A/N: I haven't posted anything in ages but I thought this would be fun! Reblog/do your own of what you think the guys would do while you're sick!
"I absolutely feel like trash," you groan as you run your fingers down your tired face, suffering through a miserable cold that's getting the best of you. You're curled up on your sofa with a blanket thrown over you, listening to your boyfriend clean.
"I told you not to go out in the rain," Chris grumbles as he lysols the countertops, determined not to get sick himself. He hates germs, and the thought of becoming ill with the flu that's going around sets him on edge. "Drink the tea I made you."
"Tea isn't going to help me," you reply, eyeballing him through swollen, aching lids.
"And what would help?" Chris sounds the tiniest bit annoyed with you. He told you not to go outside during the storm, getting soaked to the bone. You wanted to go to the store, you wanted that ice cream, and this is what you get for your efforts!
"A little love and affection would be nice."
Chris glares, and slowly begins to spray the lysol in your direction.
You're not coming near him with that runny nose.
~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ricky, really, I feel fine," you say carefully as you sit in the white chair, your legs curled up against your chest as you gaze at him. "Why don't we ---- achoo---- go home?"
"Not until you're better," Ricky replies as he slowly flips the page of his book of horror stories, blue eyes flocking up to look at you through the glass window separating the two of you. "You're still sick, recovering."
You sink a little.
"How is keeping me in a glass box making me any better?" You want to know, glancing around the glass Joe Goldberg-inspired prison you woke up in yesterday after a bout with the flu.
"Shhh, how about another chapter?" Ricky coos, and settles in to read aloud another short story.
~~~~~~~
"Vinny, get off, I'm sick!" You whine, trying to pull away from your boyfriend as he clings to you.
"We suffer this together," he retorts, arms wrapped tightly around your torso, legs threaded around your hips like a baby clinging to its mother. "You die, I die!"
"That's --- not --- I'm not going to die!" You gasp, avoiding facing him as to not spread your germs. "You shouldn't want to be sick!"
"it's not that I want to be sick," he corrects you pointedly, pressing a warm kiss against your cheek. "It's that I don't want you to feel bad by yourself. I brought medicine for both of us, we don't have to leave until we're better!"
A/N: So I wrote this fanfic over 4 years ago when Blackveilbridesfanfiction.com was still a thing, and there's been a lot change with the band since then. It's one of my first fics to ever write --- actually, it IS THE FIRST fan fiction I ever wrote.I'm going to do some editing to it before it's posted here from its original content since my style is a little different, so it's doubtful there'll be as many chapters, but I still hope you enjoy it! (And please don't judge, I was just a wee babe when I started out. Or judge gently. Well, I actually I judged it pretty hard when reading back through it.)I've rewrote it significantly so much that the plot has changed here and there, as I didn't like the previous at all. It was terrible, I'm going to be honest. I'm going to include in each chapter references for lyrics used from other bands, as I'm absolutely no musical artist and not clever enough to come up with my own for Escape From Grace to use in their music, so look for that at the end of each posted chapter should it come up.
A sound of immense excitement escapes my lips before I can stop it as I stare at our manager; he's barely made it halfway through his sentence but he has my full attention. I clasp my hands together as I straighten, grinning from ear to ear as I bite my lip.
This is the best news I've ever had. In my entire life.
Well, second best, getting signed on as a band was a pretty big memory to me, and all the people in the room as well. Coming from a nowhere town and being a nobody, working all those bars and gigs trying to get attention --- how we got so lucky, I'm not sure, but I'm thankful. We would still be struggling to make it if it wasn't for our manager, so I'm pretty grateful to him.Even more so now that he just gave this announcement.
I'm so getting him some donuts for our next meeting.
"Well, I'm glad you're taking the news so well," our manager says after a moment with raised brows, and I can feel my cheeks start to heat as everyone looks at me. I give him a sheepish look of apology, leaning back in my chair and trying to contain my excitement.
Still, he had to know I would be excited about this! Sure, we're a signed band, for a record label, but it's still a struggle. Even signed we still have a lot of work to do, and it would be too easy to fall into obscurity or be a one hit wonder, which isn't something that I want. This is going to be the rest of my life, it's what I want more than anything, and I'm not going to let this opportunity slip past me.
We're just getting our footing as a band, trying so hard to break out into a scene already full of so many talented people. Sometimes it's overwhelming and I feel like we've hit a brick wall, like we're never going to climb any higher. No one makes it quick big in this business, I guess, which is another reason why I'm so excited, why this is so important --- it could be our big break!We've been mostly openers for other bands in the last year, with one small tour through a few cities that gave us a lot of publicity, but nothing like this! Per our lovely manager, we're going to be opening for Black Veil Brides on several different occasions on their upcoming tour! They're one of my favorite bands, their songs feature themselves on all my playlists, and the fact we're going to meet them!
Oh, I can't stand it.
Is it suddenly really hot in this room?
I squirm in my seat, chewing my lower lip thoughtfully as Craig continues with the announcement. He was just going over the usual bits, we have a meeting pretty frequently about our lined up gigs and to be on better behavior than the last few. Some, or rather one of us, likes to get tipsy and flirt with fangirls, and despite his occupation as a drummer, still makes the boyfriends fairly upset.
My eyes flick to the blonde drummer not paying any of us a bit of attention, looking at his phone and swiping left or right occasionally. He looks exhausted, black rings under his eyes; I'm surprised he even managed to make the meeting today.
"When's the first show?" Clarke, our bassist, asks, his feet propped in my lap as he leans his chair back, teetering precariously on the back legs. He doesn't seem near as excited as I am about this, but he's never really been that into the type of music that we're playing. He was more into the hardcore, metalish type, which as hard as I might try, my voice just wasn't cut out for. I'm always waiting for the day he's going to drop the bomb that he's ditching us for something more his speed, but I wouldn't blame him.
Take an opportunity where you can get it.
"Three weeks," Craig replies, checking his watch. He's always kind of in a rush when it comes to us, we're not exactly his biggest moneymakers, but I like to think we're not at the bottom either. I mean, it would be nice to actually meet in an official space and not the breakroom of the record label, but I have the feeling maybe Craig doesn't exactly have a ton of pull and probably doesn't have his own office to see us in.
Still, he's been good to us, and I appreciate it. The fluorescent lights above dim a little before getting brighter, reflecting off his shiny bald head. He has thick old man eyebrows that are seriously in need of a trim, and absolutely no facial hair to speak of, which you'd think he'd want to balance out the baldness, but I digress. He's not a thin or tall man, and he has a thing for chunky watches and outdated t-shirts that makes him look like a suburban dad instead of any sort of manager.
"That's coming up pretty quick, don't ya think? We have some stuff already booked, don't we?" Vale looks nervous, shifting in the blue plastic chair beside me. Her gray-painted eyes flick to me, but I give her a bright, reassuring smile she reluctantly returns after a moment. She's my lead guitarist, my backup vocalist, my roommate, and my best friend. She holds many titles very dear to me, in fact. Without her, there's no telling where I would be right now. "And why us, exactly?"
"Well," our manager rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat and pretending to study the notes jotted down on Subway napkins in front of him. "Another band was going to open for them, but their lead singer has to have his tonsils removed. So, I pulled some favors, and got you guys signed instead!" He grins at us, looking very pleased with himself as he shoots us some obnoxious finger guns.
Vale rolls her eyes as she leans back in her chair, giving him an unimpressed look. She tugs on the end of her long black hair thoughtfully. "Well, you're certainly not letting us fade into obscurity, I'll give you points for that."
Craig looks satisfied with the response.
I glance around the round table we all sit at. Vale to my left who is now focusing on fixing her black eyeliner in a compact, and her brother Clarke where he's casually chatting with Craig as if he's actually interested in the gig. Our drummer, Nate, has finally passed out against the whiteboard behind him, and I'm pretty sure that's a sheen of drool on his chin.
I'm the lead vocalist, the frontperson of our band, and I also play keyboard when it's called for. I've always been close with Clarke and Vale, we grew up together as neighbors. It was their idea to form a band and get out of our old town, and when Nate joined us, it seemed like we might actually have a shot. It still blows my mind that we've made it this far without something breaking us up.
I've never had a lot of good luck, but maybe it's all been building up for this.
"Sooo --- do we get to meet the band beforehand?" I ask Craig, trying not to sound as eager as I feel but probably failing. I wanted to meet them, every single one of them, gawk at them like a fangirl meeting their idol, and wholeheartedly embarrass myself. "Where's the venue? When do the shows start? Are we going to get a bus this time or are you going to make us ride in your minivan again like a gothic soccer mom? Y'know that's not really going to give us the badass impression we're going for."
Vale snorts, biting her lip to hold back a laugh as Craig sighs heavily.
"Just be lucky I had a van to get you all to that show, alright?" He grumbles, but the experience had been mortifying. Just getting started, our actual ride breaks down, and suddenly Craig rolls up in a blue minivan with proud parent stickers on the back glass and yells at us to get in. Never again.
"But yes, you do get to meet the guys beforehand." Craig states, rubbing his jaw. "The lead singer, whathisname, wants to meet you guys before the first show. He's probably going to measure you up and make sure you're up for opening for his band. You guys need to make a good impression," he warns us, as if I'm not already planning on murdering whoever embarrasses us first; only I get to feel humiliated, no one else gets to do it for me!
He glances at Nate where he snoozes, and I know the warning is more for him then anything, but he's sleeping, so it's not really having any effect.
I feel like some tween girl meeting her boyband idol for the first time, being presented with front row tickets to his show. I rub my hands nervously against my thighs, ignoring the dampness my nerves are causing.
I'm the youngest in the band. I've known Vale and Clarke since I was twelve, and without them I doubt I would have made it through my teenage years. Or any years, if I really wanted to admit it to myself. I owed them a lot, more than I could ever pay back, but I'm hoping with our success that'll be enough.
"I heard he was an asshole when Asking Annie opened for them in Vegas." Clarke says, not looking at all thrilled. I frown at him, and shove his legs out of my lap for such a crappy comment. He knows I love that band! He ignores me, letting them drop easily to the floor before straightening in his chair; he better be glad I didn't tip him over!
"To be fair, Alex, their lead singer, is totally dopey and he can only perform while high, so," Vale closes her compact with a snap, the lights glinting off her dark nailpolish. "I would've been an asshole to him too. This is really good for us, guys. This could be it, y'know? None of us are going to screw this up by being rude or listening to rumors. I don't even care if they're true; the publicity this is going to bring us is worth it."
Well, she makes a good point, and Clarke concedes; that or he just decides ignoring his younger sister is better than arguing and just looks away. I'm sure the microwave in the corner has suddenly become much more interesting than the conversation.
I tap a nail against the table thoughtfully, still having a hard time believing this. We're finally getting a big break, with a band that I know at least two of us like, so that's a good thing! I thought earlier I was going to pass out from how hard my heart was beating, how excited I got at the prospect of meeting them.
"Is this not the best news ever?" I sigh as I look at everyone, unable to contain my glee. "Ever? Like seriously? Do you guys know how great this is?"
"Saying it multiple times doesn't make it true," Clarke mumbles, for some reason intent to find a reason to not be as excited as I am. He's always so serious and cautious, ever the distrustful one. Well, I suppose when you're the oldest in a band that you're younger, reckless sister is in, you sort of have to be the adult and the ringleader; hell, I'm the lead singer, but I listen to him and take his advice to heart.
