i'm in love with my car
the origins of rogerina (series)
inspirations (18+)
frosty love
when i was his wife
title
dear diamond (roger taylor x reader x brian may)
brian may
fat bottomed girls (18+)
mr rockstar
john deacon
we are a family (series)
ben hardy
early christmas present
tell me you're pretty
my girls
gwilym lee
due date
joe mazzello
cute coffee shop guy
will you marry my daddy?
lucky woman
tea party
good interruptions
take me out to a birthday ball game
your biggest fan
happy ending
someone like you
mamas and dadas
Series Summary: You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.
WELL GANG. We did it. We made a masterlist. Please enjoy.
(can we all appreciate how much better my masterlist looks now with Bea’s incredible handiwork???? @mrhoemazzello)
Ben Hardy
Lighthouse
Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader
Summary: Ben and reader are doing a puzzle during a thunderstorm. Major fluff ensues.
Word Count: 3K
Warnings: None! Just lots of fluff and mentions of sex on a One Direction blanket
three things
Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader
Summary: After moving in together, Reader and Ben host their first Friendsgiving together and have to come up with three things they’re grateful for.
Word Count: 3K
Warnings: Mentions of sex and shenanigans so cute they’ll rot your teeth
A continuation of Lighthouse!
i’m open
Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader
Summary: The one in which reader goes to Ben’s soccer game. Fluff and romance ABOUNDS.
Word Count: 3K
Warnings: mentions of sex and swearing. And major fluff. Like, so much fluff this thing is made of cotton candy and unicorn wishes.
star light, star bright
Pairing: Ben Hardy x O.C.
Summary: Joe and Ben take a trip on a boat for a nice relaxing Guys Weekend. What Ben doesn’t expect is to fall in love with the owner of the boat. Or to drunkenly sing karaoke with her.
Word Count: 14K
Warnings: S M U T. Dom!Ben, but mainly Soft!Ben, bad karaoke and lots of boat and ocean puns (I’m a monster)
home for the holidays
Pairing: Ben x Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns)
Summary: Reader is fine with being alone on Christmas. In fact she prefers it. But when her best friend, Michael Hardy, invites her to Christmas with his family, how is she to refuse? Especially when Michael lets slip that his mysterious brother Ben will be around for the holidays…
Word Count: 9K
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, implied sex and swearing. And so much goddamn softness, WHEW.
~~~
Billy/Four
don’t be a baby pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3
Pairing: Billy x Fem!Reader
Summary: Reader is a nurse who’s brother falls into the Sky Walker crowd. After he gets injured, Billy takes it upon himself to look after Reader’s brother and calm Reader’s nerves as they get ready for their next job. But when the job goes awry and Reader can’t keep Billy safe, how does she cope?
Word Count: 22K (total)
Warnings: Smut (only 18+ interact please!), swearing, blood, fighting, explosions, needles and softness bc we love two idiots pining over each
~~~
Joe Mazzello:
the art of flirting on a hover board pt. 1 / pt. 2 / pt. 3 / pt. 4
Pairing: Joe Mazzello x OC
Summary: Ivy runs a successful arts non-profit and Joe tags along when Rami and Lucy go to visit her. But what happens when a simple bet made over a hover board competition gets out of hand?
Word Count: 13K (total)
Warnings: mentions of sex, blow jobs and swearing. Oh, and friends sharing one (1) collective brain cell
flustered
Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader
Summary: You and Joe are getting ready to go to the store when he decides now is a good time to re-enact his casting video for BoRhap.
Word Count: 1K
Warnings: This thing may be the most fluffy, self-indulgent piece of romance I’ve ever written. So, be prepared for lots of fluff, soft Joe and saying I love you for the first time
act two, scene two
Pairing: College!Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader
Summary: Joe is in your Acting 101 class and you’re never quite sure if your flirty relationship is just pretend or the real thing. Then, you’re given the scene you’ll have to present during your final…
Word Count: 4K
Warnings: SMUT (don’t interact if you’re under 18 please!), swearing, drinking and me fantasizing about how adorable and dorky college!Joe would be.
you’re out
Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Fem!Reader
Summary: Your favorite past time is roasting Joe about how much the Yankees suck. So, when you go to a Yankees game with him and make a bet about whether they’ll win or not, you can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, they’ll win so Joe can do whatever he wants to you.
Word Count: 5K
Warnings: SMUT (don’t interact if you’re under 18 please!), swearing, mentions of alcohol, continuous talk of how much the Yankees suck (they do, I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules!!!!).
I have been writing this self-indulgent piece for quite some time and have decided to take the gigantic leap and share the first chapter. This first part contains the excerpt that I’ve previously posted and loving called ‘Shortshop.’
I try to follow a pretty realistic timeline, but it may be flawed. In addition, the plot deals with personal topics based on what is public knowledge. I’ve done my best to respectfully mention those topics.
I’d love to know your thoughts, and if I should continue to share what I’ve worked on up until this point (It’s already several chapters in development).
Joe Mazzello x Reader ; 4,616 ; overall angsty with pops of fluff, mentions of death, mentions of sexual themes, implied pregnancy
After a heated night of passion, the two of you spent the entire morning tiptoeing around each other. You were both were conscious of the inevitable: Joe leaving for a few months to participate in a press tour to promote the Bohemian Rhapsody movie, and you waiting patiently for him to return home once the movie had launched worldwide.
He’d offered to have you join him, but you denied the invitation. You were well aware of how the movie’s management felt about the reputation of their stars’ and their respective relationships. Of course, Lucy and Rami had gone to hell and back in efforts to keep their relationship a secret. In due time, they’d have the option to let the world know that they were an item if they chose to do so.
Dreamboat Ben Hardy lived the bachelor life, and everyone envied him. He could have anyone he’d wanted, and on most nights, he did. You’d given Joe an out prior to filming, knowing that the distance would be nearly impossible to stand and that a shoot like this would give him a world of opportunity, including any and every girl he could get. Imagine your surprise when he put a ring on your finger prior to leaving to film.
