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happilysmythe · 7 days

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❥ 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

trent frederic.

word count: 5.0k

warning: explicit content

"can you blow my mind?" — tyla

A/N: i recently received a request for trent and a leafs fan. i was given creative freedom and this is what i came up with. hope you like it, nonny <3

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Bruins win Game 7 in OT.

The headlines came out at a rapid rate, informing the rest of the world that the Boston Bruins made it out of the first round and turned the Toronto Maple Leafs into mulch. Again.

Trent Frederic, along with a few teammates, were on too much of a high to return to their rooms at the hotel they’d been staying in just yet. Though they were home in Boston, coach Jim Montgomery thought it would be smarter to have the guys stay in a hotel instead of going back to their homes and apartments. Team bonding, he said.

The bunch set off for the bar inside the hotel, only a few blocks away from TD Garden, waiting a few hours before slipping in nonchalantly. They weren’t trying to get outed too fast, and they usually didn’t. Even once they were recognized, not much came of it. Most people were too drunk by then to make a scene, anyway.

So they sat down at the bar and ordered a few beers, celebrating accordingly and talking amongst themselves. They would finally let loose for just a night before the inevitable start of round 2 in just two days. They’d be having practice the next morning and flying down to Sunrise, Florida to face the Panthers, who were on their extensive break after knocking the Lightning in just 5 games.

Trent decided he’d had enough after his fourth beer, so he left his share and stood up to make his way out. As he turned around, his body hit something with a thud. He looked down and saw what it was that he came into contact with; a thin blonde woman with her arms out, jaw slack, and an empty hand that once held her drink.

Oh, and a Maple Leafs jersey.

“Oh, shit,” Trent muttered, compressing his lips.

You scoffed, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I can get you a new one.”

You looked up, a look of guilt on your face as your hands fell back down to your sides. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve been looking where I was going, too—”

You paused.

“Where do I know you?”

He remained silent, shooting you a look as if to tell you that it should be obvious. It wasn’t long before your face dropped and it hit you. He suppressed a grin at your realization and parted his lips to speak.

“Name’s Trent,” he spoke smoothly, “but something tells me you already figured that out.”

“Well, you’re one of the last people I’d like to see right now,” you rolled your eyes, arms folded. “What’s a guy like you doing at some random bar at,” you looked at your watch, “12 in the morning after the game where you just knocked my team out of the playoffs?”

“Had to celebrate somehow,” he winked.

“Oh, god,” you grimaced. “I really do hate you guys.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” he laughed, putting his abnormally large hands on his hips. Your eyes subtly followed their path.

“Lighten up,” he teased. “C’mon. What’s your name? I know you’re not a,” he pinched the fabric of your jersey and pulled it to see the numbers, “Marner. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

You sighed at his remark and told him your name, but he made a face afterward.

“Too long.”

“Too long?”

“I think I’ll stick to Marner,” he told you, much to your dismay.

“Gross,” you replied irritatedly. “I don’t particularly feel like giving you the privilege of using a nickname. Just use my real name like everyone else. ”

“I’m all set, actually. I think I’ll stick to mine.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“You gonna let me buy your drink or keep bitching about who I am?”

“Fine,” you sighed, “buy me the damn drink.”

He and you made your way to the other side of the bar, far enough away from the rest of the guys and the few friends you went with that you wouldn’t be noticed. You sat next to each other on the bar stools, Trent talking your ear off and you reluctantly replying with mostly one-word responses.

“You can’t be that angry with me,” he finally spoke, breaking another silence. “I’m not the whole team, you know.”

“I can and I will,” you shrugged, sipping your almost-empty drink.

“If you won’t talk, then I’ll just have to make you talk.”

He put his elbows down on the table and turned his head to face you, “Why’d you decide to come out in public after that game? I wouldn’t have even bothered to show my face in a bar wearing that. You here with other people or something?”

“I came with a couple of friends.”

“Doesn’t answer my first question.”

You looked down. “They wanted to come down here. I told them it was probably a bad idea because of the fact that we’re, you know, Leafs fans. They did it anyway so I just tagged along.”

“Bet you didn’t expect to run into me,” he nudged you with his shoulder, bringing a faint smile to your lips. “There you go,” he teased when he noticed your expression. “See? I’m not so bad.”

“Fraternizing with the enemy is a bad look for a woman like me,” you retorted, a playful undertone to your words. It was uncharacteristic compared to the closed-off manner you had with every other response. You wouldn’t admit that, however.

“Oh, she jokes,” he took the final sip of the drink he’d bought himself upon sitting with you, even after deciding he’d had his last beforehand.

“Shut up, Frederic.”

“We’ve regressed to my last name now? Can’t even call me by my first?”

“But you won’t use mine at all,” you rolled your eyes, “Trent.”

You looked at him for maybe a tad longer than you should’ve, eyes slowly moving down his body. He wore a white collared shirt that hugged his arms and gray dress pants that looked awfully tight around his thighs. You couldn’t help but notice the facial hair he’d grown since the start of the round, giving him a gingery mustache with a somewhat patchy beard. You’d seen what he looked like before that and were undoubtedly intrigued by it, regardless of whatever grudges you held against him. But you couldn’t let him know that.

So you turned to face the television above the bar, watching the commercial in a quiet trance as if nothing happened.

“Hey,” he tapped his finger on the bartop, diverting your attention back to him. “Tell me something,” he softly requested as you looked back, adjusting his body to face yours. “Why did you let me buy you the new drink if you weren’t going to talk to me, hm?”

You swallowed, “I wasn’t going to be rude.”

“The real reason,” he pressed.

“There is no real reason.”

“Alright,” he nodded, “so why were you staring at me before?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lowered his voice and brought his face just slightly closer, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I mean,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders, “unless I didn’t see you looking for a while there. But I’m pretty sure I know what I saw.”

“Just…just shut up, Trent, alright?”

“Sounds like I hit a nerve,” he noted and you rolled your eyes. “You know, you’re cute when you’re irritable.”

His grin widened when you shook your head again, promptly informing him of how annoying he was once again. “But if I’m really being honest here,” he lifted his fingers and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “I think you’re pretty.”

At this, your hardened exterior softened. Your head turned just slightly so that he was in your field of view and you sighed gently. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

“I, um,” you cleared your throat, taking a breath, “I was looking before.”

“I know,” he softly responded, hand slipping down until his palm rested on your thigh. Initially, you flinched at the contact, but your muscles relaxed when you realized it was a warm gesture rather than one with malicious intent.

“You don’t have to be so cold,” he told you. “No matter who I play for, I’m just a guy.”

You were more attracted to him than you wanted to let on, and it surely didn’t help that he was being nicer to you. You suppressed a smile and faced him fully.

“It’s not that, it’s—it’s the point,” you flatly responded.

“You can look at me again,” he teased, thumb rubbing your thigh. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Your gaze lingered on him again, eyes flitting down to his lips before you looked away. It wasn’t hard for him to see through you—after all, you allowed him to keep his hand where it was, even after refuting his words. He took notice of your wandering eyes and finally pieced it together.

“Like the new look, eh?”

Your brows furrowed and you swallowed, “What new look…?”

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” he replied with certainty. “You have a thing for the scruff?”

“Please. I don’t even know what you looked like before that,” you lied, taking an unsteady breath.

“Doesn’t change that you were looking at it, does it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, lips parted as you tried to think up an excuse. “No,” you finally gave up, letting your head hang down. “It doesn’t, because I have seen you before and I do have a thing for it. For you,” you shook your head, laughing at the reality of how weak you truly were. How stupid you must have looked to him. “So tease me all you want, say that you told me so—you’re right.”

A ringed finger slipped under your chin and tilted your head toward him, his face mere inches away from yours.

“I’m not going to tease you.”

You swallowed, expression falling as your eyes locked with his. They were brown, you noticed. And they were…warm. They largely contrasted how he looked at you previously. It brought you to an entranced sort of state.

His touch was soft, comforting. But in a way that made you want him more. Caused your mind to wander to places you knew it shouldn’t have gone. It felt good. Really good.

And you had no business wondering what the rest of him would feel like on you.

“Where are you staying?” you blurted out.

“Upstairs.”

“Take me,” the words left your mouth before you could protest.

An eyebrow raised and his grin turned to a smile. “Gladly,” he whispered, lowering his hand and standing up.

He held his hand out and you hesitantly took it, allowing him to discreetly walk you toward the exit of the bar. You ducked when you saw your friends, praying that by some miracle they didn’t see you walk out with Trent Frederic.

“Trent,” you whispered, clutching onto him harder now that you couldn’t be hidden by the darkness of the bar any longer. “What if someone saw?”

“You would’ve known by now. Trust me,” he reassured you as the elevator doors slid open. You walked in and the doors shut, enclosing you in the small space. “And if anyone did,” he started, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck, “it’s none of their business, anyway.”

“Mhm,” you agreed softly, eyes beginning to close when you felt his warm breath on your neck.

“See? Not so hard to agree, is it?”

“Mm…no…”

He laughed softly in your ear and pressed a tiny kiss to the skin behind it. He intricately placed a few more on the exposed skin, prompting a faint hum from your lips as the doors slid back open. His hand found its place on your waist as he gently pushed you out, guiding you down the hallway and finally stopping in front of his door.

By now, you’d become urgent—urgent to feel his lips on yours no matter how much you told yourself it was a stupid idea. You lived in Toronto; a whopping 500 miles away. And he played for Boston, the team you hated with a passion so strong that you vowed to never let yourself be endeared by them. Yet there you were, standing next to the forward who contributed to your favorite team’s loss, wanting nothing more than for him to make you feel oh, so good.

And he would.

The door clicked open and he pushed the lever down, stepping aside to let you in. He was quick to pin you to the door with his body, arm coming up behind your head to lock it and toss the room card to the side.

“I can’t believe I let you charm me.”

“What can I say,” he rasped, leaning in closer, “I know how to get a girl in my room.”

His lips finally connected with yours and you immediately reciprocated, hand flattening against his chest and gripping the material of his shirt. You pulled him closer, slipping your free hand around his neck before tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The hair above his lips rubbed against your skin, the feeling eliciting a faint hum from your mouth into his. He grinned at this and hooked his fingers under the blue jersey you wore, pulling away promptly and carefully lifting it up.

“Taking this shit off,” he mumbled, pulling the fabric over your head and discarding it to the floor. “You’d look much better with mine.”

You rolled your eyes, “Not going to happen, Trent.”

“We’ll see,” he grinned, moving his lips to your neck and marking up the skin, drawing whimpers from your mouth.

Your hand snaked into his hair, fingers threading between the dusty ginger strands as you pushed his head closer. He kissed up to your jaw, sliding his hand up to your neck, the other placed on the bare skin of your hip. His fingers pressed into the nape of your neck and his thumb rested just under your chin, hand pressing the back of your head against the door as his lips kissed a path down your jawline.

“Shit,” you moaned breathily, reaching for the buttons on his shirt as his mouth returned to yours hungrily.

You worked your way down, the material of his shirt parting and exposing his skin as each button fell open. His tongue slipped between your lips, grazing your teeth before rolling over yours languidly. Soft fingers untucked his open shirt from his pants and began to trace his stomach, moving slowly up to his firm chest. The action caused the large hand around your neck to tighten its hold, prying a moan from your throat.

“Didn’t know,” you panted, “—didn’t know you wore a chain.”

“Like it, mm?”

The way he grinned down at you brought a lump to your throat. He made you nervous. Weak, even. And the height at which he stood compared to you surely didn’t help. So you nodded curtly in response, hoping he’d take the hint and not press you further.

But he took it and instead removed his hand from your neck to slide it down and meet the other at your lower back, promptly hoisting you up. Your hands moved to his face and held it while you continued to kiss him, him walking the two of you away from the door and in the direction of the bed. You kicked your shoes off just as he grabbed a towel from the rack on the wall outside the bathroom and laid it lazily atop the sheets. He then lowered you onto your back and let go, allowing you to lie comfortably on the bed as he remained on his knees in front of you.

