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megalony · 3 months

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Stay With Me

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, requested by the lovely @klovesreading, I hope you all like it. Feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream

911 Masterlist

Summary: After an argument with Eddie, (Y/n) picks up an extra shift at work. Both of them wish she didn't when she gets shot on duty.

Enjoy.

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(Y/n) hauled off Eddie's hoodie that she had been wearing all afternoon and slung it over the back of the dining room chair before she headed through into the kitchen. It felt strange to have the house deathly quiet and barely alive like this. But she had just taken Chris to spend the night with Evan since they hadn't had a lot of time together recently and Chris was starting to miss his uncle Buck.

She loved Chris to death, he had quickly wormed his way into her heart and when he started to call (Y/n) mum, it was the best day of her life. She wasn't used to having the house this quiet without him playing his video games or dancing away to music. But it would be nice to have a night with Eddie without having to worry if Chris could hear them or if he was alright and check what he was doing.

She knew he was with Evan and having the time of his life; whenever her brother came round Chris never wanted him to leave. Last week he went as far as having a meltdown when Evan had to go on shift and leave them. At least he didn't have to be upset this time, he could spend the full night with 'his Buck' and (Y/n) knew Eddie was relieved that Chris's first night away from home- other than being with his grandparents- was with someone they both trusted.

Rounding the kitchen counter, (Y/n) tiredly looked in the fridge, trying to decide if she was actually hungry or not. She had been feeling sick today and the past few days she had no energy, even when she was at work all she wanted to do was go home to bed.

(Y/n) could hear that Eddie had put the tv on in the living room a few minutes ago when he came home and she guessed he would soon be looking for a movie to watch together. With his work pattern, whenever Eddie got an evening or a day off, he binged a few good movies because he didn't have a lot of free time to watch movies. Other than the same five cartoon movies Chris was currently obsessed with.

"When did you get this?"

Pulling away from the fridge, (Y/n) heaved it shut with a sigh and turned on her heels to look over at Eddie.

Her eyes raked over his frame, noticing the way his hair was brushed back on his head and curling up at the ends like he had run it through with wax. He was wearing a dark grey sleeveless shirt and his body was leaning up against the kitchen doorway. His arms were crossed over his chest and for a second, (Y/n) wasn't sure what he was referring to, until her eyes landed on the small box he had put on the counter in front of him.

A pregnancy test.

"Oh, uh, I don't know, last week maybe?" She leaned forward on the counter and arched her back out with her arms folded in front of her.

(Y/n) had bought so many pregnancy tests this last year that she couldn't remember when she got most of them. Usually when she thought she had one in the bathroom cupboard, she went and found she'd already used it and had to go for another. That was probably a spare one she'd bought on the off chance of needing it.

It was a sore subject to talk about at the moment.

A whole year they had been trying. A year of wanting to get pregnant and coming up empty handed with a lot of false positives. Chris had become (Y/n)'s child as much as Eddie's when they got married, he was calling and referring to her as his mum and (Y/n) was in the process of adopting him. But it didn't stop her wanting to have a baby of her own.

She yearned to have a baby and see Eddie with a baby in his arms and Eddie had as much baby fever as (Y/n), but nothing was going to plan. (Y/n) was pregnant two months after they got married but it hadn't been straight forward. (Y/n) thought she might have been pregnant, she had a suspicion but before she could take a test or book a doctor's appointment, she woke in the night with horrid cramps and found out she'd miscarried without really knowing she was pregnant.

That was as close as she came to being pregnant. For the year that they had been trying, nothing had happened and (Y/n) didn't know what to do with herself or how to get out of the slump it was putting her in.

"I thought we agreed not to do any more tests for a while?" Eddie uncrossed his arms and crossed the kitchen to reach her but he hated the glum, broken look in (Y/n)'s eyes when she looked up at him.

Without replying, (Y/n) simply shrugged and started to tangle her fingers together. She didn't acknowledge Eddie's hand on her lower back because she knew where this conversation was going to go. All she did was tilt her head to the right when Eddie's lips merged with her neck and she let herself melt into the feeling, just for a while.

"Mi amor?"

"I wasn't intending on using it, not yet anyway." She didn't remember when she bought it, she had on intentions of sitting and looking at a negative test.

"That's what you said before," Eddie rolled his lips together and took a deep breath when (Y/n) shrugged out of his touch and turned to face him with one elbow leant on the counter.

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to joke. We said we wouldn't take any more tests after last time."

Eddie didn't want to come home and find (Y/n) slumped on the floor, staring into the void of a negative test. Unable to move, unsure what to say. If she wanted to do a test Eddie would rather (Y/n) do it when he was home with her but that being said, he didn't want to take any more tests. Not unless they were dead certain they were within a chance of having a positive.

He was sick of seeing the negatives on the test and watching a little piece of (Y/n) break each time they took a test. Eddie would rather forget about tests all together and forget that they were trying for a baby. If they didn't overthink this, then maybe they would have a baby without having to focus and try so hard.

"And we're not." (Y/n) dragged her fingers through her hair, brushing the strands further back on her head and out of her eyes. She moved away from the counter and grabbed the dreaded test that had become her enemy rather than her friend.

"Good."

"Why is that good?" She couldn't drag her eyes away from the test to look over at Eddie. Just this once, (Y/n) wished she could tear it open, try the test and have it come back positive.

Just this once. Was she really asking too much by wanting a baby?

"Because I don't like seeing you break down every time we get a test. Hide the damn thing and forget about it. We might get lucky without all the pressure." Eddie leaned back, using his quick reflexes to catch the test when (Y/n) tossed it his way. If he wanted to hide it, he could go ahead and they would see if his relaxed way would go down well or not.

(Y/n) clamped her hand down on her hip and leaned her other side into the counter. Her eyes watched her husband with intrigue as he tossed the test from one hand to the other like it was burning hot and scolding his skin. But her heart dropped down to her stomach when she noticed him glance towards the bin. It was a quick, swift movement, barely noticeable, but (Y/n) saw. She almost expected him to toss the test in the bin but he settled on throwing it on the top shelf in the medicine cupboard.

"May as well forget about it, we won't need it."

His words were like a knife puncturing through (Y/n)'s stomach and she could feel bile creeping up the back of her throat as her stomach twisted and clenched.

"Why would you say that?" The pain in (Y/n)'s eyes matched the croak in her voice and she furiously rubbed her sleeve against her eyes to stop herself from crying. She had cried enough, she wasn't in the mood to break down about this, again.

It hurt more than Eddie could comprehend that when he and Shannon had Chris, they hadn't been trying for a baby. Chris was the reason they got married, both being Catholics and raised with the installed thought of 'doing the right thing.' Chris was a surprise, the best kind, he and Shannon didn't have to try for a year to have a baby and Shannon took that and the family she had, for granted.

And here (Y/n) was, married to the man who stole her heart from the first moment they met. She loved him and Chris and they had their own little family together, but (Y/n) couldn't seem to catch a break when it came to a baby. They had done things the way Eddie's family would have wanted, marriage first, then children. But none were arriving.

(Y/n)'s teeth started to grind down together when Eddie stared across at her with those big doe eyes that were full of panic and fright.

He hadn't meant to say that outloud.

"No, baby I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't." His hands moved to clamp down on his hips and his head tilted to the side as he looked at her with a hardened, unhappy expression. "We don't need a fucking test right now, we need to stop panicking. We have time and it'll either happen or it won't."

He didn't like the way (Y/n) scoffed and her lips curled into a snarky smile. Why could he not see this from her perspective?

"Why not just give up, hm? Shannon didn't even have to try to have Chris and I've been with you almost five years and all I get is a false positive and then a miscarriage. Clearly it's not happening."

"That's not what I'm saying. Do you think I enjoy seeing you upset like this? I'm sick of seeing you so broken and not being able to do anything about it. At least whenever Shannon did a test she didn't cry when it was negative,"

"Well it's a fucking shame you married me, Edmundo."

Eddie knew he had taken it too far the moment he spoke and hearing his full name from (Y/n) only made him cringe and back up into the counter. He hated the way she said his name. He knew he well and truly fucked up when (Y/n) croaked his name like that and had to fight back tears from his crudeness.

He didn't mean it.

Tears welled up in the corners of Eddie's eyes when (Y/n) bypassed him, moving as far to the counter as she could so even her arm didn't brush his chest an inch. And panic bubbled up in Eddie's chest when he watched his wife barge through the dining room, grab her bag from the table and march towards the front door.

What was she doing? Where was she going? He didn't want her to leave, he wanted to stay and talk and make up for the stupid things he had just said that he well and truly didn't mean.

"Wait- where are you going?" The panic in his voice almost made (Y/n) crumble. Almost.

With her jacket slung over her arm and her bag on her shoulder, (Y/n) grabbed her keys and unlocked the door.

"I'm going to work."

"You're not on shift. Baby don't leave, I'm sorry I didn't mean it-"

"I'll pick up the night shift and pray I won't be such a cry baby by morning." When the door slammed shut behind her, Eddie slumped his back into the wall and let himself slide down to the floor with a thud.