Gwilym had a girlfriend, and he kept her neatly under wraps. You admired that quality very much so, as you believed that anyone who cared so deeply for their loved one would have trouble keeping them out of them limelight. Once you understood he’d done it to protect her, everything made sense. You jokingly told Joe to take a note from Gwilym, and it lead to a small spat that surrounded his immense pride for the future Mrs. Joseph Francis Mazzello, the third. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the attention Joe gave you in interviews and on social media, but you were well aware of the image that their publicity team was going for; the foursome would play rockstars and be worshipped by fans as such. It was difficult to give devotion to a man who was already attached to a woman.
You worked in Public Relations and Entertainment Management, and your career was how the two of you had met. You weren’t a stranger to the occasional flirtation of a celebrity. Most would argue that you were lucky to be given that much attention. Prior to Joe, you’d never mixed business and pleasure. To this day, you were certain that if it hadn’t been for your Yankees necklace, he probably wouldn’t have tried so hard to get you to agree to go for a drink with him.
The filming of Bohemian Rhapsody lasted a steady six months, and that gave you a generous amount of time to plan your intimate wedding. Joe gave you complete control, which terrified you but kept you busy while he was gone. You’d settled on a late May wedding, and that’d given enough time for Joe to return from filming, put the finishing touches on whatever he needed to be a part of, and of course, celebrate with a bachelor party.
However, when Joe returned home from filming Bohemian Rhapsody, a majority of his time was spent with his father, who would eventually pass away from a treacherous battle with glioblastoma. Your wedding was cancelled out of respect for Joe’s family, and though it was initially hard pill to swallow, you knew that it was what was best for Joe to mourn the loss of his father and heal properly.
The summer months brought on an intense grieving process that you never could have prepared yourself for. You held Joe up on some days, and did everything you could to ease the pain of losing his hero and best friend. It was never not instinctual for you; you loved Joe. You were going to spend the rest of your lives together, and being married meant taking on each other’s baggage, no matter how large. Joe confessed that he fell deeper in love as you walked him through the start of life without his dad.
When you reflected on the time you spent together between the passing of Joe’s father and his departure for the press tour, it was clear that you’d grown tremendously as a union. There was never a ceremony but there was a certificate to prove that you belonged to each other until the end of time. You never had the opportunity to celebrate your love for each other, but you didn’t need to. Having each other was enough.
As you rifled through Joe’s luggage, making sure he had everything he needed for an extended period away from home, you wiped a few tears that fell from your eyes. You both were harboring feelings that you were afraid to share with each other, which truthfully was a setback in your relationship.
The whole summer was spent being transparent with each other and working through your feelings. In the beginning, Joe spent the bulk of his grieving by fucking you senseless. He channelled his sadness and anger into physicality; you accepted it at first because you were reaping the benefits. However, after tremendous coaxing, you finally became a couple who talked things out.
This time, you didn’t discuss your feelings about being apart for an extended period of time at all. You both spent the days building up to his departure being sarcastic and pretending it wasn’t a thing that was bound to happen. Two days prior is when the reality of the situation set in. You barely spoke to each other aside from a casual nicety here and there. You both were always on the verge of saying what you felt but never quite getting there.
You were making a very simple dinner the night before Joe had to leave when he caught your lips in a deep kiss. You’d turned from the stove to grab the pepper and he grabbed your face and kissed you hard. Instinctively, you melted into his touch and threw your arms around his neck, battling the height difference by dancing on your tip toes.
Joe turned off the stove with a quick flick of the wrist and lifted you onto the counter, mumbling something about how eating you would suffice. Your sex life was always adventurous, but this outburst of passion caught you off guard.
He had his way with you on nearly every surface of your apartment that night, which was quite the accomplishment seeing that you lived in a one-bedroom. By the time morning came, you’d lost count of how many times you did. You clung to each other, limbs tangled, until Joe’s alarm went off.
Joe silently excused himself from the bed and started a shower for himself. You spent too long toying with the idea of joining him before you actually did so, catching your husband with a head full of shampoo and a goofy smile to match. He ducked down to press a tender kiss to your collar bone, which allowed you to loving massage the shampoo into his scalp. Though your favorite place to fool around was the shower, you tried to respect Joe’s time this morning and helped him clean up in order to look his best for his first day on his press tour.
Joe left the shower first, and then the bathroom, leaving you with a wave of nausea that you did your best to battle. It ended with you on your knees in front of the toilet, dripping wet. You did your best to convince yourself that these vomiting spells were due to the stress of Joe leaving, but deep down, you knew better. Your breasts were incredibly tender, and your period was dangerously late.
In the wake of summer, you stopped taking birth control. The decision was mutual and one suggested by Joe during a sloppy quickie after being caught in a rain storm. The man was positively famous for mumbling casualties during sex. This particular time, he whispered, “Mmmwannaputababyinyou” against your nipple, and you couldn’t let it go.
You were always open with Joe about the fact that conceiving would be difficult, as your family history had plagued you with fertility issues. He was accepting, thank goodness, and vowed to die trying to have a baby. You weren’t actively trying at the moment. At the same time, there wasn’t anything preventing you from getting pregnant.
After you cleaned yourself up, you paced, still stark naked, trying to figure out what to do - if anything. Joe did not need the idea of leaving his pregnant wife at home looming over his head for the entirety of the press tour. You weren’t even sure that you were pregnant! And you didn’t have time to find out until after Joe left.
You quickly changed into one of Joe’s shirts and a fresh pair of undies before throwing your hair up into a towel. When you emerged from the bedroom, you caught Joe staring out of the large window overlooking the New York City streets. His brow was furrowed, his face somewhat pained.
“Babe, are you deep in thought again? There’s smoke coming from your ears.” You’d resorted back to sarcasm, because you knew sooner or later, that you’d have to stare your feelings in the face.
Joe chuckled to himself, running his hand through his hair. “Funny.”
“S’why you married me,” you reminded.
He shook his head, negating your statement. You crossed your arms and tilted your head curiously.
“Look, I could stand here and rattle off all of the reasons why I made you my wife but I’m sure that you’re fighting off tears just as much as I am right now.” Joe turned his attention back to the street and rocked back on his heels. “I’m just trying to spare us both, alright?”
You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth and went to your husband, arms snaking around his chest and pulling him tightly against you.
“Joey…,” you started.
“No - don’t. Please…” His voice wavered.