He quickly shed himself of the torn-open shirt and tossed it toward the empty bed on the other side of the room. His body soon hovered over yours, an arm on the bed on each side of your head as he kissed you again. His lips moved to your neck once again, working the skin until soft moans slipped through your parted ones.

“Trent,” you exhaled, chest rising and falling deeply, “isn’t…isn’t someone else staying here with you? There’s—mm—two beds.”

“There was,” he mumbled into your skin, moving down to your collarbones.

“So couldn’t we get—”

“Was,” he repeated. “He already went home to his girlfriend. And I have both room keys.” He chuckled softly and reached around your back to unclasp your bra, the fabric coming loose on your chest. “So relax.”

You nodded and lifted your arms for him to pull it off, him letting it fall from his hand before kissing a path down the valley of your chest. His body moved down as he continued down to your stomach, then to your waist where his fingers hooked in your pants and slid them down your legs.

You kicked them off and opened your legs, allowing Trent to slip between them. He gently kissed your inner thigh, slowly working his way up until he reached the lacy fabric that covered your skin. He looked up, making and not breaking eye contact with you as he took the waistband between his teeth and tugged the fabric slowly down your legs. As he rose upwards, they and your pants were dropped to the floor.

Warm breath fanned the skin between your aching thighs, awaiting his touch oh, so impatiently. His fingers brushed the area, dragging themselves slowly up and down. His eyes flitted up to you, a faint grin playing on his lips before focusing back down.

“God, you’re wet,” he rasped, leaning down and settling his face between your thighs, your legs atop his shoulders. His hands wrapped around your outer thighs and gripped them, pulling you in promptly.

“Especially for someone who claims to hate me so much.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned, “Think that’ll make me like you any more?”

“No, but maybe this will.”

With that, his mouth wrapped around your clit, tongue swirling around and eliciting a gasp of shock from your parted lips. Your eyes widened as he sucked gently, hands kneading the warm flesh of your thighs.

He then trailed downward, planting small, light kisses on the sensitive flesh, all before his tongue carefully parted your folds and delved slowly inside. Your fingers gingerly threaded into his strands, palm flattening itself on the back of his head as you pushed him down, your body weak with the need for more friction.

The hair that had recently grown above his lips brushed against your skin, rubbing back and forth forcefully and bringing meaning to the term, ‘hurts so good.’

“God, fuck,” you groaned, hands tenaciously gripping the sheets and his curls as his tongue moved in a rhythm that was just enough to make you long for more.

He lapped at you mercilessly, expert movements of his tongue coaxing soft moans from your mouth. A cocky grin stretched across his lips as he brought you to the brink, then pulled away, forcing a whimper from you at the loss of contact.

A large hand was removed from your thigh and brought between your legs, knuckles once again dragging lazily along the sensitive, needy skin, but refusing to give you the satisfaction of doing what you wanted most. He was teasing you; punishing you for the way in which you treated him earlier without giving him as much as a chance to prove himself.

“Trent,” you whined impatiently, hips writhing involuntarily against his bearded face.

“Mm…what?”

You refused to admit the irrevocable attraction you had to him because you didn’t want to let him win. And now he was being a bitch to you, just like you were to him. He chuckled softly and pressed the tip of his finger to your entrance, allowing you to feel the small bit of pressure that came with it.

“Please,” you whimpered, fingers tightening in his curls.

Enough was enough and he pushed the finger in, drawing a moan from your lips before adding another and thrusting them in and out with no room for complaint. The cold metal of his ring brushed against your sensitive inner walls and you gasped at the initial contact, your rampant mind having forgotten about the jewelry to begin with. And deep down, you loved it.

His mouth returned to your skin, tongue licking small stripes on the mound of flesh above his fingers, the scruff on his chin rubbing roughly against it. You knew you were going to have burns on your skin caused by his facial hair but you didn’t care; you just wanted to keep feeling him.

“Trent, don’t stop.”

He laughed quietly and sped up the pace of his fingers, urging you even closer to the edge. Your thighs closed in around his head, hand still pushing his head down. He hummed in satisfaction, the noise vibrating against your skin as he felt you clench around his long fingers.

His lips sucked on your clit in a steady pattern, causing your release to rip through you, prying a moan from deep within your stomach. You fisted the sheets tighter as your hips writhed against his face and fingers, legs beginning to shake from the pressure. Trent continued to work you through it, tongue lapping up the wetness that accumulated until you sunk back down into the mattress, spent.

Slowly he removed his fingers, first bringing them to his lips to lick them clean before rising back up. You inched backward on the bed until your head pressed against the pillow, Trent following and planting himself on his knees between your legs. His fingers reached down and fumbled with the buckle on his belt, eyes never leaving your body in the process. It wasn’t long before his belt haphazardly hit the floor, then his pants and his painfully hard cock was freed from its constraints. A rough palm placed itself on your knee, rubbing it slowly.

“Trent,” you swallowed, drawing his attention back up to your face. “Con—”

He raised his hand to cut you off, a gold wrapper resting comfortably between his index and middle fingers. The action having rendered you silent, he promptly took the foil between his teeth and pulled, spitting out the excess before taking out the latex and rolling it onto himself. You soon felt the pressure of him at your entrance, legs subconsciously widening to let him slip between them further, then heard the sound of him groaning as he pushed into you.

You swore it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard.

He leaned forward slowly, giving you just a moment’s time to adjust to his size as he stretched you out. Your breaths were unsteady, eyes screwed shut as your fingers maintained their forceful grip on the sheets around you. Your mind was racing, but you knew one thing for certain—the man was about to fucking blow it. His body hovered above yours as he kissed a path from your stomach up to your neck, hands pressing into the mattress on each side of you.

“Where did you,” you breathed, “get that?”

“Pocket,” he rasped, mustache brushing against your neck.

Eyes wide, you responded, “That’s not—”

“Relax,” he mumbled, the corners of his lips slightly upturned. “I put it in there today.”

Then you impatiently lifted a hand to the back of his head and pushed his lips onto yours, kissing him urgently and wordlessly telling him to just move. He obeyed your silent command and pushed his hips into yours, burying his dick into you before pulling back, leaving only the tip inside. He repeated the process at a steady, slow rhythm—tortuously slow, at that—until your back was arching, hand in his hair sliding down to his shoulder blade as the long, coffin-shaped nails dug into his soft skin. The chain that you’d noticed earlier tapped against your cheek, the feeling provoking you to throw your head back against the pillow.

His hand slid up your front, fingers curling around to the nape of your neck and thumb resting under your chin once again, pulling your head back up as he quickened his pace, driving into you with more force. Every inch of his thick cock slid smoothly along your velvety walls, your mouth frozen in its open state as his lips worked at your neck again. And god, you just couldn’t understand what made you hate that guy in the first place. It must have slipped your mind completely.

Upon the first thrust of his hips, he felt just how tight you enveloped him. The immense pressure of you wrapped around his strained length, practically squeezing it. The age-old trick of conjuring up the most repulsive of thoughts seemed nothing but moronic to him in the past, yet for some reason he found himself naming off presidents in his head to prevent from coming so fucking soon. He only wished that he could feel it; really feel it, if it weren’t for that godforsaken rubber that separated him from you.

And he’d make it his mission to do so, whether you lived five hundred miles away or not.

He just hoped he’d last when he finally did.

The hand around your throat closed just slightly, using just enough pressure to threaten your intake of breath without causing any pain. It was delicious. You didn’t have the will to fight it—your body had already submitted to him long before, and there wasn’t much that you could focus on other than the feeling of him roughly thrusting into you, lips marking up one side of your neck while his hand firmly gripped the other.

The sounds of your mixed moans bounced off of the walls and you began to wonder whether anyone could hear it or not; if any of his teammates were close by, walking back to their rooms from the bar. The thought instilled enough fear for you to weakly voice it.

“What if—ah—what if someone hears us?”

“Let them,” he rasped, kissing behind your ear.

“But—”

“God, shut up,” he pushed his lips to yours, swallowing your words, moans, and expletives that threatened to destroy your mediocre attempt to stay quiet. His tongue rolled over yours, low hums reverberating in your mouth and filling your ears.

Finally, he released his hold from your neck, allowing the air to flow smoothly into your lungs once more. The hand reached for yours, roughly threading his fingers between yours before pushing the two forward and pinning the back of your hand to the headboard behind you. You let out a whimper at the sudden contact but quickly gripped his hand with a matching force to his as he hit the sweet spot inside you and a familiar pit in your stomach formed.

“Close,” you panted, back arching off of the bed and forcing your front to press firmly into his.

“I know,” he told you, grip tightening as the taut line in your stomach snapped.

His mouth enveloped yours again to swallow your noises, tongue swiping against your bottom lip. Your inner walls constricted around his length as you hit your climax, nails digging into his back as you grasped desperately at him for stability, support—any sort of strength that he could provide you with. And he did, grunting sporadically as he fucked you through your second orgasm, thrusts growing sloppier.

It wasn’t long before he twitched inside you, hitting his own peak and letting out a deep moan. Your name—to your surprise—left his lips in a slurred form, repeating it softly as if it were a hymn. Sweat coated your forehead, droplets dripping slowly down your face, and the frontward strands of your hair had grown wet. His curls dripped with his own sweat as his lips hovered just centimeters above yours, warm breath fanning your face and gaze aligning with yours.

You finally swallowed, “Wow.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, hand letting go of yours and gently running up and down your side.

He waited a moment and carefully pulled out, the action drawing your eyes shut before he slipped off the used latex and disposed of it. You adjusted yourself as he did so, ridding the bed of the towel and briefly cleaning yourself up before you felt a piece of fabric hit your arm. You looked down to see a large, black t-shirt on the bed and grabbed it, quickly slipping it on as he walked back over. He motioned you under the sheets and you silently obliged.

Your back pressed against his chest, chain pressing into the skin as an arm wrapped around you and a hand flattened on your stomach. His other fingers pushed your hair to the side, exposing the skin to his eyes, and he saw the faint marks his fingers left on your neck. A pair of lips brushed against your ear and the soft rasp of his voice returned.

“You know, that’s a Bruins shirt,” he teased, scruff grazing your damp skin as his lips connected with your shoulder.

“Mhm,” you flatly responded.

“Going against your word pretty fast, eh?”

“Yeah, well,” you started, nuzzling back into him. “I told you I hated you and ended up in your bed, so,” you turned to him slightly, “unreliable source.”

He chuckled softly and brought his fingers up to brush your hair back, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. “Night, Marner.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, and he laughed one final time before closing his eyes and relaxing into you.

So, against everything that you stood for just hours before, you fell asleep in Trent Frederic’s arms without much forethought. In his shirt and his bed, effectively leaving your friends behind because they’d for some odd reason just slipped your mind completely.

And when Trent woke up the next morning, he was no longer in your company, much to his dismay. Any trace of your presence the night before had perished, down to the towel on the floor. But there was one thing—one saving grace that caught his eye as he scanned the room.

A piece of paper on the nightstand with a phone number scribbled on it and a small note below it that read,

“For the next time you’re in Toronto.”

#trent frederic #boston bruins #fanfic #hockey #trent frederic fic #boston bruins imagine #hockey fic #trent frederic imagine #trent frederic smut #trent frederic x reader #toronto maple leafs #t. frederic

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toasttt11 · 4 months

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introducing octavia

Octavia Wren Hughes was born September 9, 2003 she was born first and 8 minutes later Luke was born.

Octavia never once played on a girls hockey team growing up as Luke and her did not want to be on separate teams so Ellen had Octavia join the boys team and she never left.

Octavia has always enjoyed anything with art and from a young age anyone could tell the talent she had with painting, it became a passion that she loved almost as much as hockey.

2021 was the year that Octavia and Luke were drafted in the NHL, the day they dreamed of but also dreaded because they knew their was like a 4% percent chance they got on the same team, meaning they would have to be apart.

Octavia Wren Hughes was drafted the second overall pick of the 2021 NHL Draft to the Toronto Maple Leafs. Luke Warren Hughes was drafted fourth overall of the 2021 NHL Draft to the New Jersey Devils.

