#hire dance group for wedding | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

finelinefae · 24 days ago

Text

the regretful man

part 2 of the other woman

synopsis: harry is the regretful man who just needs to be loved

word count: 4.9k

contains: angst, smut?? if u could even call it that? (p in v, one night stand), smoking, mentions of alcohol

a/n: from me to you! happy new year !

. . .

Harry stood at the end of the aisle as people gathered to stand in the pews of the small church. Quiet chatter fell upon the families as they sat on opposite sides, eagerly awaiting for the ceremony to begin. He had double-checked the pockets of his suit to ensure he had everything with him to go perfectly.

The best man nodded his head at the officiate who raised his hand and asked for everybody to stand. Harry got into position as the piano began to play a gentle melody and the doors to the church opened.

In walked the bride with her arm looped with her father’s. Harry turned to face them both, capturing the sight of the families whose eyes were shining with tears and proud smiles. He held the camera to his eye and snapped a few shots of the bride before turning towards the groom who no longer looked nervous but relieved at the site of the woman he was going to marry.

Harry had lost count of the number of weddings he had photographed since leaving University ten years ago. He was thirty one now and over the years he had found himself enthralled in the world of wedding photography after setting up his own studio.

It wasn’t the career he had imagined for himself when he was an art student all those years ago. He had all these plans to be much bigger, more creative and artistically free, but fear became the better of him and he opted for the safer route - the one that kept a roof over his head.

As much as Harry’s job made other people happy, he couldn’t seem to find that happiness in himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt proud or fulfilled by the photographs he had taken. They’d become much too formulaic, people hired him because they liked his style and wanted it for themselves and he was beginning to grow tired of it.

After every wedding he promised himself he would move on to something new whatever that meant. Maybe he’d travel and start a blog or try and get into the fashion industry. Yet after every wedding, he’d find himself trapped in another and then another, until his ambitions of achieving something new were nothing but tiny dots in the distance.

Maybe this was where he was meant to be.

Taking pictures of love when the irony was he had never felt true love himself.

He sighed when the picture he took of the exchanging of the rings turned out blurry, quickly snapping a lazy shot once more to Photoshop later.

. . .

Although Harry had slowly fallen out of love with his passion for photography, there was no denying that the perks of an open bar were high on the list of benefits he received in his line of work.

The reception was loud and crowded, more people had arrived and filled up the marquet that was decorated with fairylights and a dance floor in the middle. Harry was a frequent visitor to the bar where they were serving wedding-themed cocktails that he had tested each one for himself.

His camera hung heavily around his neck. Occasionally, he would peek through the viewfinder to observe people and guess what they were up to—a game he enjoyed when the reception got too rowdy. If the mood struck him, he often didn't mind going home with someone or spending the night in their hotel room nearby.

Harry hadn’t been in a committed relationship for longer than a year. His longest standing girlfriend was his most recent ex who left him to move to Thailand with a group of people she had met. He wondered if it was his fault that people wouldn’t stay. Maybe there was something wrong with him.

He wasn’t even sure if he had been in love or what it was supposed to feel like. He had been told by most people that love was a craving, a longing to have a certain somebody close by even if it was just to be in their proximity. When people would ask him if he had ever felt that way he’d always say no but then a unsettling feeling weighed heavy on the back of his mind and memories of a certain someone would appear unwarranted.

His eyes roamed the room until they settled on one of the bridesmaids who had been flirting with him ever since he photographed them getting ready that morning. She was stunning, with long legs and flowing blonde hair. May as well, Harry thought, as he made his way toward her, watching as her throat bobbed and she flattened her hair when she caught him sifting through the crowd towards her.

“Hey,” Harry spoke, his voice coming out low.

“Hi,” She replied, shyly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“M Harry,” He introduced.

“I’m-”

“Lauren, I got you a coke but I can’t remember which one has vodka in it,” A voice appeared and a person holding two cokes in his hand came up to them.

“Ollie,” Lauren blushed taking one of the glasses, “You know I can’t drink.”

“I know,” Ollie shrugged, “Let me try them both and I’ll tell you which one is yours.”

Harry frowned, “Why can’t you drink?” He hoped it wasn’t for the reason he was thinking otherwise he’d have to think up a new escape plan.

“Oh I’m a model,” Lauren replied, “I can’t drink when I’m working.”

“This one’s yours,” Ollie handed her the coke with ice and a lemon floating inside it.

“Are you sure?” Lauren double checked before taking a sip and realising he was telling the truth.

Ollie glanced at Harry, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open. “Harry?”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “Do we know each other?”

Ollie nodded, “We went to University together, you came to my birthday party that one time remember?”

Harry froze. The muscles in his body tensed as fragments of memories he had spent a long time trying to forget began to resurface. It was a deep wound that hadn’t ever had a chance to heal and seeing Ollie standing in front of him after years of never seeing anyone from his uni days had opened the old wound up again.

“Of course,” Harry coughed, discomfort prickling his skin. He watched as Ollie’s eyes darted around the room, as if searching for someone. Seizing the moment, Harry quickly turned to Lauren. “I better get going.”

Lauren frowned, disheartened by his words. “Already? Don’t you want to stay and have a drink?”

Harry shook his head. “I think the bride’s parents are still waiting for their picture to be taken.” It was a lie, but it gave him the escape he needed. He made a swift exit before Ollie could divert his attention back to him.

Outside the tent, Harry exhaled, feeling the fresh, open air on his face. He reached into the inside pocket of his blazer, pulled out a cigarette, and cupped the end to light it. Taking a few drags, he shut his eyes, letting the smoke and the cool evening air calm his nerves.

The flicker of the lighter's flame had drawn a brief, warm glow on his face. As he leaned against a brick wall, Harry's thoughts raced back to the encounter with Ollie. The unease hadn't left him; it gnawed at the edges of his mind.

He inhaled deeply, savouring the nicotine rush, and then exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the night.

Footsteps bristled through the grass as someone walked beside him, “Mind if I use your lighter?”

Harry froze, breath caught in his chest. The voice resonated with a haunting familiarity, like a whisper carried through the corridors of time. It stirred something deep within him, a forgotten tremor of emotion that had long been buried. For the first time in years, his heart stirred—a hesitant, stuttering beat, as if waking from a long slumber at the sound of someone in a past life he had tried to let go of.

A part of him recoiled, resisting the urge to meet the eyes he had spent so many years trying to erase from memory. But a deeper, more insistent part of him ached for revival, for the spark that only those eyes could ignite. Slowly, his head turned and he found himself captured in her gaze. Time fractured, spilling moments both painful and precious into the present. The world around him fell away, reduced to the space between them. In those eyes, he hoped to see the way she used to look at him - like he was actually worth something but there was nothing of the sort. Whatever she was feeling, she had learnt to shield. The ache in his chest tightened, raw and overwhelming.

She wore a black, off-the-shoulder dress that clung to her figure, His gaze lingered on her collarbones, sharp and delicate, and memories surged back with startling clarity. He recalled the warmth of her skin under his lips, the way she shivered as he traced tender kisses along her chest. The memory was so vivid it burned.

“Y-You smoke?” were the first words he spoke. Not hello, not how are you? Not how have you been? Do you have a boyfriend? Are you okay? I miss you—do you have a boyfriend?

“Not really,” She shrugs, “I just like the smell.”

The silence was palpable. Years of not knowing each other meant Harry had no clue how to start a conversation. His suave and charisma that he used with all the women he encountered had left him, she had rattled his bones, awoken the sleeping soul within his body. How was he meant to begin a conversation with a woman who had the power to do that to him?

“How have you been?” She asked.

He was startled by the question, it was unexpected and he wondered if she really cared. After all, the way he had left her in the bathroom at the birthday party had been his biggest regret. He could still remember the heartbreak on her face as he left her.

She scoffs, “I loved you once before Harry, do you honestly think I wouldn’t at least ask you how you were?”

He didn’t think that, he actually thought she wouldn’t remember him at all. He was a shitty person but there was nothing new about that.

“I’m okay,” He said, unconvincing. “I feel slightly unprepared. I wasn’t expecting to see you here or ever.”

“Do you need to be prepared to speak to me?” Y/N seemed to find that amusing, the slight tilt of her head and the hint of a smirk made his heart skip.

“Never,” He whispered. He never had to be prepared to speak to her because he was entirely himself whenever he was around her.

“I saw you at the wedding. Congratulations on the business by the way.”

“Yeah thanks.” He said, “It’s been good. Busy. You know how it is. How about you?”

“I’m an art teacher at a high school.” Harry nodded catching the look of pride on her face. Flashbacks of being in the same class as her and watching her paint. Despite having slept together and seeing her naked, he had never seen her more vulnerable than when she was painting. “It’s not a lot but I love it.”

“That’s what matters right?” Harry said, feeling like a hypocrite when his life was full of things he did just because he had to.

“It’s definitely a change from my university days,” she said with a chuckle, tucking her hair behind her ear. “God, I’m actually embarrassed thinking back. I was a train wreck.”

“I didn’t think so,” Harry blurted out, too quickly, his voice tripping over itself. “I—I mean—”

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk creeping back, though this time it was softer, almost fond. “Really? You were around for most of my breakdowns. I actually feel like I should apologise.”

“Don’t,” Harry said firmly, meeting her eyes. “You don’t need to apologise for anything.”

Her expression softened, the teasing edge giving way to something quieter. “Are you staying at the hotel next door?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, shifting slightly. “Third floor.”

“We’re on the first,” she said casually, though Harry caught the faintest pause in her tone. “It was the last room they had available.”

He stilled.

We.

His mind tripped over the word, echoing it back to him louder and louder. We. We. There was a we?

Of course there was. How could there not be? She was stunning, even more so now than when they were younger. Her skin seemed to glow, her cheeks were fuller, her eyes brighter. She looked healthy. Happy. And the thought of someone else seeing her like this—touching her, laughing with her the way he used to—made his chest feel tight, like something inside him was splintering.

“Ollie and I had to go halves,” she said, breaking through his spiralling thoughts. “He actually sewed this dress we found at a thrift store, and I bedazzled the flower on his suit.”

Harry’s shoulders dropped before he could stop himself, the tension ebbing away like a tide receding. He hoped to God she didn’t notice the relief that must’ve been plain on his face when she mentioned Ollie. Not a boyfriend. Not a lover. Just Ollie.

“It’s good to see you two are still friends,” Harry spoke.

“What about you? Are you here with anyone?” He noticed the way her collarbones tensed like she was holding her breath as she waited for his reply.

“No,” He confessed, “I’m alone.” He said, the word carrying more than she had asked for.

The air was heavy and quiet, the faint glow of the cigarette casting soft shadows as the smoke curled lazily around them. Y/N took one last drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground near his feet, her movements sharp and deliberate. When she turned to face him, her tear-streaked face caught him off guard.

“I thought I would hate seeing you,” she said, her voice breaking.

Harry stood frozen, words sticking in his throat.

“But suddenly…” she continued, her voice trembling as fresh tears fell, “I feel like I’m twenty years old again. And you were... really mean to me, Harry.”

His chest tightened at her words, at the raw vulnerability in her tone. His eyes softened as he stepped closer. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and heavy with regret. “Hey, I know.”

Her shoulders shook, the sobs overtaking her, and without hesitation, Harry pulled her into his arms. He held her tightly, as though holding her might somehow take away the weight of all the pain he had caused.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he pressed his cheek against her hair. His own eyes burned, the threat of tears rising to the surface. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but now it felt inevitable. “I didn’t mean to hurt you—not the way I did. I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t respond, but her grip on his shirt tightened as her tears soaked through the fabric. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. He just held her, letting her cry, letting her feel whatever she needed to feel.

He thought to himself if there would ever come a day where he wouldn’t be the cause of her pain.

Eventually, her sobs quieted, leaving only the sound of her steadying breaths and the faint rustle of the wind around them. Y/N pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her eyes red-rimmed. Her fingers stayed curled in his shirt.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” she said with a shaky laugh, brushing at her cheeks. “It’s been so long, and I told myself I was over it. Over you.”

Harry’s hands stayed on her waist, his touch firm but gentle. “You don’t have to explain,” he murmured. “I get it.”

She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “No, you don’t. You don’t get how much it hurt, Harry. You have no idea what it feels like having the one person you loved leave you.”

“I do,” he said, his voice firm now, his eyes searching hers. “I do, Y/N. And I hate myself for it. Every single day, I hate myself for it.”

Her breath hitched at the raw honesty in his tone, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them charged and electric. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, their faces were inches apart. Her eyes flicked to his lips, and he caught the movement, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice trembling but insistent. “Don’t say anything.”

And then she kissed him.

It was sudden and messy, her lips crashing against his with a desperation that mirrored everything she was feeling. Harry didn’t hesitate, his arms tightening around her as he kissed her back just as fervently. The years of distance, the pain, the anger—all of it seemed to melt away in the heat of the moment. His hand came up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear as his lips moved with hers.

She let out a soft, broken sound, her hands gripping his shirt as though afraid he might disappear if she let go. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t say into it—his regret, his longing, his love.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. Her eyes fluttered open, searching his face, and he could see the conflict written across her features.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Neither do I,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Let’s go to your room,” She whispered.

“A-are you sure?” He furrowed his brows.

“One night,” She said, “Just one night.”

Harry searched her eyes, his breath catching in his throat. He saw the resolve there, mixed with a vulnerability that mirrored his own. For a moment, he hesitated, the weight of what this meant pressing down on him.

But then she nodded, as if to reassure him, and he found himself nodding back. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though his heart was pounding like a drum. “Okay.”

She took his hand, her grip firm but trembling slightly, and he let her lead him through the dimly lit courtyard toward the hotel. The air between them buzzed with an unspoken tension, neither of them saying a word as they walked, their footsteps echoing softly on the pavement.

He led her to the elevator, the soft chime of the doors opening breaking the silence. They stepped in, the small space suddenly feeling suffocating as the weight of what they were about to do settled over them. Harry’s thumb brushed against her hand absentmindedly, grounding himself in the contact.

When the elevator doors finally opened, Harry guided her down the hallway, stopping in front of his room. His hands shook slightly as he pulled the key card from his pocket and slid it into the slot. The door clicked open, and he stepped aside to let her in first.

She walked in, pausing in the middle of the room, her arms crossed loosely as she took it all in. The space was small and unremarkable, a standard hotel room, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Harry closed the door behind him, turning to face her. “Y/N,” he began, but she shook her head, cutting him off.

“One night, Harry,” she said softly, her voice tinged with a mixture of determination and fragility. “Just one night. No promises, no expectations. Just... this.”

He swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he nodded. “Just this,” he echoed, stepping closer.

She met him halfway, her hands reaching up to cup his face as their lips met again, this time slower, more deliberate. There was no rush now, no frantic desperation—just the quiet intensity of two people trying to find something they’d lost.

His hands settled on her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Every touch felt charged, every movement intended, as if they were trying to memorise each other all over again.

Harry pulled back just enough to search her eyes, his thumb brushing against her cheek, as if grounding himself in the moment. “Are you sure?” he asked one last time, his voice rough and unsteady.

Her answer wasn’t in words but in action—swift, certain, and unrelenting. She hooked her hands behind his neck and pulled him down into another kiss. It was messy, all-consuming, the kind of kiss that left no room for hesitation. Their teeth bumped, tongues tangling in a way that was almost desperate, as though both of them were trying to erase years of unspoken longing.

Harry’s hands found the back of her thighs, gripping firmly as he lifted her effortlessly. She gasped into his mouth but didn’t break the kiss, her arms tightening around his shoulders as he carried her toward the bed. The soft thud of her back meeting the mattress sent a jolt through him, his breath hitching as he hovered over her.

Her hands were already tugging at the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing against his warm skin as she pulled it upward. He shifted, breaking the kiss just long enough to help her remove it, the fabric landing somewhere on the floor.

Harry’s hand slid to her shoulder, his fingers trailing along the strap of her dress. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to hers for silent permission. She gave him a small nod, and he pushed the strap down slowly, his fingertips grazing her bare skin and leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

As her dress began to fall away, her hands roamed over his chest, her nails scraping lightly against his skin. His breath hitched, and he leaned down, pressing his lips to her collarbone, then lower, his movements deliberate but unhurried.

His hand travelled up her thigh, his fingertips brushing against her soft skin, sending shivers through her. He moved with a reverence that made her heart ache—a mix of tenderness and hunger that felt like it might undo her entirely.

His hand slipped lower, finding the edge of her underwear. Gently, he hooked his fingers into the delicate fabric, sliding it down her legs in one fluid motion. He paused, his touch lingering just enough to let her know he wasn’t rushing, wasn’t taking anything for granted. His eyes found hers again, and the unspoken connection between them felt like it might swallow them both whole.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely audible but thick with meaning, before leaning in to kiss her again, his lips brushing hers with a tenderness that sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/N’s eyes burned with emotion, her chest tightening as she watched him. It had been so long since someone had looked at her the way Harry did, with a mix of tenderness and hunger that made her feel like the only person in the world. She knew he hadn’t always loved her—not the way she’d wanted him to—but in moments like this, she let herself believe he had.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his messy curls, his movements slow and deliberate. The soft clink of his belt buckle echoed in the room as he undid it, placing it aside before reaching into the bedside table for a condom.

Y/N moved closer, her chest pressing warmly against his back. Her lips found his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss there, lingering just long enough to make him pause. She felt him still under her touch, his breathing deepening as he tore open the foil.

“Remember when I did that for you?” she murmured, her lips brushing against his skin. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel the small smile spreading across his lips.

He chuckled softly, a low sound that made her heart ache. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough with fondness and something heavier. He turned just enough to kiss the corner of her mouth,

Harry shifted, turning fully to face her, capturing her lips in a full, unhurried kiss. His hands moved to her waist, guiding her back onto the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress. For a moment, he just looked at her—her hair splayed out like a halo on the pillow, her lips slightly swollen from their kiss, her chest rising and falling as she pushed her legs apart for him, ready and waiting, like she always did whenever they had sex. Spreading herself open to him.

His cock slid into her, her eyes squeezing shut, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp. He could feel every inch of her around him, all of his senses were overwhelmed by her. They were like two pieces of the same puzzle coming together as he pushed himself all the way inside of her.

Y/N released a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering open, and Harry couldn’t look away. Her gaze sparkled in the soft yellow glow of the hotel room light, and when she reached up to push his curls back and cup his cheek, he leaned into her touch like a man starved. A tear slipped from his eye, unbidden, and she brushed it away with her thumb.

He began to move, slow and deliberate, his hips rolling with a teasing gentleness that made her lips part. He wanted this moment to last forever. He wanted to stay inside of her forever. He wanted to feel every piece of her forever.