It was discouraging, to say the very least, to watch him uncoil in such a way. You were watching your husband take several steps back from all the progress he’d made after losing his father. You immediately blamed yourself for his behavior; if you would’ve been honest with how you felt about him leaving, he would’ve done the same.
You squeezed your way into the minuscule space between Joe and the window, capturing his face in your hands. He looked away from you, trying to hide the crumbling facade he’d worked so hard to keep up over the past few days. You wouldn’t allow it; you turned his face to yours and pressed up on your toes, kissing Joe feverishly.
It took him a minute but Joe eventually wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close to him as he kissed you back with the same about of passion. He was the first to pull way, his hand reaching for your cheek to bring your forehead to his. When you opened your eyes, you witnesses tears fall from his own.
“Baby, don’t cry.” You kissed his nose, and wiped away the fresh tears that had fallen with your thumb.
“I don’t want to leave you. I - don’t want to be apart from you for so long.” Joe sniffled, embarrassingly wiping his eyes with the back of his leather jacket.
Joe was such a passionate person, and that was one of the things you loved most about him. He felt with his whole heart, and it was so beautiful. Watching him experience sadness and pain was almost unbearable. You wanted to hurt everyone who ever made him hurt and you were constantly afraid that you’d be the one to cause that hurt. You were terrified that you were the reason at this very moment.
“It’s three months. You were gone for nearly sixth during filming.” You wrapped your arms tightly around Joe and looked up at with sympathetic eyes.
You wanted to ease any kind of worry that Joe was experiencing. You couldn’t have him leave you feeling devastated and anxious. You ran you fingers up his back, swirling circles into the fabric of his leather jacket and kissing his chest softly.
“We somehow survived that. With constant texting, and Face Time…”
“- And sexting. And phone sex. And Face Time sex.” Joe was very quick to add.
“We’ll keep the same habits as last time, my love. And you’ll be back in my arms before you even know it.” You bit back a convincing smile, looking up at Joe with promising eyes.
You saw Joe begin to speak, but he cut himself off with a kiss to your towel-covered hair. You suddenly felt very silly, and ripped the damned thing from your head, tossing it to the ground.
“I wish I was a little bit more put together for this moment.” You admitted, running your fingers through the tangles of your hair. “Not that your Goonies Tee, my wet dog hair, and the lucky Mazzello undies aren’t doing it for me.”
Joe quirked an eyebrow and his hands went to the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, lifting it up just enough to see if you were a woman of your word. His face was plastered with a toothy grin once he saw that you were, in fact, wearing the lucky Mazzello underwear.
Before you’d became a couple, Joe invited you to a Yankees baseball Game. He knew how much of a fan you were, and was delighted to be able to share something in common with you. He was sorely disappointed when you emerged from the subway in every day clothes and a Yankees cap. He knew deep down that a girl who wore her team around her neck was a diehard, and he wasn’t buying this innocent fan act that you were putting on for him.
You considered yourself moderately crazy. You had several wardrobe pieces, including official jerseys and sweatshirts. You had the score sent to your phone, and always kept up with stats and any news about the team. You could handle rabid baseball fans; your brothers and father were as crazy as you’d seen up until this point in your life. That was until you’d met Joe, of course. His devotion to his team only made him more attractive to you. You’d only been on a few casual dates, but if this were to ever turn into anything, you’d be eager to see that passion in other aspects of Joe’s life.
To say the game itself was an absolute shit show was an understatement. You sat there and watched as your beloved New York Yankees were being completely annihilated. Luckily for you, Joe’s company was cushioning the loss tremendously, and you were hoping that he felt the same about you. You enjoyed pleasant conversation about your team, and shared ballpark snacks over a couple of beers. When it was Joe’s turn to grab a snack and a round of beers, you were beyond please when he returned with a batter’s helmet full of chicken fingers and fries.
“Got you something else while I was up.” Joe stated with a mouthful.
Both of your hands were nursing your beer, intensely watching the game. When you hummed in response, Joe set a small package in your lap. You set your drink down to examine it closely, realizing that this son of a bitch had been bold enough to purchase you a pair of cheeky briefs with the New York Yankees emblem on the front. You squinted your eyes to read Joe’s scribbled note.
“Maybe if the team scores, I will too. - JM”
You felt your cheeks become red hot and you tried to play it off, but Joe was none the wiser.
“Too much?” he asked coyly, crossing his legs.
You were still quite dumbfounded by Joe’s advanced actions, because no one in your life had ever made such a valiant attempt to flirt with you. Also, you had to admit it: it was incredibly clever. You let your fingers run over Joe’s handwriting, examining the way Joe wrote his initials in a sleek cursive.
You set the package back down and grabbed your beer. You took a long sip before finally speaking. “Which player is your favorite?”
Joe let a pregnant pause permeate the space between you before he awkwardly rung his hands together. He was convinced he’d struck out with your apparent attempt to change the subject.
“Currently or of All-Time?”
“Currently. I don’t need a magnifying glass to know you’d die for Donnie Baseball.”
Joe smirked, impressed by the fact that you’d been paying attention to him, even if you denied his advances to sleep with him.
“Didi. Why?” Joe crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.
You shrugged playfully, taking another sip of your beer. “I think that if Didi Gregorius can score before the night is over, that I just may be able to make an exception - just this one time, of course - and allow you to also score.”
“Fuck -“ Joe sat up in his seat and leaned towards you. “Come again?”
“That’s an advanced question. I suppose the fate of that rests entirely in Didi’s hands.” You took another nonchalant sip of your beer while you watched Joe practically squirm in his cushy seat. “And here I was satisfied with the thought of just once.”
“Home run? Or does he just have to cross the plate?” Joe’s voice was somewhat strangled as he inquired about the fine print of your arrangement. To say that you were positively giddy to have taken the upper hand in this situation was an understatement.
“I’m not a cruel woman, Mazzello. A run’ll do just fine.” Your voice was smug and Joe had undoubtedly caught on by now. “The man has an at-bat or two left with how things are going… It’s achievable.”
“Fuck right, it is! My man’ll get the job done for me. I’m sure of it.” Joe reached to relax his arm around the back of your seat, a delighted smirk tugging his lips upward. You leaned into his gesture and continued to sip your beer, your free hand admiring Joe’s penmanship.
