poised at just the moment when you recognize a problem exists but don’t quite feel like doing anything about (“I’m so sore from laughing / I haven’t got the will to fight”). Wrapping up this (accidentally) track-by-track review is the album’s one shared writing credit, a medley of Lennon’s “Mucho Mungo” with Nilsson’s “Mt. Elga.” It’s a neat bit of business that the incorporation of Nilsson’s track as a bridge effectively gives Lennon’s louche, island-flavoured shuffle the hook it’d been missing all along.

Like fellow talented smartasses Loudon Wainwright and Todd Rundgren, my mileage has always varied with Nilsson, but Pussy Cats has just the right balance of his particular set of shticks to always be welcome on my turntable. If you’ve also had trouble digging him, this might be the spot to try your spade.

206/365

[sunshinereddie]

hi bestie! <33

long time no talk! I’ve been fully immersed in ST these past few months (still making art like crazy) but I just found this song again and the vision was so clear. so without further ado, another episode of heartie’s reddie song recommendations :,) <3

I can’t get the idea of the losers at prom together out of my head. I’m imagining that they all managed to say together until senior year.

I can see them so clearly, getting dressed up to the nines and posing for photos together.

they’re all going stag but the boys each take turns taking the classic prom pics with Bev, and then with each other.

Richie convinces them to be his “date” in all the pictures, even Mike who had just surpassed Richie in height by about two inches. he puts his head on Mike’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist with a stupidly adoring expression (and if Mike keeps it in his wallet for 22 years? that’s nobodies business but his own).

all the boys buy Bev a corsage because they didn’t communicate with each other and decide who was going to do it. she ends up wearing all of them anyway, half on one arm and half on the other.

despite his best efforts, Richie isn’t able to sneak any alcohol into the venue. it’s Bill who surprises them with a flask. his charm and good reputation made him the least likely perpetrator of smuggling alcohol and therefore avoided an inspection.

Bill and Ben spend so much time overthinking that they didn’t ask Bev to dance. Richie steals her away for half the night to do just that, albeit rather badly. lacing their fingers together, he jumps around the dance floor with her, spinning and dipping her an obscene amount of times. their cackling laughter sometimes heard over the noise that is top 40 pop songs.

when the music slows down and the lights dim, the rest of the boys take a seat while Bev dances with Stan. he’d called the first slow dance at the beginning of the night, insisting that Bev get a proper dance with someone who actually knew how.

Stan passes her off to Eddie next who spends half the time looking unsubtly at Richie. she gently teases him before sending him back to Richie with a big wet kiss on his cheek. the kiss mark she leaves behind makes his face so red you could hardly make it out.

Ben finally gets the courage to ask her to dance, which she accepts immediately. he’s red from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck. she spins him and attempts to give him a small dip to loosen him up. it works, they spin and sway and laugh well into a second song.

they call Prom quits after the music picks back up for a second wave of 80s synth pop. they all pile into Mike’s truck, ties loose and hair ruined. they pass the flask around and try not to spill as Mike hits another pothole.

its cold in the bed, no walls to keep the wind from wrapping around their slender frames. they’d given Bev the only blanket, seeing as she was in only a dress. Eddie is very noticeably shivering but attempting to keep it hidden. Richie just laughs and drapes his very ill fitting tuxedo jacket over his shoulders, setting Eddie’s face alight.

they arrive at the cliff over the quarry, the sky is clear and crickets are chirping softly into the mild night air. Mike keeps the truck on and let’s the radio play. they make their way to the rocks near the edge and sit down, wrinkles and dirt be damned, prom was over anyhow.

looking out over the water, the night feels infinite. stars gleam in the sky and reflect on the quarry. here they are, in between two never ending galaxies. they’ll never be as young as they are now. they’ll never be as carefree as they are now. they might not ever be together like this again. but for tonight, anything is possible, and everything is okay.

the flask makes it’s way around the circle again, (aside from mike, who dubbed himself the designated driver) and then cigarettes. the ribbons of smoke dancing in the air and meeting each other. a peace settles over the group and conversations of nostalgia and memories spill from their mouths as freely as the smoke.

the opening chords of forever young start playing gently from the truck and a hush falls over them. they share bittersweet smiles and hum along. Ben asks Bev to dance again, more sure of himself this time. the blush that stains her cheeks make her freckles standout under the light of the moon. she accepts his hand and follows him over to the truck, a blinding smile gracing her features.