"It'll give you guys a good amount of exposure," Craig states, folding his arms along the laminated tabletop. "Hopefully it'll kickstart some more sales of the new album you're about to drop."
"And Leah will get to meet the object that she lusts so much after," Vale adds with a chuckle.I send her a horrible look, ignoring the heat burning my cheeks; she doesn't have to mention that in front of everyone.
"Really? Which one?" Craig looks amused, and sometimes I get the feeling he sees us more as his kids than business partners. I mean, I think he does have some teenage girls, or boys maybe, I'm not quite sure, so he probably deals with this all the time. Crushes, heartbreak, the need of a minivan for emergencies.
"The lead singer, Andy. It's the voice I think, the deep drawl and that nice hair ---."
"Vale."
Vale giggles, winking at me as she twists the end of her long hair absently. She's enjoying watching me squirm, but really it's no secret. I mean, I wasn't exactly discussing my interests with Craig in that area, but I suppose it doesn't matter now.
Just makes things a little awkward.
"Andy Biersack? Really?" Our manager doesn't look impressed with my choice of crush. "Why am I surprised over this?"
I sink a little in my chair, merely shrugging my shoulders.
Craig just shakes his head before he starts getting to his feet, grabbing his note napkins and folding them together. He's never very organized, but I like to think it's one of his quirky qualities. He tucks the napkins into his shirt pocket, says goodbye to us, and heads for the archway leading to the hall.
One of these days, maybe we'll actually have a meeting room.
"Oh." Craig's head suddenly pops back into the kitchen, holding the end of a torn napkin. "I forgot to mention. You're meeting the love of your life at Club Rehab tomorrow at eight. Don't be late, dress to impress."
"What!?"
Craig suddenly is one, and I stare after him in horror. "Did he just say we were meeting them tomorrow?"
"Mmm." Vale looks thoughtful. "Dress to impress, like don't we always?" she snorts, cutting her eyes at her brother. "Don't be an ass, and yes you're coming. Wake up Nate so we can fill him in."Clarke frowns, glancing at the snoozing drummer, his lips parted as his head lolls back and forth; he's getting marker all in his freshly dyed blonde hair.
"I suppose we don't need to look like losers when we meet them." I mumble as I prop my chin on my hand, watching as Clarke kicks Nate's chair easily with his long legs, causing Nate to wake in a panic, sputtering. He looks around wild-eyed for a few moments before he realizes he's not under attack, then sends Clarke a scowl.
"What was that for!?"
"Rise and shine, Snow White. You slept through the meeting but we have news."
"I wasn't asleep," Nate mutters, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand, blue eyes bloodshot. "I didn't miss anything."
"Were you out late again partying?" Vale looks annoyed with him, her full lips drawing into a frown. She's one of the prettiest people I've ever met, I sort of envy how she always looks so put together and confident. She's tall, but the right kind of tall that's not too tall, and slim, able to wear whatever she wants and she never has problems finding her clothes in the store.I'm much shorter, and I might as well shop in the toddler section to find jeans that aren't too long for me.
"No," our drummer retorts, running his hands down his face. Yeah, sure bud, those black circles under your eyes say something different. Nate was a partier, he was even before he joined us, we knew that. He knew all the best places to have a good time, and I'm fairly sure he doesn't usually get out of bed until noon or he has to meet us. Sometimes you could still smell the cheap perfume and booze off the wrinkled shirt he doesn't change. I like him well enough, but some people shouldn't have fame or too much money, it isn't such a good thing.
Be famous responsibly.
Clarke quickly explains what Nate's missed during his impromptu nap, and our drummers eyes light up. He likes the other bands drummer, admires his techniques, and even his sleepy head knows this is a big deal for us.
Momentous, really.
"When do we meet them?" he asks eagerly, rubbing his arm.
"Tomorrow, and don't come smelling like a bar." Vale replies, staring him down beneath thick black lashes; she has a fierce glare, I'll give her that. She gets to her feet, stretching her arms in front of her. She nudges her chair under the table, and we all sort of follow suit as we get to our feet. Nate mocks her slightly before taking a sniff of himself, only to grimace.
Everything is going to go great tomorrow, that's what I'm going to keep telling myself. We're going to make a fantastic impression, we'll be charming and humorous and they'll want us to open every show! Or, actually, we'll be so famous they'll be opening for us by the time it's over with.
I can dream.
Just.... oh my god.
What exactly am I going to wear?
I look at Vale in utter panic. She could wear a paper bag and look fantastic, but it's not that easy for me.
What if I go in there wearing something horribly mismatched, or that doesn't work at all? What if I look like some Avril Lavigne, pop princess rip off and they don't want us opening? I could say something stupid, insult one of them accidentally, what do we even know about them?
"Why are you making that face?" Nate asks warily as we step out into the hall together. "If you're gonna be sick, aim that way."
"I'm just thinking about tomorrow, don't be a dick." I wait for Vale to catch up with me, seeing she's focused on her phone. "Vale?"
"Mmm?"
"We need to go shopping."
"Shopping?" She sends me an amused look as we fall into step, the worn carpet of the hallway pillowing our footsteps. "Why?"
"Because we need to find something to wear tomorrow."
"You realize whatever you buy you won't wear, and you'll have buyers remorse like you do every time."
"Vale." Now she's starting to stress me!
"Oh, fine, don't freak out. We'll go after we grab some lunch, find something to aww the boys with." she looks amused, and her arm twines with me as we walk. "But don't worry so much, it's just another business meeting. Think of it more like that."
"Is that how you think about every meeting we have?"
"Well, no, I imagine Craig in his underwear and it sort of ruins any intimidation I might feel."
"Well that's a mental image I didn't need."
Vale grins down at me, squeezing my arm as we reach the front desk and give the harried looking secretary a smile as we leave.
I'm worried about tomorrow, but I do tend to worry and be anxious about everything. I might be excited now, but tomorrow I know I'll be an explosion of nerves.I just want everything to go well so badly.
Chloe clings to you as the two of you walk through the grocery store, her hand clenching in your t shirt. You're tired, you'd gotten up early to drop by Ricky's to pick her up so he and Ryan could go do something he didn't feel necessary to tell you about.
Really.
Now why the hell did you get roped into babysitting? He's supposed to be spending this Sunday with Chloe, and you're supposed to be putting in a few extra hours on that Honda and replace the power steering before tomorrow!
Maybe you can just do it tonight.
"So, Fruit Loops or Cheerios?" You ask, presenting the soon-to-be six year old with her options. You know Ricky and Ryan only have horrible man food in that house of theirs, so Chloe has probably been eating microwave meals and Ramen noodles.
Chloe purses her lips thoughtfully. Honestly she's the most adorable child you've ever seen. She has Ricky's dark hair --- not black, because Ricky's isn't natural, but dark --- and his blue eyes as well. She's tiny, wearing a little dress with multi-colored flowers all over it and you're pretty sure Ricky is the one who put the bow in her hair because it's definitely lopsided.
"The fruit loops," she says decisively, and you nod as you toss them into the buggy before walking on. You're not exactly sure why she finds it necessary to hold onto you and make it kind of difficult to go around corners with the close proximity, but you're not going to question it.
Kids are just weird.
"So are you having fun at your dad's?" You ask lightly, pausing by the Pop tart section of the store. You've been around Chloe plenty of times to where the two of you are comfortable.
"Yup! Him and Uncle Ryan always let me watch the dinosaur movies." She says, and no doubt that means Jurassic Park.
"Oh. Do you like them?"
"Yeah! The long necks are my favorite, but the --- the waptors are mean."
Waptors?
Oh.
Velociraptor.
"I don't disagree."
You're going to have to talk to Ricky about that; she's a little young to watch those movies!
"So where was your mom going this weekend?" You ask lightly, glancing around before you push out into the main aisle of the store where the coolers are. You make sure to grab a small bottle of milk.
"She said she had to see a doctor." Chloe shrugs her small shoulders, warily eyeballing the blue-dressed store worker stocking some shelves. "Does that mean she's sick?"
"No, not necessarily." A doctor? Like a plastic surgeon doctor, a doctor she's going to bone, or a doctor because somethings wrong? If she comes back with a new nose you'll have your answer, but Claire has always been pretty so you're fairly sure she isn't going to change her appearance. "I'm sure it's nothing big. What do you want for dinner tonight?"
"Spaghetti!"
"Spaghetti?" You chuckle, lingering in front of the pasta sauces. "With meatballs?"
"Yes!" Chloe brightens noticeably. "Mommy doesn't like the red sauce, but I do! Can we get this one?" She points eagerly at the garlicky sauce, and you shrug your shoulders as you put it in the buggy. Spaghetti doesn't sound bad to you, and it won't hurt the boys to have a decent dinner for once.
"Are you gonna help me make it tonight?"
"Yup!"
You chuckle; she sounds so eager when most kids would snarl their nose.
"Okay. Let's find some garlic bread, alright?"
~~~~~~
Ricky and Ryan crawl wearily out of the car, both of them stretching. They'd been in and out all day and both of them are pretty tired.
"Hey, did we leave the lights on in the kitchen?" Ryan asks after a moment, hesitating on the sidewalk leading to the porch.
"No. But there's (Y/N)'s car, she and Chloe are here," Ricky says; he'd noticed your car right away, Chloe's car seat is in the back. It's kind of a nuisance trading it back and forth with her mother, and he's been debating on just buying one.
"Oh, cool. I was worried we'd go in and all my guitars be gone."
"Or the TV. Or my guitars." Ricky adds, both of them loudly going up the steps and shoving the front door open.
Almost immediately the scent of food hits his nose, and his mouth waters on cue. He glances back at Ryan, hearing childish giggles from the kitchen as the warmth of the house greets him.
This is nice.
He cautiously makes his way to the kitchen door, pausing just in the entrance. You're standing at the rarely used oven, Chloe on a step stool beside you vigorously stirring a pot that Ricky knows he definitely doesn't own.
"Well this is nice," he comments, causing both of you to look over your shoulder. "It smells good."
"(Y/N) let me make the sauce!" Chloe announces proudly, and you look at her in amusement. She poured the jar into a pot and has been stirring it for fifteen minutes, but you suppose it's all the same. "Daddy, look!"
"It smells great," he says, kissing the top of her head as he glances around. "How long have you guys been here?"
"About an hour." You shrug, your skin pricking from all the heat. Using the oven seriously drives the temperature up like ten degrees and you're starting to sweat. Chloe doesn't seem to mind, too excited, but you have the fan in the corner on to try to help.
"Dude, did you make garlic bread?" Ryan asks as he makes a beeline for the fridge, grabbing a drink out and popping the tab.
"Chloe did."
"Yep! I stuck them in the oven," the six year old says proudly, abandoning her sauce stirring to instead wrap her arms around Ricky's neck so he can pick her up. "All by myself!"
Not by herself.
Ricky kisses her nose fondly. "You're growing up on me, kid."
You shake your head as you turn away, asking Ryan to grab some plates from wherever they are and put them on the rarely used table. You cleaned the junk off it earlier but you're not really one for pillaging through cabinets, so you'd left the rest for the guys when they got home.
Ricky sits Chloe at the table, getting her settled and practically covering her in napkins --- he knows the impending stains that are coming from the spaghetti.