As the rest of the game played out, the biggest Yankees fan you’d ever known had nearly abandoned ship on his team. He didn’t necessarily care about the Yankees losing, for probably one of the only times in his life; he just needed Didi to score a damn run. Unfortunately, the Bronx Bombers were not victorious, but they nearly were - thanks to Didi Gregorius. The shortstop came close to evening the score with an impressive grand slam in the bottom of the 8th inning, with two outs.
When Didi’s bat made contact with the ball, both you and Joe shot up from your seats, watching intently to see if the ball would land in fair territory in the outfield stands. When it did and the patrons around you clamored in excitement at the rally, you both reached for each other to draw the other into a heated kiss. You knew the possibility of it happening was very strong - Didi Gregorius was a good ball player. But the intensity and thrill was enough for a celebratory make-out session that would continue throughout last out and until most of the crowd around you cleared out.
“I will make you come four times.” Joe mumbled against your lips during a sloppy kiss. “One for each RBI the bastard earned.”
You desperately wanted to card your fingers through Joe’s hair, but you settled on toying with the ends that poked out from his hat. “I’d be satisfied with just the two times I’d decided on at the start of the wager.”
Joe somehow managed to coax five orgasms from you before dawn, and god damnit, was every single one incredible. You’d stayed the night at his place, waking in your new pair of underwear. They fit perfectly and they would make you feel invincible throughout the years. Joe always lingered a bit when you wore them, because all of his favorite things existed in harmony at the same place and time.
“I don’t know how these manage to look fresh, out-of-the-package new every time you wear them.” Joe stated, his hands reaching to paw at the bits of flesh that weren’t covered by the thin fabric.
“It’s the voodoo magic behind them, baby. Don’t question it.” You grinned before pressing playfully kisses along Joe’s jaw.
“Me? Question the magic behind such an enchanted pair of panties? I could never.” Joe gave your ass a playful smack and sighed.
Joe tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and squinted. “Man. I put in fifteen years at Catholic School, only to grow up and believe in our lord and savior, New York Yankees Shortstop, Didi Gregorius.”
“You’re crazy.” You snorted.
“About you.” His response was immediate and it had your cheeks flushing just as they would when you were getting to know Joe.
Joe leaned down to kiss you, a playful smile on his lips, when his phone began vibrating in his jacket pocket.
“Shit. Fuck — no.” Joe grumbled as he fetched his phone from his pocket and sighed before picking it up. “Hello? Yes. Okay, I will be down in a few moments. Thank you so much.”
Your eyes welled with tears before Joe’d even answered the call. You were doing impeccably up until this very moment. Joe cupped your face in his hands and exhaled through his nose.
“No, you’re not gonna do that.” Joe started. “You just gave me the speech and I’m going to give it right back to you. So you better listen up, beautiful.”
You nodded and choked on a sob, face crumbling a bit. That didn’t help Joe’s attempt to be the strong one in this situation. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, kissing your hair and rocking you gently.
“My beautiful wife…” Joe whispered. “Fuck you for making this so hard.”
You laughed and scrunched your nose at your husband as tears streamed down your face. You smoothed your hands over Joe’s jacket, fighting the urge to ball the leather into fists and haul him close to you, and make it so that he didn’t have to leave you.
You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand and cleared your throat before crossing your arms.
“Dad is with you, throughout every step of this, Joe. Don’t forget that, okay?”
“Joseph Mazzello or John Deacon?”
It was the perfect response. Joe didn’t want to dwell in the sadness of the moment or the past eight months without his father on this earth. You admired him so very much in that moment.
“Both.” You snorted.
He pulled you to him with a firm hand on your shoulder, kissing your forehead once more.
“I love you, Joe.” You gushed, your hand reaching to caress the stubble along his jaw.
“I love you.” Joe turned his head to kiss your palm before taking your face in his.
Joe kissed you as if his life depended on it. If it was going to be the last kiss he’d have for months, he needed for it to count, god damn it. He nibbled softly on your bottom lip, his tongue drinking every last bit of you in before you parted from this kiss. You smiled softly, albeit a bit heart broken, and pecked Joe’s lips once more before going to grab his luggage for him.
“I know what your plans are for this evening, so I don’t expect a call… But a text goodnight is necessary.”
You wheeled the suitcase to Joe and he took it from you with a nod.
“So, like if Roger Taylor and I wanted to FaceTime you to say goodnight, you wouldn’t be into it?”
“Not unless you want Rog seeing my lucky undies, Joseph.”
Joseph hummed to himself and shrugged. “Could be hot.”
“Oh, fuck off!” You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully.
Joe gripped the handle of his suitcase but he didn’t move; he just started at you.
“Baby, you can do this.” You assured him.
“I know. It would just be easier and more enjoyable if you were by my side.” Joe shrugged.
You went to him and stole one more deep kiss. God, you were going to miss those fucking lips.
“I’m in your head. And definitely in your heart.” You reminded.
Joe took your hand and pressed a kiss right near your wedding ring. Your free hand was pressed against his back and it guided him to the door once his lips left your skin.
“I will text you after the concert, beautiful. And probably a million times in between.”
“I know you will, and I look forward to every last message.” You smiled up at Joe and opened the door to your apartment.
Your body language and facial expressions were doing the exact opposite of what you wanted to in the moment, and you were so close to having Joe on his way so you could just cry this out.
Joe stepped out of the apartment, but still faced you. You were both very much aware that the door’s threshold separated you and it was more painfully then you thought it would be.
“I’ll let the boys and Lucy know that you send your love.”
You nodded. “Please do. Let them know how tremendous I think they all are.”
Joe puffed out a breath against his lips. “I’ll do no such thing. They all have big enough heads as it is.”
“I’m sure Ben would be thrilled to know you think he has a big - head.” You leaned against the door frame, accidentally encouraging his behavior.
“Now, that’s the threesome that I should try and arrange.” Joe’s stuck out his tongue playfully and raised his eyebrows.
“You’re so weird. I can’t believe I married you.” You playfully retched, but it stir something in you that you thought you’d fought off earlier.
“Me either, babe.” Joe grinned, and pressed a kiss to your lips. “I love you so fucking much. I’m going to miss you.”
You were on the verge of blowing chunks all over your husband, but you gripped the door handle and kissed Joe back.