She writhed beneath him, whimpering and whining and begging for more of him. He would give it all to her, everything she asked of him he would give it all. “Harry,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I don’t want to stop,” he murmured into her ear, his voice raw and honest. His chest tightened with the weight of the moment, of the years between them, of the undeniable connection they still shared.

“Then don’t,” she replied, her breath hitching as she pulled him closer. “Don’t stop.”

. . .

They lay down flat on their back looking up at the ceiling, sated and empty. Her head was on his chest as he smoked a cigarette. The smell bought them both back to the times he would smoke whenever they had sex.

"When you walk away tomorrow," she murmured, her voice soft but laced with a hint of vulnerability, "you walk away with a piece of me."

Harry paused, the cigarette resting between his fingers as he turned his gaze toward her. His chest tightened at her words, an ache that had nothing to do with the smoke still curling in the air. "I feel like I’ve been walking with you for much longer than you think," he replied quietly.

She smiled at that but inside he was dying.

. . .

A year later, Harry stood in the soft glow of a local art gallery. His photographs adorned the walls, strangers moving among them with quiet murmurs of appreciation. The evening had been surreal—people lingered, commented, and even bought pieces he’d always thought too personal to share.

As the closing hour approached, Harry found himself alone with one particular photograph. It was his favourite, though he’d never admitted that aloud. A pair of beautiful eyes that he had spent a small chunk of his youth watching the world through. The gallery was quieter now, and the chatter of earlier felt like a distant echo. He stared at the image, letting his thoughts dissolve into it.

The click of heels against the polished floor shattered the stillness. He felt the presence beside him before he turned.

“That’s the ugliest piece of shit I’ve ever seen,” a voice said, low and familiar.

His heart skipped, his breath catching in his throat.

“Yeah?” His lips twitched, caught between amusement and disbelief.

“I love it.”

“You do?”

“I adore it.”

“Good.”

He finally turned his head, but the space beside him was empty. He froze, scanning the room, his pulse hammering in his ears. For a moment, he swore he caught the faint smell of paint and lavender in the air. His head spun in search of them only to find a man standing alone in the room, “Excuse me,” Harry approached, “Did you see a woman walk in?”

The stranger shook his head and turned back to the photos without another word.

Harry’s shoulders sagged under the weight of disappointment. With a quiet sigh, he reached into his suit jacket for his phone to call a taxi. It was the same suit he always wore for work—every wedding, every shoot. The fabric was worn at the elbows, but he didn’t have the time or effort to go out and buy a new one.

As he pulled the phone free, something slipped from the pocket and fluttered to the floor.

A slip of paper.

Harry blinked, crouching to pick it up. His breath caught as his eyes landed on the words scrawled across it in hurried, looping handwriting: A piece of me.

He flipped it over. A phone number stared back at him.

Harry’s heart raced, each beat echoing in his ears. His hands trembled as he entered the phone number into his phone. He put the number into his phone and typed out the only response he had been desperate to give her in answer to the plea that had haunted him for years.

I love you.

#harry styles fic rec #fic rec #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry edward styles #fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry x y/n #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry x reader #harry styles angst

567 notes · View notes

abibliophobiaa · 1 year ago

Text

right where you left me;

chapter two: can i be close to you?

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!inexperienced!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods.

masterlist | previous chapter

——

Those first few days pass in a blur.

You wake, often in Steve’s arms, your bodies coming together like moths to a flame. Like magnets. Neither of you says anything on the matter, merely brushing it off as the typical nature of your friendship.

He readies for the day, you watch him dress and go, and you take it upon yourself to clean up around the cabin in the woods. It’s odd, being that it’s the first time in a few years you have responsibilities like this. If you can call them that. Really, you only want to feel like you’re contributing something to the place you’re currently staying at.

Steve’s been kind enough to uproot his life for you, so it’s the least you can do. And when he comes home later in the evening, he cooks and you sit on the kitchen countertops, talking to him about his day. Soaking up the fact you can spend all this time with him now, without the societal pressures, parties, and social events to weigh you down.

About a week in you decide you want to contribute something. A fact which Steve laughs at, reminding you, “If you’ve forgotten, I want you here. Don’t feel like you need to do that.”

Both of you walk side by side on the sidewalk, him in a sweater and jeans, and you in a pair of newly purchased jeans and a dark knitted sweater. Wind prickles against your cheeks, the puffer vest you’re wearing doing very little to block out the cold. Leaves crunch as you walk, dancing along the streets as people pass on by, kicking them up as they go.

The Hideout comes into view, dim lighting highlighting the ‘Now Hiring’ posted hanging in one of the windows. “It’s like the universe is sending me a sign!” You giggle brightly, hand wrapping around Steve’s wrist like a bracelet, dragging him into the restaurant behind you.

It’s different than you remember. Still that darker interior — all wooden floors, wooden bar, wooden walls. Against the side wall is a sprawling bar top, with steel stools full of patrons sipping on drinks. There are some bent low in conversation, others looking like they’re on first dates, all blushing cheeks and bashful smiles. Others are cheering, wearing jerseys of whatever team they support, likely coming home from a football game.

The dining area is different than you remember too. Wooden chairs around wooden tables, beautiful lighting hanging from above, the room cast in an ethereal glow. From where you're standing you can see families and couples, friend groups and bachelorette celebrations occupying the spaces. Smiling servers and wait staff weave in and out of the aisles, before your gaze swivels to the hostess at the front booth, asking how many in your party.

“Two, please!” you say, leaning into Steve’s shoulder excitedly, giving his hand a squeeze as the woman leads you toward a table near the back of the restaurant, your mind still whirling a bit at how successful Eddie’s place has become. Once seated, you whisper, “This restaurant is insane. Can’t believe this is the same bar.”

Steve nods. “He really did a great job with the place —”

“Says the guy who put together a good chunk of the furniture here,” Eddie teases, placing menus on the table in front of you both. “Fancy seeing you two here. Thought you’d still be holed up in the love shack. Rob's going crazy.”

“I could only take off a few days for the wedding,” Steve reminds him, shoving the older man lightly. “We’re seeing her tomorrow, if you must know.”

“Good, because she’s been parked on my couch the past few nights and Abi and I haven’t had any alone time,” Eddie says with a grumble, but you know there’s no malice there. “Get whatever you want — it’s on the house. My ‘welcome back to Hawkins treat.’”

Eddie moves to leave, but you stop him with a hasty, “The door. It says you’re hiring.”

The man in question turns back around, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes travel up and down your form, a question burgeoning in his gaze, “Yeah, I’m in need of waitresses for the busy season. You keep your tips. Why? Do you need a job?”

You swallow. “I don’t want to mooch off of Steve the whole time I’m here. And I don’t really know what I want to do long term, but I figure I need money to do anything. So…yeah?”

“Then you’re hired.”

Steve grins, but you shake your head. “No, no. I don’t want you to just give me a job. I want an interview, just like anyone else.”

“Okay…” Eddie glances Steve’s way briefly. His best friend only shrugs. “Do you have any customer service experience?”

“I worked at a clothing store in Starcourt?” Before it burned down, obviously.

“How long was that for?” Eddie asks, pulling out a free chair and settling in front of you.

“Few months,” you tell him, and then blurt out, “I also babysat for the Sinclair’s for a bit!”

“You babysat the younger Sinclair?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little quieter this time, not quite sure what he’s getting at.

Erica had been nothing but lovely to you in all the time you babysat her; if not quite a bit sarcastic and oftentimes blunt, but given you’ve spent years in the company of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson, it was never anything you couldn’t handle.

“And survived?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods rapidly. “She —”

“Quiet, she’s interviewing.” Eddie raises a hand to silence Steve.

“I…survived…” Your words are quiet, and Eddie leans backward against the frame of the chair, contemplative.

“Abi makes the schedule on Sunday usually.” Tomorrow, then. “I’ll ask her to put you on for Monday, and then we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”

You swallow, a little miffed, brows knit high on your forehead. “That’s…that’s great. Yeah. Monday is good.”

He claps you on the shoulder and ruffles Steve’s hair, grinning at a server that passes by as he shoves his chair back into place with a loud screech against wooden floors. And then he’s off, leaving you to stare across the table at Steve, trying to hide the smile that creeps along your lips at the realization of what just happened seconds ago.

“So…” Steve takes a sip of his drink, grinning ruefully, “that happened. How are you feeling? First job in a few years, yeah?”

“I…I have a job.” Steve bursts out laughing as you nearly topple over the table in pursuit of wrapping your arms around his next. “I have a job!”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he chuckles, sliding a hand over the small of your back, grinning into your cheek. “I'm so proud of you. Think we should order a bottle of wine and celebrate a bit?”

That’s exactly what you end up doing.

——

In the mornings, you and Steve share coffee and breakfast. You’ll take turns cooking. Some days he’ll wake you with coffee in bed, Garfield lounging across your thighs. Others, he’ll stumble into the kitchen, eyes bleary and in search of the coffee pot, while chocolate pancakes cook on the stove.

Those mornings are your favorites, because you’ll often hear him murmuring to himself how much he loves you — and you try to deflect that feeling that crawls up from deep within you, the part of you that craves for him to mean it in the sense that he’s in love with you.

Later, he parts for work and you ready yourself for shifts at Eddie’s restaurant. Which is a learning curve, to say the least. Abi, Eddie’s soon-to-be wife, only laughs as you drop another plate filled with water cups in the back, landing on your butt in the process. A huff pours out of you, just as some of the cooks grin your way, offering condolences for your likely bruised tailbone, and Eddie’s head pops into view, all the dark curls that resist staying put in an elastic spilling around his face. He’s grinning but you’re frustrated, on day seven of utterly making a mess of things.

“It’s really not that bad,” Abi reassures you later that afternoon, your apron draped over your shoulder, punched out for the day. There’s a glass of wine in front of you, but you haven’t really had any of it. “It takes time. You’ll get it.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard.”

And yet it is. For years you’ve lived a life of luxury, shuttered away from society. Work was some lofty idea, left behind after you fled Hawkins. You want to pick up on things, want to be good at them, to make Steve proud. Yet you still struggle, still find yourself doubting your capabilities, wondering what it is Eddie saw in you when he hired you.

That night, Steve and you sit around the coffee table in his living room. You’re wearing a pair of cozy sweatpants and an equally comfortable hoodie and he’s there in that yellow sweater of his you told him to never get rid of. The one that has some holes in it now around the edges, but looks great on him all the same. A puzzle rests on the table in front of you both, the pieces scattered all around the wooden surface. Garfield snoozes on Steve’s lap, curled up onto a tight ball, his purring mixing with the crackling of the burning fire mere feet away.

“I’m proud of you,” Steve says, sipping at the beer on a coaster in front of him. The label is long scratched off, condensation dribbling down in little rivulets against the glass. Confusion pricking, your head tips to the side. “Eddie says you’re doing well at the Hideout.”

“He’s lying to you,” you deadpan, pushing another edge piece into place. “I’m struggling. But Abi says it just takes time. It’s definitely not like working at my old clothing store over at Starcourt.”

An edge of darkness flitters across Steve’s features at the mere mention. It shudders and ripples in the spaces between the two of you. Neither really talks about it all that much, especially now that he and you both had been in extensive therapy for it. And even then, the remembrance stings a bit. The reminder of what that day meant for your friend group. Hadn't then at all really to your detriments, when everything happened as it had. Instead you’d both pushed it away and hopped into Steve’s car some days later, with nothing but a map and some money pooled between the two of you.

But it had been enough. It had been everything. The road. The warmth of summer. The escape. The boy.

Steve’s not a boy now. Hasn’t been for a while, you realize, sitting there and peering into those hazel eyes that almost look like molten honey when the fire dances within their swirling depths. Your fingers reach over and twine with his. Just as they have countless other times, just as they always do. Seeking him. Craving the nearness of him. Comforting him, but also yourself.

A cheek of his twitches. Curls a bit with the softest of smiles. Steve Harrington’s smiles are your favorite. Have always been. They’re the kind that a picture can’t capture, an artist can’t form the likeness of. The only way to contain them is to see them, to bottle them up, to store them away in your heart. Sometimes, when you were younger, you imagined they were special. Meant only for you.

Still do now, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Nothing is quite like working at Starcourt,” he teases, diverting to humor. You wince a bit at it, fingers around his twitching lightly. “Not everyday someone gets possessed, and you get abducted by Russians, huh? Bet the Hideout will feel like a walk in the park soon in comparison.”

“I hope so,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else. “I just don’t want to sit around while I’m staying here. Maybe I’ll…start saving up for my own place? For the time being, at least.”

“Or you could just stay here,” Steve says evenly, free hand stroking over Garfield’s fuzzy head, “I did say you could stay as long as you like. I didn’t just say that to say it. I like having you here. It feels…normal. It feels good. Really good.”

There’s a little rasp to his voice. A brokenness that clings to the edges of his speech. Your fingers tighten further, crawling up onto your knees to settle down at his side, shoulder bumping his as you reach over to place another puzzle piece down in the proper position. He leans his head against your shoulder, forehead shaking back and forth against the fabric of your clothing, and you just know he’s smiling without even seeing his face.

“Okay, okay. But the moment you get sick of me I’m giving you permission to kick me out —”

“Won’t happen,” he assures you, chuckling a bit.

“How can you be so sure?”

“For one, I’ve known you for years already. You clean up after yourself. You’re crazy loud, but we match each other in that, so it’s fine. You’re not bad to share a bed with — although you go all starfish on me in your sleep —”

“I do not!” you exclaim shrilly, cheeks burning up at the notion.

“You do,” he laughs, dragging you closer to him with an arm around your shoulders, “woke up with your drool on my chest the other day.”

“Yeah, because you’re a human furnace!”

“Doesn’t seem like you mind, seeing as you end up on top of m —” He pauses, the puzzle piece you playfully threw at him bouncing off of his cheek and onto the floor with a clatter. Garfield scampers off to eat, likely rolling his eyes at your antics as he goes, the sound of his collar bell jingling drowning out the silence in the room. “You just threw a puzzle piece at me.”

“I did just throw a puzzle piece at you,” you repeat slowly, bursting out into loud, shrieking laughter as Steve rolls you over onto the blankets scattered beneath him on the floor, body caging yours in place.

His fingers twitch along your sides, your body writhing and rolling beneath him, a frantic jostle of your stomach that has his face crashing into your shoulder, his smile warm against the skin of your collarbone.

You’re children again, you think, as your fingers slip under his sweater and pinch at his sides, earning a loud howl from the man. “Geez, not the pinchy fingers.”

“Mercy?”

“Mercy,” he pleads, his fingers pinning your hands at your sides, chest rising and falling rapidly in a direct mirror to your own.

“You look different from this angle.”

As in, your blood heats with it. Heart clangs at the proximity of your hips in relation to his. The way your mind itches and races to know what he’d feel like if he lowered himself a bit, the cradle of your thighs a home to him. He’s breathing heavy, his laughter joyful on your ears, eyes dark as they clash with yours.

“Different how?”

“Not a bad ‘different.’”

Not at all. He looks older now — is older now. His clothes fit differently now. He’s always been fit from basketball and baseball throughout the years. But he fills out his shirts and sweaters differently now. His chest broader, the stitching on his sweater hugging his biceps as they ripple around you — as you’ve seen them in the days since you’ve come back to Hawkins. Working as a carpenter seems to have had its benefits, and you try to not dwell on the fact you’re reaping them now.

His hazel eyes slide over your form searchingly. His chest still rising and falling as your fingers pinch in the yellow sleeve of his sweater, pulling at a thread that spills free from a stitched seam. The sudden shift of your form has your back flaring, right in the middle of your shoulder blades, a wince crossing your features before you can mask it. Worriedly, Steve rolls over onto his side, asking, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

No. Never. “No. Just…not used to carrying as much as I have the past few days, it seems. Pretty sad, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes at your self-deprecating remark. Sits up against the couch so his back is against it and pats the ground between his thighs. “Come here.”

“What…?”

“Come here,” he repeats, a little impatiently.

You return his eye roll with one of your own, clambering up and off the ground and into the space between his thighs. There’s little time to worry about the proximity of your spine to the muscular wall of his chest before his fingers are pressing into the curves of your shoulders, rubbing at the tensely corded muscles there.

It’s easy to relax like this. Can’t really think of a time when you last felt so relaxed. Usually you’re under the judgemental stares of dozens of eyes. Those who think they know you, understand you, and yet don’t. Defined by a name you had no name of being born to. It was only by circumstance. But you’ve always felt like yourself around Steve. No need to put on airs, to hold yourself to a certain standard, to lift your head a certain way or say all the right things.

He’s only ever wanted the fullest version of yourself. Probably has been one of the only people to ever understand you in the way you wished others did as well. For years you wondered if people knew you, really knew you, they wouldn’t like what they saw. But sitting here, in this cabin, with this man? You realize you don’t even care. Throw away the rest of the world, and leave Steve behind, and you’d have everything you ever wanted.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, thumb swiping along the top of your spine, right at the dip below your skull, before swiping in an arch along each curve of your shoulders. “I’ll stop if it does.”

“N-no,” you sigh, languid against his frame. “Although, I’m feeling mildly jealous of all those who may have benefited from a massage by Steve Harrington.”

A chuckle rumbles against your back. “Only you, really. In case you forgot, Eddie got me a cat to keep me company.”

A part of you, a very selfish part, rejoices inwardly over his confession. A little victory dance, sending giddy sparks throughout your bloodstream. That giddiness burns molten as Steve pushes the neck of your oversized hoodie down a bit, fingers wrapping around the fullness of your shoulder, tips of them dipping below your collarbone.

It’s a not at all sensual touch — and yet it has heat pooling between your thighs, has you biting back a quiet moan that inches up your throat, reminding you of the mere fact that it’s been a couple of years since being with anyone sexually coupled with the fact you’ve spent the past few days pressed up against the only one you’ve ever been in love with at night.

That’s all it is. The only thing that has you melting further against him, humming pleasantly as elusive sleep tugs you closer and closer into its comforting embrace. After a while, you’re not sure how long really, Steve’s arms start to slide around your waist, his chin against your shoulder, the sound of his comforting breathing a welcoming metronome against your ear. Your fingers reach up and slide into the holes of his sweater, brushing along the dark hairs you know line his forearms, lulling you and him into further rest. To anyone else, you know what the scene looks like: two people, intimately knowing one another, cuddling. Broken away from the rest of the world and into one of their own. To you, you know it’s another normal afternoon with the man.

And yet, your eyes lock with the dying embers crackling in the fireplace, wondering if it could ever be different. If only one of you were brave enough to broach the conversation, to see if the feelings are reciprocated, if now is finally the time to take a chance. A leap. To dare to dream a little. A silly, childhood dream that seems so insurmountable. Still, you crave it more than anything else.