Claire is actually allergic to red dye, and she basically stays away from anything red in general because of it. Chloe doesn't seem to have inherited that, normally she's just picky, but he's not surprised she's excited to eat.
"So what did the two of you do all day?" You ask lightly as you pull the garlic bread out of the oven. You glance at them over your shoulder, seeing them exchange a look; Ricky had literally avoided telling you what he was doing so hard he'd hung up on you after you'd agreed to watch Chloe for a few hours.
You find it suspicious.
"Just some guy stuff," Ryan says, flopping down at the table across from Chloe and making faces at her.
"Right." You frown, not believing it for a second.
"Me and (Y/N) went shopping!" Chloe announces as Ricky steps to the oven to help you with the food. "She got me cereal, and it had a toy in it!"
"What kind of toy?" Ricky holds the plates as you put spaghetti on them, dishing some hot bread in the corner. You don't give Chloe near as much as you do the guys, and you make sure her bread is cooled off so she doesn't burn herself before allowing him to take it.
"It was a princess ring." The little girl proudly displays the gaudy plastic ring on her finger, but the men ooo and ahh over it appropriately.
You sit down beside her with your plate, handing her the plastic fork to eat with; the house has a suspicious lack of silverware you noticed.
It feels a little strange, sitting down and having dinner with someone. Usually you're just alone or so tired you skip it, but this is rather nice.
The guys talk a little, and Chloe yammers happily about her day; as much as you dislike Claire, she's not a bad mother. Chloe is happy and well taken care of, which you suppose is all that matters. You just dislike how she treats Ricky, who genuinely wants to be a good father.
If it was you in her position, you'd let him see his kid all the time, you wouldn't keep the child from him. The only person that's really hurting in the long run is the kid, not the parents, who'll definitely pay for it later on.
Kids don't forget.
"So when is Mommy coming to get me?" Chloe asks halfway through dinner, spaghetti sauce down the front of her makeshift napkin apron. You'd vainly attempted to wipe it off her chin a few times but it had been futile; the child is going to be messy if it's the last thing she does.
"She'll pick you up after school Monday." Ricky says after a moment, tearing his garlic bread up into little pieces to mix with what's left of the sauce on his plate. "I'm taking you tomorrow morning."
"Okay." Chloe doesn't seem bothered by that, and you relax a little. You know how some kids will only go so long without seeing a certain parent and have separation issues, but apparently that isn't the case here.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah?"
"Bread, please!" Chloe holds her hand out expectantly, and after a moment Ricky hands her a piece, helping her break it in half and remove the crust. He doesn't seem to mind, and you can't help but watch him curiously.
He's so good with her, he doesn't complain when she accidentally runs a red noodle across his hand or gets crumbs all over the table. He's patient, but you've heard him use his stern voice enough to know he won't let her run all over him either.
It's cute.
"Ryan, you're dripping everywhere." You sigh. Ryan blinks, looking up from his phone to see he has sauce dripping off his fork where it hovers halfway to his mouth. He mumbles under his breath, hastily blotting at the table.
It's like having two children.
You don't know how people do it.
~~~~~
"Thanks for watching Chloe today." Ricky says after a moment, shoulders hunched as he shoves his hands into his pockets. You're both standing out on the front porch, your cook pot under one arm as the light buzzes above you.
"No problem, we had fun." You shrug. "She's a good kid."
"Yeah. She really is." Ricky has to admit Claire is doing a good job of raising her. "So are you coming back over tomorrow?"
"Uh, I didn't plan on it."
"Come back over, I'll take you out for dinner."
"Dinner?" You quirk a brow at him curiously, shifting your weight. You took today off and left the shop in the questionable hands of your mechanics, just so you could watch the child tucked into bed upstairs. "Now that's a little suspicious. Is this about the thing?"
"No." Ricky flushes, knowing you mean the marriage deal, but the two of you are being careful not to talk about it unless you're completely alone. "I just want to take you out as a thank you."
"Ahuh. Still suspicious."
He rolls his eyes. "Can't I do something nice?"
"Not without some sort of strings attached." You eyeball him in amusement. "What are you up too?"
"Just planning a romantic rendezvous on the beach, that's all. Seagulls, salty air, some shells in the sand that gets stuck in our shoes ---."
"We don't even live near the beach, you goof!" You chuckle, but you're relaxing. He's giving you that silly grin of his, letting you know he's just teasing. You're glad to see it, honestly, he's been much too serious lately. You get why, of course, you know he's stressing himself out, but he does need to chill out for a bit.
Maybe a dinner out will be good for him.
"Alright, I'll go. Where do I need to meet you?"
"I'll pick you up, don't worry about it."
"Ah, making sure I can't run away, are you? Clever. Are you going to wear my skin as a skirt next?"
He sighs dramatically. "Sometimes, (Y/N), I really wonder why I'm friends with you."
"You and me both." You grin, and brazenly lean forward to kiss his pale, cold cheek. "Now go back in and make sure Chloe isn't summoning demons with your guitar strings. I'll see you tomorrow."
~~~~~~~
"So you two are going for dinner tomorrow, right?" Ryan asks as Ricky steps back into the house. Ricky doesn't immediately answer, just watches your lights disappear down the street through the living room window. He gives it a few moments, his eyes flicking upstairs before he turns to face his roommate.
"Yeah, she agreed."
"Cool, I'm glad. I mean, I seriously paid that band like fifty bucks for the music tomorrow, so it better pay off."
"I told you we didn't need it."
"Yeah, well, you're going all Nicholas Sparks on her, so if she doesn't punch you because you're too mushy, I at least want the two of you serenaded with decent music," Ryan clucks. Honestly, he's totally on board with the two of you being a couple, you sort of balance each other out in his opinion. You're not going to put up with anyone's shit, so you can wear all the pants in the relationship and keep Ricky from losing his mind when it comes to his kid.
Ryan isn't totally sure why his friends planning such a big thing for Sunday, but he figures it's none of his business. Maybe it's the first date the two of you have been on since sort of announcing you're together, or maybe he's going to officially ask you out or make the relationship public, hell if Ryan knows.
He just knows Ricky is putting a little more effort forth than usual, but it's nice to see him thinking about someone other than his ex girlfriend and the kid they had together.
Ricky stresses too much.
~~~~~~
"Alright, Olson, this is pretty nice." You admit reluctantly, sitting out on the patio beneath some fairy lights, a glass of wine in your hand as a band plays down the street. Their music is just loud enough to hear, and they're pretty good, so that's nice. "But why are you wining and dining me?"
"So I can get laid, why else?" Ricky toys with the pasta on his plate, liking the amused smile on your red-painted lips. You dressed nice again, even if you did settle for jeans and a t shirt. You look much better when you're not resembling a grease rag.
"Har har." You snort, taking another sip out of your glass. Honestly, it's kind of sweet he took you out for Italian food, he knows it's your favorite. There's a few other couples out on the patio, one with a little baby in a swing as they eat. It's so relaxed, if not a little intimate, but you're enjoying it. "I don't remember that ever being in our agreement, and if that's up for discussion, I'll need another two bottles of this," you gesture with your glass, making your point.
Ricky flushes; you're a little tipsy, aren't you? He has no intentions of ever bringing that into your relationship, that would make it too complicated! He just wants to do this right, which is why he's bribed the staff to come out in just a few moments with dessert and a cellphone.
He's gonna do this right.
You thought he wouldn't be able to do it, that he couldn't surprise you, but boy were you wrong. He's got it all planned, no interruptions or distractions this time! Chloe is safe with Ryan, Ryan is, well, moderately safe with her, Claire is out of town --- all he has to do is get down on one knee, make sure he gets a photo of your surprised face, and shove a ring on your finger in public so everyone sees it!
Sure, you make a little of a mismatched couple. He's all tatted up with a beanie pulled low over his head, and you're wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to your elbows, painted nails gleaming in the dim lights. You look content, though, which makes the situation a little easier, and he seriously doubts you have any idea of what's about to happen.
He didn't take you to a five star restaurant, after all, which is what would have given away the plan immediately.
You both look over as the waitress suddenly appears, holding a slice of chocolate cake the size of your hand. You blink a little in surprise as she sets it in the middle of the table, and your lips part to ask where it came from --- you know neither of you ordered it, but it is your favorite.
"Compliments of the chef," the waitress says with a smile that's just a little too wide, her eyes flicking to where Ricky sits across from you, fiddling with the white tablecloth. You quirk a brow, your fork twisting in your pasta.
Huh.
"That's nice," you comment after a moment, your eyes flicking over to where he sits as the waitress leaves. "Do we know the chef?"
"He probably knows we've eaten here fifty times in the past three months," Ricky says dryly, already lifting his fork and slowly getting himself a bite; you notice the waitress brought two forks so the two of you can share. "They know us on a first name basis, after all."
"Well, yeah, but we normally get food to go," you reply, shamelessly cutting off a large bite; you love yourself some chocolate cake!
"Do you always have to question when people do nice things for you?"
"I do when I know there's an ulterior motive."
"You're so suspicious."
"Hey, I have a right to be." You level your fork at him playfully. "Take you, for example. You only came to see me at the shop because you wanted something. This is the first time we've spent together where there's not been anything you've needed out of me."
Well.
Uh.
About that.
Ricky fidgets, but you don't notice as you eat your half of the cake, finding you're starting to get a bit full; four breadsticks, a salad, and a plate of pasta will do that, though.
He waits until your sugar craving is satisfied before he looks over pointedly, spotting the lingering wait staff in their black outfits and white aprons. He takes just a few more moments before he leans his elbows against the table casually, gazing at you.
"(Y/N)."
"Hmm?" You glance up, a little surprised by how intense his blue gaze is.
"You know we've been friends for a while, and I know I've been asking a lot of you lately. I just... want to say I really appreciate it." He shrugs, but his words are sincere, he wants you to know that. "It means a lot what you're doing for me, and I want to make sure that you know it. I couldn't do this without you."
"Yeah, well, that's what friends are for," you respond, blinking. "Although admittedly, I wouldn't be doing this for just anyone."
Well, he hopes not.
Ricky hesitates only a second more before he rises to his feet, and you lean back in your chair curiously as he stretches his arms out in front of him as casually as he can manage.
"Ricky ---."
"I know this is a little impromptu, and not how we talked about, but," he turns to face you, and after a moment he drops to one knee on the cool patio tiles, reaching inside the pocket of the jacket he has hanging on his chair.
You stare at him in surprise, your cheeks heating as you swivel in your chair. Holy shit, he's doing this now!?
"Ricky..." Oh hell, you don't know what to say! He literally caught you by surprise!
Your eyes flick up, seeing that everyone is looking at you, women flailing at their men so they don't miss the photo-worthy moment of you getting proposed to over chicken alfredo.
Not too shabby, Olson, not too shabby.
"You don't have to say anything, really." He says hastily, presenting you with a black velvet box. You hesitate, watching as he awkwardly pops the box open, revealing a ridiculously pretty ring inside that you don't even care if its real or not --- it's beautiful! "I just, well ---- will you marry me?"
Smooth.
Public proposal, check.
He's already working on your requirements for this fake marriage, and you soften as you realize all the effort he put into tonight and at least attempting to garner to your wishes. He doesn't have too, and you know that, so it means so much more that he does.
You stare at the ring for a few more seconds, liking the way the modest diamond sparkles in the center, surrounded by pretty, if not much smaller, diamonds. You're not much for jewelry, you have no idea if it's real or not, but it's the thought that counts and you immediately like it because he picked it out.