“Can’t miss me if you don’t go.” You smirked sympathetically, wondering if you looked at green as you felt.
“That’s tempting…” Joe toyed with the idea for a moment but jumped back when you threw a playful slap in his direction. “Okay, I’m going. I’m going.”
Joe wrapped his hand around the handle of his suitcase, committing ever last feature of your to his memory before turning on his heels and heading towards the elevator, pulling the suitcase behind him. You could feel your heart break, and that coupled with your nausea nearly took you out.
“I love you, Joey. Make me proud.” Your voice was weak but encouraging.
“Always, my love.” Joe didn’t stop this time; he didn’t turn around to look at you, and he quickly disappeared around the corner. You waited a beat to make sure he’d left you for good before you closed the door to your apartment.
You sank completely to the ground and heaved, your vision blurry as you rid your body of whatever nutrition it’d had left. You cried as you vomited on the wood floor of your apartment vestibule. You missed your husband already, and you were scared to face the reality of the situation: you were going to have a baby.
Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and she has a choice to make. Inspired by the Twilight Saga.
Chapter 1: Once A Stranger In A Lonely World
Chapter 2: You Can Run Around Infinite In My Head
Chapter 3: And If You Want I Could Tell The Truth
Chapter 4: Baby, It’s A Violent World
Chapter 5: I’ve Lived The Life And Paid For Every Crime
Chapter 6: You Know You Got Me In The Palm Of Your Hand
Chapter 7: See I’m In Love With How Your Soul’s A Mix Of Chaos And Art
Chapter 8: I Won’t Tell You That It’s Easy
Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls
Chapter 10: Stay, I Need To Be Myself
Chapter 11: You Don’t Come Around No More
Chapter 12: Do You Not Dream Of Me? ‘Cause I Have Visions In My Sleep
Chapter 13: If We Were Vampires And Death Was A Joke
Lucille sat at the Lees’ usual table and apathetically picked through a heaping salad. (Friday was salad bar day, which I appreciated considerably more than the chicken finger obsession that marred Mondays at Calawah University.) Every once in a while, Rami nudged her and Lucille would spear a cherry tomato with her fork and bite it in half with perfectly even, white teeth. But her large blue-green eyes—they reminded me of webs of seaweed tumbling in the cold, frothing La Push waves—always found their way back to me, strangely focused, inquisitive, perhaps accusatory.
Ben probably told them how much he hates me for whatever nebulous reason and now they all hate me too and I’m going to spend the next two years being death-glared by five ridiculously attractive and somewhat incestuous foster kids.
Chemistry was a three times a week class. Ben hadn’t shown on Wednesday, and I was 99% sure he would skip again today. I spotted him around campus periodically, always from a distance: dropping quarters into a vending machine, clandestinely vaping behind dorm buildings (what self-respecting pre-med student VAPES?!!), browsing YouTube videos in the library next to a tower of unopened textbooks, biology and chem and physics and calculus. He wasn’t home, he wasn’t sick; there was no attempt made to construct any sort of pretext. He was patently avoiding me.
I stabbed moodily at the serrated disks of cucumber in my salad. Jessica was blathering away about the latest season of The Bachelor and ranking the contestants’ eyebrows from best to worst. “...Like seriously, has she never heard of microblading?!”
“For real,” Angela offered, not especially invested but forever a good sport.
Lucille’s eyes settled on me again as she sipped a cup of steaming tea, staring until her forehead crinkled with the effort, staring hard, almost leering.
“What’s her problem?” I muttered.
Jessica shot a glance towards the Lee table and slurped her Sprite. The great mystery surrounding her potential Mormon-ness persisted. “Who? Lucy?”
Only Lucille’s friends called her Lucy. Jessica, a shameless aspiring socialite, presumed she was everybody’s friend unless they explicitly informed her otherwise, which of course no one ever did.
“Yeah,” I answered glumly.
“Maybe it’s your dress.”
“My dress? What’s wrong with my dress?”
Jessica wrinkled her nose and surveyed me as if I were a bug, and not a cute bug like a roly-poly bug or The Very Hungry Caterpillar or whatever. Like a really hideous bug. Like one of those spider-cricket hybrid things that hopped straight out of a hell dimension and into the dark, drippy corners of your basement. “It’s, like, very 1960s. But not in a sexy Woodstock way. In a ‘I’m about to join a hippie murder cult’ way.”
“I got it at TJ Maxx. It was on sale.”
Jessica snorted. “Probably for a reason.”
“That’s it. I’m giving all the hippies in my new murder cult your address.”
She and Angela laughed. Mike and Eric, the missing pieces of our daily lunch puzzle, were preoccupied with a campus protest to convert fried fish day (Thursdays) into tacos day. I sympathized with their efforts, but didn’t feel that my one-week tenure as a Calawah University student gave me much right to go around overhauling the dining hall schedule.
“I doubt she’s actually offended by a dress,” Angela said, nibbling on French fries that shed grains of salt like snowflakes.
Jessica sighed dreamily. “But Lucy’s just so fashionable...and that accent...” She drifted off into some daydream which began—I could only assume—with Lucy’s invitation to go shopping together and concluded with marrying Ben on some lush tropical island in the South Pacific.
Lucille was definitely fashionable, especially today: short black dress with sheer sleeves that ran to her fragile wrists, black polka dot tights, black heeled oxfords, dangling ruby earrings like beads of blood. She would have blended in perfectly at Paris Fashion Week. Rami was wearing a cardigan and khakis, per usual; Joe was in dark fitted jeans and a roomy U Chicago hoodie despite the fact that Forks was at minimum a thirty-four hour drive from the Windy City. What did Angela say his major was? Finance? No, Mathematical Economics. So he’s probably aiming at Chicago for an MBA or Econ PhD someday. Angela had told me that Joe was wicked smart. He better be if he’s entertaining fantasies of grad school at the University of Chicago.