Octavia committed to the University of Michigan with Luke, no one in the family knowing she denied the offer to join the Maple Leafs right away wanting one more year with her twin.

Octavia spend the year of collage enjoying as many moments with her twin brother knowing it was most likely the last time they ever play on the same team.

Octavia and Luke have always been attached at the hip, and most of the times just look at each other and understand what the other wants or is saying.

Octavia is the most similar to Jack, she got a lot of his sass and they share a lot of the same play style on the ice. The two tease each other the most and love to compete against each other.

Quinn has always been a good grounding place for Octavia, Octavia always felt like Quinn always understood all of his siblings extremely well and always knew what to do and say.

Quinn is the person Octavia looks up to the most and is always trying to make proud, seeing how much Quinn has accomplished from his hard work and seeing how Quinn deserves all his success.

Octavia went to the 2021 WJC without Luke as he was injured and her parents couldn’t come because of Covid so it was just her. The team had a hotel next to the rink so she could walk there. The first night she couldn’t sleep so she walked to the rink and scanned her pass and went to go onto the ice when she noticed someone else on the ice and that’s where she met Simon Nemec. The two got to know each other well as they spent almost every night on the ice playing hockey together while talking.

When she got drafted her phone blew up from phone calls and messages from the Leafs team, they were all very accepting and excited for her to join the team.

When Octavia joined the team for the first time she fit in extremely well, The whole team loved her and her sarcastic comments and she just fit with the team very well.

Octavia was reminded a lot of Jack when she met Mitch and she never minded listening to Mitch talk for a long time, most of people couldn’t ever stand listening to someone they long and Mitch really appreciated it.

Octavia loves dogs she always has, and when she went to her first team party seeing four dogs there, she was so happy and the team quickly realized how much she loved dogs as she sat with the dogs all night playing with them.

Octavia has a personality that is very different than Jospeh and it surprises everyone when they saw how close the rookie got with the goalie.

Octavia and Matthew got extremely close as they were in the same draft class, the tow went to the developmental camp together and we’re roommates so they because fast friends.

The team noticed that she sometimes just looks sad and then noticed how happy she was to talk about her brothers especially Luke, or when she is on call with Luke how happy she looked with her twin, they realized she was missing her twin brother a lot.

When Octavia moved to Toronto and the days she had some free time she would go to places she went to as a kid, and sometimes would go the outside rink that was Luke’s favorite to feel a little closer to him.

Octavia has never been a fan of shopping like her mother has, so a lot of them Ellen will just buy stuff for Octavia to wear, but Octavia has always loved leather jackets and sneakers and her closets are mostly leather jackets and sneakers.

Octavia has always loved tattoos and when she turned old enough she slowly started to get small and easy to hide tattoos. Her first tattoo was a number she got on the inside of her wrist that is usally covered by her bracelets but she got a 6, as her whole family has all played with number 6 and there is six of them.

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lizzisimss · 11 months

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Black and White Apartment CC List:

CC used (list below) 920 Medina Studios in San Myshuno 1 bed, 1 bath $126,414

Brazenlotus - https://www.patreon.com/BrazenLotus

Laundry Made Essentials

charly pancakes - https://www.patreon.com/charlypancakes

The Lighthouse Collection merged

Chalk part 2

Miscellanea merged

Modish merged

Selection one merged

Soak merged

Felixandre – https://www.patreon.com/felixandre

Fayun

London interior

Shop the Look Season 1

Greenllamas – https://www.patreon.com/greenllamas

KERV

house of harlix - https://www.houseofharlix.com

Bafroom Merged

Baysic Bafroom Merged

Baysic Merged

Livin’Rum Merged

The Kitchen

Tiny twavellers merged

harrie - https://www.patreon.com/heyharrie

Brownstone collection merged

Octave merged

Shop the look

Spoons part 3

Kiwisim - https://www.patreon.com/Kiwisim4

Blockhouse

KKB – https://www.patreon.com/user?u=15789815

Citrus Room

Karlstad

leaf motif - https://leaf-motif.tumblr.com

2202 Magnolia Bathroom

Calliope bathroom

Eloise living

Stellan dining

Littlecakes – https://litttlecakes.tumblr.com/downloadspage

Poor Bunny

littledica - https://www.patreon.com/littledica

Greasy Goods merged

Sleek slumber merged

Deligracy cottage living update merged

Deligracy delicato stuff pack

Madlen – https://www.patreon.com/madlen

Goth backpack

Goth book

Lorens carpet

Ayumi

Marvell – https://marvell-world.tumblr.com/download

Upcycle sculpture

max 20 - https://www.patreon.com/Max20

Master bedroom pack

Mechtasims - https://www.patreon.com/mechtasims

Aphrodite set chill pills box

Mlys – https://mlyssimblr.tumblr.com/cc-catalog

Nordic clothing rack

my cup of cc -https://www.patreon.com/mycupofcc

Maple Manor The Modernist Collection LivingRm

myshunosun - https://www.patreon.com/myshunosun

Nora living

Daria bedroom

Dawn abstract

Herbalist kitchen

Simmify part 2

Sol kitchen

peacemaker - https://peacemaker-ic.tumblr.com/TS4O...

Atwood Living merged

Futura merged

Hamptons retreat merged

Hinterlands bedroom

Hudson bathroom

Kitayama living

Ophelia bedroom suite

Phumo sectional

Vara office

Bowed

pierisim - https://www.patreon.com/pierisim

Precious Promises

MCM

Oak House

The Office mini kit

Auntie Vera bathroom

Domaine Du Clos

Winter Garden

QICC – https://www.patreon.com/qicc

Evergreen balcony set

simplisticsims - http://simplisticsims4.com

Loloi contemporary rugs 2

sixiamcc - https://imfromsixam.tumblr.com/

Oak & concrete kit merged

Artz

Forjasline

Home office

Hotel bedroom

Luxbath

Teen room

SYB – https://www.patreon.com/Syboubou

Bonbon

Galileo

Julie

TaurusDesign – https://www.patreon.com/taurusdesign

Cassandra Bathroom

Eliza walk in closet

Lilith Chilling Areas

Clutter Cat - https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/thec...

Busy bee 2

Busy bee

JapanJuice

MellowMoods

TUDS -https://www.patreon.com/TudTuds

2nd Wave Merged

Beam Parte2 v01 merged

Beam kitchen merged

Cross merged

Ema dining room merged

Ind merged

Turn living merged

Wave merged

Awingedllama – https://www.patreon.com/awingedllama

Apartment therapy inspired stuff v2 merged

Blooming Rooms Plants Merged

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materassassino · 4 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

(Hm, maybe I should make my own cute graphic for this...)

Not tagged directly by @emmalostinwonderland but I saw it from her so it counts.

I'm finishing up the "Joe and Nile go to Nile's funeral" fic, so you get a snippet of that. Hopefully it will be done at the weekend, and I can get it beta'ed and posted!

Back in the hotel room, Joe breaks the silence. “Do you want something to eat?” he asks. “We can get room service.” He smiles, something encouraging. Nile thinks about it. Is she hungry? She isn’t sure, but she’s also sure that simply curling under the covers and wallowing in the mud of her own mind won’t help. She tentatively nods. “Pancakes?” she suggests hopefully. “We will have pancakes!” Joe announces, heading over to the phone. “You can order on the hotel app…” Nile says, but he makes a face. He might be more tech-savvy than Nicky or Andy, but that doesn’t mean he particularly likes it, and it makes Nile huff in amusement. She plops herself on the end of the bed, staring at the dark TV as Joe orders the old-fashioned way. Belatedly she realises the remote is over on the bedside table, and she turns to scowl at it, not wanting to move. Joe follows her gaze and tosses it to her with a grin. She flicks through and settles on something easy on the brain. Adventure Time is familiar and comfortable. She remembers watching it with Davie, perhaps a little too old for it, but happy to have something to share with her little brother. They hadn’t grown apart, as teens, but their worlds had started to feel very different. Now they are apart, and their worlds are basically different planets. She scoots back on the bed, propped against the headboard, shoes kicked to the floor and ankles crossed. Joe, it seems, has finished ordering, and Nile pats the bed beside her. There’s a warm, happy bubble inside her chest as he accepts the invitation. “What’s this?” he asks. “Adventure Time,” she says. “Who are they?” “Finn is the kid, Jake is the dog. And that’s Marceline the Vampire Queen.” “I don’t think dogs usually do that,” Joe says wryly as Jake stretches his limbs to ridiculous lengths. Nile snorts. The pancakes arrive (“It was a robot, Nile! A robot!”), with all the maple syrup and blueberries she could ever ask for and very good coffee. Joe spreads Nutella on his like it’s bread, and he laughs at the horrified expression on her face. As they keep watching (Joe asking far too many questions, it’s honestly like watching something with her mother), something in Nile settles. It isn’t contentment, but it’s something like… being ok with it. She feels too calm to explore it further, as if touching it might make overwhelming sadness break containment, so they keep watching, and she explains exactly what the deal is with the Ice King, even though it’s spoilers all the way down.

I am tagging @daegred-winsterhand @dangerouscommiesubversive (as always) @veradragonjedi @non-un-topo and @youssefguedira

#the old guard #nile freeman #yusuf al kaysani #pixie writes #wip wednesday

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popcornforone · 1 year

Text

Cherry Kisses

A Dave York Fan Fic

Well it’s been a while hasn’t it, but here we are back on Saturday, back with Dave York, back to where it all began. All because I had a cocktail out & about this week & my mind while I started drinking it made me think Mr York would not approve of this. So here we are now on Saturday telling you how that would all go down.

This is not apart of my Dave York world I have created, this is a stand alone, however It could work for some of the summer vibes I’m thinking of writing.

Synopsis: You are Dave Yorks handler when he flys out on mission, which come with added benefits. But this Sunday night the cocktails you order really make things move.

Word Count: 3200

Warnings: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!!! PIV rough sex, cheating, affair, but an established benefits relationship, alcohol, swearing, teasing, fingering, slight choking. Mentions of death violence & blood because it’s who it is. Over stimulation. DAVE YORK AS ALWAYS COMES WITH HIS OWN WARNING!

Thanks as always for the read peoples, all feedback is always welcome. Happy Dave York Saturdays!!!

Sunday night & another successful mission for Dave York. As his handler this means you’ve sorted everything out for him for the mission to be a success before hand & while he’s been on assignment. It also means drinks at the bar & rough sex later. It’s your arrangement. If it’s not in his home state & you are with him, that’s what you do. He needs to let off steam, find a release. 3 double Jacks on the rocks & your pussy are his reward for a successful mission, before you both get back on a flight where he returns to being a doting dad & loyal husband.

You have interconnected hotel rooms & you hear his door shut. He’s alive at least, you can hear movements while you’re busy doing your planning & researching for the next mission in 10 days time.

*7pm bar, down stairs, no dry cleaning required today

That’s the message you receive. He’s very firm, in command & to the point in everything he does. Precision in his work & life. Discipline so then he doesn’t break his own rules. This also means he’s not covered in lots of blood & not injured. No sudden rush to a pharmacy like the 2nd time you were his handler & he almost bleed out on you.

You don’t dress up for drinks, you put on your black jumpsuit that buttons up at the front. You know Dave likes teasing you as he undoes any buttons, your own or his. It doesn’t matter, the words that come out of his mouth are always absolute filth or full of praise, & if you weren’t already in the mood, that would make sure you were aroused. Not that you’d ever say no to those eyes, no one could.

Daves never at the bar first, he always likes to make an entrance like he’s a boyfriend or colleague running late so you both have more alibis in the room. An extra piece of security. This hotel has bar by the pool outside, so you go to that one on this warm early summer evening & order his double whisky on the rocks when you notice their cocktails menu. All the classics are on there, cosmo, sex on the beach, a Long Island, it’s all there. But on there specials list is a Cherry Bakewell cocktail. Dark rum, amaretto, cranberry & cherry juice, lime & maple syrup with a small amount of tonic over ice. Why not? You think. It goes on expenses. What’s one cocktail going to do? You order it & then find a table & wait for your drinks to come over. Dave then makes his enterance & comes & sits next to you before giving you a big kiss, clearly playing the boyfriend roll tonight. The golden wedding ring he wears so proudly missing from the finger to make sure appearances are what they should be.