"(Y/N)," Ricky's voice is a little nervous, and you straighten as you realize you've just been sitting in silence, not responding at all ---- okay, too much wine.
"Oh, I --- yes." you manage, flushing; you swear every person on the patio was staring at you with bated breath, waiting for your answer. "Of course, I --- yes!"
Ricky looks relieved, and he quickly takes your warm hand, slipping the ring on it --- now how did he know to get the right size? Your cheeks burn as there's a splattering of applause and cheer all throughout from the gathered crowd, and as Ricky stands you do as well, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.
"You sneaky fuck," you whisper in his ear, burying your face against his neck. He chuckles, lightly holding you back; you're only hugging him because if you just went back to eating your pasta, it would completely ruin the moment.
"I told you I would surprise you," he murmurs, liking the way your hair smells of vanilla, how soft it is against his cheek. "Do you like it?"
"I love it," you sigh as you lean away, turning so that the ring glints in the light from above. "It's beautiful."
"Is this where I'm cheesy and say not as much as you are?"
You grin, gazing up at Ricky, seeing the mirth in his pretty blue eyes. You know you should kiss him, that would be the normal reaction, but the two of you haven't really talked about that just yet.
Oh hell --- might as well keep the show going!
Your lips brush his brazenly for just a few seconds, lingering just long enough for it to look like a genuine, excited kiss before you lean away. You don't want Ricky to get the wrong idea, of course, but you're thoroughly enjoying the applause and happy congratulations the two of you are getting, and you don't want to ruin it.
He blinks a few times, startled, and you doubt his face can turn any redder.
Hopefully someone got a pic of that, maybe you can see the shock on his face later on.
Your first kiss with Ricky ever, and it's basically under false pretenses.
Still, even later, you find yourself thinking about how soft his lips are, how warm. It's probably the wine, no doubt, but you want to kiss him again, and again, and, well, technically he's your fiance now, isn't he?
Kissing is sort of a given.
Ricky holds your hands tightly, threading his fingers through yours as the couple across from you chats you up, gushing about the proposal and congratulating you. You're smooth in your responses, looking just as excited as you should be. You play the part perfectly, showing off your ring which he did pay a pretty penny for, flailing a little, giggling with the other wife.
You're too good at this, and he's very sure you're having fun.
He watches you out of the corner of his eyes, his lips still tingling from the touch of yours. He was seriously surprised when you did that, but obviously it was just for show, right? It's not because of anything else, which the two of you do need to discuss later.
Obviously kissing is going to have to be a normal thing, for the wedding and just casually to keep up the act. You're going to have to hold his hand, sit beside him, do couple-y things.
He suddenly doesn't know what couple-y things are.
Movies? No, no he wants to make sure when you're seen together, it's in public. People need to notice that you're together, that he's settling down --- fuck, his social media is going to be a disaster now. And considering the wedding is going to be so sudden and next month... everyone will no doubt assume you're pregnant, why else would the two of you rush?
Lord, Ricky doesn't know what he'd do if he ever had another child, it's not something he wants. He never wanted kids with two different women, he never believed in it, but he definitely doesn't want anymore ties to Claire.
You're good with Chloe, she really likes you and you're responsible enough where he doesn't worry about her constantly when she's in your care, unlike Ryan's.
Who he needs to text and make sure the house hasn't burnt down.
His eyes go back to you, now that everything has quieted and no one is talking. You're just gazing at the ring, shifting your fingers every now and again to make it sparkle. Your cheeks are still flushed, whether from wine or excitement he isn't sure, and you have a small smile on your lips.
Your eyes flick up, as if you sense him looking at you, and you give him a genuine smile.
"You did good, Ricky," you say after a moment, reaching across the table to curl your fingers around his arm. "I was starting to think you didn't have it in you."
"Just biding my time." He clucks, propping his chin on his hand. "I wanted to catch you off guard."
"Well good job. I'm just glad I wasn't shoving a breadstick in my mouth when you did."
A/N: Okay, here’s the Ricky fic you’ve been waiting for and I’ve been teasing about! It’s gonna be a slowburn, longhaul kinda deal for this relationship, full of cutsey, squeezy, fluffy moments that’ll be so sweet you won’t be able to stand it! Well, hopefully.
"This is gonna sound weird, but I need you to marry me."
You raise your head from the car you're working on, giving your best friend a startled look. Your eyes widen, and you blink a couple times, wondering if you heard him right. Did you hit your head on the hood or something?
"Uh, what?"
Ricky shifts uncomfortably, crossing his tattooed arms. He knows it's a weird question, but it's necessary. He's standing in the auto shop you own, the smell of tires and grease making his stomach churn a little. It's Sunday, so you're the only two there, and the garage doors are open to let the cool air in. Tools are on the ground, some boxes --- your shop looks no different from every other repair place in the world.
"We need to get married." Ricky says, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth. This is the first time he's really said them out loud, not just in his head, and he doesn't like them. He promised himself he'd never get married, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
"Usually I prefer lots of alcohol before someone asks me to marry them." You say after a moment, leaning up from between the car hood and the motor, a tool Ricky has no idea the name for held in your hand. "Or, y'know, at least some dinner."
You take a step back, your hands flecked with black from where you've been working. You're a mechanic, you own your own shop, passed down from your father.It's an odd profession for a female, but you enjoy it, cars are your passion.
Honestly, it's how you met Ricky.
He has no idea how to even change a tire.
If it wasn't for you happening to stop and offer him help, he'd still be stuck on that back road trying to figure out how to use a jack.
"(Y/N), I'm serious. I need you to marry me." Ricky stares at you, tugging his lower lip between his teeth nervously. He didn't know how to broach the subject before, so he just decided blurting it out would be better. You're his best friend, he trusts you more then he does anyone else, you're the only person he could come too with such a ridiculous request and you not laugh quite as long in his face.
"Why would you need me to do that?" you ask, growing confused. You reach for a rag, hastily wiping the black off your fingers, your red nailpolish starting to gleam once more. You like Ricky, he's good looking, incredibly intelligent, and the way he plays his guitar is kind of sexy, if you're being honest. However, as attractive as he may be, you've never fantasized about a relationship with him, you're just friends. Hell, the two of you have never even flirted!
So what's this about marriage?
That's a rather big step, isn't it?
"Ricky, you better explain what's going on." You frown at him, your hands going to your hips. You're wearing a blue jumpsuit, the front open down to your waist, showing your tank top. It has a low neck, revealing just a hint of cleavage, black smeared across your sweaty skin; your shop is hot despite the fans, you can't help it. Working around cars creates a lot of heat, after all.
Ricky exhales heavily, nodding his head in resignation. He reaches for one of the rolly chairs you have, duct tape across the seat where it's been torn. He drags it to him before turning it backward and sitting down, resting his arms along the back of it while you sit on top of a stack of pallets, still frowning.
"My custody hearing is coming up soon," Ricky finally says, tapping his fingers nervously against the back of the chair. "I'm supposed to get joint custody of Chloe, where I get her one week and her mother gets her the next. But Claire is fighting for full, she doesn't want me to see the kid. She's gonna use the fact I'm a musician who travels a lot against me. I gotta show that I can provide a stable home life, somewhere Chloe can be with someone."
"And you think us getting married is that solution?" That's the dumbest fucking thing you've ever heard. Also, it's kind of endearing.
Ricky and Claire had dated for three years before she wound up pregnant with their daughter. You'd never liked her, she was kind of uppity, a groupie in your eyes. You always thought she only dated Ricky because he was in a popular band and so that got her a lot of the attention she always seems to be seeking. However, you never voiced your opinion, it wasn't your place, nor would Ricky have appreciated you meddling.
So, no surprise, when she had the child, a year later Ricky and her were splitting. Chloe is almost six now and Claire has drug Ricky to court so many times in the past few years, you're pretty sure that's the only time the child got to even see her father.
"Rick, I'm not sure us getting married is going to solve that for you," you say hesitantly, your hands resting in your lap. Honestly, it'll probably make more problems, right? The two of you aren't dating, everyone knows that, and a sudden marriage isn't going to make him have anymore credit.
"But I think it will," Ricky insists, pushing off with his feet, sending the chair rolling towards you. His knees bump yours, causing the chair to finally come to a stop. His baby blue eyes find your own, almost pleading. "I have to prove I can provide a stable home, (Y/N). You're the only shot I got. I live with another member of the band, so when we go on tour, Chloe can't be with me. If we get married, I could say she could always be here, with you. You own your own business, you're a successful woman --- it'll look good. It'll show I've settled down."
"Not when we've only been married a month! It'll look like a desperate last ditch effort!" You argue, shaking your head. "Ricky, we can't get married. Do you even know what that means? I'll have to switch my name, everything that's mine is yours, we'll share everything! What if one of us incurs intense medical bills? The other will be responsible for it! Ricky, we can't ---."
"I'll buy you a ring," he interrupts you, as if that's what'll make you change your mind. "A big one, really fancy. We'll have an extravagant, ridiculous wedding with flying pigeons ---."
"I think you mean doves."
"--- and a fucking, I don't know, mariachi band if that's what you want. Look, as soon as I get custody of Chloe, we can get it annulled, okay!?"
"You realize we can only get it annulled if we prove we were both incompetent to get married in the first place, or we never fuck, right?" You arch a brow at him. He pauses at the latter part, which you know is what gets his attention. This is a foolish idea and he has to realize that.
"Well, we don't have to fuck then," he says decisively, and you roll your eyes as you lean back. "I'm serious! Won't that be an easy out?"
"So, let me get this straight. You want to get married, which also entails us moving in together for aesthetic purposes, and then never have sex? So when you get your daughter, we're going to have to go to court and say we want our marriage annulled, and then explain we never consummated the marriage. They're going to want to know why. I mean, I guess I can say your dick doesn't work," you pretend to contemplate, seeing the horrified look on his face. "Say I didn't realize how much Viagra you needed just to get it up ---."
"So we'll figure something else out!" He huffs, glaring at you. "Look, I --- I don't know what else to do." He runs his fingers nervously through his hair. "She's gonna take my girl away from me, (Y/N). She's gonna make sure I never know my daughter."
You bite your lip, gazing at him. You understand, you really do. Ricky is a great dad, you've seen him with Chloe --- he adores that little girl, and she loves him to death. If his ex girlfriend wasn't such a vindictive bitch you'd like to hit with one of your cars, everyone's life would be so much easier.
"Is there nothing else you can do?" You finally sigh, your heart aching. You want to help Ricky, but you're not sure that getting married is the best route for the two of you to take. You're not even his girlfriend, the two of you have never done anything more then bump fists and share the occasional beer --- or in his case, coffee while you drink beer. "You can see if you can't prove she's an unfit mother."
"I've already tried. Apparently having a string of boyfriends one right after the other doesn't prove that fact. She has a job, she has an apartment, Chloe never misses school --- I can't prove anything without hiring someone to follow her around and analyze her every move. Chloe seems okay, she's not unhappy." Ricky shakes his head. "I'm out of options, I've tried everything. I can't keep paying for this lawyer either, he's already eating at my savings. At this rate, Claire is going to have me drained where I'm gonna have to play at fucking bars again just to pay my half of the rent."
Shit.
You didn't realize it was getting so bad for him.