What had he done?

***

"Are you okay?"

(Y/n) slumped down in her seat and leaned her head against the window that felt cold and soothing against her burning temple. Night shifts always caught her off guard, they didn't make her feel great when most of her shifts were day shifts since Eddie did a fair few nights.

Every time she went onto a night shift, (Y/n) felt like she was going to collapse the moment she got home and she could never sleep during the day which made her feel even worse. But being on shift was preferable to being at home with Eddie and either sitting in silence or carrying on the argument.

"Just tired,"

"Hm. Makes sense that you'd pick up the late shift if you're tired." Athena tilted her head to the side and gave (Y/n) a knowing look, sporting her signature, calming smile.

Since moving down to LA with Evan, the siblings both felt like Athena and Bobby had taken them under their wings and become their surrogate parents. Bobby looked out for Evan at the station and was always there for him outside of the station when he needed him. And when (Y/n) became a cop, she had Athena to look out for her and be there when she needed a shoulder to lean on.

"I'd just rather be anywhere else right now." There was no point divuldging why she was here and not back at home on her day off. It was easier to try and forget the reason why she wasn't going home yet and pray that in the morning, the atmosphere would be gone by the time she walked through the door.

A bolt of relief surged through (Y/n) when the radio went off, asking for assistance. She needed something to focus her mind on because she wasn't the one driving tonight. Driving the streets aimlessly was something she and Eddie did when they or Chris couldn't sleep and it was only going to make (Y/n) break down and want to go back home.

"Anyone available to assist in a house call? Neighbours are reporting raised voices and items being thrown."

"This is Seven-two-seven-L-thirty, responding."

(Y/n) looked across at Athena as she shimmied up and sat up straight in her seat to try and liven herself up. It was strange to see Athena without her usual sunglasses she always wore when she was on shift, but she didn't wear them out on a night shift. It tended to give people the wrong impression and they didn't exactly help.

"Off we go," (Y/n) heaved herself out the car and stretched, clicking her back into place as she shut the door behind her.

As soon as she was on her feet, (Y/n) felt like the cold air was wrapping her up and suffocating her. Her stomach was still churning from earlier and she was sweating despite the cool midnight breeze.

"The side gates open, I'll take a look."

(Y/n) nodded and watched Athena move away from the path towards the right side of the house. The gate was swinging open in the wind, creaking back and forth which wasn't alarming but it could be something to worry about.

With a deep breath, (Y/n) followed the narrow path up to the front door and tried to peek into the window to see if there were any lights on or any sound of noise. The neighbours called in raised voices and items being thrown about but the house was deadly quiet right now.

"Police, could you open the door please? We're here for a welfare check." (Y/n) knocked on the door three times before she leaned towards the window when she heard some movement. "Open the door please." She tried again with another round of knocking but whoever was inside was now rummaging around. They weren't going to open up.

A sigh passed her lips as she took a few steps away from the door and moved back onto the path. Her hand curled around her radio and she did a sweep around the quiet street.

"Athena, any luck round back? I might check in with the neighbours- oh, someone's opening up."

When the door unlocked and creaked open, (Y/n) walked back up the steps but she stopped short when a woman shot out the door. She collided into (Y/n)'s shoulder, pushing her back and causing her to twist on her feet as she regained her balance. Falling on the pavement wasn't going to do her any favours tonight.

"Miss- miss wait-"

(Y/n) scrunched her hand around the girl's sleeve and tried in vain to stop her bolting away and rushing down the empty street. But just as her hand left the girl's shoulder, everything seemed to stop when a shot rang through the air.

At first, she thought Athena had come through the house and was trying to apprehend someone. It didn't dawn on (Y/n) that it was someone else in the house shooting until a blinding, horrifying pain coursed through her left shoulder.

Her body tilted backwards and she managed to stay upright for three wobbling steps back while her right hand moved to press to her shoulder without thinking. Blood soaked into her palm. The touch on her shoulder made it ignite in white hot pain. No air went in or out of her lungs and her knees caved in on her.

She didn't reach the floor before another shot imbedded in her left thigh just before her back hit the ground.

Her head smashed into the pavement, sending her vision black with little white spots like the stars had fell down to Earth and were dancing in front of her eyes.

The collision seemed to act as a button that turned her hearing off. All (Y/n) could hear was static. It was buzzing in her ears, ringing around in her head and worsening the way her body was shaking when she couldn't hear what was going on. Her eyes wouldn't focus on anything but the flashing stars blinking in front of her. How could she protect herself if all she could see were stars and all she could hear was blinding, buzzing background static.

(Y/n) couldn't help herself if the gunman came outside and tried to shoot at her or the civilian who most probably had fled the street by now. She couldn't protect Athena if she didn't know what was going on or where (Y/n) and the shooter were.

All she could do was lie there like prey, giving in and ready to be killed for sport.

"Shots fired! Officer down I need immediate back up and an ambulance to my location now!" Athena slumped down on her knees, dragging her eyes over (Y/n)'s frame. She had handcuffed the shooter to the radiator in the doorway after she entered the house through the open back door.

She could feel Athena's hand briefly grab hers to let her know who it was beside her and that she was safe.

"(Y/n), can you hear me? You just stay with me, help is on the way."

Something akin to a gurgling scream burned at the back of (Y/n)'s throat when she felt something tight strap around her thigh somewhere near the wounded area. She couldn't pinpoint where she had been shot. Her leg was tingling from her hip bone all the way down to her toes that were cold and numb in her boots.

Her head turned to the side and her hands blindly reached out while her vision slowly started to come back to her. She could just about see Athena hovering over her and she soon realised Athena had used her belt as a turniquet around her thigh to prevent the blood loss. As soon as she pulled it tighter, (Y/n) screamed and thrashed her upper body down against the concrete.

Everything started to shake. Each breath she took made her chest shudder and spit foamed at her mouth as she pushed her breaths through gritted teeth that were puncturing down into her tongue.

Everything burned. Everything hurt. She was trapped in a body that was on fire and tearing itself apart.

Why did she bother coming on shift tonight? Why didn't she stay home with Eddie? An argument wasn't worth getting shot at, she should have talked things out with him.

He begged her to stay, why didn't she stay?

"Stay with me, sweetie, stay with me."

Tears stained (Y/n)'s face and burned into her skin like acid when both Athena's hands pressed down on her shoulder. She couldn't tie anything around her arm or chest as a turniquet, all Athena could do was apply as much pressure as she could to slow down the bleeding until paramedics came to help.

The pressure made (Y/n) choke and she reached a hand out, fumbling around until she could curl her fingers around Athena's wrist.

"Eddie. Eddie."

"Sweetie let's focus on getting some medics here-"

"Eddie!"

She screamed her husband's name at the top of her lungs until she saw Athena grapple with one hand to fish her phone out of her pocket. She had to keep (Y/n) calm or else she was going to go into shock and that wouldn't do her any favours when she had two gunshot wounds.

Blood smeared onto her phone when she swiped a shaky finger across the screen and scrolled down to Eddie's contact. As soon as she clicked on his name, she returned both hands to (Y/n)'s shoulder and pushed down as hard as she could until it felt like her hands were going to burst through (Y/n)'s body.

"Athena? Everything okay?" Eddie's confused voice came through the speaker and just the tone of his voice made (Y/n)'s head loll to the right towards the phone, wishing he was here instead of on the other end of the line.

Sirens wailed in the distance before she could answer and it made her jaw clench. She shouldn't be calling Eddie yet, it was too early when all the attention needed to be focused on (Y/n), but if she didn't, she had a feeling (Y/n) would become very hard to calm and control.

"Eddie I need you to listen carefully. (Y/n)'s been involved in an accident, you need to meet us at Mercy hospital."

"No, no what kind of accident? Is she okay?!"

"Eddie," (Y/n)'s eyes dazed around in circles, unable to focus on anything except the sound of her husband's panicked voice. His name slipped past her lips again, but much quieter this time and (Y/n) found she couldn't hear his response, or anything Athena was trying to shout at her.

"(Y/n), honey you stay with me now, help is here. Eddie meet us at the hospital." She ended the call, swallowing down the guilt consuming every inch of her being when the last thing she heard was Eddie's scream of protest. She couldn't have him on the phone when she could feel (Y/n)'s pulse was starting to fade. They had to get her to the hospital and Eddie would have to drown in the same panic as Athena until he got there.

***

This had to be the one. This was the third ambulance Eddie had seen pull into the parking bay just at the side of the emergency room entrance. He hastily parked his car as close as he could get and stood to the side of the ambulance entrance to the hospital. Eddie knew if he went through the reception in the emergency room he would be pushed to the side and would have to wait for hours in agony.

Whereas if he waited here, he could see Athena and (Y/n) come through the emergency room and he could stay with them that way.

Two ambulances had parked up since Eddie got here and neither of them had brought in his wife. He was starting to lose the feeling in his fingers and feet and at any moment he was sure he would throw up. If he hadn't of started the argument, (Y/n) wouldn't have gone on shift and she wouldn't have been hurt somehow.