“Sir, your girlfriend has ordered you a double Jack on the rocks” says the barman when he brings the drinks over “& for you mama your cocktail, our house special the Cherry Bakewell. I hope you have a lovely evening”

Daves face at the name of the cocktail is one of shock & embarrassment. “A cherry bakewell cocktail?,” Dave exclaims as he reads what it contains on the drinks list “What a waste of good rum, you’d do better with a Mojito” Dave moans & shakes his head as you sip on your long iced drink, but seeing you slurp through the straw & the smile on Your face as the alcohol enters your system, makes him realise that despite you being sweet you could always get a little bit sweater & let you inhibitions go.

“But it’s delicious Dave, why don’t you try it, or are you to sour for the sweet things in life?” Alcohol always after the first sip makes you flirty, that’s how we ended up with this arrangement, & Dave isn’t going to turn down sex offered on a plate is he. No man would. “Well as you insist darling” he says jokingly, before he takes the second straw sticking out of the glass & slurps. You decide to take matters into your own hand & slurp from your straw at the same time, keeping the intense eye contact. You see him try not to enjoy the taste, but there’s a small smile creeping across his lips. A smile of darn it she’s right. He won’t want to admit that this tastes delicious, but he’s drank more than just a sip.

“Could be worse” Dave scoffs “bit too sweet for my tongue but at least you can taste the rum. That’s a good find, I can see why you like it”. The smile & blush from my face is more than the effects of the alcohol. It’s one of the small victory’s you rarely get when conversing with Dave York. He always get the last word, he’s always right so this moment boosts your confidence. “A compliment? Wow! I’m noting this as a win Dave” he has a small laugh before returning to his drink. “This is much better though” he downs his whisky & double checks the name of your drink before getting up to get you both another drink. Even though you’ve started before him he’s already finished. His thirst needs more than just quenching & it’s not just with alcohol.

As the sun completely sets a few hours later Dave smiles at you, he’s loose & carefree & ready for a moment of passion. You’re feeling the effects of your 3 drinks & you just keep the flirting up. A touch of his hand, tucking your hair behind your ears, little side glances, it’s all working. You may not be able to resist this assassins charm, but tonight after 4 doubles, & mentioning how his tounge enjoys your sweetness too, Dave is starting to be enchanted by yours as well. He helps you out of your chair, making sure you are steady & wraps his arm around your waist. His large hand engulfing you, keeping you steady for now before he makes you weak in a few minutes times. “Still good darling?” Dave asks. Your lips capture his. The mix of rum & whiskey tastes scrumptious, not that his lips ever fail to make you fall further. The sex might be great, but it’s the feel of his lips on your body that make you moan the most. No man is as good at kissing as Dave York. His wife is a lucky woman.

“I’m fine baby, why don’t we go upstairs, & retire.” Dave smoulders at your reply, eyes flashing back at you filled with desire. He always prefers it when you ask him, it means you know what you are doing. He wants to be the one who consents to you. “I think that would be a good idea, the more Cherry kisses I can have from your lips in private, the better”. The look of lust is creeping in behind those brooding stares. You walk back through the hotel. A peck occasionally occurs, his hand running up & down your spine, making you tremble. You just can’t wait for him to undress you & make you feel like the sexiest woman in the world, as he makes you moan.

Dave, once you get to your floor drags you straight into his room. Usually he lets you go into your connecting room & you wait for one & other, but tonight he’s cut out the waiting. He wants you more than he usually does, & once the door is locked, he’s pinned you against it, kissing around your neck, sucking into the crook like he was slurping through the straw earlier. “I need you girl, I need to feel all of you” breathy words escape his lips occasionally, already feeling him harden in his jeans. Dave York has every right to be confident & he can back it up.

“Oooh so many buttons” he says as he starts working on your jump suit. “You do listen & learn” “I wouldn’t be good at my job if I didn’t Dave” he grabs your chin keeping your head in place. “& if you were just an average handler, you would not be working with me, & wouldn’t experience all of these additions benefits” Each button Dave flicks open makes you more vulnerable but also more sexy & powerful. “You’re a naughty girl”, “you do bad things”, “do you like a bad boy?”, “bet no other man makes you feel as good as I do” by the time he has said these & countless other praises of your body, & how he likes to ruin you, your jump suit & his shirt are on the floor. You are now allowed to touch him, kissing his wounds, trailing hands across his own chest as he unclips your bra to expose yours. These ever so large & firm hands on you breasts already have you moaning, desperately waiting to see where he wants to have you. This isn’t part of your job description, but you are here to support Daves every need & this is an added bonus & fun for the both of you.

“Dave?” you moans when his trousers are removed, in a question. A question that doesn’t need to be asked but you both know what it means & you just wait to hear his instructions. “Darling, I think we should use the sofa it’s nearest” He drags you onto the 3 seater & makes sure you are on all fours, ready to take him. He slaps your arse to make your body respond before that same large hand smoothly caresses your cheeks, removing your knickers. Your legs spread a little without even thinking about it, knowing you’re about to experience pleasure from a fantastic lover. “Always so ready & wet for me darling” Dave groans & you see a flash fly past you, his boxers landing on the floor ahead of the sofa. The cushions move behind you as Dave perched on the sofa. You grab a pillow & pull yourself nearer to the arm of the chair. You know what Dave wants to do & you know this sofa will move a lot less if you try & grip the other end which isn’t being preoccupied by Daves thrusting.

“Turn your head darling, I want you to see something” which you obey. Dave firmly grabs your chin before he runs his right thumb across your lips. “Suck” A command so firm & forthright that you do just that. His thumb trailing across your lips has always made you want this. The thumb responsible for bringing death to enemies, but also brings you so much to life, when he teases your clit. “That’s my girl” Dave then removes his thumb & sniffs it “your mouth still smells of cherry, well it’s add some sour to that sweetness” your still looking at Dave as he slowly licks his long delicious fingers. They aren’t dripping but they are glistening much like the thumb. But the next thing he does sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine. He takes that hand & starts to tease you. Your own arousal mixing with both of your saliva on his glistening hand. The way the thumb stays over your clit a few seconds longer making you want to cum already. “See mixing alcohol is good for pleasure” Dave sighs before his hand is replaces my his cock, & he breaks through your entrance filling you up in two deep powerful thrusts.

You squeal, in pleasure. It doesn’t matter how many times Dave has had you, he’s always the girthiest man you’ve ever had, & you prefer that to length, not that Dave is lacking in that either. He’s on his knees behind you, going in completely bare, knowing full well that you are both checked out from the medical you both had before you left 2 days ago & that you are on birth control. You feel full & exquisite as his large hand dig into your hips so he can pound away hard & fast as you both make explicit noises. “Dave yessss oooh yesss so good”

You quickly give up on holding the arm of the chair. Dave has started with a blistering pace & you are rocking back into him, so it feels deeper with each thrust, trying to make sure you can feel as much of him as possible. “Imagine if the rest of the people on our floor at work saw us like this darling, the look of disgust on some of their face & the rest of them feeling jealous that they don’t get to fuck your cunt” Daves word just make you moan more so you burry your head into the pillow trying to remain quiet. But the faster Dave goes the harder it is to muffle your screams of delight. “No one but you owns my pussy, no one else gets this service from me” you say when you come up for air.

Dave then grabs you around the neck as you go to bury your head back into the sofa to stop your muffled cry’s. “Darling I want to hear how needy you are” He makes sure your still in your knees as he pulls you up straight, his cock still inside you, pulsing with each thrust making you feel even more pleasure as he drags across your walls. “I want to hear that I’m the only one who gives you these benefits. I’m the only one who deserves them & you deserve mine each time for keeping me safe” Dave growls this before he thirsts his hand into your mouth. “Let’s make my hand wetter than you darling” he’s got all 4 fingers into your mouth & you suck & cover them in saliva before he removes them. Your left hand is teasing your breasts while you’re both still rocking into each other.

“Let’s make all of your lips taste of cherry & rum” Daves moist fingers go straight to your clit & start to stroke it, arousing you more, making you want to soak him instantly. The power of this passion sending you closer to the edge with each thrust & east stroke. “Oooh Dave, fuck baby baby, why are you so good at this?” You croak as your hand that isn’t teasing your breast goes into his hair. “Fuck baby ooooh fuck yesss” “oooh you are that good darling” Dave breathily replies. Your body is responding to all of this the way he hoped, as his hips continue to snap & he is on the edge of his own climax. “I know I didn’t take your cherry, but every time we have sex, & I claim your body, I feel like I’m taking something away from you that I shouldn’t” Dave then really ramps up his pace further with him hand & his cock. You’re both so close.

“Dave, oooh Dave, I learn something else new about my body… every… single… time… we have sex”you response is through panting as you feel his lips in the crook of your neck making your gasp & that & 3 more thrusts is all it takes “moan baby” Dave says huskily as you cry out his name & you cum, soaking him inside you, desperately search for air to fill your lungs, as the pleasure makes you feel powerful & sexy, but also weak & vulnerable at the same time. The hands used for murder just a few hours can also bring you so much desire & joy. As Dave cums he groans & shuts his eyes before he sucks on your neck, the love bite he will inevitably leave can easily be covered up with make up. But that isn’t on your mind right now, you’re on a come down as lashings of Daves cum cover your walls, mixing with your own, a sticky mess inside your which will need seeing too.

Dave need is dealt with. There’s no time for feelings & emotions in this. You’re his quick easy but good fuck. There’s no afterwards snuggles, or romantic words after sex. He’s used his adrenaline over flow & it’s stimulated both of your sex drives. Once his cock is outside of you, he feels nothing for you. He goes to the bathroom & throws you a warm damp cloth so you can clean up as he turns his shower on for himself. “Check out is when?” He asks bluntly. No was that good for you, or do you want to stay. This is just an added benefit to both your working trips away. He knows every time he does this he’s being unfaithful to his wife & being so blunt & to the point is what has helped turn Dave into the greatest assassin in the world & made it easier for him to have this affair So your answer is always to the point back to him. “10am flight leaves at 13:15 Dave” & you head back to your room, your pleasure exhausted for the night but satisfied beyond your wildest dreams.

You are back to being Dave handler the next day & hand him his passport when you get to the airport, Daves in first class & you are in business, at least you are not in coach anymore, Dave always makes sure of that. He heads off to the first class lounge while on the phone to his wife, the wedding ring back on his finger, as shinny as a new penny. you head to the airport bar to use there wifi & have a small glass of wine while you write up yesterdays mission reports.

Over the tannoy you hear that your flight has been delayed by 90mins due to a thunderstorm & that this will have a knock on effect. You sit there typing away when the bar tender brings you a drink. “Oooh no I didn’t order anything” you say to them “it’s come from a gentleman who said you’d understand the note that’s with the drink mama, have a nice day” they say & head back to the bar. There next to the long ice filled drink is a note that reads

*delays mean time for some more cherry kisses, if you know what I mean?

You look up, past your own Cherry Bakewell cocktail now sitting in front of you, & see Dave sitting the far end of the bar slurping on his own Cherry cocktail, smouldering at you. & with those big brown beautiful eyes, who’s really going to turn that man down for another repeat performance. It’s not going to be you girl, you think to yourself as you put your lap top away & smirk back.

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abovethemists · 10 months

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The Worst That Could Happen - Chapter 5

AO3 Link

Summary: Nicholas Rush has been told to lighten up or face repercussions in his professional career. Lacey French is in desperate need of a wedding date. A blind date provides them both with an opportunity. From the prompt “Rushacey blind date”.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

In the end, Rush took a half-day on Thursday, heading north on the I-95 around two in the afternoon. It was just under a four hour drive to Storybrooke, most of the way straight highway. He only had to look at directions on his phone once he exited, taking a twisting forest path through dense green trees. After twenty minutes he was worried he was lost, certain there was no town up ahead, only more greenery. But, before he could fret too much, he saw a sign to the side of the road. “Welcome to Storybrooke”.