You chew your lip, your brows furrowing. Conveniently you're not dating anyone, otherwise that would be a big complication. You've never been married, no one has ever been close to even proposing to you. Every relationship you've ever had has been a big failure, ending with you crying a little and ordering pizza to eat by yourself. The last guy you'd dated had turned out to be a big jerk and you'd punched him, breaking his nose and really messing up your hand. Ricky had been the one to hold the ice on your knuckles and clean away the blood, and you'd sworn then you wouldn't date again until you were sure you found someone who wasn't an asshole.
Ricky had just laughed at you.
You get his valiant cause, wanting to see his daughter, raise her. Claire is a total bitch, but so far she's been a good mother. You've never seen Chloe hungry, she's always wearing cutesy clothes and giggling, so she seems happy.
Really, Ricky just wants everything to be fair. If he's going to pay child support, he deserves to see his daughter, and maybe... well, really, it's not the worst idea you've ever heard. It's pretty high on the tier, but... this can help you too.
"So what happens, if --- and it's a big if --- I do agree?" You ask after a moment, pursing your lips. Ricky straightens a little, the miserable look on his face starting to dissipate. "What do we do?"
"We... get married, I guess. We tell our friends and family, we plan a hasty wedding, and get married." He makes it sound much too simple.
"Ricky," you're about to bust his bubble. "It's not that easy. We have to get a marriage license, find someone who can legally marry us. If you want a serious wedding where we even invite people, we need a venue. A time and place. Arrangements. I want fucking balloons flying over my head as I say I do."
"Are you serious?" Ricky frowns at you. "Balloons?"
"If I'm going to marry you for the sake of you getting your kid, you could at least give me the balloons." You huff, crossing your arms. "White balloons. Big balloons. And rice. I like the whole rice being tossed over the head thing."
Ricky actually rolls his eyes, and you kick his shin lightly, causing him to roll back across the concrete floor of your auto shop, an errant wrench finally stopping his departure. He has a half-smile on his stupid face.
"So... you agree then? You'll help me?" he asks after a moment, his eyes searching your face. "You'll marry me?"
"I haven't said yes," you say hastily, not wanting to get ahead of yourself. "You realize we'll have to live together. We can't get married and then you continue to live with Ryan, that'll look bad. You'll have to move in with me." Your brain is already three steps ahead. "I'll actually have to get my license and all that shit changed over to your stupid last name, too. Ugh, I'll be an Olson," You crinkle your nose."Plus, I mean, planning a wedding isn't super easy either. I want a white dress ---."
"I thought only virgins wore white for their wedding." Ricky quirks a brow at you, interrupting you.
"I want a white dress," you repeat, ignoring him. "With a train, and a veil, and lacy sleeves. The white balloons, maybe Devin can be my bridesmaid ----."
Ricky snorts.
"I foresee an arch, with white lilies woven into it." You spread your hands in front of you, like you're creating a rainbow. "I see water behind us, we're on a pier. It's dusk, someone is faintly playing 'here comes the bride' on piano --- Balz can do that for us. Ooo, we're cutting a triple decker cake with a guitar on top because I think those little topping things of the bride and groom are kind of tacky, and ---."
"Okay, you can stop bullshitting me already," Ricky groans, running his hands down his face as you begin to grin. "I get it, you're high maintenance, you have big dreams. Shouldn't we focus on the small details first?"
"Ricky, the small details to you are so small you completely miss the big picture. Don't focus on one tree, focus on the forest," You say, shaking your head. "You know divorces aren't cheap. It's going to cost us a lot of money to end our marriage, one that isn't even going to be real. And hey, what if I meet the guy of my dreams?" you suddenly say, frowning. "What if I want to hook up with him and stuff?"
"Well, you better hope he's into married chicks, then. Maybe he'll have a hot girlfriend and we can say we're swingers."
You roll your eyes, swatting at him with your grease rag.
"Ricky, you're so full of shit!"
He grins, catching the rag and jerking. You don't let go, so he merely manages to roll his chair back to where you sit, his knees coming to rest beside yours.
"So, are we in this, then?" he asks, his voice growing serious. You're eye level with each other, and he reaches out, taking your hand in his. Your eyes flick nervously to his face, suddenly feeling your stomach tighten.
Are you in this?
Will you marry Ricky so he might be able to get custody of his daughter?
"There's no guarantee us being married will get Chloe for you, Ricky. This might just be a disaster, or make the situation worse." You worry, squeezing his hand. "Claire might have a mental breakdown and never let you see her."
"This is my one shot, it's all I got left in my arsenal against her." Ricky shakes his head, his black hair brushing his shoulders. "It's downhill from here anyway. If I lose Chloe, I don't want her to think it's because I don't care about her. I want her to know that I fought tooth and nail against her mother, and that I did absolutely everything I could."
"Include marrying a woman you don't even love."
Ricky hesitates at your words, and you swear there's guilt in his eyes.
"I don't... (Y/N) ---."
"No, Ricky, it's okay." You shake your head. "I get it. Your intentions are noble as shit. You're probably the only guy who's ever gonna want to marry me anyway, I should probably jump on this ship before it finds another harbor."
"Okay, you and your comparisons have got to stop." Ricky shakes his head. "First trees, now ships --- you're killing me."
You merely shrug your shoulders; you can't help it, you're quirky. No one so far has found it appealing, maybe that's why you still do it. You want someone to like you for you, for all your bad traits and all your good ones, and that includes your stupid expressions and smart ass comments; you were raised by your dad, he taught you well.
You're not going to give up who you are just to make someone else happy.
"You know one day, when all of this is over, you'll meet the right person," Ricky suddenly says, drawing your eyes back to his. "He'll ask you to marry him the right way, and you'll say yes. You'll get your fairy tale white wedding, with balloons, and pigeons ---."
"Doves."
"--- and all that stuff that you want." Ricky reaches forward, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I can't give it all to you, except maybe the balloons. That I can do, although helium is pretty expensive ---."
"Ricky."
He chuckles, giving you that goofy grin of his. "What I'm saying is... well, no beach wedding, not this time. I have a couple thousand saved up that we can use, but it's not gonna be anything grand. Most of my cash is going for the court fees, and ---."
"Ricky, I was just bullshitting you, don't worry about it. Besides, typically the bride's family pays for the wedding anyway. Or at least I think." You shrug your shoulders, aware he's still holding your hand. "We can do it at the park or something. Sit on the swings, get married, it'll be simple."
"We'll have to invite people, we'll need a witness for the wedding." Ricky sounds a little nervous now, as if it's suddenly hitting him what he's asked you to do.
"I'll tell my one cousin to show up," you say dryly. Your mother passed away when you were young, and most of her family is gone now. Your dad passed away with a heart attack a few years ago, leaving you the shop, so you have some money put back. You have an aunt on his side who lives in town, and her kids, so you suppose if it's necessary, you could invite them to pose as your side of the family.
"Or we could just --- elope. Not even fool with any of that." Ricky hesitates. He knows what he's asking you is a big deal, but it's just fake. There's no point in putting a lot of effort into it, getting a bunch of commotion stirred up. He wants something simple, something quick, and then for it to be done. "Go to one of those quick chapels or something."
You frown, disliking the idea.
No, you don't want that at all.
If you're going to get married, and it's very possible it's the only time you ever get the option, you want it to be memorable. Just because it's not for love doesn't mean it can't be enjoyable. You want the dress, you want the photos, and the cake, and the memory of people throwing rice over your head as you and your husband race for your car with Just Married written on the back of it --- it's ridiculous, it's something you've seen in movies but always wanted.
So no.
No quick chapel.
"No." You shake your head, brushing your bangs out of your eyes; your hair is in a loose bun on the back of your head, you know you honestly look a mess right now, and you smell like grease. You doubt there's been a time Ricky hasn't seen you like you haven't just crawled out from under a car. "No, if we're doing this, we're going it the right way. I want a wedding."
Ricky hesitates, staring at you. "(Y/N)..."
"I know it's not real, but, well--- it's real for me." You withdraw your hand from his, hopping to your feet. You feel awkward, but Ricky just doesn't understand. "We might have our reasons for doing this, and it might not be because we love each other, but we're going to pretend we do. We're going to have to announce to our friends we want to get married, quick, and everyone is immediately going to assume I'm pregnant."
Ricky cringes at the word.
"Don't look like that, you know they will. Why else would we do something so stupid?" Your hands go to your hips as you stare down at him. "We're going to have to hold hands, put on a show --- if you're going to convince a court, first you have to convince the people around you. You know Claire will want to be at the wedding, she'll bring Chloe just to be a snob. Make her wish she wasn't such a bitch and hadn't dumped your scrawny ass. Show her the wedding that could have been hers."
Really, you just want the experience of a beautiful wedding, you don't care if it makes his ex feel jealous or not. But, you know what will convince Ricky, just how to pull his strings, and already he's nodding his head in agreement with you.
"I guess... I mean, that makes sense." he mutters, finally get to his feet, brushing at his pants. "You're right."
"Of course I am. So, pretty wedding is decided." You say, a tad gleeful. You can always rent a wedding dress, not buy one, so that'll save some cash. "And I'll need a ring. I wear a size seven, surprise me."
Ricky snorts, crossing his arms. He guesses by the way you're talking, since you've never actually said yes, is that you're in. The way your eyes light up though, just at the thought of planning something so redundant... it's cute.
You seem genuinely excited about this.
But what you said... do you really think you'll never have a chance at a wedding? Is that why you want to go all out now?
Is there even time for it?
"We should go to the courthouse tomorrow for the marriage license," Ricky says after a moment, a little relieved. He'd honestly expected to have to beg you for the next couple hours, to get on his hands and knees in the grease and oil and bow his forehead to the floor. This is actually going better than expected. "We can go early, your guys can open the shop for you, right?"
"Yeah, shouldn't be a problem. So we get it, then what?" You want a solid plan, after all. "Should I start calling around? What date do we even want to set?"
"I don't care," Ricky shrugs his shoulders. "Just as soon as possible."
Right, that's completely helpful.
You sigh, crossing your arms. "Fine, I'll find us a place, and I'll take care of the judge who can marry us. You find me a pretty ring, I'll see if we can't find a place to rent a dress and tux --- no nose curling, you're wearing a tux!" You say firmly. "Plus, we'll need a cake! And someone to cater for the reception ---."
"Reception?"
"Of course! All weddings have receptions where everyone can mingle. Plus, we need music, we'll have to have a first dance. And one of your friends is going to have to give a speech saying how happy they are that we found each other and all that bullshit. Hmm, I'll need a bridesmaid." Maybe you can sacrifice your cousin to that spot. "You need a best man."
"Uh ---."
"And we'll have to start getting the decorations in order." You continue, ignoring Ricky's look of growing dismay --- you're suddenly making this complicated and he's going to panic. "Flowers, I still want an arch even if there's no beach --- do we want it outside or inside? Do you care if it's a church?"
Ricky leans his hip against the car, watching as you pace back and forth in front of the car you're working on. You're getting all excited and girly on him, and that's not something he's used too. You're so tough, always covered in grease or some other kind of car grime, he can't actually think of a moment where you haven't had something on your face or skin. He's having a hard time imagining you in a white wedding dress, or even with makeup on.
He figured you wouldn't be the type to want something like that.
Maybe he doesn't know you as well as he thinks he does.