Scarlett had come straight from Fencing Club and was wearing bright pink yoga pants and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut out, sprinkling Hot Cheetos into her open mouth, her blonde hair secured in a tight French braid. You know those girls who are so irrationally, gluttonously, unfairly beautiful that it doesn’t seem possible the genetic lottery could spit out so many winning numbers at once, and you comfort yourself with the certainty that there must be some set of circumstances that would level the playing field—I bet she looks like anyone else without all that makeup, she just has a really good sense of style and knows how to maximize her assets, there are definitely some goofy oversized ears hiding beneath that hair and that’s why she always wears it down—and then one day you run into them wearing sweatpants and a ponytail in the tampon aisle at Walmart and they’re still so perfect it stings you, baffles you, makes you feel like there must have been some divergence in the evolutionary chain because there’s no freaking way you’re the same species? Yeah, Scarlett was one of those girls. Scarlett was the queen of those girls.
Ben was conspicuously absent from the table.
Scarlett’s pink leopard-print iPhone rang and she answered. “Hello?” She turned to Joe. “Dad says you left your phone at home. Do you need it?”
Joe was gnawing his way through his third slice of pepperoni pizza. “No, I’m good, thanks though.”
Scarlett relayed the message. “Dad says he’s going to bring it by just in case.”
“Oh my god, ScarJo, I’m fine! Tell him not to!”
“Dad says he doesn’t trust you and he’s going to be here in fifteen minutes. He’s also bringing the Game Theory homework you left by the hot tub.”
Joe groaned and rolled his lively dark eyes as Rami grinned at him; Lucille was still watching me and entirely oblivious.
“Isn’t it weird that Ben and Lucille have accents?” I asked Jessica. “That they’re from the U.K.? I didn’t think fostering kids was an international thing.”
“It’s not that weird. Dr. Lee is British too. Maybe there’s some kind of exchange system, I don’t know. But you know what I do know?”
“What?” Now my interest was piqued.
She smiled. “That the British accents are hot.”
“Ugh,” I exhaled involuntarily.
“Please get a hobby,” Angela begged Jessica. “Start a YouTube channel. Make care packages for orphans. Grow marijuana. Adopt a cat. I have a shift at the animal shelter this Sunday morning, you want to come with me?”
“Sorry, can’t. I have a temple thing.”
Temple on Sunday. The mystery is solved. She’s a Mormon for sure. I mentally resolved not to let her set me up with anyone unless I was still single on Valentine’s Day. Which, obviously, assuming I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, I will be.
I gathered up my trash and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Okay, well this has been a bizarre lunch to be completely honest, and now I have to go to Chemistry so I’ll see you later and hopefully we can brainstorm some more alternatives to Jessica’s current life trajectory on Monday. Because I am not looking forward to being a bridesmaid in these impending Lee nuptials.”
“Oh please!” Jessica lamented. “He doesn’t even know I exist. You, on the other hand...”
I scoffed. “Yeah, he wants to kill me. I truly have a gift.”
They waved as I left. I could feel Lucille’s eyes on me until I reached the door.
Sure enough, Ben wasn’t in Chemistry. I tried not to notice. I drew my atoms, wrote my equations, took my notes diligently and in my favorite sky blue ink. But I felt the emptiness in the chair next to me like a black hole, like an immense and dragging weight, like a snag in the fabric of all those interwoven strands of physics that orchestrate the universe like an immortal puppeteer. Why can’t I forget this guy? Why do I still feel like I’ve met him before?
Halfway through class, I hauled my emergency sweatshirt out of my backpack and pulled it on over my dress, floral and flowing and golden yellow like the sun, the sun that never shines here in Forks. I had liked it plenty under the florescent lights of the fitting room at TJ Maxx, and I had still liked it this morning; but Jessica’s words hummed around in my skull like wasps. The zipper of the sweatshirt was broken, but it accomplished the task of obscuring my dress well enough.
After Chemistry, I journeyed to the campus library to find a book I was supposed to read and present for a different class. I looked it up in the computer catalogue, spent an embarrassingly long time trying to figure out how the Dewey Decimal System works, eventually wound up finding the book on the highest floor of the library...and, to add a little extra peril to the mission, on the highest shelf. The book mocked me from its lofty, unattainable stronghold. The title was embossed in gold letters down the crimson spine. The Walruses And Me: A Transformative Experience. Idiotic title, I’m aware. It’s about some marine biologist who spent months alone in the Arctic studying the lifecycles of walruses. A noble pursuit, sure, but still a terrible title.
There wasn’t a chair or stepstool in sight. I tested my weight by stepping up onto the second-lowest shelf. The metal immediately squealed and shifted in protest. I retreated back down to the carpet, defeated by gravity. I scowled up at the book and sighed melodramatically. Ugh.
“Need something?”
I spun around to see Joe in his University of Chicago hoodie and pale flawless skin and intangible magnetism, that bewildering trademark Lee ethereality. I instinctively crossed my arms, clutching the sleeves of my sweatshirt, shrinking inwards like a startled armadillo in the Arizona desert.
“Are you, uh, anemic...?” he ventured.
“Oh no, I’m not cold. I’m just trying to hide my dress. My friend said it was too hippie-murder-cult 1960s.”
I figured he’d laugh, make a snide comment, maybe just blink in confusion. Instead, he glimpsed down at my dress—what could still be seen of it, anyway—and shook his head. “The neckline isn’t right for the 60s. And you seem like you’ve showered at least once in the past two weeks, so definitely not a hippie.”
I smiled, completely unexpectedly. “I didn’t realize Econ majors knew anything about leftist counterculture.”
“Disparaging it is our favorite pastime. Are you trying to get a book or are you just disrespecting university property for entertainment?”
I pointed. “The big red one.”
“The Walruses And Me...?”
“I know, it’s a horrible title. Not my personal preference. It’s for a class.”
“Bestiality 101?”
“Good guess. Marine Mammals.”
“Ahhh.” He glanced up and down the aisle, tapped his chin with agile fingers, pondered something I wasn’t privy to. “Turn around for a second.”
“What? Why?”
He waved his hand mysteriously in front of his grinning face. “It’s a magic trick. I’m going to make your problem disappear.”
“You can’t climb that,” I warned. “You’ll fall and break your neck. Or you’ll knock the whole shelf over and cause a tragic domino effect and the university will withhold your diploma until you pay them restitution.”
“I’m extremely athletic.”
“Are you sure?” I appraised him with exaggerated skepticism for comedic effect. “My dad refers to you only as the spindly annoying Lee.”