The forest finally gave way to small wood framed houses, increasing in frequency as he approached the center of town. It was late afternoon and the sun was starting to set, casting white clapboard and red brick in shades of gold. The houses soon started to be joined by businesses, a fishing supply store here and a convenience store there. Soon he had turned on to Main Street, a quaint little downtown that looked plucked from another era entirely. Main Street seemed to lead down to a wide bay dotted by boats in the harbor, their colorful flags fluttering in the evening breeze.

It was a far cry from Boston, even further from Berkley, Glasgow, anywhere he’d ever lived. It was like something from a story where a plucky female detective investigated murders that rocked the small, closed community.

Rush shook his head. What was supposed to be so great about small towns anyway? No wonder Lacey hadn’t expanded her business. She needed to be somewhere with clients if she wanted to design clothing.

Lacey had given him an address for where to meet her and he’d assumed it was her home. That soon proved incorrect as he turned off Main Street to find 910 Maple.

He stopped the car, parking on the curb and climbing out to look around. Rather than the house or apartment building he’d been expecting, he was faced with a two-story shingle style cottage, its gray paint starting to fleck away in places. Hanging above the small porch was a wooden sign bearing the name Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. He’d noticed a Granny’s Diner on Main Street and the two businesses seemed to back into each other, connected by a late addition to the original buildings.

Rush sighed, walking around to the trunk of his car and pulling out his suitcase. Well, it was Gold’s, in actual fact. He hadn’t owned anything he could hang his borrowed suits in and Gold had insisted his beloved clothing make the trip in style. He hoisted the garment bag over his shoulder and slammed the trunk shut, shuffling up the cement steps that led from the curb up to the B&B.

So Lacey had booked him a room, he supposed. It was just as well, considering he and Lacey barely knew each other. She’d hardly want a strange man sleeping on her sofa no matter how harmless he seemed.

The entrance to the inn was small and slightly musty. He couldn’t imagine there was much use for a hotel in a town as small as Storybrooke, but he’d expect there to be other guests with a wedding in town. From what he’d gathered, the bride was far from local.

There was a small desk nestled under the stairs, a row of recessed key cubbies set into the wall beside it, each bearing a key attached to a shiny brass fob. Rush wasn’t sure he’d ever stayed at a hotel with an actual key rather than a plastic card.

The desk was currently empty and the little bell set atop it made barely a sound when he tapped it, certainly not enough to summon anyone to his aid.

Rush stepped away from the desk, looking around and straining his ears for any sign of life. Perhaps the eponymous Granny was busy in her diner.

He thought he could just make out a mumbling of voices proving he wasn’t alone in the inn when it was punctuated by a loud laugh, well a guffaw really, and he immediately recognized it as Lacey’s. He wasn’t sure how he could recognize the laugh of a woman he’d only known for two short weeks, but he could picture her accompanying smile, her head thrown back, eyes filled with mirth. Rush smiled in spite of himself, following the sound down the hall and into a cozy lounge.

Lacey was seated on a red damask sofa, sagging a little in the middle from use. She had a china tea cup balanced on her knee and a wide smile on her face. Across from her in a high wingback chair was a plump old woman with a graying bun piled up on her head. She had a pair of bifocals hanging around her neck and a thick khaki cardigan wrapped around herself for warmth. Granny, he presumed.

“And speak of the devil, here he is!” Lacey cried, motioning at Rush with both arms spread wide, her tea nearly sloshing out of its cup. “You made it!”

“Uh, I did,” he said, dumbly, nervous as always when faced with Lacey’s full attention. She was smiling at him as if she was genuinely happy to see him and though he knew it was most likely an act, he couldn’t quite stop his own smile at the sight of her.

“So you’re the one who swept in and stole our Lacey,” the old woman said, leveling him with a hard look. Rush turned to face her.

“I haven’t stolen anything,” he returned. “I’m just here for as long as Lacey will have me.”

Granny regarded him for a long moment, before giving a curt nod and standing up.

“Let’s get you checked in, shall we?”

It was the work of moments to get Rush checked in, one of those shiny brass key fobs in hand, even with Granny leveling mild threats at him if he treated Lacey badly.

“She’s mildly terrifying,” Rush said once they were headed up the stairs and out of ear shot.

“Who, Granny?” Lacey asked. Without waiting for an answer she gave a flippant wave of her hand. “She’s harmless. Unless you insult her cooking, that is.”

“Is she your grandmother?”

“No,” Lacey said with a shrug. “Everyone just calls her that since she runs Granny’s Inn and Diner. I don’t think she was the original Granny though. It may have been her mother? Or grandmother? I don’t know. She’s my friend Ruby’s biological grandmother but she fills the role for most people in town. Ruby’s mum split when she was six and Granny raised her. Me and Belle’s mum died when we were 13 and she kind of took it upon herself to mother us too.”

“I didn’t realize you lost your mother so young,” he said. “That must have been difficult.”

“Oh,” Lacey said with a shrug. “I mean sure, it sucked, but it is what it is, right? And we still have dad.”

The last was said with a little eye roll that belied her words. Rush could well understand complicated feelings about fathers.

“And here we are,” Lacey said once they’d reached the end of the upstairs hallway, motioning at the door with a brass number 3 on it. Rush used his key to unlock the door, having to force it slightly with the side of his foot.

The room was small but clean, a little too floral for his tastes. There was a double bed in the middle of the room, a small antique desk beneath the window that looked out toward the forest, and an armchair in the corner next to a lace doily covered rickety side table with a rotary phone on top.

But the thing that most arrested Rush’s attention was the presence of a small duffle bag sitting in the middle of the bed.

“I think Granny gave me the wrong room,” he said, turning to Lacey as she followed him inside.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, stepping around him to throw herself bodily onto the bed, the springs creaking loudly beneath even her slight weight.

He motioned to the suitcase next to where Lacey was sprawled across the bed.

Lacey followed his gaze.

“Oh, that’s mine.”

Rush blinked.

“What?”

Lacey pushed herself up on the heels of her hands, giving him a look like he was somehow stupid. Rush was not stupid.

“It’s our room,” she said slowly.

“Why are we sharing a room?” he returned, just as slowly.

Lacey shrugged. “Because we’re dating, silly. It’d be weird if we didn’t sleep together.”

“I apologize,” Rush said with a little shake of his head. “But I’m a little confused. I assumed I was staying here at the inn because having a strange man in your home was an issue. Why are we both staying here?”

“Oh!” Lacey exclaimed, sitting forward. “Sorry. I figured you didn’t want to stay at my dad’s place. That’d be…awkward.”

“You don’t have your own place?” he asked, before realizing how that sounded. “Sorry, no judgment. I’ve heard it’s hard out there for…millenials.”

Lacey snorted a laugh and Rush winced at how terribly old he must sound.

“No, I had my own apartment,” Lacey said with a nod. “But I’m back with my dad for a bit. Once Will left town I couldn’t afford rent by myself so…” she trailed off.

“You lived together?” he asked. It seemed every time he got more of a glimpse of Lacey’s previous relationship, the more involved it was.

“Yeah, well we were together almost four years. At some point you move in together or you split up.”

“F--four years?” he stuttered out. “You never told me that.”

Lacey blinked.

“Look, Lacey, I need to know what I’m getting into here. You and Will were together for four years? You lived together for some of that time? What, were you ever engaged?”

“No!” Lacey exclaimed. “It was never that serious.”

“Four years and a shared apartment isn’t serious?”

“We were never gonna get married,” she countered. “It was fun and easy, but not earth shattering. We were…glorified roommates. With benefits. Not even great benefits, in case you were wondering.”

He wasn’t.

“Regardless,” Rush continued. “You were together a long time and now, only a few months after your split, you’re attending his wedding. Have you thought this through?”

“Yes!” Lacey exclaimed, hopping up from the bed, the creaky springs bouncing wildly. “Yes, we were together for a while. Yes, he dumped me. Yes, he’s getting married to someone else in an infuriatingly short time span. But I don’t love the guy, okay? If I ever did, those feelings ended long ago, before the relationship did. Right now what I need is a nice, stable boyfriend so I don’t look pathetic and Ana doesn’t get weirdly jealous and decide not to wear my dress last minute. If you don’t feel comfortable with that, well, you can go.”

She pointed to the door of the room, her chest heaving and blue eyes flashing.

“I just want to know what I’m getting into,” he repeated.

Lacey took a deep breath, her arm dropping to her side.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a little nod. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just so fucking tired of people asking me if I’m okay. I’m great.”

“Okay,” he said, unconvinced. He crossed the room to where a small wardrobe stood, and hung up his garment bag inside. “What now?”

Lacey gave him a big smile. “Free booze and crab cakes, baby. Who doesn’t love a wedding? We’re gonna have a blast.”

Rush just grunted in response. He’d never been keen on weddings, but at least there’d be an open bar.

“Oh shit,” Lacey said, glancing down at her watch. “I need to get dressed for tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” Rush asked.

Lacey’s eyes widened.

“Did I forget to tell you? There’s a little party at the diner for the out of town guests.”

“You told me about the rehearsal dinner and you told me about the wedding, that’s all I packed for. I didn’t bring any extra clothes,” Rush said, glancing down at his jeans.

“What you’re wearing is fine,” Lacey assured him. “It’s just Granny’s. It’s a diner.”

“Then why are you changing?” he asked with a pointed look at her leggings and sweater.

“Because I’m a fashion designer,” Lacey crooned. “And people expect me to make a spectacle of myself. I’ll just be a minute!”

She grabbed her bag off the bed, heading into the en suite bathroom and Rush sat back against the rickety bed, the mattress groaning beneath his weight. He tested it a bit, bouncing himself up and down.

It was a good thing he and Lacey weren’t an actual couple. If they tried to get up to anything on this bed, the whole bloody town would know.

It took Lacey twenty minutes in the bathroom with her makeup bag to be ready for the evening’s events. Her dress was store bought, but heavily altered. A fitted black mini dress, she’d opened up the back, using ribbon to criss cross across her back and ending in a bow right above her backside. Paired with her signature heels, it was, perhaps, a little dressy for the gathering at Granny’s. But then again, Lacey had never shied from attention of any sort. Everyone would be looking at the happy couple in any case.

Her stomach churned at the thought, and Lacey squashed down the feeling, smiling at herself in the bathroom mirror instead. There, that was almost how she usually looked.

When she came back out to the bedroom, Rush was seated on the bed, scrolling on his phone. He’d changed his shirt, she noticed. The rumpled blue one he’d been wearing was replaced with a crisp white button down that stood out beautifully against his tanned skin. He looked up at her as she entered, stuffing his phone into his jeans pocket.

“Wow,” he said, his eyes widening slightly. Lacey smiled, pleased by his reaction.

“Not too much?” she asked, twirling to show off the back of the dress she’d worked so hard on.

Rush stood up from the bed, grabbing the brown suede blazer beside him and shrugging it on.

“You, um,” he cleared his throat. “You look nice.”

“Oh Nick, you’ll make me blush,” she said with a wink at him. He shuffled awkwardly, glancing away from her, and Lacey took pity on him.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing him by the elbow and steering him out the door of their rented room. “Adventure awaits!”

Granny’s Diner was, predictably, packed, and Lacey could feel Rush tense up beside her as she opened the door, laughter and the smell of sizzling meat spilling out into the chilly evening. She looped her arm through his, trying to feel confident enough for the both of them.

She whispered names and tidbits of information to Nick as they maneuvered their way through the crowd.

“That tall one with the red streaks in her hair is Ruby,” she whispered into his ear while feigning a flirtatious moment. “Granny’s granddaughter and my oldest friend. The blonde next to her is Ashley. Don’t get stuck in a conversation with her unless you want to be bored to death.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he mumbled back.

“Oh, and here comes the bride,” she intoned, stepping back from Nick to welcome the approaching Anastasia.