"You get whatever you want," he says after a moment, seeing you turn to look at him over your shoulder. "You pick everything."
He owe's you that for doing this, doesn't he? He figures you can have your dream wedding, even if it's all just a show, and in return you can help him make sure his daughter grows up with a father. It's not a bad trade at all.
"Are you saying that to be nice or because you don't want to fool with any of it?" You question dryly, seeing him roll his eyes.
"A little of both, actually. I don't know the first thing that goes into a wedding and you already seem to have everything down."
You might have thought about it a lot. You like the pretty weddings in TV shows and movies, you always imagined something grandiose and over the top --- so although there's not going to be fireworks going off in the background, or a big church with a steeple and old ladies weeping with joy in the pews, you want something nice.
Something your dad would have wanted to come too.
"Are you sure about this?" You bite your lip as you turn to Ricky, finally facing him. He's only a little taller then you, so your eyes are almost level. You don't want to go through all of this and then he suddenly back out last minute. "I don't want to be that girl who gets left literally at the alter because you decide this is a bad idea."
"I would never do that," he shakes his head immediately. "I'm serious about all this. I need it for Chloe. You plan the wedding, get the balloons, the bird, the rice or whatever, and I'll take care of everything else."
"Everything else?"
"Uh, announcing it to people? Making it public where it's believable. I'll..." he grimaces. "Have to post something about it on Twitter, we'll need some photos together."
"We've had photos together before."
"Yeah, but... you know what I mean. And we'll have to kiss ---."
"You make it sound like kissing me will kill you." You frown sourly. "I'll have you know, I'm a fantastic kisser. You're the one who needs to work on your technique."
"What?" Ricky scowls at you. "What does that mean ---?"
"I've seen you kiss other women, Ricky. You're all tongue and no technique. You need to work on it." You shrug your shoulders. "I don't appreciate someone sticking their tongue down my throat and not knowing how to use it."
"I know how to use my tongue!"
"That remains to be seen." You gaze at him, trying not to smile at his irritated expression. "Now, I need to finish working on this car so it's ready tomorrow. You sit, and we'll start working over some of the details. Who we want to tell first, who we want to come, stuff like that. Think you can handle that much of the details with having a coronary?"
"Maybe." His answer is so sullen.
You chuckle as you turn away, tucking your hair behind your ears once more as you lift up your tool, gazing down at the car.
You're so excited, no one's taken you on a "date" before! Well, you know Cerulli won't call it that, but that's definitely what's happening right now!
You're in the south part of the city, and it's pretty cold, so you're both bundled up well. He looks sophisticated in his long black coat with silver buttons, a black scarf around his neck, gloves on his hands. Your fingers clasp his, you'd managed to sneak it at some point but he doesn't seem to mind, walking down the street with you close at his side.
You have a dinner reservation, but you're a little early, so you're just admiring the scenery --- which is just smog, lots of people, and vendors yelling and thrusting their merchandise at you. Somehow, it doesn't bother you, nothing can bring down your high right now!
"Roses for the lovely lady?" You blink as a bouquet is suddenly shoved in your face, startled. Cerulli sighs, glancing at the older man offering them, your hand already closing around the thin paper that holds them together. You're touching them, and with the look on your face, you're not exactly going to be giving them back, either.
"How much?" He asks, and the vendor rattles off a price. Cerulli absently hands him cash, muttering to keep the change. You're inhaling the scent of the flowers, and your eyes look so bright tonight, excited almost. You act as if you've never been out to dinner before, it's almost cute. His arm slips around you, guiding you past a few more vendors and hoping you don't make eye contact.
"These smell wonderful," you sigh as you lean into his side, your body searching for the warmth of his in the cold air. "Oh, look at those! Aren't they pretty?" You gesture towards some painted glass ornaments, forcing the man at your side to momentarily stop and admire them. They are pretty, handmade, and the light refracting through them causes different colors to dance across your clothing.
"Yes," he agrees, checking the time on his phone. He doesn't want to be late for the reservation, but he has no problem with taking his time, either. You look pretty tonight, you styled your hair, painted your eyes, and you're wearing those damned heels that make your legs go on for miles again; those shoes really get to him.
You send him an infectious smile, curling your fingers through his again as you look up at him. Does he know how handsome he is? That long black hair frames his pale face so perfectly, and the tattoos on his skin make him look as intimidating as he is sophisticated, but you like that. You like the proud way he carries himself, as if he's above it all, you wish you could mimic at least half of that.
Cerulli thoughtlessly leans down to kiss you, his cold lips lingering against yours for several seconds, feeling you lean into him. He shouldn't be affectionate towards you in public, it's always possible to run into one of his other students, or have them see you, but its unlikely in this part of town. He's not too worried anyhow, the school is large enough to have everyone be just about anonymous if they wish.
Besides, you look a little different then your normal self, you always do when you wear makeup, it makes you look older. Which, considering you're out in public together and your age difference, is a good thing.
"What time is our reservation?" You ask when he leans up, quirking your lips. He raises his brows at you, recognizing that mischevious look on your face.
"Thirty minutes or so, I suppose."
That's plenty of time for a quickie, isn't it? Your eyes flick around curiously, wondering where you can drag him to have your way with him, but you feel him suddenly go rigid at your side, his fingers crushing yours.
"Christopher?" You look up at him in surprise, but his hazel eyes are riveted past you. You follow his gaze, frowning as you see he's looking at a woman, but he looks horrified to see her, and he's standing so still it's as if he's not breathing. You frown at her, noticing you have the same hair color, although she's shorter then you, wearing a tan coat with a little girl holding her hand, shopping bags on her free arm.
Cerulli can't seem to make a single bone in his body move, his stomach dropping to his knees. That's impossible, she doesn't even live in the city! What are the odds of running into her, here? For a few seconds, he actually debates doing an about face, sprinting in the opposite direction or crossing the street to avoid her, but it's too late, she's already seen him --- and probably the look on his face.
Jesus.
Okay, why is that woman walking towards you? You wonder, surprised. Cerulli shifts uncomfortably beside you, releasing your hand to slip his in his pockets. He's so tense beside you.
"Christopher," the woman greets, as if she's surprised to see him as well. She's pretty, probably around his age, with a really large wedding ring that sparkles. She's dressed in an expensive tan coat that just oozes designer, wearing a thick layer of makeup that you don't think is even her color. Her daughter is cute, though, wearing a beanie with a white puff on top, probably six or seven years old.
"... Catherine." Cerulli replies, his tone clipped. There's an awkward moment of silence, then, "What are you doing in the city?"
"Oh, Charles moved here for work." the woman replies, brushing her hair off her shoulder. "He's an attorney at a law firm, just made partner."
Is she bragging? You honestly can't tell, she says everything so casually.
"Oh." is all Cerulli says, and you send him a curious look. What the hell is going on and why has he suddenly lost the ability to speak like a normal person?
"This is my daughter, Elise," the woman looks down proudly at her child. "We just had a little boy named Avery."
"Well, congratulations." Cerulli has barely moved a muscle, but you can see one ticking in his jaw. He looks as if he could bite through concrete, but you're not sure why, how does he know this person? Who is she? You're so confused!
You hesitate, and step a little closer to his side, hiding your hand as it curls around his arm, giving him a comforting squeeze.
"Hi, I'm (Y/N)," you say, thrusting your hand forward. Kind of rude you weren't introduced, but something is going on here. The woman hesitates before reluctantly shaking, tilting her head curiously. "It's nice to meet you."
"You as well. How do you know Christopher?" she asks, and for a brief second, your mind goes blank. Oh crap, you didn't anticipate that question.
"We work together." he replies in that same clipped tone, but his fingers are suddenly in yours again, so tight it hurts but you don't dare let go.
"At the college?" the woman blinks, and Cerulli stares at her; is she keeping up with him? How does she know that?
"Yes." You say when he doesn't respond. "We're colleagues. How do you two know each other?" Your eyes flick back and forth, but your teacher doesn't look very forthcoming.
"Oh, I'm his ex wife, Catherine." the woman says, as if you should already know who she is simply because of her name.
OH.
OH.
Well that explains his behavior.
"Oh." You say, just looking at her. Well this bitch has a lot of freaking nerve approaching him in the street like this! After how she treated him, abandoned him, how dare she! The gall of this woman, and then to introduce her kid so proudly, and announce she had another one! Did she not know how bad she hurt Cerulli? Did she not care?
You hate her immediately.
"Well, I do hate to cut this short, but we have a reservation," you say smoothly, checking the time on your phone like the restaurant isn't two doors down from you. "It was wonderful to meet you," you say very dismissively, tugging forcefully on Cerulli's hand to get him moving, although he acts as if he's frozen to the spot.
"Oh, you as well." The woman responds, immediately noticing your hand in his, how his fingers cling to yours. "Christopher. It was nice to see you again, after all these years." She says after a moment, gazing up at him, and it's all you can do not to glare at her, not to ask her exactly what she thought she was doing. You get people make mistakes, that they grow and change and don't always get along, but that doesn't mean she can just pretend that what she did was okay.
You're suddenly feeling very protective of the man at your side, and you stand straight beside him, just a little in front as if to separate them. His eyes are elsewhere, focusing on anything but the ex wife.
"You too." he mumbles, finally taking a step when you pull harshly on him. He steps around the little girl, barely sparing her a glance as you begin walking down the sidewalk, heading for the restaurant. You huff in the cold air, glancing behind you to see the woman still staring after Cerulli for a few seconds longer before turning away, heading in the opposite direction.
You should hit her with your car.
Cerulli grabs the door for you, letting you step out of the cold. You're relieved when you're greeted with warmth and dim lights, the scent of food immediately making your mouth want to water. You tug the gloves off your hands, slipping them into your pocket as you give the hostess the name.
You're early, but maybe they have a table for you.
Cerulli isn't saying a single word. It was just such a shock seeing his ex wife after so many years, seeing her looking... happy. His last few memories of her are just bitter fights and angry words, and usually those are the ones he focuses on. Her child looks just like her, all bright eyed and beautiful, and she sounds like she married well. An attorney?
Two children?
He sighs, following you thoughtlessly as you head for a table, the hostess leading you. You and Cerulli both take your seats, rattling off drink orders as you receive the menu. You shirk out of your coat, letting it rest along your chair. You give it a few moments until the waiter is gone before you spear your teacher with a look.
"Are you going to be silent for the rest of the night?" You ask, frowning at him. You've never seen him so curt, so unable to speak before. He's usually always full of some smart remark or retort, but to see him so clipped, it's... uncomfortable. You don't like it. Where's his sarcasm?
"I --- no." he glances up from the menu at you, although now he's lost his appetite.
You sigh in disappointment. You were having such a good time, too! There's roses, the restaurant is romantic, you were holding hands --- then that bitch makes an appearance out of nowhere to suck the joy out of everything!
"I suppose it's... unnerving, seeing her." You say after a moment. He's never even told you her name, he tries to avoid any conversation about her.
Christopher and Catherine.
Even their names sound cute together!
You hate her even more.
It wouldn't be so bad if you didn't have the same hair color as her, now your stupid brain is wondering if Cerulli only picked you because you reminded him of her. That's ridiculous, though, isn't it? That would mean every time he looks at you, all he sees is her, and that, that can't be the case!
Right..?
You'll be so hurt if it is.