You breathe in deeply, Steve’s arms tightening around your waist. His heavy, rhythmic breathing lets you know he’s fallen asleep now. Your fingers stroke along his arm again, a comfort to him but also you, and you finally close your eyes.

You rest, that question in your mind dying with the firelight.

——

“Monster Mash” blares from a speaker somewhere in the distance. Drowns out the chatter of those downstairs as you put on the finishing touches of yours, El’s and Max’s Halloween costume.

“Wednesday Addams again?” Max muses, pointing to the costume you managed to put together in a couple of hours, not knowing until the last minute you were going to a party to begin with. You’d also been Wednesday the last time you’d been living in Hawkins for the holiday.

You’re presently smudging red lines near the bottom of her jaw, adding little droplets of blood when and where needed. El is beside her, looking very much like a mummy.

“Hey?” Steve appears in the doorway. The hottest Danny Zuko you’d ever seen. You’d never admit that, though. “I don’t mean to interrupt but, uh —”

“Just finishing up,” you tell him softly, smiling appreciatively at the way his eyes roam your form swathed in black, “we’ll be down in a minute.”

Steve smiles and jogs down the stairs, leaving you standing in the bathroom once more with the girls, chewing on your bottom lip and likely smudging the dark lipstick you’d slapped on.

“I guess some things never change,” Max adds, beaming mischievously when your fingers stutter over her jaw, “still pining over Harrington.”

“I do not pine!”

“You pine,” Max giggles, blue eyes sparkling in her mirth as they glances to El for support, “She pines, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” El mutters, a bit more shyly than her best friend, “you pine.”

“Well I didn’t take Max Mayfield and El Hopper to be gossips,” you snark, dabbing a little red lipstick on Max’s pouty lips, voice taking on a higher pitch.

“It’s been, what? Almost ten years of you pining after him?” Max wiggles her shoulders, smirking when you glare at her.

“You were practically an infant then,” you balk, cheeks burning along with your chest, “not even in Hawkins.”

“Yeah…but…” El begins, tucking a hair behind her ears, “it’s kind of…obvious?”

“You two are lucky you’re my favorites of the children.” Though now, with them graduating this year, it feels weird to call them that.

“He pines too,” Max adds. “Right?”

El grins. “Definitely.”

“Is that so…?” You grin, a little rueful, hope blooming in your chest. “Tell me m —”

“Well look at this little band of creepy folk,” Argyle drawls from the doorway, shiny hair falling down around him in a halo, his Michael Myers mask dangling from his hand. “Don’t wanna interrupt this little gathering, but you know…”

——

As the Halloween buzz dies down around work and town, the frigid streets become full of the changing seasons. Leaves fall everywhere you go. Bursts of orange, yellow, red and gold swirl around busy side streets, packed with those investigating local farmer’s markets and slipping in and out of family owned businesses to purchase gifts to get ahead of the holiday season.

The Hideout becomes busier in those weeks. Countless patrons fill your stations, back screaming and head spinning by the time you end your shifts. That day in particular, you stand behind the bar with Abi, chugging down a glass of water she poured you before stripping your apron from around your hips.

“Did well in tips, it looks like,” she points out, gesturing to the wad of cash you promptly stuff into the pocket of your jeans. “Told you you’d get better.”

It also helps that you had multiple larger parties that evening, all of which were more than happy to pay a little extra once they’d gotten a second and third round of beer in them. Though you didn’t really appreciate the way one in particular had slipped his phone number, writing ‘for a good time call.’ You’d chucked that into the garbage with a huff, making sure to toss a wide grin over your shoulder as they later slipped out of the restaurant and he waggled his fingers near his ear in the shape of a telephone, as though you were going to run home and reach out.

“I told Steve I was going to make us dinner since he’s working late on a job, so I’m going to head out.” You huff out a breath, staring up at the clock that reads seven. “Though I think I’m going to need to grab caffeine. I don’t think I sat down once today.”

“Get out of here!” Eddie shouts, sneaking over to loop an arm around Abi’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple. Something like longing bubbles up in your stomach at the sight, the craving for what they have simmering with it. “Or else you’re fired. You’ve worked late every day this week. If you get sick, that’s on you.”

“Fine!” Your hands wave in front of you in defeat, waving to the two of them as you slip out the front doors of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

At this time of evening, those wandering the streets are quieter. Bags full of goodies from their excursions. You tug your jacket tighter to yourself as you slip on by, waving to those who have started to become normal faces once more over the weeks in Hawkins. They wave back, grinning like they used to. Greeting you like you hadn’t been gone for three years.

It's strange to think of being gone now.

Strange to think of leaving again.

You find you don’t want to leave again.

And fortunately, no one from home has tried to make an effort to bring you back to the city kicking and screaming. Part of that is by design — leaving no way for them to contact you in the first place. No one knows you’re staying with Steve. No one really even knows where Steve is these days, given he’s not been in contact with his family since they left in 1986 as it is.

You want to keep it that way.

Smiling to yourself, you slip in through the front door of Hawkin’s Brew, a little family run coffee shop that sits a few doors down from your job, smelling like cinnamon and spices, and the freshly brewed coffee you can see percolating over the countertop.

A new barista lifts her head up over the counter. All wavy blonde hair that reminds you of a mermaid and sparkling green eyes around a pair of thick lashes anyone would die for. Gorgeous, she’s absolutely gorgeous and you definitely would have remembered her face if she’d been there before.

“Hiya!” she greets, beaming widely, revealing a glowing set of white teeth that flash in your vision. “You look confused. My mom, Mary Jo, is usually here with my dad. But mom wasn’t feeling well, and I’d finished up at the preschool, so I’m here to help. I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m Lucy!”

You offer your name and a soft ‘hi,’ still a little startled by the exuberant greeting. “Nice to meet you, Lucy. Sorry to hear about Mary Jo. I hope she starts to feel better soon.”

Lucy leans her elbow against the counter, and you can’t help but admire the cream colored chunky knit sweater she’s wearing with a flowing skirt to finish off the look. It looks effortless on her.

“What can I get you today?”

“A hot coffee, cream two sugars please,” you tell her, and she gets to work behind the counter.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Steve’s truck he uses for work, the back full of leftover lumber.

“Oh, Steve’s here?” Lucy says, sounding a little faraway. Contrast to the ball of excitement she’s been since you walked in. “You know, he’s a confusing one, that guy.”

“Is he?” You laugh, watching as he rummages around his front passenger seat.

“Ever since the earthquake, he’s been giving up so much of himself. Charity, taking up the basketball team at the high school, helping out around town. Did you know he helped my parents build a shed last summer? By hand?” Her voice trails off, and that smile of hers grows once more, like she’s stuck in a far off memory. “And he’s handsome. Single. Yet he doesn’t date. Not really. It’s so…strange? But whoever he marries — they’re gonna be a lucky one.”

“Yeah…” Your brows furrow at her words.

Steve, your Steve, is something of a hero to these people. He’s your hero too, but it twinges in your chest hearing it from someone else. For so long he’d been yours, but now, it seems, he’s needed around here. Admired. Loved. And you’ve missed so much of it in running away. Time you’ll never get back.

He’s changed. You just never realized how much. An ache builds in your heart, wondering if maybe you’re too different now from who you both were years ago.

The man in question hops out of the vehicle, fingers carding through his hair as he gazes into the coffee shop, immediately lighting up when he sees you.

“Do you know him?” Lucy asks, voice raising in pitch as she hands you your coffee and you toss your bills onto the counter.

“Yeah,” you say, sipping at the coffee, “he’s been my best friend for years. I’m staying with him for the time being, actually.”

“Oh!” Lucy perks up, chewing her bottom lip. “So you’re the one he’s so —”

As your mouth opens to ask what Lucy means, Steve walks in. He immediately commands the attention of the shop, both yours and Lucy’s stares drawn to him as he slides an arm around your waist and tugs you against his side, oblivious to what he’s interrupted.

“I was going to grab you some coffee,” he says, fingers squeezing a bit at your side. He notices Lucy then. “Hey, Luce.”

Luce.

Familiar.

Jealousy burns. You try to tamper it down, to pretend the unspoken words between them don’t matter to you. But there are a thousand new questions that burn in your mind, with no words or standing to ask them.

Lucy waves in greeting, those pretty green eyes of hers glimmering in the moonlight spilling in through the front windows of the shop. “Always good to see you, Steve.”

“You too,” he agrees, head lowering closer to yours as he then asks, “Ready to head out?”

He’s leading you to the door, and you spare a glance over your shoulder to the woman you’ve just met moments ago. There’s a look you can’t quite place on her features, a furrow of her brows, a slight downturn to her softly parted lips.

You wave your goodbye, and try to push all of whatever that might have been into the depths of your mind.

——

Steve tosses and turns behind you. A fitful rest that has you rolling over onto your side, fingers brushing along the clenched planes of his cheeks. You can practically hear his molars smashing against one another, can feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest as your fingers splay against his sternum.

At the touch, his face softens in the slightest. A low moan pours from him, a whine of ‘no, don’t’ cleaving your heart right down the middle.

“Steve?” It’s a whisper. A plea for him to come back to you in the waking world. He reaches out in his sleep and clutches at your tee shirt, clutching the fabric tight. Another whine. A whimper of a cry. “Steve, I’m here. I’m here.”

Sweat pools along his skin, despite the chill in the air. The tips of your fingers press to his forehead, running along the wrinkles forming high up on the skin there. His name is a whisper over and over again on your lips, a soft beckoning into wherever his dreams have taken him — a tether for him to grip onto, if only so you can reel him back in.

You’re no stranger to nightmares. They plague you, too. Dark, weaving things that sneak into your mind at night, tendrils clinging to the innermost workings of your mind. That day at the mall, watching as that monster loomed, dark and imposing in a colorful explosion of light. Billy, being ripped into over and over again. The spray of black blood, the cries of Max. The moments that came after, where Steve practically demanded an EMT to look over your ribs, despite the fact there was nothing one could do if they were broken anyway. And then there had been those images on the news — of classmates fallen to Vecna. Memories of the splintered down, the gaping holes in the earth, the spaces where many had disappeared into. Endless faces of the lost, declared dead or missing.

So much turmoil. More than some kids and teenagers were ever meant to see in a lifetime.

“Let go!” Steve shouts into the night, rolling over again so his back faces you.

“Steve,” you whisper, running a hand along his spine, “it’s me. Come back to me. I’m here.”

He rolls over again and his eyes open, locking on your features. Broad palms come up to cup your face, forehead descending upon yours. He mutters your name a little brokenly, moving to press his head into the space beneath your chin, arms looping low around your waist.

“I’m here, Steve,” you remind him.

There for one another, as you’ve always been.

In a world where people come and go, where you can’t rely on anyone, he is your rock and you are his.

“Shhh.” Your fingers thread into his hair, smoothing the messiness left in the wake of his endless tossing and turning. His breathing tapers off. Slows. Starts to deepen. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

But you fear the day he may no longer need you.

——

Steve’s…liked by most. Sought after. Desired. He’s popular, in a way that you’ll never be. With his friends, with his teachers, with women. Though he was your first kiss, you’re not even delusional enough to believe he’s only saving his lips for you.

He doesn’t do relationships often. He goes on dates and you watch him from afar. Can see the glow of his bedroom window, the hurt that burns like a knife when he sneaks a girl in while his parents are gone. Your curtains always shut when they kiss, when things start to feel like a betrayal to the foolish unrequited feelings you harbor.

It becomes a thing. Wishing and wanting your best friend as he loves everyone else around you.

Luckily, they’re always short dalliances. Flings. Dates that lead nowhere. And even though it hurts, there’s some comfort in the fact these things never last long.

That is, until Nancy Wheeler steps in. And you make yourself scarce. She’s smart and lovely and beautiful. She’s everything you could ever want for Steve — and she’s not you.

Just like everyone else he sneaks into his bedroom.

Because why would Steve Harrington ever look your way like he does theirs?

And therein lies the problem.

——

A month. You’ve been in town nearly a month and things are more or less exactly as they’ve always been. Platonic and full of yearning. At least, on his part. He’s not quite sure what to make of your feelings lately — and he’s never been one to push the envelope with you.

He needs a sign. A sign from up above or something just to show him that all his efforts have not been in vain.

It comes that afternoon. Sweat pools along his chest and stomach. Along his back as it ripples with each swing of the ax, splitting piece of wood after piece of wood. The plaid shirt he wears is long unbuttoned, stomach fully on display as he pauses a moment to reach down and sip some of his water set on a wooden stool nearby.

Thwack.

He’s so caught up in the monotony of the task, the methodical way he swings down and splits the wood, that he fails to hear your arrival. Only notices your form out of the corner of his eye, hiding behind a tree.

Or, at least, it looks like you think you’re hidden.

He can see the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers covering your heart, like you’re terrified he’ll hear it. The boots on your feet are pinched tight together, likely having stopped abruptly once you noticed you could potentially be caught.

And there’s that bottom lip of yours, tucked between your teeth. Biting back any noises that might slip out.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes trail along his abdomen. How they linger on the newer muscles there, hewn by countless hours spent working as a carpenter. You look downright guilty — like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

He adores it.

“I don’t mind if I have an audience, you know?” He muses, grin growing wider as you stumble a bit in the leafy pile at your feet.

His amusement grows as you tilt your head up to the sky, as if searching for something. Unfortunately for you, it’s a cloudy day, and there is nothing to see up above other than an endless gray sea.

“Steve…” you warn, still not meeting his eyes.

You’ve always been endearing. Sweet, in a way he finds adorable. And this sudden shyness when you’re typically so sure? It reminds him of those moments when he first kissed you, all those years ago. Your heart was like a hummingbird’s wings against his chest that evening, fingers trembling against him, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“Here,” he chuckles, walking over to curl a hand around your wrist and putting you out of your misery. He walks you over to where he’s splitting wood, “wanna try?”

“I mean, sure. How hard could it be?” you tease, back stiffening as he slips in behind you, sweat-slicked skin pressing against the curve of your spine before relaxing into him.

He’s already placed a new log on the block, the rest of his split pieces lying on a rack near the side of his home. Wide palms come to wrap around your hands, sliding them into place on the handle of the ax. One near the top for grip, another near the bottom for powering through the stroke. “Grip it nice and tight. Both hands.”

“Okay, like this?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him, and his breath immediately hitches. Throat cleaning, he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze and steps back a little.

“Spread your legs a little. Shoulder width apart. Yeah — just like that.”

You’re a little sheepish as he steps over to the side, trying to put enough distance between you and him to feel safe enough. A cold breath puffs out of his lungs, the cloud billowing in the air before him as you glance down at where your hands are firmly grasping the handle, deep breaths to center yourself echoing in the forest.

“Now you’re going to pick a point on the wood and focus on it, raise the ax and strike through, focusing on that spot.”

“Sounds easy enough,” you nervously murmur, doing exactly as he instructed, the ax rising above your head.

As you swing downward, the ax wedges into the wood, and you stumble to the ground, kicking up leaves as your bottom slams against the forest floor. Steve stumbles forward to check if you’re okay, but when your sides start trembling with uncontrollable laughter, his face breaks out into a grin.

He loves you, and he aches with it. More — now that you’re living with him.

“Guess you don’t want me helping you on any jobs, huh?”

A couple days later, however, you do exactly that.

Mr. Gerry Jones is an older man in town, and in desperate need of a new paint job for his living room before he tries to sell his home. Steve agreed to help weeks ago, and when his partner comes down with the flu, decides to ask you if you want to come along. He finds you laying on the couch that morning with a book, and he hardly expects you to say yes with the amount of hours you’ve been working at the Hideout, but you quickly jump to attention with a nearly shouted ‘yes.’

Now you sit beside him on the floor, admiring the freshly painted wall, taking a moment to breathe before starting the next one. You’re wearing a pair of overalls, a ratty old tee shirt tied up beneath, revealing the curve of your side, a patch of skin that Steve’s been trying to not stare at for the past few hours.

His heart clenches as your head tips over your shoulder, a little splatter of olive colored paint across your cheek. Reaching out, he cups your cheek and wipes it away, warming as you lean a bit into his touch.

Neither of you dares to acknowledge the tension burning in the room. The way it feels like time seems to slow to a halt when you’re there, shuffling up onto your feet, moving over to the next wall. Steve only talks. Begins prattling on about anything and everything, trying to keep himself distracted from the feeling swirling in his gut — the desire that has only grown every day to see what might happen if he just dared to try. To close the gap between your lips and put to bed all the questions.

But he doesn’t. Instead he gazes ahead, mouth dropping open when he asks about what your relationship with Clark was like — in what feels like an attempt to torture himself — and you utter that you’d never really done anything with him.

“Or anyone…for that matter,” you add slowly, your bottom lip pushing between your teeth, voice a little quiet.

“Like…?”

“I’m not a virgin, Steve,” you bark out, eyes rolling a bit in your skull. “But I’ve really only been with one guy. And it wasn’t even good or anything.”

“You’re joking.”

“Steve.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m just…”

“Shocked at how pathetic I am?” you drawl, taking a step backward. Away from him.

“No — I just —”

“It’s not like the movies either. All of the explosions and fireworks.” You frown, and Steve grimaces at your words. At the sadness lining your features. “I just — I don’t know. It wasn’t like how you’d always talked about it. We barely even kissed during it and I didn’t…”

“Honey…” he sighs, taking a step forward. “Clearly, he wasn’t the right guy. The right guy would have made it extra special, because you’re special, and definitely would have made sure you finished before he did. And I’m sorry but he didn’t deserve you, because you deserve all the explosions and fireworks.”

“Yeah?” You sound so hopeful, eyes a little narrowed, mouth parting softly.

“I mean…hypothetically…” he steps a little closer.

He catches your slow swallow. The way your chest heaves on a breath, eyes trailing his form. Heat burns in the atmosphere as your eyes narrow a bit, staring at him like you had in the woods. Appreciatively, and not at all like a friend. How long had he missed those looks? How long had he not noticed the slow simmering desire beneath the surface? Suddenly he’s back in that closet and a teenager again, only now instead of your jean shorts, his finger curls into the pocket of your overalls, chest brushing yours. Cornered, your back bumps against the presently dry wall behind you.

“If it were me —” He stops. Thinks better of it.

“N-no,” you splutter out, voice a rasp, breath puffing, “go on. Hypothetically, obviously.”

“Well, for starters, I’d start by getting down on my kne —”

“Hey, kids!” Mr. Jones calls into the room, and you both jump like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “Could one of you help me sort through some boxes? I don’t want to be a bother, but my back just isn’t what it was, you know?”

You throw a hand up in the air. “I’ve got it.”

Steve inwardly groans, his jeans suddenly a little too tight at what he’d been imagining doing to you only moments before — what he’d been imagining doing to you for years, if he was being honest.