The only silver lining here was that Chris was staying with Evan for the night. Eddie didn't have to panic and flutter about finding someone to look after Chris and waste time driving around. He had been able to get straight in the car and drive down to the hospital.

Eddie looked down to his phone again, desperate to call Athena but he knew better. His eyes flitted between his phone and the latest ambulance and he took two steps closer when the back doors opened.

Bingo.

"Athena!" He slipped his phone back into his pocket and skidded across the path to reach them, growling when one of the medics tried to push him back.

"Sir stand back-"

"That's my wife!" Both Eddie's hands moved to tangle in his hair and he started to yank harshly on the strands, feeling a few hairs coming loose between his fingers. His elbows pressed out at his sides and each breath started to run away from him when he realised what they were doing.

One of the medics was stood on the side of the stretcher, hands interlocked, arms straight, pushing compressions down on (Y/n)'s chest. Her heart had stopped.

There was an airbag attached to her mouth and nose, pushing each breath she needed through her system. Eddie spied a turniquet on her left leg and a bundle of gauze and rolls of bandage wrapped around her upper thigh that were starting to turn crimson. Another medic was stood on the other side, applying pressure and a large wad of gauze down onto (Y/n)'s left shoulder but the blood was everywhere. Soaked into her shirt, smeared up her neck, lathering the medic's hands and wrists.

Blood was splattered all over Athena. Her shirt, her hands all the way upto her elbows. A few droplets were even dotted on her cheek from back splash when she tried to stem the bleeding.

Eddie's feet were moving before he could comprehend what was happening and suddenly he and Athena were bolting inside down the hall after the gurney. They stopped only when the gurney travelled down a restricted corridor and the pair of them were left waiting, helpless in an empty corridor.

"What happened?"

"We were doing a welfare check… a woman fled the house and the husband open fired on the lawn. We didn't know he had a gun, there was nothing we could do."

"S-someone, shot her?"

He wasn't sure why, but gunshots didn't cross his mind when he saw the blood and the gauze padded onto his wife. He thought of knife wounds or a car accident. Eddie was married to a cop and a gunshot didn't even cross his mind.

He had to call Evan. And Maddie. He needed to find someone who would be able to watch Chris so Evan could come down to the hospital, he wouldn't be persuaded otherwise once Eddie called him and told him the news. (Y/n)'s siblings were the closest people to her, they were her world, the people who raised her when their parents couldn't. They would want to be here, waiting with Eddie for news.

What had he done? Why did he let her leave?

***

A groan tumbled past Eddie's lips and he slowly brought a hand up to his eyes, rubbing forcefully to try and wake himself up and take a look around. He could of cried when he realised he was in the same spot he had been hours ago. He wasn't waking up from this nightmare, he was trapped.

The moment he tilted his head up, his neck clicked into place and sent a shudder running down the base of his spine. His legs were numb and tingling, stretched out in front of him and his back was aching from falling asleep on the floor, leant up against the wall.

The chairs had been too uncomfy to sit on for long and when a panic attack took over him, Eddie curled up on the floor and hadn't moved since.

He stretched his arms above his head but when his eyes locked on a doctor aiming his way, Eddie jumped to attention. He stood up on wobbling legs and braced himself back against the wall with his hands clasped together in front of him. In the time it took the doctor to walk across the corridor to him, Eddie's hands were dripping with sweat and the back of his neck prickled with heat and goosebumps.

"Mr Diaz?"

His throat was too tight to speak so he settled for nodding his head and moved across with the doctor to sit on the chairs a few feet away.

Suddenly, Eddie was glad he was alone. If this conversation went the wrong way, Eddie didn't want to be around friends and family when he had a break down. Evan and Maddie were on their way here as soon as they could drop Chris off with Hen and Karen. Athena had gone to get changed after her interview with the chief of police and she would be back later with Bobby.

That left Eddie to sit and panic in the corridor for the last three hours, riding out the early morning in a state of perpetual fear he had never felt before.

"Your wife is out of surgery, it went very well."

Relief washed over Eddie like the tide claiming the sand and he let his body slump forward to land his head in his hands.

Thank God. It worked. She was okay.

"We removed both bullets, the one in her thigh was less severe. I'm afraid the shot to the shoulder managed to fracture into the joint. It will take longer to heal and your wife will need physiotherapy."

"She… she coded when she arrived…" Eddie wasn't sure what he was asking but he could feel the panic swirling around in his head. (Y/n) had stopped breathing when the ambulance pulled up. She had CPR on her way into theatre, that could have had a lot of adverse affects and cause lasting problems, depending on how long she was not breathing.

"We restarted her heart upon arrival, she's had normal rhythm since then and two blood transfusions. We were rather worried surgery would push her body into a miscarriage, but so far the fetus seems fine. We will keep doing daily observations just to make sure."

"What are you talking about?"

Her expression faltered and Eddie watched the way she fiddled with her hands on her lap, grimacing at her mistake. She should have eased into that conversation and tied to gage whether Eddie had any inkling about this or not. Now she had put her foot right in it.

"I'm very sorry, I presumed you would have known. Your wife is pregnant, congratulations, you are both very lucky under the circumstances."

Eddie's hands clamped together and he leaned forward, pressing his mouth against the side of his hand with a sudden desire to bite down into the flesh and rip it apart.

What had he done?

Their argument earlier in the night had been futile and pointless and he should have stopped her from leaving. If they took the test the night would have gone very differently. If they had worked things out and stayed home together, they would have found out this news in a few weeks and everything would have been better. (Y/n) wouldn't need to be pent up on bed rest and undergoing surgery and physio and cardiac arrest. She wouldn't have gone through all of this and ended up being shot if they didn't argue.

"I want to see her."

"Of course, this way."

Eddie could barely feel his legs when he stood up. He was trembling all over and he raked his nails over his thighs to try and ward off the sudden energy and adrenaline fuelling through his system.

"Eddie," The way she said his name when he bolted through the door made him shiver. He couldn't get her voice out of his head. When he closed his eyes, he could still hear her crying out for him while he sat motionless and powerless to do anything to help his wife. He was never going to get that shrill cry out of his head, no matter what he did to try and forget.

Tears were already streaming down his face by the time he stumbled over to the bed and reached out for her.

He could see the way her eyes blinked rapidly and how she tilted her head groggily to the side to try and lock her gaze onto him. She had only just started to come round from the anaesthetic.

Eddie let himself slump down on the side of the bed and he took a second to rake his eyes over his wife's frame. Her left arm was wrapped up in a sling, bound to her chest which she seemed rather put out and confused about. And he didn't dare look under the blanket to see how badly her leg would look. He could only imagine how discoloured, swollen and sore it was going to be. Eddie had had his fair share of bullet wounds in the past.

When her fingers curled around his bicep, Eddie slipped his hands beneath her back as carefully as he could and gently pulled (Y/n) up when she tried to lean over for him. Her right arm curled around his neck, scratching her nails into his skin and her face slumped forward onto his shoulder. While Eddie wrapped one arm around her lower waist to keep her pinned into his chest and his other hand cupped the back of her neck.

He buried his nose into her hair and sighed against the side of her temple, pressing as many kisses to her skin as he could manage.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

(Y/n) turned her head until she could press a butterfly kiss against the underside of Eddie's jaw and her hazy eyes tried to focus on him when he pulled his head back to look down at her.

"Hm?" What was he sorry for? From what (Y/n) could recall, Eddie hadn't been the one to shoot her. He hadn't done anything wrong, he didn't force her out the house or make her pick up that shift. She should have gone for a drive to clear her head instead of pushing herself to go on shift when she didn't need to. It was stupid of her.

"I shouldn't have let you walk out the door. If I didn't say all those things, you wouldn't have been hurt." Eddie tilted his head to the side and swiped his cheek against his shoulder to rid the tears from his eyes. words were never going to be enough to explain how horrid and idiotic and ruthless he felt for what had happened tonight.

"Baby, I walked out… I k- I knew going to work would be a bad idea," (Y/n) leaned forward again and buried her face into Eddie's neck, groaning into his shoulder when it felt like a storm was rolling into her mind.

"We should have taken the test,"

"Hm?"

(Y/n)'s lips twitched against Eddie's neck and she curled her hand against his back and nuzzled her nose into his neck. She couldn't see what he meant by that, unless there was some secret undertone she was missing. Her eyes soon opened and her lips parted when Eddie's arms suddenly unravelled from her skin and moved to cup her face instead. He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks and gently lifted her head up from his neck so he could look down at her.

The hazy look in her eyes made his heart melt and when she tried to smile so sweetly up at him, Eddie shivered. She had been shot, twice, and had been on the brink of death and here she was trying to smile to calm him down.

"Mi amor, you're pregnant."

Confusion flooded her face and her eyes narrowed while her smile morphed into something closer to unsettling panic.

If this was some sort of joke, it was in very poor taste and it wasn't funny in the least. But the longer (Y/n) stared up at Eddie, the sooner she realised he wasn't trying to play some sick joke on her or guilt trip her. A cry burned at the back of her throat and she choked on her breath as her head started to shake.