"It... was." Cerulli shrugs his shoulders, finally taking off his coat. He clasps his hands together, leaning his lips against them as he scans the menu.
You frown, then, "Honestly she seems like a bitch."
Cerulli looks up immediately in surprise, caught off guard. "What?"
"Your ex wife. She seems like a real stuck up bitch." You shrug your shoulders, hoping you're not going too far, but you want to say it. "I just... I don't want it to bother you, seeing her."
Of course it bothers him, how can it not? She's happy and living the life she wanted and he was too inadequate to give. He failed at being a husband, being able to provide for her, he can't let that go. "It's fine, just the past."
The past that still obviously has such a hold.
You prop your chin on your hand unhappily, gazing at him across the small table, the flickering light of the candles on the wall making the setting very intimate. It's a beautiful place, you've heard their food is amazing, but you've obviously never been. It's decorated in reds and golds, the wait staff wear all black, very polite.
Probably expensive.
"Christopher," you reach across the table, placing your hand over his. You're not really sure what you want to say, you know the night is already ruined. Just seeing her has completely changed his attitude and you don't know how to fix it. He moved away from you when he saw her, he stopped touching you. Why does she still have such a hold on him? Does he still love her? Is she still that important to him, or just a painful part of his past he can't let go of?
What if you just end up part of the past too?
He turns his hand, threading his fingers through yours and giving them a squeeze. "Don't brood over it, (Y/N), you'll get wrinkles."
"I'm not brooding," you say immediately, piqued. You're relieved he's holding your hand back, that he didn't pull away from you. "I just..."
You don't know what you just.
"It's fine, she's nothing to be concerned with." Cerulli assures you. He sort of likes the fact you don't like his ex wife, and he noticed the way you stood at his side, matching her stance, proud to be with him whereas she was not. You don't know it, but it means a lot, and he appreciates you more than ever. Seeing her was so startling, and he never knew what to say with her, he was always struggling with his words.
He doesn't have that problem with you.
"Are you sure?" You hesitate, tightening your hold.
"Very."
You nod, deciding to let it drop then. You don't want to keep bringing her up, he seems to be thawing out the more he sits, so that's a good sign. You relax, returning your gaze to the menu; the two of you are going to have a nice dinner, maybe go back to his place, continue to have a nice evening, you're not going to worry about it. She's out of your mind. Out of his.
You don't want to think of her ever again.
Although you're definitely going to google the hell out of her as soon as you get the opportunity.
~~~~~~~
Okay, all you can think about is his ex wife. You did in fact discreetly google her, you found her social media easily enough, she has nothing on private. Two kids, decent looking husband although he has gray hair, probably because of his job. Drives a nice car, has a nice house, went to the same fancy college and apparently has a degree in art.
Seriously?
She does appear to be happy, but that never is necessarily the case. Oh god, what if she tries contacting him now that she's run into him? He doesn't have a Facebook, but she knew he worked at the college! What if she goes there looking for him? Would she be so bold?
... Well, yeah, you think so.
"So, how's my grade doing?" You ask as Cerulli sorts through papers in front of you, different classes spread out on his coffee table. Hes sitting beside you, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, which are propped on his knees. He's frowning.
"You're fine." He replies, flipping through the papers. "But these guys are all fucking idiots."
You snort, nearly choking on the warm tea you'd started to sip.
"Why?"
"They failed the easiest assignment I've given all semester," he sighs, lowering the papers. "Give your opinion on Crime and Punishment's ending, not fucking quote the ending at me from SparkNotes."
Funny, you never read the book, you just read SparkNotes too, but you don't think you should admit that.
"Oh, well, they didn't have to make it so obvious." You reply, pursing your lips as you sip your tea again. You came home from dinner, and he's restless, you're glad he finally sat down even if it was to check his papers. You wish you could do something to sooth him, make him some tea, suck his dick, anything, but he won't hold still long enough.
He tosses his papers down in disgust, irritated. "I swear it's like people your age don't even want to learn."
"Some of us do," you say, your eyes flicking over him. People "your age"?
He leans down into his sofa, running his fingers through his hair, light glinting off his silver rings. He's thinking about her right now, isn't he? At this moment? With you sitting right beside him?
Have you mentioned how much you immediately hate her?
Because you do.
Very much.
"Thank you for dinner," you say, leaning forward to rest your cup on a coaster, Cerulli is very particular about his furniture, he doesn't like rings on the glass table. "You chose a lovely restaurant."
"Of course," he absently lets his hand rest along your thigh, patting against your navy dress. "I thought you'd prefer somewhere nicer than just McDonalds."
You smile, twisting a little to look at him. His hand just rests in your lap, he's not even making a move, and you like that. It's just a casual pat, an acknowledgement, which somehow makes the touch ten times better.
"I do like their fries though."
"Well next time that's where we'll go," he chuckles, leaning his head back against the sofa. You suppose it's been a long day for him, he did work before you went out, he must be tired. Still, he can't let his old age get to him yet, you still have the entire night ahead of you!
What about all the crazy, wild sex he no doubt has planned? You shaved, so you're going to be incredibly disappointed if you don't get any.
Oh god, what if thinking about his ex wife ruins his mood?
Or, worse, gets him in the mood?
How mortifying.
You have to do something. Anything. Make a move at him, squeeze his hand, just --- you shift, and Cerulli lifts his arm as you nudge it, letting you slip into the curve of his body. You snuggle against him, your head resting on his shoulder, fingers curling on his chest. It's still a little early, and honestly you're not in the mood right now since you keep thinking about the evil woman, but you wouldn't mind just knowing he doesn't mind still cuddling with you.
You feel his fingers toy with your hair, and his lips absently press against your forehead. You're warm and soft against him, completely lovely. You seem content just at his side, your body relaxed.
Perhaps he should give you an explanation, of a sorts? Should he explain himself? He rarely ever mentions his ex, you were obviously surprised when she introduced herself, and now that you've seen her --- now that she's seen you --- it could be bad. What if Catherine looks into you and realizes you're a student? Would she get him into trouble?
He's unsure.
But...
"My ex wife," he starts, your eyes immediately rising to his face, "Catherine, she... I never expected to run into her out anywhere, I didn't realize she lived here." He feels as if he should apologize for your evening nearly being ruined.
"Oh, that's not your fault. I'm sorry you had to see her again," you reply, and you know your opinion is biased on her. You're crazy about Cerulli, which of course gives you justification for not liking her; it's just, with the way the world is, she didn't have to leave him to have a baby, there's so many other options available. Of course you don't know her side, maybe he didn't want to do anything like that, but you've just decided not to like her for his sake.
Makes life easier.
You snuggle a little closer, as close as you can get, and he squeezes your shoulders lightly. He appreciates that you're not letting it bother you, that you're not quizzing him about the past. He hates to even revisit it.
"Our marriage did not end well, so I was quite surprised she even approached me today," He says, your eyes flicking up again.
Yeah, you thought it was awful ballsy of her, especially with that kid dragging along at her side. It's almost as if she was shoving it in his face what she had that he couldn't give her, through no fault of his own! When you're married, you're supposed to be loyal, to love someone through sickness and in health, all that jazz. Your parents make it work, you know they don't always get along, but at least they support each other.
Support is key.
Or, maybe because you've never even been in that serious of a relationship, you're naive. You have this idea of what it should be like, but you honestly have no idea, nothing to base it off of. Cerulli is the closest you have to any longterm relationship and it's not even like that.
"Is it good that she did?" You ask, unsure really of what to say. The two of you never talk about anything personal, it almost seemed taboo before.
"I don't know," he sighs. "It just brings up bad memories."
"They can't have all been bad." Now why did you just say that?
"No, not the early ones. But the last six months... well, it doesn't matter. That was twelve years ago."
Twelve years? So he was only twenty-two when they were divorced, if your sketchy math skills are right? That's... well, literally your age. Why did she want a baby so young, anyway? Isn't it better to wait until you're very settled and secure in your job?
Accidents happening is one thing, but... no, she's still a jerk.
"That doesn't mean it's any less significant," you reply, tilting your head against his shoulder so you can look at him. "Or has any less impact. She was important to you at some point, that doesn't go away."
"That part of my life is over." Catherine isn't important to him anymore, he still thinks of her, but he would never feel the same way about her, she broke that part of him. He loved her all through college, but they were so young, it was just the wrong time. Everyone makes mistakes. "We've both moved on and put it behind us."
Has he, though? Is he sure?
Because you're still hung up on the fact maybe you look a little like her and that's why he likes you. Or at least wanted to have sex with you.
"Besides," he nudges you where you look at him again, "now she thinks I'm dating someone younger then her."
You snort, trying hard not to smile. "Do you think she's that sensitive about her age?"
He shrugs.
"Well, you have a lot of younger women lusting after you," you say, absently drawing circles on his chest. "My entire class, actually. You're just that good looking."
"Oh really?" He doesn't sound as interested as he should.
"Yes really. You're handsome, for one, and you have a very... sophisticated air about you, drives all the girls wild." You chuckle, notice his amused look. "You could have a harem if you wanted."
Right, Cerulli can barely handle you sometimes, he doubts a young flock of girls would be manageable.
"I'm quite content with just one," he states, knowing it's a sensitive topic and not even wanting to make a joke about it. "You're more than enough for me."
Your cheeks pinken. Really? Does he mean that?
Good.
"Good. Because honestly, I'm not much for sharing." You reply, and he finally outright chuckles. He knows you have a younger sibling, but significantly younger, so much he supposes you were basically an only child when it mattered.
You're starting to think you might have a jealousy issue, although you're not going to tell him that. You're so proud to be at his side, but you're always worried that he might not want you anymore, or he might find someone more his age who's more interesting or mature. You're trying very hard, but... well, all he wants is sex, although right now this is nice, just being with each other, talking, having a normal conversation.
You don't get that much.
"Well I guess that strikes out a threesome." Cerulli clucks, and you roll your eyes at him. He knows you'd never go for something like that, and he wouldn't dare bring someone else into the mix, with the circumstances of course. Besides, he has too much to teach you, too many things he wants you to try before anything like that comes into discussion.
"You're hilarious."
"Was that sarcasm, Miss (Y/L/N)?" He teases, shifting so that he can look down at you easier, his free hand coming to rest on your lap once more. "You should show your professor a little more respect."
"Mmm, well, the professor is going to have to make me if he wants some." You can sense the mood change swiftly, it's the look in his eyes.
"The professor does want some," he murmurs, absently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, liking how you flush at his words. You always get so embarrassed, it's adorable. Despite you're a real riot in bed now, just a naughty whisper in your ear, or a crude word, it still makes you flush like you're in a church crowd. He hopes that never changes.
He closes the space between you, your lips rising up to meet his eagerly. You're relieved that the spark is still there, that it's not been taken away, or ruined for the night. Your mouth parts beneath the pressure of his tongue, but he's kissing you easily, as if there's no rush, wanting to take his time as his fingers bury in your hair. You sigh into him, your body pressing forward as you wind your fingers into his shirt collar.
You suddenly have an idea.
You hesitate before abruptly pulling back, straightening.
"Can we try something and you be open about it?" You ask after a moment, seeing the older man blink, caught off guard. You read about it in one of your books, and honestly you want to try it and see if it's as... well, hot as the book made it sound. But only if he's okay with it.
"Uh, sure?" Do you want him to do your taxes or something? He doubts there's anything you want to try that he's not going to be up for. Except, well, taxes.