You glance away, rushing over to Gerry, embarrassment rolling off your form.

And you’re gone, following the older man from where he came.

Conversation…over.

——

The window next door glows with lamplight. It’s after the earthquake that you see it. The earthquake that has you hiding in the doorway, holding onto the frame as the earth shudders and groans beneath you, pictures of your family now shattered frames scattered into a million pieces on the ground.

You grab a few things. Bandages, clothes, some water bottles. You can’t really tell how many people are over there, so you grab a pack. And when you ring the doorbell and Robin answers, looking stricken and covered in an inch of dirt, your heart groans too, because the look on her face is grim.

Steve throws his arms around you when you enter his bedroom, a whisper of, “You’re safe,” against your head. Reverently. Like he can’t quite believe it, like he wasn’t sure what he would find when he came back.

Your hands slide up and along his back, his body jolting at the contact, your fingers coming back a little stained with what looks to be fresh blood. “Steve, you’re hurt. I brought bandages.”

“He’s worse,” Steve utters through gritted teeth, “take care of him first.”

And there on the bed is Eddie Munson, with Nancy Wheeler there to rest a cloth against his head, whispering to the man under her breath. Soothing him, soothing those wrinkles that line his forehead — deep set in his pain.

With Nancy’s help, you get to work. Trying to cut him out of his clothes, careful to not agitate the wounds any further, apologizing for every whimper. Every broken sob of the man who fought to save a town that would have killed him on their own had they been given the change.

And later, after you’ve scrubbed your arms raw to try and rid yourself of the remnants of Eddie’s blood, Steve slides in beside you in the bathroom. Curls a hand around your head and tugs you against him, kissing your temple. Whispering something against your skull that you can’t quite make out. Steve’s not religious, but you swear he thanks someone for keeping you safe.

“You’re next,” you mutter, wiggling out of his hold, peering up at the dirty face of the man you love. “Strip.”

“See, in a different context, those words coming from your lips —”

“I’m not joking,” you sing-song, tugging at the bloodied shirt he’s wearing. “Off with it.”

“I can’t,” he winces.

“You’re getting modest with me now? I’ve seen you half naked more times —”

“I think it’s a little stuck,” he groans, turning around and peeling off the outer jacket. It falls to the ground and you can see what he’s talking about. The injuries, freshly reopened, cling to the fabric like a second skin.

You whistle on an exhale, and he laughs darkly. “It’s not so bad. Just looks like one area got a little angry. If you get in the shower, I can run a little water on it to loosen it up.” You lift the edge of his shirt a bit, noting the swath of bandages around his waist. “Who did these? They look pretty good.”

“Nancy.”

“Good,” you say, a little softly, “now into the shower, Harrington.”

You’re trying. Trying to make light of a terrible night. But you can see the pain in his form that runs deeper than the scratches on the surface. Can see it in the tension on his form as he slips out of his jeans and climbs into the tub with nothing but a pair of boxers.

Neither of you speaks for a while. As you turn on the water and try to soak his shirt. As you eventually peel the shirt away and whisper you’re sorry over and over when he hisses and bites back against the pain. Nor as you run a damp towel over the wounds to clean them, careful to not agitate his mangled flesh further.

But then you hear it. The sniffle. The shudder of breath.

“Steve,” you whisper, threading your fingers in his hair, feeling him tremble against your touch, “what happened tonight?”

He cries. Folds his face into his hands and cries.

You toss the cloth aside and climb in to hold him, because you’ve known physical pain, but this pain hits differently. Twists in you like a knife. You can handle your own pain, but seeing Steve break, seeing your hero crumble, is a pain that cuts to your marrow. Shatters and scatters your heart into a million pieces.

But you have to stay strong.

For him. For all the times he’s done the same for you.

He clings to you, fingers fisted into your shirt, and you don’t let go.

——

You don’t talk about that moment in Mr. Jones’ home. Neither of you bring it up for days. And yet — it’s all you can think about. The way he looked your way, the timbre of his words, the way heat had crawled up your spine. How it also pooled low, throbbed in your core in a way that was unfamiliar to you.

Was this passion? Desire? Lust? All feelings that seem so foreign, and yet you don’t fear them. You just ponder the new questions that arise. The curiosity of what this might mean — if it could lead to more.

On that particular day, both of you were off of work. Decided with Thanksgiving swiftly approaching, it was about time you went pumpkin picking. Pumpkin picking turned into a whole day event, where you and Steve took turns arguing over which pumpkins were suitable for the front of his porch, and which were suitable for decoration for the potluck gathering with some friends that upcoming weekend.

And after spending half the day drinking warm apple cider, sharing donuts on a hayride while bundled up in comfortable clothing, and racing each other through a corn maze, you’d decided the last thing on your itinerary for the “full Hawkin’s experience” was to carve pumpkins.

“In case you didn’t know,” Steve jokes, his knife poking out a hole for an eye in his pumpkin, “Halloween was a few weeks ago.”

“So what? We were busy and didn’t get to do this sooner,” you bemoan, cutting open the top of yours and moving to stick your hand inside.

“You’re just going in like that — bare hand and all?”

“What’s a little guts, Steve?”

“It’s gross,” he says plainly, eyes narrowing, “and messy.”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of mess?” Your tongue pushes out between your lips as you get to work, pulling out handful after handful of pumpkin guts into the garbage pail you set up beside the table the two of you worked on.

“I happen to not mind a little mess,” he teases, coming to stand over your shoulder, the heat of his chest at your back. “What are you making?”

“A Garfield pumpkin,” you tell him, scooping more of the inside out into a trash can. “I happen to be quite fond of your kitten. Maybe more than you.”

“Really?” he asks playfully, stepping a little closer to hook his chin over your shoulder.

“Are you jealous?” you muse, circling around.

Like this, your chests nearly brush, his palms come up to rest beside your hips, caging you in against the table. Heat pools low again at the look on his face. The firm line of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the round depths of his hazel eyes. There’s a look in them you can’t quite place — a look you’ve never seen in Steve’s eyes, or anyone’s for that matter. But you know you like it, thighs bumping a bit off of the table as you crawl up onto it, legs swinging beneath you.

Fingers come up to curve along your cheek, Steve’s thumb brushing the line of your jaw with a pinky. Delicately, like you’re precious. Like you might break. “You got a little something on your face.”

“Oh,” you whisper out, swallowing as he leans in closer, as his hips slide into the space between yours. “Steve…”

He steps closer once more. Hips brushing against the cradle of yours. There’s a heat from him that seeps into you. Grows as his forehead rests against yours and you both breathe in the same space, neither of you speaking, because there’s nothing this moment requires other than a nearness. His nose glides down the side of yours, one hand of his coming to curl around your hip, squeezing the curve of it. Your mind screams at you he’s going to kiss you, and your heart leaps because you want it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question.

You’re thinking you want to erase the space between the two of you. You’re thinking there’s a chance this doesn’t quite mean to him what this means to you. You’re thinking that you’re scared to allow Steve to see inside the part of you that you’ve kept from him all these years. But you’re also thinking if you’re going to play with fire, there’s a knowing chance you may get burned.

“I’m thinking…” you exhale, chest pushing further into his as your back arches a bit, propping yourself up onto your hands. Only, as soon as you do so, pain flares in the center of your palm, gasping breath coming out with a, “Shit!”

Steve’s there in a flash, fingers curling around your offended wrist that you show him. Blood pools up from the wound, the bloodied knife skittering beside it onto the forest floor when he shoves it out of the way. You hadn’t even remembered it was there, too caught up in the moment.

“Honey…” he sighs, thumb brushing along the curve of your wrist, glancing down at the cut, “let’s get you inside. You might need stitches.”

“No hospital,” you tell him, pinching your bottom lip between your teeth, “you’ve patched enough people up. This should be a walk in the park, right?”

“Yeah but this is you,” he says, and before you can ask him what he means by that, he’s helping you off of the table and steadying you when you land on the leaves below.

The bathroom is dimly lit by this time of day, even with Steve flicking the light on as soon as you enter. The edge of the tub is cool against your leggings, chilling your skin even through the fabric, as Steve rummages around in his cabinets for a first aid kid. And then he gets to work, sitting across from you on the toilet seat, making sure to irrigate your wound before dressing it.

“Not deep,” he says finally, inspecting the shallow cut that slices the center of your palm, “gonna disinfect it.”

A hiss pours from you as he does, pain flaring in the wound. Your free hand whips out to clutch at his pant leg, pinching the denim tight in your fingertips until the burning ebbs into a throbbing sting that beats in tandem with your heart.

“What did you mean before?” you ask as he starts to dress the wound, winding a bandage around and around your palm. “The whole ‘but this is you.’”

Steve pulls out a piece of medical tape and presses it to the end of the wrapping around your palm, his thumb rubbing along the inside of your wrist. “I can handle my pain, but I could never handle yours.”

You swallow, because you understand. You know first hand what he means — have experienced it yourself. Watching the man you love throw himself into harm's way and injure himself in the process. Having to mend his wounds, to see him hurting without a way to stop it, when all you wanted was to ease the pain.

“There you go,” he whispers, fingertips teasing along yours, before letting your hand fall back against your thigh. “No more pumpkin carving for you.”

“Thank you.” Your lip twitches as you climb off the lip of the bathtub, following him down the stairs.

“Steve, back there, I…”

“Come on, let me cook us dinner.” He pauses, stopping himself once you both realize you speak at the same time. “Wait — what were you going to say?”

You swallow thickly, the nervousness choking your words and drying them in your throat where they live and die instantaneously.

Not the time.

“N-nothing.”

——

“Don’t think I didn’t see how the two of you walked in together.” Robin twirls her drink around in front of her, brows arching as a smirk creeps along her features.

You sip your red wine, smiling to yourself over the rim. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Although you do. You arrived at Jonathan and Nancy’s new home with a freshly baked apple pie in hand, and Steve’s hand against your lower back, keeping you close to him. Clearly it hadn’t gone unnoticed, the evidence apparent in the look Robin was sending your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Lucy struggling to open a wine bottle in the kitchen, and excuse yourself from Robin’s side to greet the woman. She’s beautiful today, in a pair of black jeans, and a brick red sweater. Effortless again, with endless wavy hair and those glowing eyes of hers.

“Here — let me,” you offer, helping her to get the cork out of the bottle.

Once it’s open, you pour the two of you new glasses of wine and clink your glass with her’s, peering out over the kitchen island to take in the sights around you.

Nancy and Jonathan went all out. They lined up multiple tables around the kitchen, making room for friends and family alike. Their parents sit at one table, while Steve, Robin, Eddie, Abi and Argyle talk amongst themselves. Holiday music filters in through the radio, as Nancy and Jonathan carve into the giant turkey resting against the table covered in Thanksgiving themed plate wear.

It’s been a long time since you’ve had a holiday like this. This is warm and inviting. Back in the city your parents would rent out restaurants and have wait staff take care of your evening. You’d always resented the thought that, while you spent time in a cold environment under the guise of “Thanksgiving,” those employees missed out on time they could spend with their own loved ones.

And when Steve looks over, you almost feel like you could fit in here. Almost allow yourself to dream big — to imagine a world where when he lifted his hand and waved as he is now, it would be full of love, full of the newness of relationship.

“So you and Steve…?” you can’t help but to ask, turning so your back rests against the kitchen counter, offering Lucy a soft smile.

She returns it a little tightly. “We…dated for a bit.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t expecting that. Had witnessed a little something passing along their features when you’d bumped into her weeks ago, but never thought to chalk it up to them dating. On paper it makes sense. She’s a teacher, they work together, she’s gorgeous, vibrant, bubbly, interesting. She’s here. She’s been here. And she belongs here.

And you — you don’t know what you’re doing most days. You’re living with Steve, but for how long? You want to stay, or think you want to, but what does that entail? There’s also the lingering doubt. The fear that you don’t quite belong as you once did. Can see it in the looks from people as you pass. Those who haven’t seen you in years now regard you as a stranger.

“Yeah, we’d gone on a few dates. He was always such a gentleman…but it just…” she exhales, and you watch as her eyes trail his form, “he always seemed kind of…detached? He didn’t want to commit. Sometimes we’d be spending time together and he just…didn’t seem all there? But it all made sense when I saw you two at the coffee shop that one day.”

“What?” you splutter, red wine dribbling down your chin at the suddenness.

“He lit up when he saw you. I’d never seen him look at me that way,” she admits softly, sipping her own wine. “I kind of wanted to hate you for it, but you were so nice and he deserves to be happy.”

“Oh — we’re not — it’s not —”

“Not yet,” she teases, giving you a little eye roll. “He’s happy. And he’s present. Both are things that have changed within him since you’ve been here. I don’t think that’s mere coincidence.”

Her words settle within you as you later join Steve at the dinner table, leaning into his shoulder as he scoops your requested dinner options onto your plate. They linger even as the kids arrive for dessert and the group ends up playing endless card games, laughter lyrical and swirling around the room, growing louder as the drinks continue to pour into awaiting cups.

And later, as you sit on Steve’s couch in no more than a pair of leggings, a comfy hoodie, and knitted socks you ponder Lucy’s words again while a fire crackles in the fireplace.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asks, fingers kneading into the arch of your foot, your head against the armrest, eyes closed in contentment.

“Lucy is really pretty…”

“She is,” Steve agrees, his fingers pushing in again, drawing a deep sigh from within you.

“She works with kids, she’s bubbly, she’s established. All things that you’d normally go for.”

“Okay…”

“I’m just…I’m — I guess I'm trying to figure out why you two didn’t work out then.”

Steve pauses in his ministrations, shifting a bit on the couch to look at you. “Honey…you know why.”

“No,” you retort, feeling anxiety bubble up within you, “I really don’t.”

“There’s always been someone else.”

“I’m not understanding…”

With a sigh, Steve scoots closer. Tugs you up and onto his lap to get you even closer, your knees thumping onto the couch cushion at each side of his hips. He grips your hips and stares up into your eyes. There’s an unspoken question. A whisper behind his stare. Begs for you to look deeper, to see him, to see his heart.

“No.” You shake your head, anger welling. Replacing that anxiety. “I’ve looked at you my whole life and you never noticed. Now? Now you decide you —”

“It’s always been.” His strangled voice breaks your heart.

“Then why didn’t you say anything? All this time, all these years —”

“I tried,” he interjects, fingers winding tighter around your hips.

“When?”

“First time I visited you after you moved away.” He sounds somber. Heartbroken in a way that’s foreign to you. “You’d gone inside and your dad and I had a drink out back. Remember?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, fingers running along the hair at his temple. He gives you a little squeeze, forehead resting against yours.

“He…I told him about my feelings for you. And he…well, he wasn’t supportive.” He exhales a wobbly breath. “He had his points. I had no money. He was right about that. I worked at a dead end job and was going nowhere. I had nothing to offer you. He…painted a picture of us in a few years from now. Asked me how I’d be able to keep you happy…keep our family happy. And I thought maybe he was right.”

“Bullshit. Everything he said to you is bullshit,” you snap, climbing off of his lap. “I never wanted any of that. If I had you, Steve, then I would have everything.”

“I know that,” he cries, jumping to his own feet, looping an arm around your hips. “I know that now. I’ve seen you here the past few weeks and you fit here. With me in my life. I want to stop wasting time pretending you’re just my best friend because that’s all I ever thought you could be. I want you here. I want you in my bed every morning and night, I want to touch you and, I don’t know, hold you while we cook dinner together. I want to kiss you just because I can. I want to hold your hand. I want all of that.”

He tugs you close, your chests thumping. His heart throbs against your sternum and you raise a palm to settle there, to push him back, but you find you can’t. He sucks the air out of the room when he’s that close — when his mouth is mere centimeters from yours, and all you want is to close the distance.

“I never felt good enough for you,” he breathes against your lips, his breath a shaky exhale. Lips graze against lips, your fingers slide up further, along his chest, over the curve of his neck, the slope of his jaw.

“You’ve always been good enough for me, Steve,” you whisper back, forehead nuzzling forehead. “I don't need all the money. I don’t want fancy dinners or cars, I don’t need the newest clothes, shoes, pocketbooks. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

He slides a palm up against your cheek. A thumb draws a soft line across the curve of your jaw. “And now? What do you want right now?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

——

sorry about the delay. i’ve basically been sick since july, and wasn’t planning on having so many of my ‘bad’ days the past couple of weeks. the next chapter will be long, and i mean long. can’t wait to hear about what you think about this one! likes, comments, reblogs — all of that is such an encouragement to creators and means the world, so please consider 🤍

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve Harrington x reader smut #steve Harrington x reader fluff

499 notes · View notes

leonslutkennedeeznuts · 1 year ago

Text

The Wedding Date | Leon x Fem!Reader

"From the first meeting to rehearsal dinner everyone had fallen in love with him. Including you." | One-shot inspired by The Wedding Date (2005): Leon's an escort. You hire him and fall in love. (AO3)

It was an expensive, totally stupid impulsive thing to do- book a male escort as your wedding date to stick it to your ex (and nagging mother) that you weren’t a lonely, miserable spinster. You weren’t ugly or anything, just lazy with a specific plan- to rub it in your ex fiance’s face that you were 100% over him and moving on by “dating” someone way more attractive and totally smitten with you.

His name was Scott, or so he said as per his website details. He was 6 '0, clearly worked out, had dirty blonde hair in a boyband haircut and per his many reviews was a skilled lover- but that part was totally irrelevant to you. It had taken a few days to finally bite the bullet. Your career was stable, you had the money- it just made sense to go this route versus swiping on Tinder. You’d never done this before but were admittedly desperate. You needed a professional, someone that nobody in your friend group knew who could lie his way in and out of any conversations and questions they’d be sure to ask him.

He just had to look good, pretend to be in love with you, get paid and then fuck off never to be seen again when the wedding was over.

—

You’d met up with him at a bougie brunch spot on a Sunday afternoon, having chugged one mimosa with a shot of vodka before he even showed up to ease your nerves.

“This is the weirdest outcall I’ve ever been to,” he’d joked after introducing himself to you, his hands so soft and his cologne making you wet. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Scott was funny, naturally charismatic and beautiful to look at. He clearly took care of himself and didn’t seem phased by your plan at all once revealed to him.

“Alright, we need to go over the questions they’ll ask you, about us, your life, yadda yadda,” you’d instructed him. You tried your best to be assertive and not give into the butterflies flying wildly inside your stomach. “This has to be very convincing.”

You had tried to rehearse his answers with him but Scott refused while gazing at you intently. You’d definitely need new panties after this but he didn’t need to know that.

Scott had said he’d prefer to see how everything worked out before accepting payment. This plot of yours amused him greatly, he had said as much several times. Nobody had ever hired him to be arm candy until you. He planned to enjoy every second of this.