Oh my god, WHY did I say that?
Now he would definitely hate me. Now I’d have two mortal enemies on one campus. I mentally calculated how humiliating it would be to transfer to some Florida college, any Florida college, after only one week at Calawah. Hi mom, yeah I’m coming to live with you and Paul, a gang of hot pasty foster kids wants to slaughter me.
Instead, Joe threw back his head and cackled wildly. A librarian—mid-fifties, angry red hair from out of a box, fuzzy cat sweater—glared into the aisle and shushed him.
“Chief Swan...he actually...he calls me that? Really?!” Joe managed, wiping his leaking eyes. “That’s hilarious. I’m so glad my life is in his hands. Okay seriously, turn around.”
“Why would you help me?” I asked suspiciously.
“That’s just what I do. I’m a friendly guy.”
“This friendliness must not run in the family.”
Again, Joe’s cheerful demeanor didn’t falter. “You mean Ben? Forget about Ben, he hates everyone. Don’t take it personally.” Then he added: “Plus, as I’m sure you know, we’re not biologically related. No overlapping genetic material whatsoever. I didn’t get the male supermodel gene, he didn’t get the irresistibly charming gene, life’s not fair but the world keeps spinning.”
“It sure does,” I agreed softly. Unexpected wisdom from my new favorite Lee. I turned away from him. “Fine, I’m not looking, go ahead and dazzle me with your supernatural friendliness—”
“Done.”
“What?” I whirled around. Joe held The Walruses And Me in his hand. “How...did you...?!”
He passed me the book as I sputtered incoherently. “I told you. Magic trick.”
“I don’t....?!” I gawked up at the top shelf, at Joe, back to the top shelf. Sure enough, the space where The Walruses And Me once lived was now just a vacant slit in the row of dusty books. How could he have climbed up there that quickly? How could I not have heard anything? “The shelves didn’t even creak,” I murmured shakily.
“Yes, well, that’s due to my conveniently spindly physique.” Joe winked. “Any other problems I can help you solve at the moment, Baby Swan?”
“No. And don’t call me Baby Swan, or I’ll push this whole bookshelf over and tell the feisty librarian lady you did it.”
“That’s cold, ma’am.”
I liked that Joe didn’t make me feel like Ben did: unworthy, unloved, infuriating. Joe made me feel something else, something lighthearted, casual, buoyant; like the world didn’t have anything in it worth worrying about, regretting, agonizing over. Like unadulteratedly myself was all I ever needed to be.
I heard a muted buzz and Joe slid his iPhone out of his jeans pocket. Dr. Lee must have successfully delivered it. “Whoops, I forgot that Ordinary Differential Equations existed. Got to go. See ya.”
“Bye,” I replied. And then Joseph Lee was gone, very quickly, a little too quickly, the same way that Ben had vanished on that first afternoon after Chemistry.
Forks is weird. Calawah University is weird. And the Lee kids are super fucking weird.
Long Walks On The Beach
“Can I ask you a random question?”
“You just paid me $100 for an oil change that took fifteen minutes. You can ask me anything you want.” He grinned, flashing bright teeth and deep dimples.
It was Saturday afternoon. I had shoveled down a Chipotle veggie bowl as Archer changed the 1999 Accord’s oil in a small garage with a cracked concrete floor and the searing pungency of gasoline fumes thick in the air. He had apprenticed all through high school and rented his own shop after graduation. Archer now had a loyal clientele that encompassed virtually the entire Quileute reservation and a growing chunk of Forks...including Charlie and me, of course. Archer was the only child of Larry Foxchild—Charlie’s best friend since they worked together at Dairy Queen as teenagers—and the closest thing to a son my dad would ever have. I guess that made him like a brother to me, something that seemed intuitive now that I’d thought of it.
After the Accord was serviced we drove it down to La Push to walk on the beach, climb the salt-lashed rocks, toss pebbles into the roiling surf, reprise our childhood enthusiasm for poking dead washed-up marine creatures with shards of driftwood.
“Do you know anything about the Lees?” I asked Archer, investigating a deceased green shore crab.
His brow furrowed. He looked so serious like that, suddenly so much like Larry: the same tan skin, jet black hair, umbral eyes like oil wells, strong jaw overlaid with the stubbled shadow of a beard. We really aren’t kids anymore, are we? “The doctor and his kids?”
“Yeah. The foster kids. They’re really pale and strange and half of them are British.”
Archer chuckled. “I know who you mean. They’re hard to miss.”
“Are they...” Just eccentric rich people? Traumatized from abusive childhoods? Government experiments? CIA agents? Secret murderers? The image of Ben in that first Chemistry class came roaring back to me, including the adjective that had flashed red behind my eyes like an emergency exit sign: fierce. Finally, I decided: “Dangerous?”
Now Archer full-on laughed, gripping his belly, shaking his head. Drops of saltwater flew from his short hair. “Seriously?!” he exclaimed. “Come on, they’re freaks but they’re not, like...that kind of freaks.”
“Are you sure?” I was starting to feel better already. Of course they’re not actual demons, you fucking idiot. This is Washington, not The Twilight Zone or Black Mirror. Not goddamn American Horror Story.
“Yeah.” Archer skipped a grey pebble over the water, something I’d never been able to do. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know them all that well. They usually keep to themselves. But I’ve never heard anything bad about any of the kids. And everyone respects Dr. Lee and appreciates him for taking the pay cut to come to some bumblefuck town like Forks. He’s insanely highly credentialed, has degrees from Harvard or Yale or somewhere like that. Super impressive. We’re lucky to have him. I definitely sleep better at night knowing he’ll be the one to fix me up if I ever get a few fingers ripped off on the job.”
“Don’t even say that. Then who would I grossly overpay for oil changes?”
Archer smiled, then sobered as he peered out over the Pacific Ocean.
“What?” I asked, feeling a plummeting in my guts like primal fear.
“Well...okay, so there is one thing that’s always bothered me. You remember Grandpa Foxchild?”
“Yeah, of course.” He had been an impossibly ancient man with long grey braided hair, a low rumbly voice, gnarled arthritic hands, ceaseless wrinkles. I remembered Charlie calling me when he passed away last spring. Renee and I had picked out a flower arrangement to send to the funeral.