"Good. Stay right here," you pat his thigh as you hop to your feet, and he watches you curiously as you head for his kitchen. Are you going for a spoon? Spatula? Want to get frisky with kitchen utensils? He tits his head, wondering why you're going through his refrigerator, you know where his utensils are kept.
Hmm, aha! You knew you saw a can of this somewhere!
"Why are you pillaging for whip cream" Cerulli asks as he sees you heading back towards him, quirking a brow. He only bought it because you like it on most breakfast foods and most of the time in your sugary coffee. He sees the silver spoon in hand, and what's this look for? What are you up too?
"I read about something, and I want to try it, if you're fine with it." You say sitting down beside him.
"Oh really?" He props himself on the sofa, curious. "And what's this?"
He actually thinks he has an idea.
"Well." You flush a little, shaking the can. "I take a little of this," you spray the cream onto the spoon just enough to get some on the edge, sighing at how good it tastes; why is this stuff always like heaven? "And I start here."
You lean forward, kissing him slowly, his tongue dipping into your mouth. He catches just a hint of flavor before you're pulling away, teasing him.
"And I do this?" Cerulli playfully dabs at the extra cream on the spoon, booping you in the nose with his finger and causing you to giggle. "Is this what we're doing?"
"Christopher!" you're trying to be serious, this is supposed to spice it up! He chuckles, leaning forward to kiss away the white; admittedly it's his favorite, he likes just eating it out of the can. So this is... well, he's going to like it.
"Why don't I start?" he chuckles, and you relent, letting him have the cold can. He's probably done this before anyway, you're just relieved he didn't say no, that would have been embarrassing. You've never actually suggested anything... like this.
He brushes your hair over your shoulder and out of his way. You blink as you feel his fingers trace over your shoulder, snagging the zipper on the back of your dress. You shiver as the cool air hits your bare skin, listening to the sound as the zipper lowers. Cerulli leans forward, his lips brushing against your jaw as he tugs the straps off your shoulders, letting the top of your dress fall into your lap.
Honestly, you're a little excited, your heart beats a little faster in anticipation, your mind already focusing on what his mouth on you is going to feel like. You can already see his wet tongue leaving a glistening trail against your skin, not missing a single inch as he makes sure to lick and suck every bit off of you, and you bite your lower lip, squirming.
Cerulli is still nibbling at your jaw, but you shiver as you feel his finger drawing across your bare chest, cupping a breast and giving it a firm squeeze; he wonders if its the normal for you not to wear anything beneath your clothes, or if you just do it for his benefit, it saves him time anyhow. His thumb brushes across your stiff nipple thoughtfully, and he gives a nip at your throat before he's leaning away, reaching for the can.
He hasn't done anything like this in ages.
He sprays the whipped topping directly onto your skin, thoughtfully circling one breast before creating a trail between them. You shiver at the cold cream as it decorates you, seeing Cerulli is having fun drawing on you with it.
Cerulli hates to admit it, but his mouth is watering. Not only are you now covered in his favorite dessert, but he gets to lick it off of you. Your eyes are centered on his lips as he licks his finger where some of the cream clings, humming at the taste.
Always so good.
His eyes flick up to yours as he leans forward, his tongue flicking out between his lips before pressing flat against your chest. Your fingers curl tightly as he slowly follows the trail he's left behind, swirling around your breast, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. You sigh in pleasure, your fingers absently moving to thread in his black hair, relaxing.
Cerulli has so many thoughts flicking through his mind, so many possibilities of what he can do! He can really stretch this out, have you begging him to stop, or keep going. Why did he never think to mention this himself?
His tongue swirls across your breast, going back and forth until he's sucked and lick every drop of cream off your skin. The sweet tastes amazing, and by the way your fingers are flexing against his scalp, you seem to like it as well.
He exhales against your damp skin, immediately causing you to shiver, your body shifting a little. You like the feel of his tongue against your skin, you just wish his mouth would travel a little lower to where you're already starting to ache. Your mind is getting away from you, he's barely had to do anything to you and you're already turned on. It's just his touch, his lips, those hazel eyes darkening with lust, everything about him, really.
He's just... irresistible.
And you're impatient.
You tug lightly on his hair, just enough to draw his head up before your lips are on his. You can taste the whipped cream on his tongue as it meets yours, his fingers curling tightly around your thigh as it glides upward, your dress steadily rising to your hips. He's so impatient, just like always.
You lean into him, your fingers curling into his shirt, suddenly wishing he didn't have it on. You pull, but his hand is suddenly curving around your wrist, stopping you.
"Why don't we move this somewhere else?" He whispers, nibbling along your jaw. As much as he likes fucking you on his couch, the bed is much easier on his back. You nod your head, letting him draw you to your feet.
"Just let me wash this sticky off," you say hastily, not liking that part about playing with the whipped topping; you thought it would be hot, but didn't think about the after part.
Cerulli pauses thoughtfully, then, "Why don't I wash it off for you?"
~~~~~~~~
You have a vague memory of the shower being hot when you first stepped in, and you're not sure when it became almost cold. Probably between when you were giving Ceulli a magical blowjob, or maybe when he pressed you up into the cold shower tiles. Either way, it's chilly where it flows against your fevered skin, your slick body wrapped around Cerulli's without an inch of space between.
He's pumping his hips hard against yours where you're backed against the wall, your fingers desperately clinging to one side of the stall, your other arm wrapped tight around his neck. Sex in the shower is definitely its own experience, your bodies are so slick where they brush against each other, and he has you lifted up, pinned against the tiles with your legs wrapped around his waist.
It feels amazing!
Cerulli is groaning in your ear, his pleasure only drowned out by the heavy spray of water hitting your skin, the buzzing in your ears starting to take hold. He licks his lips as he looks down at you, loving the feel of your chest rubbing against his own, how your breasts bounce with every deep thrust. Water glistens on your skin, and honestly he can't think of a single place he'd rather be than inside of you, listening to your soft pants and moan, your little devious whispers in his ear that really get his blood boiling --- it's so easy for you to work him now, to get him fired up.
You should never worry about him being interested in anyone else, how could he when it's so perfect with you?
"Fuck," he grunts, tightening his grip on your thighs when it threatens to slip, barely noticing the temperature of the water.
Your nails dig into his back where you hold onto him, each stroke of his cock making your body tense, and in some part of your brain you know you're going to have bruises on your thighs from his grip, but you don't even care! You could get off simply by listening to him fuck you, his groans when you squeeze at just the right moment, when you whisper something dirty --- it makes you flush, you're not sure why it's still embarrassing, but it seems to excite him. That only makes him fuck you harder, which is exactly what you want.
You gasp as you hit the wall again, the tiles biting into your skin as he grinds into you, water coasting down his back as his lips nip at yours, demanding all of your attention. You moan against his mouth, your back arching. You almost lose your grip along the stall, feeling him nestle to the hilt between your thighs, rolling his hips in an impossibly wonderful position that makes every single nerve inside of you ignite.
You shudder in his arms, that soft moan making him cock throb inside your heat, and he's so very pleased you don't mind being vocal now, that when he's really giving it to you you'll moan or cry out, let him know that he's pleasing you, that it feels good.
Your body is gripping his cock, pulsing around him, and it's not the water that makes it so wet between your thighs. His breathing is getting harder, and he has to move his grasp to your hips, shifting just enough where you have no choice but to rely on him almost completely lest you fall.
Not that he would ever let you.
He squeezes gently, kissing you, slowing the thrusting of his hips into languid strokes that he knows frustrates you. You're wanting it rough tonight, but he's not going to give you everything you want just yet. He likes the feeling of you sliding down on his length, taking every inch of him and not complaining. He likes watching you take him, you're such a champ at it these days, and you whine as he pulls out almost completely before slipping back in, your entire lower half tingling and pulsing --- you're just on the edge, but he keeps refusing to give you what you want!
You press your lips desperately to his, clinging to him again.
"Christopher, please," you groan, your body tensing, your lower half starting to ache uncomfortably --- you want to cum, he doesn't need to be a jerk!
"Please what?" He gasps, wet hair clinging to his cheek, amused at the piqued look on your face. You're annoyed with him, and so he lets you slide lower onto his cock until your hips are nestled against each other. You shudder as you hold onto him, clenching around his stiff length, panting in his ear.
"I want to cum," you whisper in his ear, your damp cheek brushing his. "Let me cum."
"Are you demanding or asking?" he retorts, pressing you harder into the wall so you don't slip, his hands gliding up your waist. You're like a goddess, surrounded by the heavy mist, naked skin glittering with water droplets that he wishes his tongue could follow as they roll down your body.
"Demanding," your nails dig into his shoulder, and you clench around him again purposefully, teeth nipping at his throat hard enough to pinch. "I want to cum now."
Oh really?
He grunts as you tighten around him, your walls pulsing as he grinds his hips. His hand snakes down between the two of you, flicking your swollen clit so hard you start against him. He pinches and rolls it between talented fingertips, his tongue flicking against your throat, feeling your pulse race.
You press your lips tightly together, squeezing your thighs tighter as you tense. It feels wonderful, that heat rushing through your body, centering in your core and then steadily rising until you're completely consumed, flushed and shaking and losing control of yourself. You moan loudly as the pleasure takes hold, as Cerulli gives you what you demanded of him, his lips sealed against your skin.
You shiver in his arms, your muscles contracting around his still throbbing cock where it's nestled, your head falling back against the tiles.
Cerulli chuckles.
Well, that's just number one.
You have a few more orgasms left in you before he's done tonight.
"Don't tell me you're tired already," he whispers deviously in your ear, nuzzling your cheek. "I have a few more positions in mind."
~~~~~~~~
Cerulli sighs where he lays, staring up at the ceiling. You're asleep beside him, rolled over onto your side with your back to him, the sheets pulled up to your shoulders. You're such a peaceful sleeper, you barely move, don't kick or squirm, you've never woke him up.
He runs his tattooed hands down his face groggily, the morning sun threatening him from behind his thick curtains. He didn't intend for you to sleep over, but after last night, it was so late, it wasn't safe for you to leave. He much prefers waking up to someone warm beside him, anyhow.
He rolls his head in your direction, his lips curving. You're so mature for your age, nothing like your peers, you always surprise him with your level of understanding. You know his ex wife is a touchy subject, he never expected you to meet her, or to run into her. But you handled it well, gave them an exit when he was at a lost for words.
How wonderful you are.
He glances at the clock, and shifts, slipping up behind you as his arm curls around your waist. He presses a soft kiss against your shoulder before letting his eyes close again.
He almost wishes you'd sleep over more often, this is nice. It's not something he typically allows himself, to let anyone sleep over, to enjoy their company for more than a few hours. He's gotten used to sleeping alone and he doesn't want to get comfortable with anything else.
You snuggle back into him instinctively, your hand moving down to cover his in your sleep, or so he thinks. He tightens his grip on you, hoping the moment stretches, that you can spend your morning with him. He shouldn't do this with his student, but fate seems to just keep bringing the two of you together.
You bite your lip, keeping your eyes closed as Cerulli snuggles into you. You find it the most adorable thing he's ever done, and you don't want him to let you go. You want to stay exactly where you are for the rest of your life, in his bed, with him beside you. You're sleepy, you'd just woke up when he shifted, but it's nice, having someone.
You've never really woke up next to anyone before.