“They’ll know I’m lying, sweetheart. It’s better to just wing it. Trust me, Y/N, I won’t let you down.”

And Scott didn’t let you down. He’d passed the “test” with flying colors. From the first meeting to rehearsal dinner everyone had fallen in love with him. Including you.

—

It was late one night after having to help with decorating the church and you just wanted to relax. One bottle of wine later and you were getting a little bold and very nosy about Scott’s personal life as he gave you an exquisite foot rub.

“I didn’t make it into the police academy. I was 21 years old in a new city with nowhere to go so I started stripping. Then stripping became this.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, your hand patting his shoulder while the other held a glass of sweet burgundy wine. Scott had chosen whiskey for himself. Wine gave him bad hangovers, he’d admitted.

“I thought about being a stripper once,” you revealed. “I almost auditioned actually but my dancing is terrible without heels so with them on I’m sure I’d break my ankles.”

Scott laughed, as if he’d imagined you in a pair of clear heels attempting to dance around a pole and failing miserably. Making him laugh made you feel warm all over.

Conversations with him came naturally, he felt like an old friend. It was none of your business, truly but he’d answered you unashamedly. A part of you wished you’d met him under different circumstances for a chance at something real.

“Why aren’t you married yet, Y/N?”

You definitely weren’t expecting him to ask that. Your previous relationship was still a sore subject- he’d been your highschool sweetheart and first love. With a job promotion and more money, your ex had wanted to date around and see what else was out there a few months after proposing.

“One day he just decided that he didn’t want me anymore,” came your solemn answer.

You took a big gulp of wine to keep from crying. This was the guy that you thought you’d be planning your wedding with at this age. Instead you hired a male escort that you developed feelings for. C’est la vie!

“What a fucking idiot, seriously. You’re beautiful, Y/N, inside and out. A total catch,” Scott asserted. “Dude is a loser for letting you go.”

That remark made you smile, bringing a feeling of peace that washed over you from within at his words. You really enjoyed being around Scott. He was damn good at what he did: making women feel desired. Even though this was his job, it just felt natural to lean in and kiss him so you did. To your surprise Scott kissed you back quite fiercely, the taste of whiskey on his tongue almost like a poison bringing you deeper under his spell.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” he’d offered.

Scott was indeed a skilled lover.

He lifted you up effortlessly, laying you on the bed before teasing with kisses up and down your body. You were so wet it hurt and ached. Your clothes quickly became a crumpled up heap on the floor while he stayed fully clothed sans a shirt.

“Such a pretty pussy, baby.”

He never stopped touching or tasting you that night, making sure that you came hard on his face and with his fingers, refusing to let you return the favor. You rode his tongue to completion, let him flip you onto your back and bucked into his mouth almost crying at how good he made you feel.

“You taste so good, Y/N.”

Your ex had been selfish in bed, all about receiving and barely giving. You thought you’d had an orgasm before but now you knew better. Scott made you cum almost violently, begging, writhing and almost screaming every time he sucked your clit or filled you up with two or three fingers.

“Can eat you out all fucking night.”

You had to push his head away before he finally stopped, looking so pleased with his work as you watched him through heavily lidded eyes. He kissed you one last time, the taste of yourself on his tongue giving a sense of pride. This gorgeous man had dined on you like he’d never get enough, licking and eating your cum like it was a delicacy. You wanted to taste him too, to look into his eyes as he slid into you and fucked you so deep and hard that your headboard banged against the wall.

But instead, he cuddled you until sleep finally took over.

—

Scott wasn’t there when you awoke the next morning.

You awoke in a panic, your head pounding as the events of last night started to replay in your head. Wine. Scott. Orgasms. Your thighs were sore.

“Shit,” you exclaimed. The wedding. Your wedding date. Scott. Was he going to show up now? Would it be too awkward? Was it all just a wine induced episode of lucid dreaming?

You hurriedly got out of bed and took a shower. The envelope with his payment was still in your dresser. Did he even know it was there? You tried to focus on everything but Scott on your drive to the venue, going through the motions of getting dressed and sitting still for makeup.

When it was time to walk down the aisle with your ex-fiance as part of the wedding processional, your eyes glanced around nervously looking for any signs of a GQ model with dirty blond hair sitting in the pews as you tried not to fumble with your bouquet too much.

This was the church you had always wanted to be married in. You had thought that your ex fiance was the one but now you knew otherwise. Walking down the aisle with him, even in this context, made you feel uneasy like you were cheating. You almost didn't see Scott giving you a thumbs up and blowing you a kiss when you finally stood with the other bridesmaids. It was embarrassing how your mood instantly lifted.

Everything was going to be okay. You'd convinced everyone that this was so real, you'd even convinced yourself. Once the wedding was over Scott would go back to his life and so would you. It was a painful thought.

It wasn’t until the wedding reception that you spotted him again. He was standing off to himself while most of the single ladies and a few men crowded the dance floor for the bouquet toss. His tuxedo fit perfectly and now that you knew how he looked shirtless, a part of you wanted to rip it right off.

You caught the bouquet purely by accident, not even paying attention until a blur of pink roses came into your peripheral. Scott’s eyes never left yours as he walked towards you, cool as a cucumber like on the day you met.

He leaned in to kiss you so intensely that your knees buckled. You heard your mom cheering the loudest. Your ex stormed off in a huff, clearly regretting his choice to let you go- convinced that this man kissing you was your new forever and not a paid actor. Scott had done his job perfectly, too perfectly. You tried not to look so crestfallen when the kiss ended.

—

The walk back to your car seemed to take forever, so much you wanted to say, so much was going unsaid but didn’t want to come across as that one creepy client who took things too far.

“Definitely a 5 star experience,” you stated honestly yet awkwardly avoiding his gaze, wanting to make light of it all. “I really can’t thank you enough Sco-”

“Leon,” he cut you off. “My real name is Leon.”

The tension in the air was thick. Was his name really Leon or was this another part of the act? Your mother was now convinced that Scott, well, Leon would propose someday. How were you going to explain that everything was all a lie?

Should you address the kiss, the amazing oral sex and show vulnerability? Or hand over the cash and move on? You just wanted a nice clean break, no more emotions to overly complicate things. He did his job, nothing more nothing less. It would hurt more to be rejected than to wonder what if.

“I can’t thank you enough, Leon.” You looked a little too long at his lips, wanting and wishing you had the courage to just lean in and close the gap between you two again and again.

Instead, you handed him the bouquet of flowers so you could reach into your clutch for his payment.

“You can count it now if you’d like. It’s all there, I promise.”

Leon tensed. His face which usually sported a knowing smirk or stoic expression now looked confused, almost disgusted. He didn’t reach out to take the envelope.

“Leon, you did exactly what I asked you for. Of course I’m paying you plus tip,” you said trying to sound calm yet internally freaking out. “Thank you for this.”

Thank you for eating me out so well that no other man will ever compare, you thought.

You were ready to drive home and cry into your pillows about what a mess you’d made- falling in love with your hired boyfriend who probably always had clients obsessed with him and unable to distinguish reality from fantasy.

“I don’t want your money, Y/N. I want you.” Leon took your envelope with his free hand and placed it back into your clutch. “God, that was cornier than it sounded in my head.”

Your mouth opened but nothing came out.

Confusion painted your face. Realization hit you afterwards but before you could think of what to say in response, his lips were on yours. The bouquet was forgotten on the ground as you let Leon take you into his arms, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

“Y/N, this has been real for me no matter how hard I tried to fight it. I love you.”

You felt like you were floating, the world beyond Leon in this moment failing to exist.

"I love you, too. So much," you proclaimed proudly.

Leon slowly pulled away from you, his eyes taking you in. “I don’t do this, I don’t date or get too close but you, you’ve awakened something inside of me that I can’t live without.”

His hands gripped your ass and you felt the promise of more, thick hard and straining against his slacks. “And you have the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted,” he quipped.

With a laugh you gave his bulge a light squeeze, ready to finally consummate your relationship with the gorgeous man standing before you.

---

With each deep, slow, tortutous thrust you were crying out his name, his real name, over and over. Pathetically begging and pleading for Leon to fuck you harder. You'd never felt like this before, your body on fire with lust and greedy for more, more, more.

"Look at you, taking me so well like this," he whispered into your ear as you tightened and throbbed around his length. "Love you so much, so fucking much."

You were sucking him in to the hilt, nails digging into his back and biceps as you took every inch coating it in your slick.

"Fuck, Leon, love you too," you grunted out almost painfully. "Gonna cum, oh!"

Leon loosened the grip on your throat, kissing you lazily as you cried out his name cumming hard around him while he never stopped pounding into your tight, hungry cunt.

"There you go, baby, cum all over me." He ground his pelvis into you wanting to feel all your cum gushing out against him. "Wanna cum inside you, fuck!"

It was almost a whisper but you'd heard it and God, you wanted him to. Wanted him to fill you up so deeply that you'd feel it slipping out throughout the day.

"Yes, please cum inside, need it, Leon."

He looked into your glazed over eyes smirking at your blissful face knowing only he could make you feel this good, only he had taken the time to learn your body and make you cum with your whole body shaking and jerking against his.

With a few more hard, short thrusts Leon's hot cum started to fill you up. You instinctly wrapped your legs around his waist pushing him in even deeper, his balls throbbing against you as he emptied himself into your eager pussy.

"Mmm, are you ready for round three," he inquired against your sweated out hair.

He took you from behind, from the side, with you on top and even picked you up and fucked you hard and fast in his arms as you cried out your release.

The man's stamina was unmatched. You were a sweaty tangled mess of limbs not knowing where his body began and your body ended when he was finally done with you.

---

You quickly settled into domestic life quite easily. Leon moved in with you while mulling over his career options now that being a boyfriend for hire was over.

Leon had made you dinner to celebrate your recent promotion, your favorite meal of filet mignon and lobster tail. He'd mentioned in passing that he was letting the website domain expire soon to pursue his other dream: being a scuba diving instructor.

"Scott's Scuba School sounds good, right?"

You nodded, considering how often he went down on you without needing to come up for air. Yeah, he'd be an amazing scuba diver. Although using his previous alias gave you some pause. What if one of his past lovers recognized him and wanted more? Silly little insecure thoughts like that were becoming less usual as time went on.

If you'd thought Leon was an amazing hired boyfriend, he was even better without the promise of money. He refused to let you pay for anything or want for nothing. From having roses delivered to your office to cooking you dinner, planning out romantic date nights to making love to you until you begged him to stop. He was perfect and he was all yours.

"Best wedding date ever," Leon read aloud to himself, seeing the new notification popping up on his previous work phone. "So good you'll think he's really in love with you."

He shot you a knowing glance before giving you a slow lingering kiss. With the simple tap, his website and review page were deleted and his new, real life with you could truly begin.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy smut #leon x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fic #resident evil smut #sex worker Leon #graphic design is my passion #leon x female reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x fem!reader

255 notes · View notes

allthingssteddie · 7 days ago

Text

When Steve was only was nine years old he met the love of his life. It was the year his parents hired a new maid, a young woman who was kind to him and made sure he was okay. She was more of a parent to him than his own. One day her son had no where to go so she had to bring him to her work.

Eddie was a year older than Steve, From the moment they met Steve felt an instant connection to Eddie. As they spent more time together Steve found himself drawn into Eddie's world adopting his interests as his own like Eddie would tell him stories of dragons and fairies and they would pretend to be knights and save the kingdom in his back yard. Their friendship only grew, and Steve finally felt like he had found a true companion, someone who understood and accepted him for who he was.

Although steves parents disapproved of his friendship with Eddie, deeming eddies family "lower class." But Steve begged them for months to invite Eddie to his birthday party. They finally agreed when Steve told them it was all he wanted for his birthday.

Excitement filled the air as Steve's party got started it was complete with animals. Which he knew Eddie would be excited to see However, the joy was short lived. Tommy his dad's friend's son thought it'd be hilarious to put a spider behind Eddie's back. Eddie was horrified bursting into tears as he fled to Steve's bedroom and hid under the bed.

Steve was livid he didn’t even invite tommy and here he was making his best friend cry. Tommy threw his head back laughing with a group of boys. That wasn't funny!" Steve yelled, pushing Tommy out of his way “Eddie, I'm so sorry. I didn't invite that jerk, my dad did." The only response him was sniffing.

Steve lay down beside Eddie under the bed, taking in his tear stained face. His heart ached. Desperate to comfort Eddie Steve asked, "Would you like me to sing you something?"

There was silence for a moment, followed by sniffling. "Yes," Eddie replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve began to sing "Wouldn't It Be Nice" by The Beach Boys, his voice soft and soothing. He held onto Eddie's hand, and Eddie slowly began to calm down his tears subsiding as he listened to Steve's gentle singing. When he finished singing Eddie looked up at him with shining eyes. "Steve?" he asked softly.

"Yeah?" Steve replied. Eddie's voice was filled with emotion. "Promise me something."

"Mhm?" Steve encouraged.

"Promise me we'll always be together," Eddie said his voice trembling.

Steve held out his pinky and Eddie connected it with his own sealing their promise. "Cross my heart hope to die”Steve said, his eyes locked on Eddie's.

"Stick a needle in my eye” Eddie giggled, completing their promise.

Later on Lucy Munson walked into the room to pick up Eddie. She just smiled at the sight of the two boys fast asleep on the floor, holding hands.

Years later Steve and Eddie stood together hand in hand as they danced to "Wouldn't It Be Nice" at their wedding.

Eddie grinned at Steve his eyes shining with happiness. "You really kept your promise, huh big boy?"

Steve smiled back, his eyes filled with love. "Well, we did pinky promise."

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fandom #steddie idea #steddie prompt #steddie childhood friends #steddie writing prompt #SoundCloud #steddie imagine #steddie headcanon

44 notes · View notes

argisthebulwark · 2 years ago

Text

Fake Marriage Trope

summary: Short drabbles about a fake marriage with various skyrim favs. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Erandur, Arnbjorn, Brynjolf, Teldryn, Rune warnings: none

Erandur worries that being unmarried as a Priest of Mara is odd, what if it made others doubt his devotion? The two of you had become close after travelling together - choosing one another was easy, natural. Sharing a home gives you somewhere to rest after handling Skyrim's many problems and Erandur gains a spouse to gush about to Mara's followers. It's a win-win. After spending time posing as your husband he'll realize that it isn't as much of a lie as he originally thought - he truly does care for you, loves when you spent time relaxing at home or dozing off on his shoulder. He would likely stumble over his words trying to explain how he caught feelings for his own spouse.

After aiding in the rebuilding of the Brotherhood, you have garnered quite the friendship with Arnbjorn. Surprisingly, your joint efforts have caught the eye of potential new clients. Meeting with a group of powerful nobles in a bid for a massive contract one mentions offhandedly that they take comfort in your dedication, citing the leader's marriage to a fellow assassin. Clearly you care for your Guild, it makes you appear quite trustworthy! Forging a deal with Arnbjorn you both agree to continue the farce, allowing them to believe you're married. It brings in money, gets you better jobs, some stability - and all it takes is pretending to be in love. He would take notice when you began wearing the cheap wedding band even on rest days, or referring to him as your husband in casual conversation.

Stealing from rich people is fun. Stealing from rich people with Brynjolf is very fun. Dressing up together, attending some fancy party with fake names and a hasty backstory. You can't help it if your heart flutters when he dutifully places an arm around you or your sudden urge to kiss him when he spins you around the dance floor. It's difficult to remind yourselves that it's just a game, a cover to gather as many septims as you can carry back to Riften. Hearing Brynjolf introduced as your husband only makes matters worse, your cheeks heating until you're sure the cover is blown. With pockets stuffed and fancy wine clouding your mind it's easy to pretend that Brynjolf truly is your husband, that the way he gazes into your eyes is more than an act.

Teldryn has been hired dozens of times - as a mercenary, a sellsword, a guide. When a returning client hires him at triple the agreed upon rate he assumes you're taking him somewhere dangerous. You are - your familial home. As the only unmarried sibling in the bunch you often find yourself the target of all extended family members and their intrusive questions. After explaining it to him you get nothing but a dry laugh and a promise to do his best. He takes to the role of doting partner quite well - answering questions about how you met and entertaining family with stories of your travels together. Near the end of your trip you find that neither of you want the ruse to come to an end.

Rune wants a family. People to visit on holidays and tell his coworkers stories about. You want a partner to bring home to your family so they'll ask about something other than your shady line of work. What a good deal! When you find yourself seeking him for comfort after a rough day you pay it no mind. You're friends, after all. The marriage is only for show. The same rule applies when Rune holds you a bit closer than necessary or introduces you to new recruits as his partner - you have to sell the act, right? Can't have anyone exposing your lies. Tamping down on the worry that something more is brewing isn't easy but you try. It's difficult to remind yourself that it's all a show when he places a hand on your thigh or finishes a story your sibling's told him before. Falling for him is too easy.

#skyrim #writing #skyrim x reader #x reader fanfic #erandur #arnbjorn #brynjolf #teldryn sero #rune

204 notes · View notes

jinn-exe · 2 years ago

Text

ever since i heard temeura's version of Can't Take My Eyes Off of You, I've been thinking abt modern au codywan where they don't know each other but most of their friends or acquaintances have a mutual group. And they've never met once, not until cody's brother, Fox, gets married to Quinlan, and they're obviously the best man for their respective sides. Okay, so they dont meet during the rehearsal dinner either, bc obi-wans some type of special forces agent, and he missed it due to being off country, but he promises Quinlan he'll make it on the day of the wedding! Fast forward to the reception part, they're all having fun, drinking, dancing, and the general chaos that comes whenever there's a shit ton of Fetts in one social gathering. Anyway, the vocalist they hired for the live band ends up bailing, and they're immediately in an emergency family meeting bc whos going to sing now??? Of course, Rex perks up and says, "What about Cody?" And everyone agrees bc like why didnt we think of that?? And Cody VEHEMENTLY refuses, they're all tackling him to the ground begging, screaming, and using their younger brother privilege until finally, finally, Cody relents with a tired sigh. He goes on stage, and looks a bit flustered, but he ends up singing it anyway and everyones howling clapping cheering him on, and just as he gets to the part of, "Now that I found you, stay" his eyes land on one very attractive and equally curious Obi-Wan kenobi mouthing the lyrics. If Cody's voice wavered a little during the next line, no one noticed or bothered to care. The audience shouts for an encore and Cody has no other choice but to do it, and you can imagine it's a very long night, most of the guests have already made their way home and have trickled into a small crowd of family and close friends. Cody's disappointed bc he didn't get to speak to the handsome gentleman, but what he didn't expect to happen was to find the same man waiting for him at the hotel venue, grinning fondly as if they’ve known each other their whole lives.