“Lacey!” Ana called, her voice a little too loud. There’d been a lot of that in the last week, smiles just a little too wide, excitement just a little on edge. Lacey could have excused it as pre wedding jitters if she didn’t know the truth. Ana was trying desperately to be okay with her presence.

“Hi, Ana,” she said, before being pulled into an awkward hug. She patted the taller woman’s back twice before stepping away. “You look beautiful, as always.”

Ana glanced down at her cream colored shift dress. It was chic and simple but rather than looking plain, Ana sparkled in comparison.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed, grabbing hold of Lacey’s hand. Her eyes slid across to Nick and she gave him one of those overly sincere smiles. “And you must be the professor!”

“And you’re Mary Anne?” he joked. Lacey snorted.

Ana looked confused. “No, I’m Anastasia,” she said, pumping Nick’s hand for all he was worth. “The bride. I’m marrying Will, I believe you’ve met.”

She gestured over her shoulder to where Will was chatting with a few of his mates.

“Of course,” Nick said smoothly. “My apologies.”

“Oh no,” Ana said with a wave of her hand. “I’m so glad you could make it. Please come in, eat something, have a drink. This weekend is all about me, but tonight is about you, the guests!”

“Oh, thank you,” Nick said, looking slightly startled, as though he was staring into the sun and having a hard time not looking away.

“Ana!” someone called from behind them and she grabbed both their hands. “Excuse me,” she said with a brilliant smile and then swanned away with a slight wave in their direction.

“Wow, she is…”

“Gorgeous?” Lacey interrupted, interpreting Nick’s thoughts. Every head in the room swiveled to follow Anastasia. She didn’t have to dress in over the top frocks or towering heels to get attention. She was one of those rare creatures who entered a room and immediately commanded it. Of course Nick had noticed. He wasn’t blind. She wasn’t sure why it annoyed her so much.

Nick looked down at her. “I was going to say chipper,” Rush said with a wry twist of his lips. “Do you think if she keeps smiling like that her face will get stuck?”

Lacey let out a startled laugh, squeezing Rush’s arm before steering him toward a friendlier face.

Ruby was leaning back against the diner counter with a glass of champagne in one hand and a bored expression on her face that split into a relieved smile when she spotted Lacey.

“Oh thank God you’re finally here,” Ruby said, pulling Lacey into a side hug. “I’m supposed to be a guest at this thing but Granny keeps making me hand out hors d'oeuvres. Let’s grab a bottle of champagne and split.”

“No can do,” Lacey said, grabbing Rush’s hand and pulling him to her side.

“Nick, this is my friend Ruby, Rubes, this is Dr. Nicholas Rush. My boyfriend.”

“Pleasure,” Ruby said, holding a red nailed hand to shake his. Her eyes cut across at Lacey, her eyebrows raised in a question.

“Nice to meet you, Ruby,” Rush said, drawing her attention back to him. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting any of Lacey’s friends yet.”

“Oh really?” Ruby asked. “I didn’t even realize Lacey was dating anyone.”

“It’s still a new thing,” Rush said with a shrug. “And you know Lacey, doesn’t want to make a big thing of it.”

“Yeah,” Ruby said, unconvinced. “Lacey is so understated.”

Lacey grinned widely, wrapping her arms around Rush and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“I just wanted to keep him all to myself for a bit.”

“Oh, hey, Lacey,” came a voice from beside them. “I didn’t realize you were coming tonight.”

Lacey spun to see Ashley Boyd, holding a tray of beef and caramelized onion canapés. She grabbed one, stuffing it into her mouth and speaking around it.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Ashley’s eyes darted to where Will was standing and back to Lacey.

“Well…” she began.

“This is my boyfriend,” Lacey cut across her. “Nick Rush.”

“Oh,” Ashley said, looking at Rush with startled blue eyes. “Hello.”

Nick graciously shook her hand.

“So, how did you two meet?” Ashley asked, setting the tray of canapés down on the counter next to Ruby.

“Nick works with Mr. Gold at the University,” Lacey supplied. “Gold and Belle set us up on a blind date about three months ago and, well, fireworks.”

“Oh I don’t think there were any fireworks on your side, sweetheart,” Rush said self-deprecatingly. “But I was certainly awestruck to be on a date with you. Still not sure how I got so lucky.”

Lacey could feel herself blushing at the compliment and worked with it, giving him a soppy little smile.

“That’s so sweet!” Ashley said, before Granny barked at her from behind the bar to pass the canapés again.

“Excuse me, guys, work calls.”

Ruby took a long sip of her champagne, her eyes never leaving Lacey as though she was trying to read her mind.

“Hey, Lace, can I talk to you for a minute?” Ruby asked, her smile strained. “Alone? Excuse us, Dr. Nicholas Rush.”

Ruby grabbed her hand, lugging her toward the back of the diner by the jukebox.

“What are you doing?” Lacey asked.

“Who the hell is that guy?” Ruby returned, motioning toward Rush.

“Dr. Nicholas Rush,” Lacey said with a shrug. “My boyfriend.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes.

“You said you’ve been dating him for three months,” Ruby pointed out. “So how come I distinctly remember you telling me about a one night stand you had with some twenty-two year old three weeks ago?”

Lacey swallowed, buying herself a moment.

“We weren’t exclusive then,” she said.

“Oh bullshit,” Ruby cried. “Where did you find that guy?”

“I told you, he’s friends with Gold,” Lacey said truthfully. “Belle set us up.”

“You’ve never dated an older guy before.”

“Well I’m twenty-eight years old,” Lacey pointed out. “Maybe I’m sick of slumming it with pathetic boys. Maybe I want a real man for once. It seems to be working out for Belle.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “And the two of you have been known to want the same things,” she said, sarcastically.

At Lacey’s silence, Ruby gave an exaggerated huff.

“Fine. He’s your boyfriend,” she said, making air quotes around the word. “I’ll go along with it if it’s what you need right now. But you do owe me an explanation at some point.”

“Can’t wait,” she deadpanned at Ruby’s retreating back.

She stood there for a moment, feeling like she’d been knocked off her groove. She hadn’t expected anyone to see through her ruse quite so quickly. She knew Ruby wouldn’t tell anyone or try to embarrass her, but the more people who knew her secret, the higher the chance she’d end up looking like an idiot.

At least Will and Ana didn’t seem to suspect anything. The bride-to-be was sipping a glass of white wine with a gaggle of adoring buffoons circled around her. Will was on the opposite side of the diner with his own crowd of well wishers. He looked happy. Happier than she’d seen him in a long time.

She wished that didn’t make her want to shatter something.

Instead she opted for a drink, grabbing a glass of champagne off a tray at the bar and swallowing down half of it in one gulp. Then she stood up a little straighter and headed for Will's group. She needed to say hello at the very least.

Rush was standing awkwardly next to Will, surrounded by a few of his friends. He had a beer clenched in his fist and looked at her rather hopelessly as she approached.

"Lacey," he said, and she didn't think she imagined the relief in his voice. She wondered how he'd been drawn into conversation with Will in the first place. She could only hope he wasn't so annoyed with Will and his friends that he abandoned this whole scheme.

“Dr. Rush was just telling us all about academic life,” Will said with a slight twist to his lips. “Never knew you to go for the brainy types, Lace.”

“I didn’t go to college,” boomed Will’s friend John, a giant of a man they all had to crane their necks to see. “Yeah, just wasn’t for me.”

“I think finishing high school is a prerequisite for getting into university, mate,” Will said, slapping his friend on the back.

“Oh and where did you go to school?” Lacey cut across Will. “If I remember correctly, your Facebook profile says you attended the “School of Hard Knocks”. Where is that located? Seattle?”

Will opened his mouth with an undoubtedly witless retort, but was saved the embarrassment by Rush.

“Academia is just another job,” he said. “No better or worse than any other. My father was a dock worker in Glasgow and I did my fair share of manual labor in my youth. I’ve nothing but respect for honest work. Frequently it pays better than teaching too.”

That earned a round of agreement from Will’s friends.

“You know how much underwater welders rake in?” Will’s friend Robin asked. “A guy I used to work with went to diving school and now he’s making six figures.”

The other men all gave suitably impressed grunts of approval and Lacey resisted rolling her eyes.

“Thrilling conversation, lads,” she said, stifling a fake yawn.

“Oh, I apologize,” Will said sarcastically. “Are we boring you?”

“You?” Lacey shot back. “Always.”

Will snorted a laugh. “Well let's get some tequila in you and you can end the night giving half the diner a lap dance.”

“That was one time, you asshole,” Lacey laughed, giving Will a playful shove at the memory of her 24th birthday. “And it wasn’t a lap dance, it was a table dance. Get it right. Granny had me banned for a full 6 weeks.”

Will’s friends all laughed at the memory and for a split second, it felt like life had gone back to normal, to six months ago when everything still made sense. Until they were interrupted.

“Hey, you, I thought I’d lost you,” Ana said, walking up and placing a hand on Will’s shoulder.

“Never,” Will said with gusto, wrapping his arm around Ana’s slim waist and kissing her cheek.

Lacey felt the smile on her face freezing like she was in rictus.

“What’s so funny over here?” Ana asked, glancing around at them all.

Will swallowed uncomfortably. “Oh nothing, just remembering a time Lacey made a fool of herself.”

Ana glanced at Lacey with raised eyebrows.

“That’s me,” Lacey said, raising her champagne glass in salute.

“Hmm,” Ana said, turning back to Will with a pretty little pout. “I’m heading back to the house. I have an early morning tomorrow and I need my beauty sleep.”

“Aw, babe, it’s so early still,” Will groused.

“I have yogalates at 6 and I will look dreadful if I don’t get seven hours sleep before then.”

“Not possible for you to be anything but perfect,” Will said, nuzzling his nose against Ana’s.

Lacey had to clamp her lips together to keep from chucking up her champagne and canapés.

Ana let out a tinkling little laugh, pecking Will on the lips.

“Oh, stop, darling,” she said, lightly slapping him on the chest. “You need to get your sleep too. The last thing we need is you showing up to the wedding completely sleep deprived because you’ve stayed up until the wee hours all weekend, you night owl. Lacey, I’m sure you remember what he’s like.”

Suddenly all eyes swiveled from the happy couple to Lacey. It was Ana’s first public acknowledgment of Lacey’s status as Will’s ex.

“Um, yeah,” Lacey said, unsure of where the conversation was headed.

“But of course that was ages ago. I’m sure his habits may have changed as he matured.”

Next to Ana, Will’s eyes widened, his head dipping almost imperceptibly into a nod. A clear sign she was meant to agree with Ana’s misconception.

“Ages,” she repeated flatly.

Will gave her another little nod.

So, he still wasn’t being honest with his fiance. Lacey felt a bubble of anger rising up in her stomach to be in this position yet again. But never mind all that. She just had to get through the next couple of days. Then she could never see Will or Ana again. Then she could forget this whole horrid thing and, hopefully, move on to bigger and better commissions. Enough to get her own place. Enough to leave Storybrooke entirely.

“Not so sure about matured, though,” Lacey couldn’t help the barb. “There’s something to be said for experience, after all, and Will is certainly lacking in that regard.”

She turned to Rush still standing silently at her side, cupping his cheek with her hand before pulling him down for a kiss. His beard was scratchy beneath her palm, his lips parting in shock as she dipped her tongue into his mouth. His hand came up to cradle her waist, giving her a firm squeeze that also served to push her away slightly.

Lacey stepped back, breaking the kiss as the other assembled guests looked around awkwardly.

“Anyway,” Ana continued brightly, “beauty sleep and all that. I’ll see you tomorrow at the luncheon, Lacey?”

“Of course,” Lacey said, still wrong-footed from Rush’s reaction to her kiss.

Ana gave them all one last brilliant smile as Will walked her to the door.

“I think that’s our cue, too,” Lacey said, downing the remnants of her champagne. Rush was tense beside her, and she needed to free him from this charade as soon as possible before he blew their whole cover. “Goodnight, everyone.”

Rush followed her silently out of the diner and back out into the chilly spring evening.