"But… I," (Y/n)'s hand fumbled towards her shoulder and her leg twitched at the memory of being hurt. If she was pregnant, she had put herself and the baby in danger by going on shift tonight. She had been shot, how could the baby be okay after that?

"Shh, it's okay, you're both okay." Eddie's fingers brushed across her cheeks, wiping away the tears falling down her face before he leaned down to kiss her. "And I'm gonna make sure nothing else happens to you. I swear."

#eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz x reader #imagine #911 imagine #pregnant! reader #eddie x reader #athena grant

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fluff-n-cookies · 7 months

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soft yan! Dadzawa Head canons

SPOILERS DONUT DO NOT READ also contains light swearing

• Aizawa is the type of person to hold the Cat in his arms So you can pet it, since it's too big for you to hold. it Just makes his Day when he sees the way your eyes light up when you hear the cat start to purr.

• we will also wrap you up in his scarf if you even say it's too cold. (you and Nezu are scarf buds!) Just say the word and he's rolling out the sleeping bag and prepping to make your favorite hot chocolate with the extra whipped cream and cat marsh mallows and we all know he has all your favorite cartoons for the two of you to binge together!

• however, like most things, it's not perfect.

• a good example of this is that Aizawa likes to have you nap on his lap as he is grading papers.

BUT YOU WANT A BEDTIME STORY

and Aizawa tries his best but he will probably come up with a story worthy of being a german fairy tale. (translation: there are no happy endings, sorry.)

BUT AIZAWA IS SMART ... enough

most of the time he ends up reading to you Denki and Mineta's test answers. and by the time he's done you're asleep.

and then his mind starts to wander,

you just remind him so much of Oboro

how you always manage to light up the room with your smile, how you always manage to be pretty Badass yet kind, and how you always care for others so deeply.

he won't let you go, not this time.

some times, he'll lay awake at night sitting on the couch just curled up into a ball just thinking about the future, when he's all old and wrinkly, maybe you'll be a beautiful young lady (oh who am I kidding, ofc your will! some of you are! others are just beautiful!)

then will you leave him?

that's when he gets up to go look at your photo album. from when you were a newborn, to now, when you are a toddler.

that's when he comes to the conclusion, you may older, but he will always be your dad, he will always protect you.

sometimes Eri joins him, and draws hearts around the ones with you and her, or you Aizawa and her.

likes helping you do your hair, braids are his favorite, but he'll do any hair style as long as it's not too hard.

Aizawa loves you, nothing more than that <3

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months

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A year in illustration, 2023 edition (part one)

(This is part one; part two is here.)

I am objectively very bad at visual art. I am bad at vision, period – I'm astigmatic, shortsighted, color blind, and often miss visual details others see. I can't even draw a stick-figure. To top things off, I have cataracts in both eyes and my book publishing/touring schedule is so intense that I keep having to reschedule the surgeries. But despite my vast visual deficits, I thoroughly enjoy making collages for this blog.

For many years now – decades – I've been illustrating my blog posts by mixing public domain and Creative Commons art with work that I can make a good fair use case for. As bad as art as I may be, all this practice has paid off. Call it unseemly, but I think I'm turning out some terrific illustrations – not all the time, but often enough.

Last year, I rounded up my best art of the year:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/25/a-year-in-illustration/

And I liked reflecting on the year's art so much, I decided I'd do it again. Be sure to scroll to the bottom for some downloadables – freely usable images that I painstakingly cut up with the lasso tool in The Gimp.

The original AD&D hardcover cover art is seared into my psyche. For several years, there were few images I looked at so closely as these. When Hasbro pulled some world-beatingly sleazy stuff with the Open Gaming License, I knew just how to mod Dave Trampier's 'Eve Of Moloch' from the cover of the Players' Handbook. Thankfully, bigger nerds than me have identified all the fonts in the image, making the remix a doddle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/12/beg-forgiveness-ask-permission/#whats-a-copyright-exception

Even though I don't keep logs or collect any analytics, I can say with confidence that "Tiktok's Enshittification" was the most popular thing I published on Pluralistic this year. I mixed some public domain Brother's Grimm art, mixed with a classic caricature of Boss Tweed, and some very cheesy royalty-free/open access influencer graphics. One gingerbread cottage social media trap, coming up:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

To illustrate the idea of overcoming walking-the-plank fear (as a metaphor for writing when it feels like you suck) I mixed public domain stock of a plank, a high building and legs, along with a procedurally generated Matrix "code waterfall" and a vertiginous spiral ganked from a Heinz Bunse photo of a German office lobby.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/22/walking-the-plank/

Finding a tasteful way to illustrate a story about Johnson & Johnson losing a court case after it spent a generation tricking women into dusting their vulvas with asbestos-tainted talcum was a challenge. The tulip (featured in many public domain images) was a natural starting point. I mixed it with Jesse Wagstaff's image of a Burning Man dust-storm and Mike Mozart's shelf-shot of a J&J talcum bottle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

"Google's Chatbot Panic" is about Google's long history of being stampeded into doing stupid things because its competitors are doing them. Once it was Yahoo, now it's Bing. Tenniel's Tweedle Dee and Dum were a good starting point. I mixed in one of several Humpty Dumpty editorial cartoon images from 19th century political coverage that I painstakingly cut out with the lasso tool on a long plane-ride. This is one of my favorite Humpties, I just love the little 19th C businessmen trying to keep him from falling! I finished it off with HAL 9000's glowing red eye, my standard 'this is about AI' image, which I got from Cryteria's CC-licensed SVG.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/16/tweedledumber/#easily-spooked

Though I started writing about Luddites in my January, 2022 Locus column, 2023 was the Year of the Luddite, thanks to Brian Merchant's outstanding Blood In the Machine:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

When it came time to illustrate "Gig Work Is the Opposite of Steampunk," I found a public domain weaver's loft, and put one of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes in the window. Magpie Killjoy's Steampunk Magazine poster, 'Love the Machine, Hate the Factory,' completed the look.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/12/gig-work-is-the-opposite-of-steampunk/

For the "small, non-profit school" that got used as an excuse to bail out Silicon Valley Bank, I brought back Humpty Dumpty, mixing him with a Hogwartsian castle, a brick wall texture, and an ornate, gilded frame. I love how this one came out. This Humpty was made for the SVB bailout.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/23/small-nonprofit-school/#north-country-school

The RESTRICT Act would have federally banned Tiktok – a proposal that was both technically unworkable and unconstitutional. I found an early 20th century editorial cartoon depicting Uncle Sam behind a fortress wall that was keeping a downtrodden refugee family out of America. I got rid of most of the family, giving the dad a Tiktok logo head, and I put Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes over each cannonmouth. Three Boss Tweed moneybag-head caricatures, adorned with Big Tech logos, rounded it out.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/30/tik-tok-tow/#good-politics-for-electoral-victories

When Flickr took decisive action to purge the copyleft trolls who'd been abusing its platform, I knew I wanted to illustrate this with Lucifer being cast out of heaven, and the very best one of those comes from John Milton, who is conveniently well in the public domain. The Flickr logo suggested a bicolored streaming-light-of-heaven motif that just made it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/01/pixsynnussija/#pilkunnussija

Old mainframe ads are a great source of stock for a "Computer Says No" image. And Congress being a public building, there are lots of federal (and hence public domain) images of its facade.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/04/cbo-says-no/#wealth-tax

When I wrote about the Clarence Thomas/Harlan Crow bribery scandal, it was easy to find Mr. Kjetil Ree's great image of the Supreme Court building. Thomas being a federal judge, it was easy to find a government photo of his head, but it's impossible to find an image of him in robes at a decent resolution. Luckily, there are tons of other federal judges who've been photographed in their robes! Boss Tweed with the dollar-sign head was a great stand-in for Harlan Crow (no one knows what he looks like anyway). Gilding Thomas's robes was a simple matter of superimposing a gold texture and twiddling with the layers.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/06/clarence-thomas/#harlan-crow

"Gig apps trap reverse centaurs in wage-stealing Skinner boxes" is one of my best titles. This is the post where I introduce the idea of "twiddling" as part of the theory of enshittification, and explain how it relates to "reverse centaurs" – people who assist machines, rather than the other way around. Finding a CC licensed modular synth was much harder than I thought, but I found Stephen Drake's image and stitched it into a mandala. Cutting out the horse's head for the reverse centaur was a lot of work (manes are a huuuuge pain in the ass), but I love how his head sits on the public domain high-viz-wearing warehouse worker's body I cut up (thanks, OSHA!). Seeing as this is an horrors-of-automation story, Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes make an appearance.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Rockefeller's greatest contribution to our culture was inspiring many excellent unflattering caricatures. The IWW's many-fists-turning-into-one-fist image made it easy to have the collective might of workers toppling the original robber-baron.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

I link to this post explaining how to make good Mastodon threads at least once a week, so it's a good thing the graphic turned out so well. Close-cropping the threads from a public domain yarn tangle worked out great. Eugen Rochko's Mastodon logo was and is the only Affero-licensed image ever to appear on Pluralistic.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/16/how-to-make-the-least-worst-mastodon-threads/