#codywan #i think abt them a normal amnt #i just think it would be funny #if they had so much mutual acquaintances #And they never meet ONCE #basically this is just a wall of text abt me not getting over the image of cody singing #let him do it

171 notes · View notes

fairuzfan · 1 year ago

Note

Also really quickly, I wanted to mention that usually while the women are at the Henna Night, the men have their own gathering. Sahraa Al Zalame (closest I can translate is "staying up at night/gathering, men") takes place at the grooms home/village, and usually set up outdoors, there's a music singer/group or DJ, sometimes a dancing group is hired, there's sweets and drinks and lots of men just having a great time dancing/socializing. One memory I have is when I spent time on a nearby roof with my girl cousins watching as little boys lit up small fireworks, old men smoked and played cards, hookahs, coffee, sweets, fathers hold their babies & small boys, the young men dancing. The Groom and his friends/family lifting him up in the air. I love seeing how our men are celebrated and made to feel part of the wedding celebration in their own way, and of course the Shaving of the Groom. Days before the Wedding the Groom will stop shaving so he looks unkempt, then on that night they have a barber, or friend/family, who shaves the Groom's beard (sometimes old fashioned razor with the long blade are used sometimes modern ones) as he sits in a chair while others are around him in circle, the singer sings "it's time to shave the groom, he must be (Am Nouweer) lit up/glowing for his wedding, shave the groom, he is the most handsome of men" and other lyrics that often vary from family/region. I find it a very charming tradition that shows how just as the bride is going through her own transition from girl to womanhood, so is the groom transitioning from boy to manhood. Also when the groom's family douses him in shaving cream at the end sometimes its really funny. lol. But yeah Henna Night is exclusively for women, but the Sharaa is for men but sometimes women from the groom's side are in attendance too. It just depends on the family tbh. If the Bride and Groom are from the same village/town then some nights we would be at the Bride's for the Henna then walk over to Groom's house to watch the Sahraa of the men. I miss those summer nights because the feeling of celebration and community was so strong and beautiful. Anyways this is long, but I love our wedding traditions.

End.

omg i love these wedding traditions sooooo much. thank you so much for sharing i love learning about this.

52 notes · View notes

becomingkatie · 3 months ago

Text

We had a friend's wedding to attend this weekend, with bachelorette events leading up to it starting Tuesday evening. It was nice to get out of the house and have things going on, but coming home to an empty house was really sad. It's always been, "yeah it's a bummer the vacation is over, but now we get to go home to Theo and he'll be so happy to see us." And now the house just feels lonely instead.

The bachelorette events were a LOT and I struggled a bit being around so many people, especially since so many of them were new to me. And being around a huge group of mostly Nigerian people feels even more anxiety-inducing because there's just a whole different attitude around timing, planning, expectations, etc. The other husbands stayed back til Friday and then flew down in time for the welcome dinner that night, but Ken flew down with me on Tuesday so instead of staying in the house with everyone I stayed in the hotel with him. That was nice - I could go participate in all the events but I had a little place to retreat to and get some quiet.

The wedding day itself was crazy! Nigerian ceremony in the morning, then American ceremony and reception in the evening. For the Nigerian ceremony, they hired someone to tie all the women's geles (the headpiece), and told us the night before to come to the venue a little early for that, like at 10 for the 10:30 ceremony. But then I woke up at 8 to missed calls from the bride's sister and messages saying "can you come to this hotel room right now to get your gele tied? there's about to be a backlog and we need to get everyone done asap." Ken and I were staying in a different hotel ~5 minutes away instead of the main one (booking issues) so it was a panicky way to wake up. Makeup has to be done first, so I basically did my makeup while still half asleep and Ken got us coffee while I did that. Then we rushed over and waited in line to get my gele tied.

Since we rented a car and most people didn't, we went to the other hotel to pick up our friends before taking them to the venue. There was brunch-y food available before the Nigerian ceremony. It was mostly what I would expect for brunch foods, with the addition of some things I'd never had before (moin moin - a bean pudding - was the most notable). The ceremony started an hour late, and then it went on and on. There was a lot of the groom's side praising the bride's side and requesting that her parents give her up. Then eventually the groom and bride had their own processions in, and each of them had a bit of ceremony with the other side's family. It was a lot, and by the time we left I was pretty pumped for a few hours of pajama time before getting ready for the American ceremony.

The American ceremony also started an hour late, and it was the most religious ceremony I have attended, including several that took place in churches. There was a full sermon, plus prayers. So many prayers. Every time I thought they'd prayed over this couple as much as could be done in one ceremony, there was another prayer.

By the time we finished the cocktail hour and made it to the reception, my goal was to stay until the dance floor opened. Then I revised the goal to stay until cake, since I knew there was another outfit change and grand entrance before they would open the dance floor. We made it to the dance floor opening, but just barely, and left with screaming headaches since neither of us thought to bring earplugs and the DJ was all up on the microphone, with the speakers at max.

Ultimately, it was lovely and wonderful, but I think I spent a lot more time feeling anxious and also physically uncomfortable than I did enjoying it. And now I'm really glad I have no more close friends with upcoming weddings.

#k and k #personal #wedding season 2024

10 notes · View notes

c-e-d-dreamer · 2 years ago

Text

I Still Remember the Taste of Your Lips

A/N: So, I can't lie, I think this is my favorite of the drabbles I've written for @sjmromanceweek so hopefully everyone equally enjoys! A different type of Anniversary for Day Six, but hopefully still fun and of course, full of fuff :)

“Nesta Archeron.”

Nesta turns at the sound of her name, meeting a broad chest before her eyes flick up and connect with a pair of hazel ones. Somehow, despite the years that have passed, they look the exact same as Nesta remembers them. All golds and greens blurring together into a kaleidoscope of warmth and light. There’s still a scar slashing through the eyebrow above the right one. But where Nesta remembers smooth skin and baby fat still clinging on, there’s now the hard line of a jaw and stubble.

“Long time no see,” Cassian continues, the left corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk. That’s something that hasn’t changed.

“How long has it been again?” Nesta asks, finally stepping away from the large vase of flowers she was helping Elain to arrange.

“Ten years give or take,” Cassian offers with an easy shrug. “Who’d’ve thought after all those years your baby sister would be marrying my baby brother.”

“I doubt Rhysand appreciates that description considering he was only a grade below us.”

“That’s what makes it more fun.”

Cassian tosses Nesta a wink, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief, and Nesta can’t stop her amused snort. Before she can say anything else, though, the doors to the hall swing open, Feyre practically skipping inside, her hand clasped tightly with Rhysand’s. Nesta doesn’t miss the way Feyre’s white sundress is a bit more wrinkled than when she last saw her sister, but Feyre and Rhysand’s smiles are wide, so she keeps any comments to herself.

“Is everyone here?” Feyre asks, looking around at the small group assembled.

A final head count and a nod from Feyre, and the wedding planner they’ve hired starts giving out instructions. She pairs everyone off and lines them all up, so they practice walking down to their places. Elain and Amren walk down first, then Nesta and Cassian, Mor and Azriel taking up the end of the wedding party. Finally, Feyre and Rhys practice their walk down, the two having decided to walk in together, a symbol of their equal relationship.

Once everyone is standing in their places, the wedding planner starts going through what everyone can expect tomorrow. When Azriel will need to hand over the rings. When Mor will need to take Feyre’s bouquet and when she’ll need to give it back. Nesta tries to pay attention, to listen to everything that the woman is saying, but her eyes drift. She’s surprised to find Cassian already watching her, and when their gazes meet, his grin grows until crinkles appear beside his eyes.

He glances quickly to his left, raising his eyebrows in some sort of silent conversation. Nesta looks to his left as well, her brow pinching in confusion when all she finds is Amren standing proudly next to him as she should be. Nesta can admit it’s a bit comical, the five foot even woman standing next to Cassian’s tall and broad frame.

When Nesta’s eyes dance back to Cassian, he makes a face, raising his arm and miming resting his elbow atop Amren’s head. Nesta has to press her lips together to keep her face neutral, but then Amren takes notice of Cassian’s actions and digs her own elbow into Cassian’s gut in retaliation. Cassian lets out a pained gasp and doubles over, earning looks from everyone else in the group, but Nesta presses the back of her hand against her lips, desperately trying to keep her laughter in.

By the time the rehearsal ends, Amren is still glaring daggers at Cassian, and he backs away from her slowly, his hands raised in a mock surrender.

“You’re going to have to sleep with one eye open after that stunt, you know?” Nesta informs him once Cassian is close enough.

Cassian spins around to face her, his grin still wide and unperturbed. “Maybe, but it made you laugh, so it was worth it.”

It’s such an odd thing to say, and a blush cascades across Nesta’s cheeks before she can stop it. If Cassian notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at her with that sincere stare that takes Nesta all the way back to biology class all those years ago. And yet, somehow it’s even more intense than back then, some new emotion Nesta can’t quite put her finger on swimming amongst the greens and golds of his eyes, and Nesta has to look away, turning her attention instead on everyone still gathered and waiting while Feyre and Rhysand chat through the last things for tomorrow with their wedding planner.

“Looks like we’re the only single ones,” Cassian comments.

Nesta looks at Mor and her girlfriend laughing with Elain, at Amren and Varian chatting with Lucien, at Eris straightening the collar of Azriel’s shirt while Azriel looks on with faux annoyance that does nothing to hide the fondness. She tries not to think too hard about the sad little pang that echoes between her ribs, turning instead to offer Cassian a small smile over her shoulder.

“It looks like we are.”

~ * * * ~

Despite a crazy morning of trying to make sure everyone’s hair and makeup was done, getting Feyre into her dress, and getting everyone to the venue on time, the wedding goes off without any hitches. They take photos and head to the reception, everyone anxious to get the party started and to take full advantage of the open bar. The wedding planner has them all line up again in front of the large double doors leading into the ballroom, and already Nesta can hear the other wedding guests, feel the bass of the song the DJ is currently playing.

“We have to do something fun for our entrance,” Cassian tells her, dragging her attention to him. “I could dip you.”

“If you dip me and drop me, I will kill you,” Nesta shoots back, narrowing her eyes for good measure.

“Still threatening violence? Have you ever actually followed through on that threat in the ten years since we’ve seen each other? Actually… don’t answer that. I don’t want to be complicit.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, even as she has to bite back an amused smile. “You’re an idiot.��

“You wound me, Nesta Archeron,” Cassian says with faux solemness, pressing a hand to his chest.

The double doors are pulled open and cheers ring out from inside before Nesta can say anything else. Elain and Amren step inside first, and then it’s Nesta and Cassian’s turn. True to his word, Cassian pulls her close, dipping her dramatically.

The rest of the evening seems to go by in a blur of first dances, speeches, and food, and soon, Nesta finds herself three glasses of wine deep and on the dance floor with Cassian. Cassian has since abandoned his suit jacket, the sleeves of his button down rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons undone, showing off a tease of golden skin and the dark lines of tattoos hiding just beneath. He’s let his hair down from the neat bun he wore for the ceremony, the dark curls flying around her face while he shakes his shoulders in a dramatic shimmy along with the beat of the song playing. One of many atrocious dance moves that has Nesta’s side aching from all her laughing.

“You are an embarrassment to the entire wedding party with those moves,” Nesta calls over the music.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cassian dismisses, grabbing Nesta’s hand and spinning her. “I’m clearly a professional dancer.”

The song changes over to something slower, so Nesta steps back, prepared to head back to her seat or maybe get another drink from the bar. Instead, Cassian’s arm slides around her waist, tugging her back and close. His other hand captures her own, and all Nesta can do is blink in surprise as he starts to sway them to the beat. His hand spans almost the entirety of the small of her back, and it seems to radiate warmth along with the rest of him, seeping through the fabric of her dress and leaving her skin blazing in the best way. He tilts his head down to keep Nesta’s gaze, and it causes stray strands of his hair to tumble along his temple, casting shadows across his cheeks and hazel eyes. Nesta’s heart trips over itself between her ribs, and it takes her a moment too long before she finally slides her free hand to Cassian’s shoulder, following his steps.

“I haven’t had a chance to ask you yet what you’ve been up to. Since we last saw each other I mean,” Cassian says, moving them in a slow circle.

“You mean since ten years ago?” Nesta asks dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Cassian chuckles, Nesta feeling the way the sound rumbles in his chest where they’re pressed together. “Something like that.”

“Well, I don’t have much to report. Went to college. Went to law school.”

“Proud member of the high school debate team became a lawyer. Why am I not surprised? Where’s your firm?”

“I was in Adriata, but I just relocated back to Velaris. Made partner actually.”

“That’s amazing, Nes.”

The nickname prickles along Nesta’s skin, awakening something simmering in her blood until she has to swallow hard. “And what about yourself?”

“I’m a business owner. A gym specifically. It’s great. I especially enjoy teaching self defense classes. You should stop by sometime now that you’re back in Velaris,” Cassian tells her, the sincerity in his tone and in his expression seeming to hide some deeper meaning behind the request.

Before Nesta can even begin to dwell on what he could mean, the music once again changes back to something upbeat and bass heavy. She and Cassian continue to stand there for a moment, holding each other, watching each other, even as everyone else around them returns to dancing. Fire crackles and sparks through Nesta’s veins, and she has to pull away from Cassian. She offers him a small smile before retreating toward the bar after all, ordering another glass of wine. She definitely needs a drink. But she only gets a few sips in before she’s pulled back onto the dance floor, this time with Elain and Feyre.

The songs start to blur together as Nesta dances with them, but soon, she needs a break, leaving her sisters in the very capable hands of their significant others. Nesta pushes her hair off her face, her chest still heaving slightly from all the dancing. She tries again for the bar, in desperate need of something to drink now, but there’s a bit of a queue, so she stands behind two of Rhysand’s friends, waiting for her turn.

“Distract the bartender for me,” a voice whispers against her ear.

Nesta turns to find Cassian, a smirk pulled across his face and his hazel eyes twinkling with that mischievous mirth of his. He offers Nesta a wink and backs away before she can even ask what he’s talking about, and she considers shouting after him, but a throat clearing in front of her lets her know the bartender is waiting for her. With a shake of her head, she steps up to the bar, offering the bartender a small smile in greeting.

“What can I get you?” the man asks, already reaching for one of the glasses.

“Um… can I get…” Nesta starts, trailing off when she notices Cassian sneaking behind the bar and reaching for one of the bottles. The bartender frowns, turning to follow her gaze, but Nesta quickly leans forward on the bar, crossing her arms and pressing in her elbows. From the way the bartender’s eyes drop to her chest, she knows it worked. “Sorry. Can I just get some water? I’m so hot from all that dancing.”

Nesta makes a big show of batting her eyelashes and fanning her face with her hand. The bartender swallows hard, stumbling over his words. By the time he's finally coming back to himself and filling Nesta’s glass with water, Cassian has snuck back out from behind the bar.

“So what’s your name?” the bartender asks, sliding the water over to Nesta. “I’m—”

“Sorry, she’s not interested,” Cassian cuts in, grabbing Nesta’s hand in his and all but running away.

Cassian leads them out of the large ballroom the reception is in and out the back door of the building, only dropping Nesta’s hand when they’re greeted by the crisp night air and a blanket of stars overhead. They take a seat on the back steps, Cassian sitting close enough to her that their shoulders brush as he opens the bottle of wine he stole. Nesta knows she should probably scoot away, should try and put some distance between this man she hasn’t seen in ten years, but he’s so warm that she can’t bring herself to. Instead, she watches the way his hands work as he pulls the cork free, watches the way his forearm flexes and his throat bobs as he takes a swig before holding out the bottle for Nesta to take.

“I can’t believe you stole a bottle of wine,” Nesta chastises, even as she takes the bottle and drinks from it anyways.

“Rhys already paid for all the bottles. It was just going to go to waste at the end of the night anyway.”

Nesta hums but doesn’t say anything more. They sit like that for a while, passing the bottle back and forth between them and enjoying the quiet peace of the night. The next time Nesta hands the bottle back to Cassian, he digs his phone out from his pocket, making a surprised sound at whatever he sees on the screen.

“Would you look at the time, Nes,” Cassian says, knocking his arm gently against hers. “Guess what today is.”

Nesta frowns in confusion, turning to peer at him. “The day of Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding…?”

“Technically it’s 12:03 now,” Cassian points out, brandishing his phone and the time displayed there. “So, no.”

“The day after Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding?”

“On this day, ten years ago, we kissed,” Cassian explains, holding up the bottle of wine in a mock toast toward the sky. “Happy anniversary.”

“What are you talking about?” Nesta asks, her tone colored with laughter.

“Ten years ago, we were at a party in Kallias’s basement, and Mor had the genius idea to play seven minutes in heaven. It was me and you in the closet.”

Nesta is full on laughing now, unable to stop the giggles that fall past her lips. “I cannot believe you remember the exact date of that.”

“A man never forgets getting to kiss the hottest girl in school,” Cassian says, his tone matter-of-fact.

“I was not the hottest girl at the school,” Nesta argues, shaking her head in disbelief at this whole conversation.

“You were to me,” Cassian promises, turning his gaze fully toward Nesta. “I was going to tell you, you know. That Monday after, at school. I knew you always stopped at your locker between second and third period, and I was going to tell you and ask you out, but…”

“But that was the week my Mom got sick,” Nesta finishes for him, dropping her gaze to her lap. “We never did go back to that school after everything.”

“I’m sorry about what happened with your parents. Both of them,” Cassian tells her quietly, reaching over and settling his hand over where hers are twisting in the fabric of her dress.

“It’s in the past now. It’s fine.”

“Well, hopefully, it didn’t completely ruin our memorable kiss.”

Cassian’s tone is light, the remark teasing, but his hazel eyes still shine with sincerity, with sympathy, and Nesta knows he’s just trying to make her feel better. It has warmth flooding between her ribs and blooming down her veins, and she offers him a small smile of thanks.

“Memorable isn’t exactly the word I would use,” Nesta teases right back. “Especially considering I didn’t remember it until you mentioned it just now.”

“Wow,” Cassian drawls sarcastically, making a big show of shaking his head in disappointment. “Way to absolutely destroy my self esteem.”

“We were fifteen! Plus, I was blindfolded for some reason for that stupid game.”

“Alright, Nes,” Cassian starts, reaching down and curling his hands around Nesta’s ankles. He pulls her legs up and over his lap, tugging her even closer to him. “Eyes wide open. It’s time for a re-do.”

Nesta lets out a sound somewhere between a surprised laugh and a gasp, eyes widening. “Cassian.”

“Nesta.”