Rush was quiet on the short walk back to the B&B and Lacey was desperate for something to say to break the tension. Rush had been selling their fake relationship so well up until the end when he’d almost physically recoiled from her. It couldn’t just be the kiss. She’d kissed him before and while surprised, he’d seemed to enjoy it.

They trudged up the stairs and to their shared room at the inn and Lacey couldn’t stand the idea of spending the night with someone who wasn’t speaking to her.

Rush’s shoulders were hunched, his hands buried in his jeans pockets, his face inscrutable. He looked like that miserable man she’d first met in the bar in Boston weeks ago.

“What’s the matter?” she blurted out once they were in their room. “I get the feeling I did something to upset you and I’d rather just know what it is.”

Rush half turned to glance at her, not giving her the benefit of looking her full in the face.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his hands still stuffed in his pockets.

“Please don’t do that,” Lacey said with a sigh. “Something you should know about me, I’m a frank person. I don’t play games and I don’t make you guess what I’m feeling. I’d prefer the same courtesy.”

“Fine,” he said, spinning on his heel. “You made me uncomfortable tonight, are you happy?”

Lacey just blinked.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment.

Rush shook his head. “Look, I know it’s technically what I’m here for, but having you stuff your tongue down my throat to upset your ex boyfriend’s new fiance at her wedding party felt ever so slightly morally reprehensible.”

“So this is about Ana,” Lacey said, crossing her arms against her chest. “I suppose she’s got you in her thrall too already. And you’ve only just met her. I suppose it’s no surprise Will is ready to marry her after only a few months.”

“This isn’t about Ana,” Rush countered. “Though she seems like a perfectly nice person and I'm unsure what she’s done to piss you off so badly.”

Lacey didn’t have an answer for that. It wasn’t Ana’s fault. She hadn’t known of Lacey’s existence when she met and fell for Will. She hadn’t even known they’d ever dated until recently and she still didn’t know the extent of their past relationship. None of this was Ana’s fault. But she was just so bloody perfect. Lacey was used to being desired, to men finding her attractive. She’d never felt ugly until she stood next to Anastasia. She’d never been a jealous person until that striking blonde had showed up. She was wildly jealous of Anastasia, for everything she was and everything Lacey wasn’t.

“I dated Will for four years,” she said. “And he broke out in hives at the hint of any sort of commitment whatsoever. He didn’t even go to Belle and Gold’s wedding with me because he was so freaked out by marriage as an institution. But he’s willing to marry her? Some girl he barely knows?”

“You wanted to marry him,” Rush accused.

“No!” Lacey shot back. “I never even thought about it. If he’d ever asked I’d have laughed in his face. But having someone so soundly reject you stings. Forgive me if I think I’m owed the right to be a little salty about all this.”

Rush took a deep breath before nodding.

“Could you just not spring any more surprise kisses on me?” he asked, tentatively. “We can hold hands and dance and flirt, but no more of that. You made me feel…” he trailed off, seemingly unable to find an appropriate word.

Lacey felt suddenly small, like the tiniest most insignificant person in the world.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “No more kissing. I’ve got it.”

Rush gave her another stiff nod before going to the wardrobe and shrugging off his blazer to hang it there.

That was the end of that, then. No kissing. No rubbing her “relationship” in Will’s face. Suddenly the weekend didn’t seem so fun.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up and change into her pajamas, Lacey found herself lying in bed beside Rush, the awkwardness between them almost unbearable. She wasn’t sure how to approach him now. She’d played too fast and loose and made him uncomfortable. He was a good man doing her a massive favor and she’d alienated him after an afternoon. She was a completely shit person.

“I’m sorry,” she said aloud, unsure if Rush was even still awake on the other side of the bed with his back to her. “I really am.”

“I know,” he returned, his voice sleepy. “It’s alright.”

It wasn’t though. And she didn’t know how to make it so.

“You’re an excellent kisser, by the way,” he said into the darkened room. “That’s not what this is about.”

She stared at his back in the gloom, wondering where he was going with this.

“Thanks?” she said, her statement sounding like a question.

Rush snorted a laugh.

“I just didn’t want you getting the wrong idea,” he continued. “Under other circumstances…” he trailed off, letting the statement hang in the air.

“Yeah,” Lacey agreed.

She rolled over on the creaky mattress, putting her back to Rush. Maybe if Gold had set them up when they’d had no ulterior motives. Maybe if she’d been a fully functioning adult. Maybe…

Lacey drifted off to sleep on the thoughts of what might have been.

#anyelle #raven's fic #rushacey #fic: the worst that could happen #rumbelle fic

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itsgeecheebitch · 6 months

Text

TITLE: Until Darkness Descends

CHAPTER: 46/47

FANDOM: Final Fantasy XV

RATING: Explicit

MAIN PAIR: Ardyn Izunia x Reader

SEC PAIR: Gladiolus Amicitia x Reader

SERIES: The Fall Part 1 of 4

It was like the gates of heaven opened up and you heard the angels sing. You wondered if this was how true awe felt like as you gazed upon the walls of water that surrounded you and your friends on all sides. The city state of Altissa was like something out of a fairy tale, with light blue and ivory buildings, clear canals in place of hard concrete roads, and the scent of baked bread following you wherever you went. But your awe was short lived. As much as you wanted to enjoy being in a foreign land, you couldn't escape the yoke of guilt that had your heart in a chokehold.

You promised yourself that you would reveal everything to Gladiolus once you reached Altissa during the boat ride. But now that you were here, you felt like a chicken who just got its head choked off, your anxiety reaching its limit. You breathed around the panic-induced noose around your throat, your anxiety retreating but never truly leaving.

The thought to postpone the conversation with Gladiolus tickled the back of your skull. It wouldn’t be bad to give it another day, right? The five of you weren't even in Altissa for more than fifteen minutes, and with the mission looming over your heads, it would probably be a good idea to keep your lips sealed until after Noctis gained Leviathan's blessing. You nodded to yourself, making another silent oath you swore this time not to break. Gladiolus didn't deserve to have the weight of your infidelity on his shoulders while he tried to evacuate the city. This was for his benefit and not yours.

Feeling a little looser, but not at all completely relaxed, you traversed the pristine sidewalk of the fairy tale city. Your group's first destination was the first secretary of Accordo’s office, madam Camellia Claustra. Without her enthusiastic support, there was no way Noctis and Lunafreya would be able to commune with the water goddess. The fate of the mission rested upon her decision and whether or not the prince could successfully sway her to their side.

You welcomed the pressure of the mission like a welcoming embrace, hoping it would replace the shadow of your transgressions that haunted every corner of your mind. You would've been successful if Gladiolus hadn't suddenly pulled away from the group, saying he had an errand to run and would meet up with everyone at the hotel they pre booked in advance.

Anxiety punched you in the gut, causing the impact to reverberate through your muscles. Gladiolus hadn't mentioned having to run an errand during the boat ride. He only just recently revealed his reason for parting from the group before. And this time couldn't have been for training purposes. What if he sensed your betrayal? What if he finally put your long silences and distance together and came to the inevitable conclusion? Terror clawed up your throat, making your esophagus burn like it had just been scratched from the inside. You weren't ready for him to find out yet.

The rest of your group moved on without him, meanwhile you were silently falling apart behind them. Your anxiety hadn't quelled even once you arrived at the secretary’s office. You paced the polished maple wood floors, dread riding on your back, causing a restless energy to zing through your limbs like a ball flying off the walls.

Noctis had disappeared into the secretary's office while you and your friends waited in the adjoined sitting room. The only sound in the air was your pacing footsteps. There was no concealing your nervousness. It was palpable, almost tangible in its intensity, as though you could touch it and grab it. Your ceaseless pacing seemed to catch your friends' attention since Prompto asked, “you okay?”

Nerves leaped off your shoulders as you looked at him, as though you forgot you were with company. Your throat refused to comply when you tried to swallow, your tongue as dry as the lands you hailed from. “Y-yeah.” You stuttered. “Just a little nervous.”

“Don't be, Noct's got this!” He flashed you one of his cheerful smiles. You gave him a weak one in response, one that was weighed down by the chaos you hid behind it.

“He may not look as such, but Noct is well versed in the game of politics, such was his education from birth.” Your adopted brother added from his position against the wall. “Have faith in our prince, he'll see this through.”

You nodded your head, wringing your hands as you did. Their encouraging words did nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. They were completely in the dark, ignorant to what was truly occupying your every thought. You stopped your pacing to look at them, a bottomless sadness made your chest feel empty. You wondered how they would react once it all came out. Once they found out about your infidelity.

They would surely hate you. You would lose your boyfriend and your friends all in a single day. The inevitability of it all made you want to crumble to your knees and wail for all of Altissa to hear. In the back of your mind, you heard dream Ardyn’s words of warning, his foretelling of events to come. Your arms froze over with goosebumps as you remembered. ‘Even if you don’t, who is to say your friendships won’t suffer as a consequence? Do you really think they would keep you in their little boy’s club if you become an inconvenience?’

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, he was right. Everything he said in your dream was true. Despite being friends with the boys for years you still didn’t enjoy the same bond they had with each other. They would choose Gladiolus.Your eyes misted with tears and you rubbed them to keep your tears at bay. Who knew the riff in your friendship would be caused by your own hands, not your overestimated incompetence in battle, or uselessness after three or four heals, but a choice that was completely avoidable.

Just like what your dream foretold, your friendship would suffer as a consequence and you would no longer be a welcomed guest in their club. Fifteen minutes of dreadful silence passed when Noctis returned to the waiting room, a triumphant smile on his face that let you know he succeeded in his task. Your smile was weak as your friends celebrated, with pats on Noctis’ shoulder and words of praise.

Out of the three of them Noctis would be the least forgiving. The two of you weren’t necessarily close, at least in comparison to you and Prompto or even your adopted brother. You considered Noctis a friend and you were sure he considered you one as well. But your connection was flimsy in comparison to the familial bond he had with Gladiolus. He would surely be the first to discard you and not look back. A putrid taste singed the back of your throat at the thought of being the subject of his contempt. The thought of his deep blue eyes cut you before it could even happen.

After going over some of the plan, you and the boys journeyed over to the hotel. It was much more opulent than the Leville in Lestallum, with a ghostly white exterior, high archways, and a collection of square and arching windows. Its reflection rippled over the crystal clear water of the canal as you entered. Geometric shapes decorated the wooden floors of the lobby where you checked in.

Riding the elevator to the third floor, you separated from the boys to go to the room you shared with Gladiolus, possibly for the last time. An unrelenting knot tightened your throat as you wondered if your boyfriend was inside, waiting to have a talk with you. Your stomach twisted with unease, the door creaking open as you entered. Much to your relief the room was deadly silent and Gladiolus was nowhere to be found.

Something scarlet red caught your attention and you looked at the bed. Sitting on top of the plush blanket was a long evening gown. It spilled over the white comforter like blood, leading your eyes to the pair of silver heels on the floor. You approached the bed, your chest tightening when you touched the dress and found it was velvety soft and silky smooth. It was no doubt expensive and definitely not a welcome gift from the hotel.

That only left Gladiolus. A pang shot through the muscles holding your chest together. The feeling worsened when you noticed a folded piece of paper on top of the dress. When you opened it and read it you felt worse than dirt. Gladiolus wanted you to put on the dress and meet him downstairs in the lobby by 7pm. You looked at the clock hanging on the wall, the hands pointing at 6 pm. That only gave you an hour to prepare.

You weren’t sure what Gladiolus had planned, but whatever it was you were sure it would only plant the knife in your chest six inches deeper. Throwing on the dress, you painted your face as best you could with the little make up you brought with you. You were on the elevator riding down to the lobby with five minutes to spare.

You spotted Gladiolus immediately once the elevator door opened. He was leaning against the wall, his broad muscled form concealed behind a black suit. His shoes were polished and shone under the fluorescent light, his hair combed smooth and flowed down his neck. The sound of your heels clacking against the floor caught his attention and he smiled the moment he met your eyes.

You squeezed your hand with the other and forced yourself not to look down at the floor. This would be the last time you would be on the receiving end of one of those smiles. The last time you would be able to appreciate his beauty, his love, his intelligence, everything you took for granted.