I spent hours on the sofa one night painstakingly cutting up and reassembling the cover art from a science fiction pulp. I have a folder full of color-corrected, high-rez scans from an 18th century anatomy textbook, and the cross-section head-and-brain is the best of the lot.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/04/analytical-democratic-theory/#epistocratic-delusions

Those old French anatomical drawings are an endless source of delight to me. Take one cross-sectioned noggin, mix in an old PC mainboard, and a vector art illo of a virtuous cycle with some of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes and you've got a great illustration of Google's brain-worms.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

Ireland's privacy regulator is but a plaything in Big Tech's hand, but it's goddamned hard to find an open-access Garda car. I manually dressed some public domain car art in Garda livery, painstakingly tracing it over the panels. The (public domain) baby's knit cap really hides the seams from replacing the baby's head with HAL9000's eye.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

Naked-guy-in-a-barrel bankruptcy images feel like something you can find in an old Collier's or Punch, but I came up snake-eyes and ended up frankensteining a naked body into a barrel for the George Washington crest on the Washington State flag. It came out well, but harvesting the body parts from old muscle-beach photos left George with some really big guns. I tried five different pairs of suspenders here before just drawing in black polyhedrons with little grey dots for rivets.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

Illustrating Amazon's dominance over the EU coulda been easy – just stick Amazon 'A's in place of the yellow stars that form a ring on the EU flag. So I decided to riff on Plutarch's Alexander, out of lands to conquer. Rama's statue legs were nice and high-rez. I had my choice of public domain ruin images, though it was harder thank expected to find a good Amazon box as a plinth for those broken-off legs.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/14/flywheel-shyster-and-flywheel/#unfulfilled-by-amazon

God help me, I could not stop playing with this image of a demon-haunted IoT car. All those reflections! The knife sticking out of the steering wheel, the multiple Munsch 'Scream'ers, etc etc. The more I patchked with it, the better it got, though. This one's a banger.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

To depict a "data-driven dictatorship," I ganked elements of heavily beribboned Russian military dress uniforms, replacing the head with HAL9000's eye. I turned the foreground into the crowds from the Nuremberg rallies and filled the sky with Matrix code waterfall.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/26/dictators-dilemma/#garbage-in-garbage-out-garbage-back-in

The best thing about analogizing DRM to demonic possession is the wealth of medieval artwork to choose from . This one comes from the 11th century 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros.' I mixed in the shiny red Tesla (working those reflections!), and a Tesla charger to make my point.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Yet more dividends from those old French anatomical plates: a flayed skull, a detached jaw, a quack electronic gadget, a Wachowski code waterfall and some HAL 9000 eyes and you've got a truly unsettling image of machine-compelled speech.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

I had no idea this would work out so well, but daaaamn, crossfading between a Wachowski code waterfall and a motherboard behind a roiling thundercloud is dank af.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

Of all the turkeys-voting-for-Christmas self-owns conservative culture warriors fall for, few can rival the "banning junk fees is woke" hustle. Slap a US-flag Punisher logo on and old-time card imprinter, add a GOP logo to a red credit-card blank, and then throw in a rustic barn countertop and you've got a junk-fee extracter fit for the Cracker Barrel.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

Putting the Verizon logo on the Hinderberg was an obvious gambit (even if I did have to mess with the flames a lot), but the cutout of Paul Marcarelli as the 'can you hear me now?' guy, desaturated and contrast-matched, made it sing.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/10/smartest-guys-in-the-room/#can-you-hear-me-now

Note to self: Tux the Penguin is really easy to source in free/open formats! He looks great with HAL9000 eyes.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

Rockwell's self-portrait image is a classic; that made it a natural for a HAL9000-style remix about AI art. I put a bunch of time into chopping and remixing Rockwell's signature to give it that AI look, and added as many fingers as would fit on each hand.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

(Images: Heinz Bunse, West Midlands Police, Christopher Sessums, CC BY-SA 2.0; Mike Mozart, Jesse Wagstaff, Stephen Drake, Steve Jurvetson, syvwlch, Doc Searls, https://www.flickr.com/photos/mosaic36/14231376315, Chatham House, CC BY 2.0; Cryteria, CC BY 3.0; Mr. Kjetil Ree, Trevor Parscal, Rama, “Soldiers of Russia” Cultural Center, Russian Airborne Troops Press Service, CC BY-SA 3.0; Raimond Spekking, CC BY 4.0; Drahtlos, CC BY-SA 4.0; Eugen Rochko, Affero; modified)

#pluralistic #illustration #collage #fair use #creative commons #stock art #blogging #art #practice makes perfect

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strangersmunsons · 4 months

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christmas wrapping

“When what to my wondering eyes should appear in the line is that guy I’ve been chasing all year!” eddie munson x reader, ~1500 words

“I love the holidays, I love Christmas,” you mutter to yourself through gritted teeth as you wrestle with the roll of icy-blue paper. Cartoon snowmen and polar bears stare back at you with their unmoving little eyes, mocking your frustration.

Gift wrapping isn’t your strong suit. It’s like as soon as you pick up the scissors, you lose all motor function in your hands. The presents you hand out end up covered in more Scotch tape than they are actual paper.

Armed with a pair of big kitchen shears, you glide the blade as carefully as possible through the paper. The rectangle you’re trying to cut is almost free from the roll when the paper snags, and instead of following the clean line you were aiming for, it wrinkles and veers to the side, leaving you with a huge shred in the corner.

An angry squeal escapes from your lips and you set the scissors down on the plush living room rug. You close your eyes and count to five, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm yourself down.

You swear you’re not usually this grumpy during the holidays. But it seems like everything that you normally love doing in the buildup to Christmas has just been so terribly exhausting.

First, there was a new promotion at work. While the better pay was wonderful, you were slightly unprepared for the extra stress that came with your new position. Every day it felt like you were scrambling to stay on top of everything, putting in extra hours just to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks. It left you with hardly any time to get your shopping done, so you ended up having to take multiple trips to the department store — always just before it closed, God bless retail employees for having the restraint not to kill you right where you stood — wandering around to try and pick out suitable gifts for everyone. Not to mention that there are a few you ordered from a catalogue, which are still nowhere to be seen, despite the fact that it’s Christmas Eve and you needed them like, yesterday.

As if all this wasn’t hectic enough, you had been positively bombarded with invitations. Three separate work parties — office, departmental, and company-wide. Then dinner and drinks with the coworkers you actually like. White elephant with your buddies from college. Ornament exchange with the cousins from your Mom’s side, Secret Santa with the cousins from your Dad’s side. A Christmas movie night with your childhood friends.

The list went on.

Finally, you’d put your foot down. No more parties, no more “fun holiday activities” that were starting to give you more anxiety than joy — you needed a fucking break.

That’s how you ended up alone on Christmas Eve, finishing up the last of your gift-wrapping. Soon you would tuck the final present under your tree, then stick the world’s smallest turkey into the oven, and lay on the couch waiting for it to be done, all in beautiful solitude. You even took the phone off the hook, just in case.

After another brief struggle, you finally manage to cut a substantial amount of paper to cover this last gift. You fumble with the box and clumsily wrap it up, sealing it with copious amounts of tape. There’s a flood of relief that washes through you when it's finally under the tree; it’s as though a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

When that’s finished, you bustle about in the kitchen to make your dinner for one. Bing Crosby croons in the background as you make small portions of your favorite holiday foods, and the sweet fragrance of a cinnamon-scented candle helps boost your mood even further. Gentle snow flurries whirl outside the window.

The afternoon passes by in peace, until you hit one little roadblock: you forgot the cranberries. You lean with your hip against the kitchen counter, tapping a rhythm on the tile with your nails while you debate your next move. Dinner without them isn’t a huge deal, really, you suppose you could do without them, but…there does happen to be a 24-hour grocery store that should still be open. And it’s only a few minutes drive…

Hey, what the hell. You’re rather partial to cranberries.

So you grudgingly slip your feet into your boots, and get bundled up in your winter coat. You jam a woolly hat on your head, sling your purse over your shoulder, and head out the door.

In less than ten you’re at the store. It’s swamped with other last-minute shoppers like yourself, all looking to buy that last ingredient they forgot, eager to return home to their families and friends. There’s a pang in your heart as you watch them mill about; maybe you were being too rash when you decided to spend Christmas Eve alone. Maybe you shouldn’t have let the stress of the season get to you.

God, you feel like the Grinch. Or worse — Ebenezer Scrooge.

You sigh as you pluck a can of cranberries from the shelf, and then unenthusiastically make your way to the checkout aisle. The line is long, clogged up as the overworked cashiers try their best to deal with the onslaught of antsy customers as best they can.

You’re so busy internally sympathizing with the employees (and also feeling guilty for adding to their burden by being there yourself), you almost don’t feel the light tap on your shoulder.

You turn on your heel in surprise, and experience a squirm of pleasure when you see who it is: Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson, who you met about a year ago and liked immensely, but still somehow…failed to make something happen with.