“You cannot be serious right now.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I am completely serious,” Cassian assures her, reaching up to toy with a stray strand of her hair before tucking it gently behind her ear. “We may not be in high school anymore, but you’re still the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Nesta doesn’t even know what to say to that. There’s no denying that she had a crush on him at one point when they were in school together. And there’s definitely no denying that he’s only gotten more gorgeous with age. She can’t deny that in just the twenty four hours they’ve spent together, he’s made her laugh and smile and feel light in a way she hasn’t in a long time, in a way that no one ever has, and all while still seeing her somehow.

And maybe it’s all the wine sitting warmly in her gut and the alcohol thrumming through her veins. Maybe it’s all the excitement and joy of Feyre and Rhysand’s day. But some part of Nesta eggs her on, whispers in the back of her mind, and draws her in in in to Cassian. Some part deep in her soul recognizes him, feels safe with him, wants him in a way that is both terrifying and exhilarating. And maybe it’s all of that or none of that, but before Nesta can talk herself out of it, she reaches up and buries a hand in the dark curls of Cassian’s hair, tugging him into her until their lips meet.

The kiss has electricity firing through Nesta’s every nerve ending. Cassian has one arm secure around her waist, the other hand cradling her jaw, and Nesta can taste the bottle of wine they shared on his tongue when he deepens the kiss. The dark strands of his hair are soft and silky between her fingers and when she tugs, he groans into her mouth. She presses closer still, practically in Cassian’s lap but she doesn’t care and Cassian doesn’t seem to either if the way his arm tightens around her is any indication. When they finally pull back, Nesta keeps her eyes closed, catching her breath, relishing the way her lips still tingle, the feel of Cassian wrapped around and pressed against her.

“I know I’m ten years late asking, but any chance of getting that date?”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @cassiansbigwingspan @unlikelypersonalknight1 @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #sjmromanceweek2023 #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic

152 notes · View notes

kmomof4 · 1 year ago

Text

A Swan Family Christmas: A Christmas Fic in the Universe of A Family Affair

We finally made it, y'all!!! Ohhhhhhh, I've been sooooo anxious and excited to share this fic with y'all!!! I hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

If you are not familiar with the series, it was inspired by The O'Hurley's by Nora Roberts, which I then adapted to Once Upon a Time. A Family Affair features the family of Marco and Beverly Swan- their first born David and triplet daughters Regina, Emma, and Ruby.

Love Between the Pages tells the story of Emma and Killian Jones. Killian is a bestselling biographer and he arrives at Emma’s horse farm in rural Virginia to interview her for his biography on her late husband Neal Cassidy, NASCAR darling who died 5yrs ago on the track. Falling in love with her was not part of the plan.

Dance With the Gypsy tells the story of Broadway star Ruby and how she falls in love with Graham Humbert, the producer of her new show, Secrets.

Clipping an Angel's Wings tells the story of Hollywood star Regina and Robin Locksley, the PI she hires to protect her from an unstable fan.

And finally, A Spy Finds a Home, David and Mary Margaret’s story. Dr. Mary Margaret Blanchard hires David to find her parents, scientists who have been kidnapped by a terrorist group. Once all the dust settles, Mary Margaret brings David back to the family he left many years ago.

It's not necessary for you to have read the other fics in the series to enjoy this, but this fic does reference people and circumstances introduced in the other fics.

And now, to give credit where credit is due. All the love and thanks in the world to Joni and Marta, my FABULOUS betas. This fic wouldn't be here without them, so please give them a hand...��🏻 And second to Kit, the creator of the INCREDIBLE artwork up above!! Isn't it AWESOME???!!!! I could stare at it FOREVER!!!! Thank you so SO much, babe!!!

Thank you all so much for reading!!!

Summary: A year after Regina and Robin's wedding, the entire Swan, Jones, and Humbert clan descend on Emma and Killian's Virginia farm for Christmas!

Rating: G Total Christmas fluff ahead!!

Words: 7100

On ao3, if that's your preference.

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @xarandomdreamx @undercaffinatednightmare @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @superchocovian @pirateprincessofpizza @tiganasummertree @anmylica @cosette141 @motherkatereloyshipper @zaharadessert @jonesfandomfanatic @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kymbersmith-90 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @wistfulcynic @mie779 @snowbellewells @lfh1226-linda @aprilqueen84 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pirateherokillian @elfiola @ilovemesomekillianjones @justanother-unluckysoul @poptart-cat-78 @myfearless-love @goforlaunchcee @searchingwardrobes @gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @djlbg @cocohook38 @cs-rylie @thisonesatellite @donteattheappleshook @deckerstarblanche @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @fleurdepetite @alexa-fangirl-forever @bluewildcatfanatic @qualitycoffeethings

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Christmas was just a couple of days away. Emma, Killian, and Henry were feverishly getting everything ready to host the entire extended Swan and Jones families. They were expecting a total of sixteen extra guests for the holiday and excitement was running very high.

They didn’t usually have much snow in December, but this year, they were predicting around three inches on Christmas Eve. Henry had never seen a white Christmas, and with all his aunts, uncles, and cousins, in addition to his grandparents coming, this was sure to be the best Christmas ever!

Henry peeked into his baby sister’s bedroom, not surprised to see her awake and standing in her crib. Henry grinned and came in, followed closely by Shep.

“Eny, Eny,” Hope babbled as her big brother approached.

“Do you know what today is, Hope?” Henry asked his sister. “Everyone’s coming today! Mimi and Papaw, Aunt Ruby, Uncle Graham and Poppa, and you’ll get to meet your baby cousins in person, Aunt Regina and Uncle Robin, Aunt M’s and Uncle David, Aunt Elsa and Uncle Liam, Aaron and Dale, and Grandpa Nemo!”

Henry lowered the side of the crib and lifted Hope out, setting her on her feet on the floor. She wasn’t walking independently yet, but she was close and Henry just knew that she’d do it sometime in the next few days while everyone was here. He stood behind her and held onto her hands raised in the air as she started toward the door of her bedroom.

He followed along behind her as they toddled the short distance to their parents’ room. Once they reached the door, Henry knocked.

“Mom? Dad?” he asked, opening the door slightly. Shep pushed the door open the rest of the way with his nose.

“Mamamamamamamama,” Hope babbled. “Dadadadadadadada.”

The lights were still off, but the sun was poking through the blinds. Their dad sat up, his mouth opening on a huge yawn and swung his legs off the side of the bed, motioning for them to be quiet.

“Mom’s still asleep,” he whispered. “Let’s let her sleep just a little more. Go downstairs with Hope, Henry, and I’ll be down in just a minute to get breakfast started.”

Henry nodded and turned Hope around, back toward the door of the bedroom. As soon as they were gone, Killian leaned over to Emma, pressing a kiss to her brow and whispering in her ear.

“You can sleep for a little while longer, babe. I’ll send Henry up to get you once breakfast is ready.”

All he got was a muffled Mmmph in reply. Killian chuckled and made his way to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he came down the stairs and entered the breakfast room to find Henry entertaining his sister in her high chair. Killian smiled and pulled out eggs and the pancake batter he’d whipped up the night before. It only took a few minutes to cook the eggs and start on the pancakes.

“Go wake your mom, Henry,” he said, plating up the first batch of pancakes. Shep sat very attentively and patiently at Killian’s feet as he cooked, waiting to see if his pleading gaze would get him a breakfast treat.

“Don’t even think about it,” he told him with a frown. When Shep’s tail started to wag, Killian sighed. “If there’s any left after Mom eats, I might let you have one.” Shep wagged his tail even harder and Killian rolled his eyes.

By the time Emma and Henry came back down, there was a full plate of pancakes on the table and Killian was cutting one up for Hope, who’d already started on the eggs on her plate.

“So what do we have to do today, Mom?” Henry asked before stuffing a huge bite of eggs in his mouth. Killian gave him a disapproving look.

“You’ve been a big help the last few days, Henry, so there’s really not that much left to do,” Emma said. “All the sheets need to be washed and the airbeds blown up. Oh, and we should make sure there are plenty of clean towels for everyone.” Emma sat back, her face a little stunned. “I still can’t believe everyone’s coming,” she breathed. “This will probably never happen again.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement as her gaze met Killian’s and Henry’s. “This is gonna be the best Christmas ever!”

Killian reached over and covered her hand with his. “Yes, it is,” he said, smiling. “I’m so glad Liam, Elsa, the boys, and Nemo could all come.”

Henry all but bounced in his seat. “When will they get here?”

“Let’s see,” Emma said, opening her phone and checking all the flight times. “Regina and Robin won’t be here until tonight. Their flight doesn’t leave for a couple more hours yet, and Mimi and Papaw are with them. Ruby, Graham, the twins, and Poppa should be here around three. David and M’s, and Liam, Elsa, the boys, and Grandpa Nemo are all getting in around two. You and Dad will go to the airport to pick everyone up, and Ruby and the rest should be here by the time you get back. Regina has a limo bringing them out.”

They finished their breakfast quickly, Henry chatting animatedly about all the adventures he, Aaron, and Dale would have while they were here. He’d met Liam, Elsa, their boys, and Grandpa Nemo almost two years ago when Killian had taken them to meet his family once he got his finished manuscript sent off to his publisher. The three boys were only a year apart, with Henry in the middle, and they hit it off wonderfully. They kept in touch with Facetime and visits during the summer, but Henry was excited for them to enjoy the farm in the winter, especially with the snow expected.

Once the kitchen was cleaned up, everyone went their separate ways, marching orders in hand. Hope had been deposited in her room to play until Henry was done blowing up the air mattresses for his cousins in his bedroom, and in the downstairs study for Uncle Liam and Aunt Elsa. Emma was in the old farmhouse collecting all the sheets off the beds and getting them in the laundry while Killian and Shep headed out to the barn just to check with Leroy that the farmhands and horses had everything they needed for the next few days. With all the company expected, not to mention the holiday itself, there wasn’t going to be time for him to be doing anything out in the barn.

The last book he’d written on Henry’s father, Neal Cassidy, had been his biggest bestseller yet. He’d enjoyed a relatively lucrative career up to that point, between being an investigative journalist for the Boston Globe for several years before turning to writing official biographies for a living. But his book on Cassidy had exceeded all expectations and had brought in a windfall that had allowed him and Emma to not only really fix up the old farmhouse, and hire full time farm hands with Leroy as part time manager, but also to build themselves a new house for their growing family. So now with two large houses on the farm, they could host their very large extended family for the holidays.

After talking with Leroy and seeing that everything was under control, not that he expected anything different, Killian returned to the house to get his white chicken chili in the two slow cookers before heading upstairs to get Hope dressed. It was going to be a long and busy day.

~*~*~

When Henry and Killian arrived home from the airport with David, Mary Margaret, Liam, Elsa, Aaron, Dale, and Grandpa Nemo in tow, true chaos descended. The boys immediately retreated to their shared bedroom, but were quickly summoned back to the family room and kitchen to greet Ruby, Graham, Maurice- who the kids called Poppa- and their new baby cousins, Hunter and Diana. Everyone was thrilled to see the babies, but the six-month-old twins didn’t hold the attention of the older boys very long, so after a round of hugs and making cute faces at the babies, they were off again.

Everyone else gathered in the kitchen, catching up with each other’s goings on in the last year since they’d all been together for Robin and Regina’s wedding. Liam and Elsa’s farm was flourishing, and they were thinking about branching into cattle farming. They already harvested corn for grain and hay, in addition to the apple orchard that was their main crop, and had one cow for milk for the family in addition to a few horses, but the income cattle farming would generate wasn’t anything to shake a stick at and could set the farm up for generations to come.

Ruby was back on stage with Secrets after having the twins, and Graham was as busy as ever scouting for and signing new talent, as well as further expanding Humbert Records’ Broadway presence.

Grandpa Nemo and Poppa were simply enjoying their retirement and spending lots of time with their respective grandchildren.

David and Mary Margaret had gotten married the previous summer in New York before moving to Chicago. David couldn’t bring himself to lie to his family about how he’d met Mary Margaret and how he’d come into possession of a very large estate outside of the Windy City. So, he told them the truth about what he did during the decade he was away from them, in the very vaguest of terms. They knew he was an American spy, and that the estate where they now lived had been left to him by his recruiter and mentor. He wanted to hold on to the last thing in existence that tied him to Lance, so once he and Mary Margaret tied the knot, they’d relocated there permanently.

Now David was dipping his toes into the songwriting business, mostly due to Mary Margaret’s encouragement. Graham and Poppa’s ears both perked at that little tidbit, but David told them not to get their hopes up. He wasn’t interested in singing himself, but might be interested in partnering with someone. Graham told David to get in touch with him after the holidays and he’d see about finding a partner for him.

After getting her parents back, taking some very well deserved time off to plan her wedding, and the wedding itself, Mary Margaret had decided that she wasn’t interested in being sequestered in the laboratory again. Once they settled in Chicago, she’d accepted a teaching position at Northwestern and was loving every minute of it. She enjoyed engaging and challenging young minds in the principles of physics and had trouble seeing herself ever going back to the lab.

Once everyone was caught up, they called the boys down to the kitchen for dinner. With two large pots filled with Killian’s white chicken chili recipe, there was plenty to go around, as well as for their missing family members once they arrived in a couple of hours.

Dinner was loud and happy with about half a dozen different conversations going on at the same time. Killian caught Emma’s eye and wasn’t surprised to see the tears sparkling in the corner of them. He felt a surge of love and contentment inside him to be here right now with almost all of their loved ones beside them.

Killian smiled and mouthed I love you to his beloved. She smiled and mouthed the same thing right back to him.

~*~*~

The next day was Christmas Eve, and the weatherman might find himself unemployed, after his prediction of three inches was so far off from the actual snowfall the farm received overnight. Henry, Aaron, and Dale pressed their faces to the window in Henry’s room, their mouths hanging open and eyes wide as saucers at the blanket of white outside.

The snow was high, and the distance to the old farmhouse was an unblemished carpet that the boys couldn’t wait to get into. After standing there stunned for several minutes, they all scrambled to get into their snow suits and downstairs into the drifts outside, not even bothering with breakfast, Shep hot on their heels.

An hour later, shouts from outside woke Robin in the other house. When Emma, Killian, Henry and Hope moved into the new house, the old farmhouse had undergone a full renovation, bringing it up to 21st century standards and making it company ready. So while all the children and their parents were in the new house, the rest of the family was in the old farmhouse. Robin looked over at Regina, still snoring softly. She was utterly breathtaking in the morning light, but Robin’s brow furrowed as he wondered how she was still asleep. Even when she was in between projects, she could never sleep past eight. He glanced at his phone on the nightstand and saw it was nearly 8:30 in the morning. It had been a very long and exhausting day yesterday, between the cross country flight and the late night spent with her sisters, so he wasn’t going to begrudge her sleeping in a bit.

He rose from the bed and went to the window to see the boys and the dog playing in the drifts that covered the front lawn. Robin grinned at their antics before grabbing his robe and heading down to the kitchen to start the coffee maker.

It was almost another thirty minutes later that Regina finally came down, yawning hugely.

“There’s my Sleeping Beauty,” Robin said, rising from his seat at the bar, placing his hand on her waist and leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Did you sleep ok?”

“I did,” she said, “just not enough of it.” She made her way to the coffee maker as Robin shot a speculative look at Beverly, who simply raised her eyebrows at Regina’s comment.

“Where is everyone?” Regina asked, sitting down next to Robin at the bar and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Mary Margaret, I believe, is in the new house getting things together for the gingerbread cookoff,” Beverly said as she cooked some eggs for Regina. “The men are all outside playing in the snow with the boys,” Beverly chuckled.

“I wanted to wait until you woke up before heading outside myself,” Robin said, kissing Regina on the brow.

“Mmmm,” Regina hummed, eyes shut while taking a sip of her coffee. As soon as she did, she grimaced in distaste and opened her eyes. “Eww… What's wrong with this coffee? Does the Keurig need descaling or something?”

Robin turned confused eyes on his bride as Beverly brought a plate of scrambled eggs over.

“The coffee tastes fine to me,” he commented, taking another sip from his mug. “What does it taste like to you?”

Regina shook her head before speaking. “I don’t know,” she said, the grimace still on her face. “But I don’t like it, whatever it is.” She took a bite of the eggs her mother had made and had barely swallowed the first bite, when her hand flew to her mouth and she lunged for the half bath on the other side of the kitchen.

Beverly gave her a loving yet stern look after she came back out of the bathroom, followed closely by Robin.

“I think it’s time you took a pregnancy test, Regina,” she said.

The look on Regina’s face as she looked at Robin, nearly made Beverly’s heart break. The fear mixed with hope in her daughter’s eyes was mirrored by her husband, although much more hope than fear in his case, and Beverly lifted a silent prayer for them both and the potential addition to their family.

“Here, try this,” Beverly urged, placing some toast on the bar as they came back and sat down. “Might help settle your stomach.”

“Just the thought that I might be pregnant,” Regina murmured, “makes my stomach roll even more.” Robin sat down next to her and rubbed circles into her back as she took a bite. When she was able to swallow with no ill effects, Regina smiled. “Do you really think it’s possible?”

“You’ve slept more in the last week than I think I’ve ever seen you sleep,” Beverly observed, “plus the coffee tasting off and not being able to even take a bite of scrambled eggs without throwing it back up?” She shrugged. “It’s certainly suggestive.”

“She’s right, Regina,” Robin added.

“I don’t want to wait until after Christmas to take a test,” Regina said, softly. “Do you think Emma might have one?”

“Chances are probably decent,” Beverly said, nodding. “Finish eating that first and we can go over and ask.”

Regina hurriedly finished eating the toast- it really did help her stomach- and then they all trooped through the snow, carefully avoiding the gigantic snow fort and snowman the boys and men were busy building. The kitchen in the new house was a hive of activity, with Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Elsa helping Emma get all the ingredients out for the gingerbread bake-off happening later that morning and afternoon. The participants were separated by household, so there’d be five different gingerbread recipes being baked with Mimi, Papaw, Grandpa Nemo, and Poppa judging the results.

Regina made her way over to Emma and pulled her aside.

“Do you, uhhh,” Regina began, picking at the hem of the sweater she wore and not meeting Emma’s eyes, “have a pregnancy test that I could use?”

Emma’s eyes widened, and Regina blushed furiously.

“Really? Are you serious?” Emma asked incredulously before schooling her features. “Yes, I do, actually. Come on.” She grabbed her sister by the arm and motioned to Ruby to follow them upstairs.

They got to the master bath, and Emma and Ruby waited in the bedroom while Regina took the test. Once done, Regina came back into the room, taking a deep shaky breath.

She sat on the bed in between her sisters and looked down at her clasped hands.

“Mom said I’d been sleeping more than she’s ever seen,” Regina murmured. “The coffee this morning was awful, and I was sick when she cooked me plain scrambled eggs.” She shrugged. “So she said I should take a test.”