Once you were close enough, he handed a bouquet of roses to you. Crimson like the color of overflowing wine and white like the sight of freshly fallen snow. You accepted the flowers and gave him a smile you hoped didn't look as forced as it felt.

“Thank you.” You muttered. “What is all of this for?”

“There's a five star restaurant here”, he nodded his head towards the opulent looking door beside him. It towered over the other doors in the lobby and was fashioned in intricate carvings of gold and silver. “Thought it would be good to check it out. It's been a while since I did something like this for you. We may be here for only a short while but you deserve to experience what this city has to offer.”

Tears filled your eyes without your consent. You tried to blink them away but they overflowed down your cheeks anyway. Gladiolus stiffened. His eyes slightly widened with panic and worry. “What’s wrong?”

Everything. The fact that you cheated, that you betrayed a good man who didn’t deserve your disloyalty. The fact you would lose your place in the group before the mission was over. Instead of saying what was on your mind, you sniffled and gently wiped the tears from under your eyes. “I just…been feeling overwhelmed lately.” You said. “I just want everything to stop already.”

Circling his arms around your waist, he brought you into his warm and safe embrace. The beat of his heart played a gentle tune in your ear, his deep voice rumbled in his chest as he spoke. “This’ll all be over soon.” He promised. “ Noct will gain all of his ancestors' blessings along with the gods, he'll reclaim Lucis from the Nifs and he and Lunafreya will get married and everything will go back to normal.” He pulled away from you a bit to look down at your tear-streaked face. His lips quirked in a half smile as he delivered the finishing blow, “maybe after all of this we could get married, I wouldn't mind tying the knot in a city like this”.

Your chest shattered into a million pieces, leaving your heart beating and abandoned on the floor. Did he just propose to you? Horror froze your face in a state of shock. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what to do. He essentially promised to marry you and you were planning on breaking up with him. Without knowing what else to do, you plastered a weepy smile on your face and let him kiss you. It felt like the weight of the world was crushing your shoulders, shoving you deep into the pits of the earth.

#fanfiction #fanfic #a03 fanfic #ardyn lucis caelum #ffxv ardyn #ardyn izunia #final fantasy xv #ardyn izunia x reader #ardyn x reader #final fantasy x reader #gladiolus amiticia #gladiolus x reader #ffxv gladiolus #noctis caelum #prompto argentum #ignis scientia #ff15 ardyn

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sergeifyodorov · 8 months

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As a Scheherazade super fan, I'd LOVE some DVD commentary, not sure if this is 500 words sorry but I love this bit:

The memories surge up into Auston’s mouth like vomit now, Mitch Mitch Mitch Mitch Mitch. A teammate, but not a friend. No mini-sticks in Patty Marleau’s basement, no Matt Martin ruffling Mitch’s hair, no Bogo fumbling in the kitchen with them as they stumbled through an Internet recipe.

Their first or second year, Babcock cornering Mitch at one end of the locker room and muttering to him in a low voice, the Babs voice that means it’s this or a bagger worse than any you’ve ever had, and Mitch not even bothering to protest, just hanging his head low and ducking like he had a tail to put between his legs. The list, teammates that hustled hard and then ones that put in the work and then the lazy no-good sons of bitches and then Mitch dead last, and not one person in the room even daring to talk back to the coach about it.

John Tavares, coming to Toronto for Mitch. Because he wanted a true superstar winger, and Mitch was producing seventy-odd points a season as a perennial thirdliner. Johnny, proud and composed, getting laid out against Montreal, blood on the ice and jerking limbs. Mitch flinging the puck over the glass, fighting tears in the box. Johnny, who failed his physical before training camp cause of the concussion and never played again. There’s time left on his contract, sitting forever in LTIR now. He’s still the captain. He won’t be back.

Auston chokes, putting his hands on the floor, trying to ground himself.

“I’m sorry,” Barilko says, and Auston jumps. He didn’t realize he was still here.

“Of the hockey gods,” Barilko says, sounding a little sad, “I have never been known for kindness.”

Auston lets out the rest of a ragged breath, then takes one more.

“But then again,” says Barilko, “have any of them?

“Good luck, thirty-four; you will need it.” There’s a sudden silence in the room; the newfound quiet after background noise disappears. He’s gone, then.

Auston allows himself one more memory on the floor: the apartment fire. He wasn’t there for this, but Mitch’s house burned down while he was at the draft. Auston was there six months ago when his own apartment building burned down -- a cold snap raced through Toronto and much of continental North America, and someone in his building had a space heater that caught something. He remembers coming back to the burning condo, the air hazy with smoke and the fumes of his breath, the fire the brightest light for miles.

So where is he now?

He opens his eyes. The floor is hardwood, but not his own; probably maple from the colour, brushed to prevent scrapes for longer. The memory of this universe is still coming back to him; this place isn’t so instantaneously recognizable. He stands up. It’s a bedroom, even if it’s not his. There’s no dresser, just a few folded sweatpants and suits next to a case, and no art, at least nothing that wouldn’t be amiss in a mid-level hotel. The feel of it creeps in before the context: he’s stayed here for a while, but he doesn’t think of it as home.

He also doesn’t have a bathroom connected to the bedroom, which is fine, but he kind of does need to pee right now so he heads for the door.

There’s a dog on the other side. The flow of memory has slowed to a trickle, and some part of it has caught up enough with him to supply that Felix (God and Jesus -- he missed having Felix, he doesn’t know what other-universes him was thinking) is sleeping downstairs, you’re ever-grateful that you were out on a walk with him when the fire started and also that this dog is not Felix.

It’s Zeus. Mitch’s boy.

Zeus taps his toes a few times on the hardwood floor in front of Auston, whistling out his nose and giving his tail a hesitant shake.

“Hi,” Auston says, and the last piece of this world clicks into his brain, like it was kept from him for a dramatic reveal. He’s staying at Mitch’s house, has been since pretty much the New Year -- a week after the fire. It’s June now, Cup Final season. Toronto still hovers ‘round sixty Fahrenheit, even if the days last well into the night. He’s not usually here this late into the year, doesn’t realize how sticky the first few hot days can get.

“You’re right,” he mutters, to Barilko in general, but, since he’s not here, to no one in particular. “It does hurt.”

Zeus snorts at him, comes up to poke at his hand for pets. Auston gets a wet nose in his palm and sighs, because there’s something Zeus clearly wants from him that he doesn’t have.

“What’s up, bud?” he asks, and Zeus takes a few steps back, snorting again like he wants Auston to follow him.

Okay, sure.

SCHEHERAZADE mon ami my debut showcase still the best thing ive ever written imho etc etc. anyway. yes i can dissect EVERY word if need be

The idea for this fic as a whole came about in a discussion with some friends of mine on a discord server; we were talking about the ultimate tragedy of this draft class and how no matter how it goes, it would be terrible, dramatic, miserable, et cetera. One of us pointed out how even if the picks were in the same order it could be worse: if Connor had been injury-prone instead of unlucky his first season, if the other, veteran Leafs hadn't so willingly embraced and defended Mitch. I don't entirely agree with Kyle Dubas' modus operandi of summoning exclusively sentimental old men as Leafs depth for those first few years, but without them maybe it would have been worse.

Notes for the specific examples: Marleau's kids LOVE 16 and 34, and what is it hockey kids do besides mini-sticks? Also, Zach Bogosian is apparently an accomplished cook.

The infamous list incident. In real life, those that were shown the list were actually really mad at Babcock, but in this universe, again, playing off the concept that things could be a lot worse just where they are, no one defends him. God Babcock just makes my fucking skin crawl.

I'm not sure how known this particular part of Leafs lore is, but Mitch's whole Mitch thing was actually a huge part of the dramatic Tavares signing. Part of the reason he came home was for Mitchy -- not the only reason, but part of it.

I've talked about it a few times, but one of the first times I decided to actively sit down and watch hockey was the Montreal series, game one, where JT caught an edge and hit Corey Perry's knee. Injuries are never fun to watch, and that was horrifying in real time -- it certainly looked like he'd never play again. Actually, it looked a lot closer to him dying than ever playing again.

Like Strange Trails trying to elicit emotions like disgust, visceral sensation, etc, Scheherazade is more of... a kind of meditative depression. I wanted to twist the knife at every opportunity that I could, and the JT injury is a pretty clear candidate for "could have been a LOT worse," so I took the chance to make it a lot worse.

Auston chokes, putting his hands on the floor, trying to ground himself.

“I’m sorry,” Barilko says, and Auston jumps. He didn’t realize he was still here.

“Of the hockey gods,” Barilko says, sounding a little sad, “I have never been known for kindness.”

Right. Bill Barilko. I've been utterly fascinated by him and the story of his disappearance ever since listening to the song -- you know the one -- and have kind of always thought of him as a representation of The Curse ever since. In a way, he's kind of like the Vladdy Konstantinov of his time: spirited, a team's lifeblood, wins the Cup and never plays again. In the years since his disappearance (they won the Cup twice after he died, but only twice in seventy years) nothing really good has happened to the Leafs. Or, at least, nothing that made the Curse go away.

Auston lets out the rest of a ragged breath, then takes one more.

“But then again,” says Barilko, “have any of them?

“Good luck, thirty-four; you will need it.” There’s a sudden silence in the room; the newfound quiet after background noise disappears. He’s gone, then.

Isn't all of hockey a tragedy, though? To go out on a high note is rare, and more common are the ones who flame out or never go back to the ways they once were.

The luck thing is largely a marker of my personal philosophy towards the playoffs: there's skill, there's learning what it's like to win, but it's also knowing that you have to roll the dice -- one bad bounce can end your season, one good bounce can write you into the history books forever. In a seven-game series in the NBA, the "better" team -- the one with the higher standings placement after an eighty-game season -- wins about 80% of the time. To have the same kind of predictability in hockey, you'd need more than fifty games.

Also, for the line about silence: I always thought of that sensation as like... imagine you're running a fan or some kind of white noise generator in the background, and you run it so long you don't really notice it's going, and then you turn it off and are suddenly wildly aware of the lack of noise.

I also tried to play with a lot of repetition, recurring instances of things -- why Auston always seems to be losing his airpods, for example. Mitch Marner's house actually did burn down when he was at the draft, and I needed a way to get Mitch and Auston together so they'd FINALLY start solving problems instead of crying on balconies.

So where is he now?

He also doesn’t have a bathroom connected to the bedroom, which is fine, but he kind of does need to pee right now so he heads for the door.

A couple of notes here: Auston strikes me as someone who's very aesthetically driven, very interested in making things look pretty and understanding art and design -- why he notices the colour of the floor and that the wood has been brushed.

Another note is that the feeling of Mitch's whole house was inspired by my ...stepmother's? suburban house. (She and my father are married, but they only started seeing each other after I was already almost an adult, so she never actually did anything close to parenting. Father's wife, I suppose. I do like her, though, so that kind of feels insulting? Anyway). It's a very nice home, comfortable and large and well-lived-in, but it just doesn't feel quite like somewhere I personally could live whenever I visit.

"like it was kept from him for a dramatic reveal," lol. It was kept from you for a dramatic reveal, I'm just being a little-tongue-in-cheek.

I use Celsius, but Auston's American so he would definitely use Fahrenheit -- I tried to keep track of Canadianisms and Americanisms throughout the fic. For example, if you go back and reread Eichel's section, the narration uses American spelling, meanwhile everything else I spell shtuff the Canadian way. Except "defence" versus "defense." Can never decide about that one.

Also, as a sadly-former Toronto resident, summer gets HUMID and STICKY and it is the WORST. It's not as wet in the spring and fall as somewhere like Vancouver would be -- prefers to storm instead of constant fog -- but in the summer it is so wet it's like breathing in soup.

“You’re right,” he mutters, to Barilko in general, but, since he’s not here, to no one in particular. “It does hurt.”

After several lifetimes of hunting down Mitch, I can only imagine how awful being right next to a very close but fake version of him would be. Yeowch!

#asks #scheherazade #auston matthews #more directors commentary :]

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