It wasn’t for lack of trying! The two of you had met at a bar where his band had been playing a show; when it was over, he bought you a drink and you talked through the rest of the night, until the bartender all but kicked you out. He left you with his phone number and a kiss on the cheek. You wanted to find time for him, you really did, but it had been a busy year.

You played phone tag for months, always trying to set something up, but never managed to follow through. Life had a funny habit of getting in the way. Even when you two bumped into each other in person again — and it happened more than once — there never seemed to be a time when you were both free. The exception of course being last Halloween, when he was supposed to pick you up for a party, which you're sure would have been a blast...if his car hadn't broken down and derailed you yet again.

And then, when you got your promotion, your love life went on the back burner. Any prospects of going on a date with Eddie pretty much flew out the window.

But now here he is, in the flesh. And God, is he cute.

His hair is damp and a little disheveled, probably the result of snowflakes catching in the curls and melting. He’s not wearing a hat, but there’s a red knit scarf knotted around his neck, trailing down his big black overcoat.

“Hey, you,” he says, rosy cheeks dimpling as he gives you a huge smile.

“Hi,” you reply brightly, overwhelmed with sudden happiness. “Merry Christmas.”

“And you as well, sweetheart. Forgot the cranberries, I see,” he says, pointing at the lone can clutched in your gloved fingers.

“Guilty,” you shrug, unable to keep the silly grin off your face.

He laughs, and his chocolate-brown eyes crinkle at the corners. “Well, I can hardly tease you for that, now can I?” He fishes around in the plastic shopping basket hanging from the crook of his arm, and comes up with an identical can.

“Would you look at that? Great minds think alike. Or don’t think alike, I guess.”

“Truer words were never spoken.”

The two of you inch forward in the line.

“So, you got big plans this Christmas or what?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

“Actually, no,” you admit. “I’ll visit my family tomorrow, but for tonight it’s just me. I love the holidays, I do, but I just didn’t have it in me to go all-out this year.”

Eddie stops midstep. “You’re spending Christmas Eve alone?”

You shrug uncertainly, once again doubting your plans. “Yeah.”

He cocks his head to the side, playful smirk on his lips. “What a coincidence. So am I.” He shakes the grocery basket, contents rattling around inside. “S’why I came to get the goods. I’m fending for myself tonight.”

You’re a little taken aback by that. “Really? What about your uncle?”

“Wayne? Well, his, ah, lady friend invited him to her family dinner up near Indianapolis. They invited me to tag along, but I said no. Didn’t wanna impose.”

“Oh. I see.”

In a moment’s pause, some understanding passes between the two of you. Eddie busts out laughing again, and you don’t have to ask him what’s funny.

Giggling yourself now, you straighten up and look him square in the face. “Eddie,” you say, trying and failing to keep your tone serious, “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Eddie abandons his shopping basket. (You’ve no idea what he’d been planning on making, exactly; you glimpsed a package of hamburger helper and a jar of pickles, amongst other things.)

But he does insist on paying for your cranberries.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson christmas fic #eddie munson holiday fic

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byhuenii · 6 months

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✩°｡ ⋆⸜ matching halloween costumes w/ jjk men

AN: listen yes i know IM 5 days late to halloween but who gives a fuck! i love me halloween i love me some matching halloween costumes and i love me some jjk men. simple girl with simple needs 🤷‍♀️ Fem!reader BTW

Included: Gojo Geto Nanami Toji Choso !!

Gojo Satoru - Beast Boy and Raven

at first he was totally against the idea of turning his hair green because duh it was what made satoru satoru! but with some little convincing he caved in (YES!)

he knew of beast boy and raven is what he told you but he didn’t he really didn’t have a childhood to which he could watch cartoons, so he had to look up beast boy and robin he even watched some clips of just beast boy and raven. he wanted to fit the role—the more he watched the more he was convinced yeah he is beast boy.

and when the costumes finally came in on time for shoko’s halloween party, he was already in character. instead of calling you princess baby he now calls you mama. you can’t lie it makes you giggle at how dedicated he is. and to be honest he really just wanted to see you in that body suit with tights and a cape. before and during the party he couldn’t keep his hands off you. (he is so beast boy :c)

Geto Suguru - Woody and Bo Peep

at first he was confused like, why would you want to be dolls? why couldn’t you be like mario and princess peach? but no you had to convince him to be woody and bo peep. it took some actual convincing a whole powerpoint presentation.

he knew of those two already since you loved doing toy story, it was your comfort movie. your go to movie. your my personality movie. he still never got the whole appeal of it still. it wasn’t like you two were doing anything it was just going to be a simple chill at home handing candy to kids while satoru and shoko were there being themselves annoying geto. so when he put the costume on the day of halloween he looked himself in the mirror laughing. you who was confused thought he liked it oh so wrong. he thought he looked stupid,

you were already in the living room with satoru and shoko talking. he wanted to walk out without the costume but he knew you had always wanted to match as bo peep and woody—he put it back on and sucked it up. satoru being satoru of course laughing at suguru but he didn’t care suguru did it for you. (he would look so cute as woody with his long hair/man bun DONT @ ME.)

Nanami Kento - Flynn Ryder and Rapunzel

DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON NANAMI. that man is such a gentleman he doesn’t care what you guys are for halloween, as long as you’re happy that’s all that mattered to him. he never cared for halloween it was just a silly holiday to dress up, this was serious for you SERIOUS BUSINESS.

the two of you binged watched every single disney princess movie and you came to the conclusion he liked tangled the most. there was just something about the movie he liked it. you immediately ordered everything for the costume so when he finally out it on, it was game over. it was like he was fit perfectly for the role as flynn ryder. he thought he looked good but when you put on the costume you looked amazing to him,

something about the corset and longer hair did something to him, got him giggling kicking his feet! you could say the same. the white open top button with the vest…it was like his normal attire but just more flynn ryder. safe to say he had kiss stains all over his face

Fushiguro Toji - The chef and Remy the rat

Listen you are basically already toji’s sugar mommy cause that boy cannot hold a job and for that why don’t we give him a job on halloween as a one of the many chefs from ratatouille!

you moreover the rat wouldn’t maybe say remy but definitely a cute ass rat! toji was all for it until you put on the ears. he looked at you all weird like you were some human sized rat which you weren’t. you literally had a grey corset white skirt and rat ears. CUTE rat ears. he wouldn’t even kiss you or hug you because he thought he would be seen as a rat lover like what??

you didn’t care you looked cute and took picture cause at the end of the day your goal was just to make you and your greasy boyfriend look cute together, maybe you should’ve done ghost face but who cares you were a cute rat.

Choso Kamo - Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy

it was a last minute costume, both of you weren’t going to do anything but remembered you could just walk around Shibuya! …well itadori invited you two because he knew you two would laze around on the couch watching cheap horror movies on the TV with some popcorn that was probably too stale for you two to eat.

and with last minute costumes calls for last minute shopping and what did you find? some spiderman suits. i mean take what you can get and don’t throw a fit! choso was skeptical cause its just a bodysuit, he would be exposed! but he still bought it, and man that shit formed his body perfectly, his abs were outlined his biceps.

the two of you ended up just throwing on some sweats/cargos over the bodysuit and called it a day. choso had the mask hang out of his front pocket, you just wanted to grab it wrap it around his neck and pull him into infinite kisses. yuuji thought you two looked so cute with the matching costume! if yuuji likes the costume and you like the costume that is all that mattered to choso, he was happy loving every moment he spent with you and yuuji.

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avatar-anna · 7 months

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What are youngdad! H and the kids doing in break

Harry, Y/n, and the kiddos are in full school mode

Harry helps get everyone ready for school: making lunches, setting out clothes for the younger kids, making breakfast for everyone and getting everyone in the car.

Y/n takes the kids to school and Harry stays with GiGi and Natalia and gets them all fed and dressed. He watches cartoons with them and plays with their toys, etc.

Sometimes Y/n goes to work (once upon a time I mentioned very briefly that she took up styling hair), it's really the only time she gets to work and Harry encourages her to do her thing when he's home.

So Harry takes care of the babies while Y/n is at work. Some days he visits with the Natalia on his hip and Geneva holding his hand and they have lunch together, other days he makes baked goods for the school's bake sale—never store bought because Harry was a baker for goodness sake. He takes the girls shopping and to the park and takes care of pickup from school and goes on even more shopping trips and trips to the park and to get food because even though he packed the best lunch a dad could pack, Collette is still hungry.

Then it's time to get Simone, Collette, and the twins ready for after school activities—Collette goes to dance, Simone has volleyball practice, the twins go to soccer practice, and Natalia and GiGi have toddler classes. This is a divide and conquer type situation, and it leaves Harry and Y/n exhausted by the end of the night.

Everyone comes together at the end of the day for dinner. Most days it's something that Harry or Y/n picked up between practices, but sometimes one of them makes dinner. Everyone sits around the dinner table, talking over each other about their day and what they got up to. Harry feeds Natalia from her high chair while Y/n makes sure Jules and Geneva keep from making a big mess with their dinner.