Emma placed her arm around Regina’s shoulders. “Are you late?” she asked.

“Not technically,” she replied with a shrug. “Not yet. My cycle’s never been exact, and a day or two off in either direction is normal.” She looked at her sisters. “So I wouldn’t have bothered for at least another week.” She took a deep breath, trying to keep her tumultuous feelings in check. She took both her sisters' hands in her own as they waited.

The timer went off, and Regina could feel the blood drain from her face. Ruby and Emma squeezed her hands in reassurance.

“You can do this, Regina,” Ruby encouraged her. “We’re right behind you.”

Regina rose on shaky legs and walked into the bathroom. A moment later, Emma and Ruby heard a loud sob and ran to their sister. She stood in front of the sink, holding on to the edge for dear life with the test in front of her, Pregnant showing clearly in the window. Ruby and Emma wrapped Regina in their arms, tears flowing freely from all three.

Emma was the first to get herself under control enough to speak.

“Congratulations, Mom,” she hiccupped through her tears.

The appellation made Regina dissolve into fresh tears.

“I never thought…” she gasped in between sobs. “Oh, God! Everything I took to get on the plane yesterday! What if…?”

“Do not even think about that, Regina,” Ruby urged her. “Do you know how many unsuspecting moms drink alcohol, or take medications, or do things that aren’t considered safe in pregnancy? And their babies turn out just fine. Your little one will be completely perfect. You mark my words.”

Regina nodded, tears still tracking down her face. She pulled out her phone and sent a text to Robin before hugging her sisters close again.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I love you both so much.”

“Love you, too.”

“Love you, three.”

~*~*~

Robin felt a vibration in his pocket and pulled out his phone to see a 👶🏻 in a text from Regina. He surged to his feet and ran for the stairs. When Emma and Ruby had gone upstairs with Regina, he stayed behind to give the sisters the privacy he was sure Regina appreciated. He may be the potential father, but her sisters had been the ones who’d been with her through all of it and letting them be the first to know seemed like the least he could do. Especially since they were both mothers themselves and had been through this before.

He came into the bedroom to see the three of them caught up in a three way embrace, tears tracking down their faces, and beaming smiles on them all. His own smile broke through as they let go of one another. Regina ran for him. He caught her and swung her around as Emma and Ruby left them alone.

Robin set her back down and planted a hard kiss on her lips, even as delighted giggles spilled from his love’s mouth. He held her tightly, burying his face in the side of her neck. His face and neck were wet from where her tear-stained face had rubbed up against his, and Robin could feel the tears collecting in his own eyes. He pulled back just a bit and rested his forehead against hers.

“I assume it was positive,” he quipped drily.

A bark laugh escaped Regina. “Yes,” she confirmed. “It was positive.”

Robin tightened his arms around her and kissed her gently. “So, when are you due?”

She pulled back completely and picked up her phone. Opening her period tracker app, she calculated her due date.

“August 29th.” She caught her bottom lip with her teeth as she looked at him. He gathered her back in his arms, hugging her tightly.

“Oh, Regina,” he sighed. “I’m so happy.” He could feel her deep inhale as he held her, but she didn’t exhale right away. He pulled back again to look into her eyes. “What is it?”

She swallowed hard, and the tearful happiness in her eyes disappeared to be replaced by a nervousness he hadn’t seen since she’d told him about her history with Samdi Facillier.

“If… if something happens…” She tripped over her words and understanding came over him.

He met her gaze unflinchingly and tightened his arms around her.

“I told you when I asked you to marry me, that you were first. Always and forever,” he assured her. “That if we never had children, you were the only thing I needed. Everything else, we would take as it came.”

Another sob escaped her, and Robin gathered her close again, kissing her on the forehead. “I love you, Regina. And nothing will ever change that.”

~*~*~

The snowball war to end all snowball wars was going on outside with the vast majority of the family taking part. The babies were down for afternoon naps, and all the gingerbread was baked, cooled, and ready for decorating. Except for the gingerbread cake Elsa planned to bake while everyone else was decorating their creations. Regina, Beverly, and Emma were the only three members of the family who weren’t outside romping in the winter wonderland.

Emma suggested they get themselves cups of hot cocoa, and go sit in the gazebo that was part of the wraparound front porch to watch the shenanigans going on outside. The ladies agreed.

They bundled up, grabbed their mugs with the steaming hot beverages and emerged onto the front porch. They didn’t know who was keeping score, but it was obviously a free-for-all and every man for himself.

All except the young boys.

They seemed to be a well-oiled machine, taking cover behind the walls of the snow fort they’d spent that morning building right on the edge of the tree line so they couldn’t be ambushed from behind.

The rest of their family was spread out over the no man's land between the two houses. From where the three women sat, they could see Henry, Aaron, and Dale’s heads pop up occasionally from their fort, sending their projectiles toward wherever their target had sought to hide.

Ruby was behind the giant snowman, a pile of snowballs at her feet. They could see Elsa about ten feet away from the fort behind one of the tall pine trees that shielded the farm from the state highway. Poppa and Marco were on either side of the gazebo where the ladies sat. The porch and gazebo were too high off the ground for the grandpas to be able to see over them and target one another.

Liam played baseball in high school and college and had been good enough to make a career of it, if his heart hadn’t laid squarely on the farm he grew up on and in the hands of his high school sweetheart. His pitching arm was still in very good shape though, so he took up his position on the corner of the old farmhouse, far out of reach of his adversaries, but not so far that he couldn’t reach them with his own arsenal of projectiles.

Mary Margaret crept around the corner of the garage and lobbed a snowball at Marco, catching him on the shoulder. She shouted in triumph before disappearing back around the corner as Marco shouted his indignation at being blindsided.

Grandpa Nemo and Graham were also hiding behind trees near the fort and were staying busy throwing snowballs at anyone who caught their eye while trying to evade the same, with varying degrees of success.

Killian, David, and Robin were nowhere to be seen. Emma sat up, as Killian suddenly emerged from the trees behind the fort, knelt for a moment, and grabbed Henry and Dale around the waist. He rose again, with both boys firmly under his arms and ran headlong into the no man’s land where he unceremoniously dropped them and then ran for cover on the other side of the front porch of the new house. As soon as the boys were on the ground, they were pummeled with snowballs from all sides. Having the protection of the fort, they’d been hit much less than the others. They howled as they hightailed it back to the fort, shouting threats of retribution at Killian for sneaking up on them the way he had.

As soon as they took cover, Robin and David both emerged from the trees in the same place Killian had only a minute before. The two were obviously working together as they held their snowballs aloft and flushed the boys out from the protection of the fort. The men chased the boys out into the middle of the yard, signaling to everyone else to come out of hiding and hit as many targets as possible. It was a total knock-down-drag-out, with no one getting away scot free.

Henry emerged from the melee, shouting at Emma.

“Did you see me, Mom? I got Uncle David on the back of the head!” Emma rose from her seat in the gazebo and made her way to where Henry was climbing the steps to the porch.

“I did see,” she assured her son, a wide grin on her face. “I think it’s time for everyone to come inside and warm up. We have gingerbread to decorate, judge and eat, and Christmas movies to watch.”

The other boys were the first to come toward the porch and the promise of gingerbread, followed by the women and grandfathers. The men were still trying to best one another on the snowball field. Robin had taken up a position next to the gazebo, where Regina and Beverly still sat, enjoying their hot chocolate, and laughing at the men trying to one up each other. As they finished their drinks and rose from their seats to head inside, Robin could see David coming around the other side of the house and taking aim at Regina. Time seemed to slow down as Robin ran toward David, aiming his own snowball at him. David threw his snowball, Regina turning to the side to shield herself, as Robin hurled his own, taking a flying leap toward David.

He just missed the snowball David threw, but his aim was true, catching David in the center of the chest. David’s snowball hit Regina on the hip, and Robin tackled David into the snow.

“Gotcha, sis!” David howled, even as Robin rose above him, grabbing the front of his coat. Robin was barely aware of Regina running across the porch and down the steps toward them as red colored his vision.

“What the hell, man?” he shouted at David. “You can’t target the porch! That was safe!” David turned his attention to Robin, his laughter turning into confusion and then anger as he pushed Robin off him and stood up.

“It was just a bit of fun!” he shouted. “It got her on the hip! What’s the big deal?”

Regina got between them, facing Robin. She cupped his face in her hands and begged him to look at her.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m fine. It didn’t even hurt. I promise.”

Robin forced himself to focus on his wife. Her chocolate eyes were filled with worry. For him. He put his hands on her shoulders and matched his breathing with hers. Once he was calmed down, he turned his attention back to David, who stood watching them over to the side, a puzzled and brooding expression on his face.

“She’s pregnant,” Robin snapped, still a little hacked that David had targeted Regina. “She can’t…”

“So what?” David interrupted, confusion now all over his face. “So is Mary Margaret. That didn’t stop her.”

“What?” Regina exclaimed, turning to her brother, surprised.

David shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah,” he admitted. “We were gonna announce it tomorrow night at dinner.” Regina released Robin and turned to David, embracing him tightly.

“Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” he murmured, accepting her hug. “And you, too.” She pulled back and glanced at Robin. At his small nod, she turned back to her brother.

“I think Robin is just worried because I’ve had a miscarriage before.”

David’s brow furrowed. “You have? When?”

“Years ago,” she told him. “Not long after I first came to Hollywood.”

“I had no idea,” David murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. And I’m fine.” She turned back to Robin. “I do think you overreacted, though.”

Robin looked like he’d rather eat nails than apologize, but after a deep breath and hard swallow, he held his hand out to David who took it.

“Sorry I overreacted,” he said.

“No problem. I probably would have done the same.”

Regina smiled at them. “Let’s go in,” she said, looping her arm through her husband’s. “I need your help decorating the gingerbread house.” Looking back out over the lawn, she hollered for the rest of them to come in. “Come on, guys! It’s time for gingerbread!”

At her call, the other three started making their way to the house, still eyeing each other warily. Killian was the furthest away and couldn’t resist one more throw at his brother as he approached the steps to the house. He cackled as the missile found its target, and took off running toward the back of the house as Liam made himself one last snowball and followed. Regina, Robin, David, and Graham entered the front door to see Killian doing a dance in front of the sliding glass door in the kitchen, taunting Liam.

“I will have my revenge, little brother!” Liam called, an evil grin on his face. “The next time you come out here… revenge will be MINE!” He dropped his snowball into the drifts lining the back porch and climbed the steps as Killian opened the door for him.

“Good luck with that, brother,” he smirked. The brothers turned toward the kitchen where the gingerbread was all laid out on the island and some of the creations were being moved to the table, to give everyone room for decorating the tasty treats.

Elsa’s cake was already in the oven, and the smell was permeating the whole house.

Mary Margaret and David had gone for simple gingerbread boys and girls, and they were hard at work decorating them with royal icing.

Regina was getting their gingerbread house constructed while Robin was laying out the candies they’d soon be decorating with.

Graham joined Ruby in her construction of a gingerbread Christmas tree.

Liam moved into the family room where Elsa and all the grandparents were on babysitting duty, keeping the kids occupied while the others worked on their gingerbread creations. White Christmas played on the TV, and Liam sat on the sofa next to his wife. He put his arm around her and kissed her temple.

“The cake smells delicious,” he said in her ear. Elsa smirked and looked at her phone.

“It has about five more minutes. We’re sure to win. Nothing beats just an old fashioned gingerbread cake.” Liam hummed his agreement.

Killian moved to the other end of the island from Robin and Regina to help Emma get their gingerbread church put together. She’d found the pattern on Etsy and was determined to make it, no matter how complicated it might be.

Once everyone was done- well, almost everyone, anyway- Marco, Beverly, Maurice, and Grandpa Nemo came in from the family room. They gathered around Emma and Killian’s gingerbread… something…

“It was supposed to be a church,” Emma said surlily. The four walls were intact, but that was about it. The roof was very crooked and the steeple was completely missing, the required pieces scattered around the island. Everyone laughed good naturedly before Beverly took a bite.

“It tastes good, anyway,” she observed. “But considering it’s not decorated, or even fully constructed for that matter, I think it’s safe to say…” she looked at her grumpy daughter with an amused smile on her face, “y’all are not going to win.”

The judges moved to Elsa and Liam’s cake. It was still warm, having had about twenty minutes to cool, and topped with powdered sugar. They all had a small piece of the cake and declared it absolutely wonderful. Elsa and Liam exchanged smug smirks.

Ruby and Graham’s gingerbread Christmas tree was incredible. Very carefully constructed with royal icing, it was a full tree with every “branch” tipped with the white icing- including the star on the top of the tree- and decorated with red and green mini m&m’s.

“I don’t even want to try it!” Poppa exclaimed. “It’s too beautiful to eat!”

But they did eventually try it, after the requisite photos were taken, and found that it was delicious, as well.

Robin and Regina’s gingerbread house was fully constructed and decorated, but was rather sloppy. Icing was dripping in places, and the candy wasn’t staying on. It tasted good enough, but Regina still scowled as the judges ranked their creation in Fourth Place.

David and Mary Margaret’s gingerbread boys and girls were delicious and impeccably decorated. After unanimously being declared the winner of the bake-off, David spoke.

“It’s my secret ingredient to the gingerbread recipe,” he declared. “Nutmeg.”

Regina scoffed. “How can you call it a secret ingredient if you just told everyone what it was?”

“I didn’t say how much I used,” he said, smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, it’s still a secret.”

After the judging was complete, all the ingredients for personal pizzas were pulled out of the fridge and everyone set to making their own dinner. The big meal would be enjoyed on Christmas Day.

Once dinner was eaten and the kitchen cleaned up, Marco pulled out his banjo and started picking out favorite Christmas carols. Regina sat down at the piano while Ruby, David, and Emma went to collect their violin, flute, and guitar, respectively.

Beverly felt the tears sting her eyes as her family made music together. It had been over a decade since this had last happened and she never realized how much she missed it. With David gone to the ends of the earth, literally, plus their schedule and how rarely they were able to visit with all three of their daughters, she’d had to bury that desire and longing for her entire family to be together in the depths of her heart. And now, the complete happiness and joy threatened to overflow.

The musicians smoothly transitioned between songs, the chord progressions and accompaniment coming back as if they’d been practicing together for weeks. Beverly had to stop singing, the lump in her throat too big to overcome, and just listen to the blend of voices. Maurice sat beside her on the sofa, Hunter cradled in his arms, and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“I know what Marco told me all those years ago,” he began, “but I would just about give my eye teeth to get all of you in a recording studio.” He moved away from her with a knowing and speculative gleam in his eye. Beverly laughed and patted him on the knee.

“I think you’d have an easier time setting up a recording studio right here in this room, than getting all these people together again.”

He looked back out over the crowded room. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” he mused.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at the smiles on everyone’s faces,” he said. “I know it’s hard to coordinate schedules between this many different families, but I have a feeling this is something everyone here is going to want to continue for many years to come.”

Beverly sighed. “I’d give anything…”

Maurice smiled gently at her and patted her knee. “So would I,” he assured her, his eyebrows rising. “Think about it.”

Taking a deep breath, Beverly joined her voice to the chorus of voices around her. The soft strands of Silent Night accompanied only by David on his flute and Ruby on her violin poured over her, and she closed her eyes and let herself drift on the music. She raised a prayer of thankfulness for this time together and determined to never take it for granted as the song came to an end.

Beverly opened her eyes and surveyed the scene in front of her. The babies were sound asleep in the arms of Maurice, Graham, and Killian, and Dale’s eyes were glazed over with exhaustion while Henry was in the middle of a jaw-popping yawn.

“I believe it’s time for bed, my loves,” Marco said quietly. The boys joined together in a disappointed awwww, but everyone else was smiling or nodding their agreement. Couples rose and joined together as parents gathered the children and began herding them off to bed.

“Christmas breakfast here at 9, and then presents after,” Emma told everyone. “We’ll see everyone in the morning.”

Murmurs of good night, see you in the morning, and Merry Christmas followed everyone out until the quiet of Christmas Eve and the snow-covered landscape outside enveloped both houses as everyone found their beds and fell into the dreams of home, the dreams of love, the dreams of family.

~*~*~

Christmas Day was everything Christmas dreams were made of. Snow still blanketed the ground, Christmas breakfast was delicious and plentiful, and the enormous pile of presents under the tree was utterly demolished- with everyone very pleased with the gifts received. Liam did get his revenge on Killian for his surreptitious ambush the day before when the men and boys engaged in another round of the snowball fight. Then the boys spent the rest of the afternoon engaging in an epic Nerf gun battle since they’d been gifted a veritable arsenal. Now it was time for Christmas dinner. Everyone gathered around the enormous dining room table for the blessing before loading up their plates with the feast that had been prepared by the ladies of the family.

“Before we have the blessing,” David said, standing from his place at the table, “we have an announcement to make.”

“So do we,” Robin said with a smile before nodding at David to continue. David looked down at Mary Margaret, whose cheeks were colored with a pretty blush as she looked at her husband and nodded.

“Mary Margaret and I are excited to announce that we’re expecting…” Loud cheers from around the table interrupted his words, and David grinned widely before sitting down again and nodding at Robin across the table from him.

Robin rose to his feet as the cheering died down and asked the question everyone wanted to know.

“When are you due?”

“August 6th,” Mary Margaret said.

“Congratulations,” he said, sincerely before looking around the table at everyone gathered. “Regina and I have our own announcement, as well. We are also expecting.” More cheers interrupted his words, as Marco stood from his seat and moved around the table to hug Regina tightly. When the cheers died away again, Robin continued. “We’re due at the end of August,” he said, looking at David. “The 29th.”

Marco stayed where he was, his arm around Regina’s shoulders and asked everyone to bow their heads.

“Father in Heaven,” Marco began, “we thank You for the many blessings You’ve given this family. Material blessings, yes, but so much more. The blessings of how You’ve brought this family back together and expanded it is more than we ever hoped or dreamed. You’ve been so good to us, and we thank You for it. We thank You for the gift of Your Son, Whose birth we celebrate today. We pray that Your hand would continue to be upon us and all those we love. We pray for both these pregnancies, that You would keep Your hand on the mothers as well as the children they carry and bring them to a successful birth this summer. We pray that You will bring us all together again next year, if not before. Now, please bless this food that we are about to receive. May it nourish our bodies and spirits. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

As everyone trooped into the kitchen to dish up their plates, Marco looked over his family and felt like his heart would burst with the blessings that had been showered on him. He didn’t know what the future held, but with the love binding the Swan, Jones, and Humbert families together, there was no doubt the future was a bright and happy one.

The End

~*~*~

Thank you all so much for reading and sharing!!! Merry Christmas!!

#a swan family christmas #krystal writes #a family affair #art by kit

24 notes · View notes