Eddie looks over at Richie, who’s smiling gently at the pair, and nudges his knee with his own. Richie turns to him with a smile and Eddie can hardly contain the feeling in his chest. his glasses are slightly askew and his hair is a mess but he looks so charming with his shirt sleeves pushed up haphazardly and tie tugged loose, top button undone.

the question is out of his mouth before he can think better of it, “do you want to dance?” the mortification is instantaneous. he flushes from head to toe and his eyes go as big as saucers. immediately he attempts to backtrack, “I uh- I mean- like just as a question like- I just-“

Richie, for his part, is not faring much better. he’s also red in the face, heat blooming in his cheeks before snaking it’s way from the base of his throat to his hairline. the smile he’d been wearing gave away to a shocked little O shape. he didn’t even have time to formulate a response before Stan called over to them, “yes, yes he does!”

both of their heads swivel in sync to stare at Stan. he looks back with a shit eating grin, arms crossed over his chest in satisfaction. Mike and Bill fail to hide their snickering behind their hands, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

if they’d been red before, it was nothing compared to the shade of scarlet they were now. Eddie turns slightly towards Richie, hoping to gauge his reaction. he finds himself nose to nose with Richie, eyes still blown wide and lips parted in surprise. they jump back slightly but end up giggling at their own ridiculousness.

Richie then stands, extending his hand to Eddie with a small smile. “I’d love to dance Eddie Spaghetti.” Eddie finds himself returning the smile and accepting his hand. they make their way over to the truck, a few feet away from Bev and Ben who are too enamored with each other to spare them any more than a glance.

Eddie’s hesitance is clear when his hands stay suspended in the air, hovering around Richie’s waist. he can’t help the little huff of laughter that leaves his mouth as he redirects Eddie’s hands to his shoulders and his own to his waist. color still stains Eddie’s cheeks even as he starts to relax under Richie’s touch.

Richie takes a step towards Eddie, closing the distance them, leaning his head down to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie follows his lead and leans in close as well, his cheek pressed just above Richie’s collarbone, nose brushing against the hallow of his throat.

gently they begin to sway as the song bleeds into some other sappy love song. it’s cheesy, but between the sounds of crickets and the idle chatter of Bill, Stan, and Mike, everything is perfect.

college would scatter them across the country and career ambitions may keep them that way, but tonight they’re all together. tonight they’re just a group of best friends enjoying the night air. tonight they are limitless.

-

I hope you enjoyed my rambling thoughts because even I am surprised by the length of this. ;__;

I genuinely intended to write no more than like, the first three paragraphs of this and get out of here but the more I wrote the more I had to say :,)

anyway, I’ve missed you sunny! writing this down in your ask box is weirdly nostalgic :,) <3

- 🫀

*takes deep breath*

OK. WOW. heartie, this may be one of my most favourite things you’ve ever sent me. I. ADORE. THIS!!!!!

everything about this little fic, from the song inspo, to the prom setting (i am fucking RAVENOUS for anything losers club prom…. i mean if you couldnt already tell from puppy love ch1 dhajsbaka), the losers taking prom photos with each other, richie stealing bev away for the first dance (i can HEAR him teasing bill and ben with a “you snooze you loose!”) but stanley being the one to give her the first proper slow dance because he knows beverly deserves to “have a dance with someone who knows how” (SOBS AND SCREAMS AND CRIES), to them skipping out on the night early and just going to be with each other, where they’re all the most comfortable and where they all feel the most happy, to eddie being the one to ask richie to dance (and stan answering for richie!!! that was so adorable!!!) and them sharing a dance together, to that ending paragraph…… AUGH. TONIGHT THEY ARE LIMITESS. i think i’ll cry.

bestie you’ve really outdone yourself this time. this was absolutely lovely to read and i loved every word. im so happy to have you back in my inbox & sharing these stories with me <3

[lossie92]

For the ao3 wrapped thing: 12, 15, 20, 27.

Love your work🥰 and I'm looking forward to see what brings the next year🥰!

Hi anon ❤️ Aww thank you! I'm glad to heart that 🥰

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

For just mdtb I have around 70(?) WIPs overall in my main folder. That's both stuff I've already posted (my ongoing series and chapter fics) and projects I'm actively working on in the background.

I'll probably only ever finish and post a fraction of these, but that's also why I decided to create the two snippet collections on ao3. No use in holding onto all the scraps when I can share them will you all.

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

The fic I really wanted to share this year, but will have to push back till 2024 is The Least of Clues.

I decided I want to wrap up Cranes and Cynosure, and update at least Play Pretend and Heart of Glass first before posting another in-progress project. Plus that fic is very personal and harder to write than most of my other stuff, so I'm taking my time with it.

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Hmm, good question. I definitely reread Lemon Meringue Pie a lot, just because I really love that AU. I'm not really sure though, cause I tend to reread stuff a fair amount to check for mistakes and, when it comes to my chapter fics, to remind myself what I wrote, so it's kind of hard to say lol

27. What do you listen to while writing?

I don't usually listen to music while writing. I find it kind of distracting. However, I do have a few playlists for fics that I'm working on that I listen to when I'm trying to get into the right headspace before I write and I also have just general "writing inspo" playlists that consist mostly of instrumental and classical music.

If you are interested, let me know and I can share the links 😊

-

AO3 Wrapped [writer's edition]