Sometimes they share looks over the tops of their kids' heads at the madness, but they know they'll recap all of it over a glass of wine later, once homework is completed and everyone is tucked in bed and fast asleep.

Bedtime is also a divide and conquer situation. Brushing teeth and showers and bubble baths and affirmations and getting bags packed for the next day all needs to be done. On non-school nights, the whole family will pile onto the couch or Harry and Y/n's big bed to watch a movie together, which usually ends up with half their children sleeping in bed with them. On school nights, Y/n reads to Collette and Simone while Harry sings the twins to sleep and vice versa.

Then when it's all over, Harry and Y/n collapse on their bed, exhausted by a full day of parenting. Harry pulls Y/n into his lap and clinks his wine glass against hers before asking about her day. Then they fall asleep watching some show they've been binge watching but keep having to re-watch because they keep sleeping through episodes.

It's crazy and exhausting and some nights Harry feels delirious by the end of it. But he loves it, and he loves raising his family with Y/n and being home and feeling normal. It's a different kind of adventure, but one that he doesn't love any less.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #young dad! harry #young mom! reader #young dadrry #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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mintaikcorpse · 1 year

Text

I've been binge watching Helluva Boss (again) and I think I've realized something about Blitzo. As much as we see him dom Stolas and try to dom everything sound him, I think he likes being dominated more.

(Yes, I'm analyzing the kinks of a fictional demon)

Let's start with the Striker and Blitzo scene from episode 5.

Striker pinned Blitzo against the wall, and Blitzo mentioned how it was "kinda hot." He also smiles while saying this, and he seems pretty into it. And while you could say that it was acting, some parts of the scene seemed genuine (including contemplating joining him).

And off topic here, it's also the first time I realized how long Blitzo's head was. Looks like a potato or a pickle.

The next scene I wanna talk about is in episode 6, specifically how Blitzo reacted to Stolas in the little drug trip and how he reacted when Stolas saved I.M.P. I won't br full blown analyzing the drug trip (many videos doing that, I recommend watching Cartoon Universe's one).

In the dream, Blitzo crawled towards Stolas up golden stairs that were cleaned off by his feathers. A chain goes around Blitzo's neck when he reaches him, and dream Stolas puts a finger on his chin and pulls Blitzo forwards with the chain. While I don't think this is supposed to be a, "Blitzo turn on" scene, I do want to mention Blitzo's little blush. He also doesn't seem to try and leave it, but he's embarrassed that he doesn't want to leave.

And then the scene where Stolas saves I.M.P.

Blitzo's face isn't fear or complete shock. It looks almost like admiration. He's in awe that Stolas went into his full demon form, just to save him. He likes that Stolas went in full demon form to save him.

An honorary mention is Verosika Mayday, who is a tall Succubus that is definitely a top.

And now "Seeing Stars." This one kinda just proved this head canon to me. Especially with that. "BReaThlEsS" scene.

This is the first time we see Blitzo actually appreciate Stolas's advances. And it's when Stolas is acting like a dom. Usually, his flirting consists of "in your face" comments or just the most horrifying, nonsensical, kinky dirty talk ever (wtf is he gonna do with jelly sandwiches???). But the flirting here is a lot more subtle, and Stolas having complete control over the situation. Which was definitely a turn on for Blitzo. I think that Blitzo does enjoy being dominate most of the time but, to me, it seems like he's a switch.

It also make sense why he'd like being dominated at times. He feels like he has to do everything by himself (said in the "Truth Seekers" dream), and is probably used to doing everything by himself. Makes sense that he'd want someone to be in charge for a bit.

(Aka, I wanna see dom Stolas or power bottom Stolas. It'd be awesome)

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hammysamhah · 3 months

Text

hello peoples i’m about to sound real crazy right now but hear me out cus i’ve been thinking this for awhile now while binge watching TBGO and Trollstopia and i need to know your thoughts!! and buckle up folks cus this is gonna be a LONG post

so okay basically, i think that in the shows Guy Diamond has some sort of generational trauma/ daddy issues/ faced parental neglect or however else it can be phrased.

this theory is only show specific and i don’t know if i sound crazy for thinking this AND i know i’ve made a post similarly about this except with Dareth from Ninjago but i actually have some real evidence this time to back up this theory/headcanon

look, this theory started off as kind of a joke at first after watching TBGO episode: “Trolly Tales 3” where Guy is seen telling a bunch of children a story based off of the nursery rhyme about jumping over a candlestick.

the story is seen with Guy as the main character, wanting to pursue a life of entertainment involving jumping over candlesticks. Sky Toronto, whom is Guy’s dad in this story, doesn’t agree with this lifestyle and insists he starts thinking more seriously and be part of the company. Guy rebels and pursues his dream anyway, but in the end it fails after the candlestick drops Guy and becomes a solo act. Guy, now at his lowest, goes back to his dad’s and tells him he’s ready to be serious. Sky responds to the statement that he has seen Guy’s shows and that he doesn’t want Guy calling him dad anymore, but to instead call him his #1 fan. it was a small but sweet twist there at the end where the dad accepts the son in the end.

now i didn’t really give much thought to the story until i saw the way Guy reacted when the kids didn’t like it. now i’ll make it very aware that i very much know Guy is just super dramatic (they even acknowledged that in the scene i’m mentioning rn), BUT as someone who loves to overanalyze cartoon characters and expressions, he kind of looked genuinely hurt. he was also fairly offended when poppy said his story was too dramatic.

mentioning again that i know Guy is just a drama queen but i like to overanalyze stuff like this

now after i noticed these details, i jokingly remarked that it seemed like Guy took the dislike of his story personally, as if that was a semi-true story. like as if something like that did happen to Guy when he was younger and he twisted the story to fit the nursery rhyme. i don’t think that Sky Toronto is his actual dad, there’s too much proof that shows they don’t have any personal connection like that. but i do think that whoever his dad really was did push him the same way Sky did in the story. and that maybe Guy twisted the ending to be happy when in reality it probably didn’t have his dad accepting him and loving him for who he was.

now everything i have been talking about is all just speculation. there’s no real proof that this story isn’t anything more than just a story. BUT!!! by overanalyzing it is what made me realize that Guy being neglected in some way by his dad (or mom if he has one) would make some sense considering his personality.

Guy is very reliant on being the center of attention, he doesn’t like the idea of anyone being better than him and just has some confidence issues in general (at least in TBGO). there are many episodes centering around this. this is even stated in Guy Damond’s wiki.

now, attention seeking is a very common occurrence in people that were neglected as a child. his attention seeking and huge ego are both things that show signs of trauma or neglect as seen below

this is just a slice of what i have in store though because i think that this ties into the way he parents Tiny Diamond in Trollstopia.

Guy and Tiny have a few episodes centered around their relationship, they’re all pretty heartwarming and a little sad (while also being funny because the show’s a comedy). these episodes have a pretty similar moral which is “i’ll love you no matter what” and i feel like there’s a reason they all pretty much have this moral and it’s to show how Guy is growing as a character and parent.

let me just summarize these episodes i am thinking of realll quick for ya

Extra Tootering (s1 ep 12a): Tiny wants to learn how to glitter fart like his dad to impress his friends, Guy tries to teach him how but it doesn’t work. time comes where Tiny is meant to show his friends his trick and ended up faking it so no one could know he couldn’t do it. feeling guilty for his lie, he runs away and Guy finds him and tells him that whether he can glitter or not he and his friends will still love him the way he is.

Dad-urday (s2 ep 1b): Tiny thinks of his dad as his hero and Guy doesn’t wanna do ANYTHING that could ever break that image, so Guy participates in Dad-urday events that he hates just to make Tiny happy, only in the end to find out that Tiny will always view Guy as his hero even if he can’t do all the typical dad things that others can do.

Funder Construction (s7 ep 5a): Guy tells Tiny about how their family has a legacy of building extraordinaryly cool blanket forts and unintentionally pressured Tiny into feeling that he needs to make his own super impressive fort or else he won’t be considered a Diamond, Guy immediately comforted and reassured Tiny that no matter what he accomplishes in life he’ll always be a Diamond because he’s his son and that he’ll love him no matter what.

now let me break down these episodes a bit more to show you how i think it could prove Guy has parental trauma and how it plays into how he parents now.

for Extra Tootering, there’s this specific scene that spoke to me. when Tiny tells his dad that he wants to learn how to glitter like him, Guy tells him that he was also a late tooter and that Tiny should be patient, as it comes with time. but then Tiny starts saying that he’ll just hide his true self away until then. when Guy heard his son say those things, he was tearing up and even freaked out a little literally shouting a dramatic “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” and he immediately decided that he was going to help his son learn to glitter fart despite his earlier statement that Tiny should be patient.

now i know the topic being about farting glitter makes this feel so unserious but that isn’t gonna stop me from overanalyzing it LOL

the main thing i noticed was how upset that Guy was when Tiny started talking about hiding himself from the world. Tiny was wanting to hide himself because he couldn’t glitter like Guy could. Guy didn’t wanna be the cause of his son hiding himself!! any parent would be upset in this situation. but if i consider my past point of that story Guy told back in TBGO, where the dad didn’t want his son to be himself, being a real thing that Guy could’ve gone through, Tiny wanting to hide himself could very much upset Guy!! not just for the basic reasons of wanting your child to be happy but also because he doesn’t want Tiny to go through what he went through.

later on when Guy finally finds his runaway son, this interaction plays out:

(direct quotes from the ep)

Guy: “don’t you see? i love you just the way you are! we all do!”