“So,” Archer said slowly, like he was still puzzling it out himself. “Grandpa used to say things like ‘That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.’ Which of course makes no sense, the Lees moved here like two years ago. And I’d tell Grandpa that, but he completely ignored me. He would just keep repeating it. ‘That Dr. Lee shouldn’t still be here.’ ‘That Dr. Lee should go on home to where he came from.’ ‘That Dr. Lee isn’t right.’ Creepy shit like that. My dad and I always assumed it was the dementia talking, but...I don’t know. It just bothered me. Because Grandpa...he wasn’t just being gossipy or suspicious. He was angry. And he was afraid. Grandpa was at Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima and he would talk about that no problem, mention landmines or flesh melting off a soldier’s face like it was nothing. He was a tough guy. Immeasurably tough, I’ll never be half the man he was. But if you mentioned the Lees, Grandpa got scared. Why the hell would he be so scared of them?”
I didn’t have an answer for him, not a single word. I just stared at Archer, my eyes growing huge, my heart sprinting, blood pounding in my ears. He knew. Grandpa Foxchild knew there was something off about them, and now I know it too. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
Archer tittered nervously. “Anyway, that was genuinely disturbing. But like I said. It was probably just the dementia.”
“What if it wasn’t?”
“It had to be,” he insisted. “There’s no other logical explanation.”
“I guess,” I agreed, scooping up the green shore crab corpse with my bare hands. I hurled it out into the waves, imagined it sinking through murky water and suspended grains of sand, the body settling into prehistoric silt, the scavengers descending upon it, the inescapable wheel of birth and death and resurrection through those who unwittingly carry our atoms with them into the next generation, into the perpetual future.
That night my dreams were full of pale skin and scorching eyes, Ben and Joe and Rami, Lucille and Scarlett, crashing waves, cold water and bleached bones; and Grandpa Foxchild’s mistrustful refrain: That Dr. Lee has been around a long time.
Benjamin
I soared down the staircase and through the dining room. Gwil was working late at the hospital, Mercy outside tending the animals, everyone else presumably scattered throughout the house. I had to get out before anyone noticed me. I had to get out without Rami or Lucy knowing.
I yanked open the door to the back porch. Rami was waiting there.
“Good evening,” he greeted me in that slow, thoughtful drawl.
“Stay the fuck out of my head.”
“You know how it works, Benny Boy. I can’t ignore the loud thoughts. And you’ve been having some very loud thoughts lately.”
I stared down at my shoes, all black Adidas. Black is good. It doesn’t show stains. For example, purely hypothetically, splatters of human blood and organs. “I can make it quick. I can make it painless.”
Rami’s aura flared maroon; not enraged, no, not quite that, but certainly revolted. I was always finding new and horrifying ways to revolt them, whether I was trying to or not. “She has a family, Ben. A father. You know Chief Swan, you’ve seen him around town. He’s a good person. She’s a good person. You really want to do this? You really want to relapse like this?”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t have to. Hearing thoughts is a tricky thing, and not a gift that I would ever want; unspoken words are rarely a steam and usually a storm, disjointed and twisting, interrupting each other, bottomless layers of whispers and screams. But I was sure Rami could catch the important parts: that I didn’t know the difference between good and bad people, that I didn’t know what to think of people at all, that for me her blood was not a desire but a compulsion. I couldn’t stop envisioning it spilling over my tongue and teeth, down my throat, hot and pulsing erratically and fading. “Why can’t you hear her? Why can’t I see what she’s feeling?”
Rami shrugged, characteristically placid and restrained. It was maddening. “There are seven and a half billion people on this planet. So maybe every once in a while you get one that lives in our blind spots, there’s something chromosomal or psychological that puts them on a different frequency. I don’t know. How the hell should I know? All I know is that you definitely shouldn’t be seriously considering...well. What you’re considering.”
“Have you ever met someone whose thoughts you couldn’t hear before?”
“No,” Rami admitted; and was that a ghost of unease that crossed his face?
“Please, Rami. Let me go. Pretend you never saw me.” My words come out strained, hushed, like a spilled secret, like a confession. I’ve never wanted anyone’s blood like I want hers.
He heard that; I could see the dismay in his eyes. Now his aura is dark grey, almost black. Disappointment. Resignation. Mourning. “I told you what Lucy saw.”
“What she saw is impossible and you know it.”
Again, Rami shrugged. That blind, mindless faith. I wished I knew what it felt like. “She’s never wrong.”
“Have you told him?”
“Who, Joe?! Of course I haven’t told Joe. He...”
“He wouldn’t believe it either?” I snapped, like it was a victory.
“No,” Rami amended carefully. “No, he would believe anything Lucy saw.” Lucy had visions: flashes of the future, the past, the present. They were rare and unpredictable, often fragmented, snapshots rather than arcs. But they were always true. Or, rather, the other Lees claimed they were. The real Lees. “I don’t know what he would do about it,” Rami said finally. “So I’m waiting it out. And killing one of the primary participants is definitely not waiting it out.”
I seethed as I glared at him, hating him in that moment, hating myself only slightly more; and he heard that too. But then that wispy, fleeting haze around him was a pink like the last threads of sunlight sinking into the Western horizon. Forgiveness. Attachment. Love.
“Come with me, Ben,” Rami said gently, opening the door. “Come back inside. You can beat this. You’re better than this. You’re a good soul. You wouldn’t be with us if you weren’t.”
I tried to laugh. It came out like a snarl. “I haven’t had a soul in a long time.”
Me???? Having 368 followers?? Apparently it’s more likely than I ever thought possible???
Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has read my writing, commented, reblogged, liked, sent me a message and generally welcomed me to this fandom with open arms. I legit was so nervous when I posted my first fic that I hit post and then threw my laptop and phone under my bed bc I was CONVINCED no one would care lskdfjis
Anyway all this to say, sleepover soon? You guys want to send me questions? Blurbs? HC’s? Prompts? Tell me how you’re doing? What you’ve been doing recently? Want to just chat? LET’S DO IT GANG
Someone asked if I was taking requests and honestly?? Never thought anyone would read my writing much less ask me to write specific things 🥺️ but requests are open if anyone has anything at all they’d like to request! Or even just talk! I’m not picky!