Tiny: “but you’re my daddy, daddy! you have to say that.”

Guy: “…you’re right, Tiny. i guess because i’m your father, in a way, i do have to say it.”

and the way Guy said that last sentence just felt interesting to me. the pause before he said it, and using the words “i guess” made it feel like he never really got that treatment from his own father ? ofc i could just be grasping at straws there a lil bit but it’s what i’m thinking.

now by the end of the episode Tiny has learned how to glitter and used it to save himself, his dad, and friends from falling to death lol— but what Guy says to Tiny afterwards was very sweet.

(direct quote from ep)

Guy: “TINYYYYY! HAHA! you did it! YOOOOU did it!!! for the record, i’d still love you if you couldn’t, but i’m glad to not be dead.”

i just like how Guy specified that he still would’ve loved Tiny either way. this doesn’t directly lead any points to my theory other than maybe Guy feels the need to make sure Tiny absolutely knows that he’ll love him no matter what. but any parent should feel that way about their child. i just really thought the moment was sweet and worth a mention.

now onto the next episode, Dad-urday, and let me tell you this episode probably spoke to me the MOST when it came to defending my theory.

for the entire episode Guy was stressing over disappointing his son. Tiny thinks of Guy as his hero, and Guy doesn’t want to do anything that could ever shatter that thought and make Tiny think less of him. so he and Tiny participate in a thing called Dad-urday, where all the dads in Trollstopia do a bunch of stereotypical dad things (like grill, play catch, fish, stuff like that). but Guy isn’t good at those things, so he goes to his friends for help and this interaction pursues.

(direct quotes from ep)

Synth: “Tiny’s gonna love dad-urday! he thinks the world of you and what-not!”

Guy: “exactly! Tiny thinks i can do anything! but tomorrow he’ll realize i can’t, and i just don’t want my little boy to lose his hero…”

Guy is seen here putting so much pressure on himself for no reason! he should know that Tiny would love him despite his lack of ‘dad’ skills, but he’s convinced himself that if he isn’t perfect and amazing at everything then his son will think less of him. this is totally rooted in Guy’s confidence issues and probable parental neglect i think.

so Guy forces himself to do typical Dad-urday things (with the help of his friends) to make sure not to disappoint his son. but things go wrong when Guy has to participate in a boating event to which he gets into a dangerous position. at this point Guy’s friends finally told Tiny the truth and Tiny immediately just wants his dad to get out of the danger he’s in leading to this interaction

(direct quotes from the ep)

Tiny: “daddy! your daddy friends already told me everything! you gotta get out of there!”

Guy: “b-but— this isn’t how i wanted this to go, Tiny! you’re my little boy! and i want you to keep on believing i can do anything! so you don’t lose your hero!”

the way that Guy sounded so panicked and upset in this scene really hurt. to me it feels like Guy is desperate to not end up being a bad dad, he wants to be someone his son can look up to and to be the first person he goes to if there’s a problem. i really think this shows that Guy never had a good role model himself, as he doesn’t understand that he doesn’t need to do all the things he’s making himself do in order to achieve this goal.

this mindset even had Guy forget that Tiny already knew he’s not perfect, as Tiny pointed out he already knew he’s not capable of everything and specified about when Guy tried to build his bike and failed, which made Guy finally remember. Tiny then proceeded to list a bunch of other things about his dad that aren’t the most charming, like his bald spot, or his fake calves lmao

anyways the next bit of dialogue here seems pretty meaningful

(direct quotes)

Tiny: “there’s only one reason you’re my hero, daddy…. *BECAUSE* you’re my daddy!”

Guy (tearfully): “…really?”

the fact Guy was crying in this scene just showed how touched he felt that he didn’t actually have to be perfect to be a good dad. and that he already was one. the mere fact that being his dad made Tiny think of him as his hero definitely made him realize he was doing a good job. he needed to hear that after all the pressure he put on himself earlier.

now onto Funder Construction, which is a pretty big one too cus they actually talk about their family in this episode!

this could potentially put a little dent into my theory since Guy is the one who talks about them and he didn’t seem like someone who didn’t like his family. but i might just put it as he didn’t wanna have his child worry about it. i mean Guy is an actor in the show, it wouldn’t be too crazy for him to ignore his feelings for a minute and talk a little kindly about their family’s legacy to inspire Tiny, because Guy did play a fair part in it after all.

now to put it simply this episode hurt my heart so bad 😭 Guy’s parenting in this episode is so good it hurt. Tiny found an interest in making blanket forts, so Guy tells Tiny about how making blanket forts runs in the family and that they’ve all made huge creations out of them. and now Tiny wants to do the same.

Guy supports Tiny throughout the entire thing until Tiny starts rushing it and the fort becomes unstable. by then Guy is begging Tiny to stop but Tiny is consistent on getting it done. then the tower starts wobbling over with them on it and they fall off the side! luckily they were able to hold onto some loose blankets but they still were in a very unsafe position. and even then, still Tiny is consistent about finishing this fort and thus, this interaction pursues:

(direct quotes)

Tiny: “i have to build something the world has never seen before!”

Guy: “BUT WHY?!”

Tiny: “because if i don’t…i’m not a Diamond.”

Guy: “…not a Diamond..?”

and dude. Guy’s face after Tiny said that. that brief moment of just an emotion change felt like Guy was realizing that he unintentionally pressured Tiny into thinking that if he didn’t build this fort he wouldn’t be considered part of the family. this is the exact thing Guy wanted to prevent Tiny from feeling.

so now continuing the scene, tiny is crying at this point:

(direct quotes)

Tiny: “it’s like you said, ‘every Diamond built structures that would stand until the end of time.’ so, if i don’t do that… how can i be one of them?”

Guy: “…Tiny Diamond. young man, you listen to me, and you listen good, because i have something that you need to hear. first of all, the things the Diamonds of the past did took them their entire lifetimes. if they caught one glimpse of what you’ve accomplished as a child..? it would blow the hair right off their heads!”

Tiny: [smiles and sniffs]

Guy: “and second of all, and way way more importantly, none of that matters! i don’t care if you build a thousand skyscrapers, or if you never touch another blanket again, you are always a Diamond. because you.. are my son.”

this scene is so important not just for Tiny but for Guy too. Tiny is learning once again that his dad will truly love him no matter what. and unlike last time with the glitter fart, (which Tiny was able to achieve in the end), in this episode, Tiny’s plan doesn’t work, but now he’s okay with it. because his dad made him feel less pressured and more loved. Guy Diamond truly said some powerful things to his son. this will most likely be a memory that Tiny will remember forever and that’s such a good thing.

coming back to the theory though, Guy had accidentally made his son feel how his family probably made him feel in the past. maybe not about specifically the blanket tower stuff but possibly something similar or just anything in general. pressure to live up to family values can be traumatic if your family makes you feel outcasted for not living up to it the way they want. and considering i think Guy either got disowned or ran away himself, (solely based on the story he told those children in TBGO), it obviously didn’t end very well.

the fact he made Tiny feel that pressure was probably heart breaking to Guy. and he made sure to immediately make sure Tiny knew he had no reason to feel like that. he became so serious so fast to make SURE tiny didn’t feel out of place in their family.

and that just shows Guy’s development not just from the trauma im theorizing but just in general in the show. Guy was never really the most serious character in this show. i mean, he’s a naked sparkly troll who’s main character trait half the time is farting glitter or being super dramatic in comedic ways. but seeing how serious Guy gets when it’s about his son just goes to show how seriously he cares about him. and that’s how you break generational trauma yall, Guy Diamond mastered it.

so um yeah this is pretty much all i have to say about this theory. i just wanted to show how i thought that Guy didn’t have a good childhood but made sure his son had a great one. really sweet stuff for this mostly unserious show. i know this is probably super dumb but i don’t care i just love dumb things. and if you actually read all of this thanks and here’s a cookie 🍪

#guy diamond #tiny diamond #trolls fandom #trolls world tour #trolls band together #trollstopia #trolls the beat goes on #trolls theory #trolls poppy #queen poppy #trolls synth #i am so serious #make fun of me if you have to #i love guy diamond #he’s the best dad #peppy needs to take notes

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 3 months

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

word count: 12.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

The ring finger.

The left ring finger.

…fuck

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clark County Marriage License

“You okay?” Tyler asks, sounding concerned.

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

How drunk had you been?

Who the hell had let you get married?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Paperwork?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#tyler seguin #tyler seguin x reader #the winter fic exchange 2k24 #tyler seguin x you #nhl fic

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