#mother of the bride dresses over 50

[sunny44]

All these years (Part 6)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ex girlfriend Reader

Warnings: a few conflicts and stuff

Summary: Separated by a disagreement, Charles and Y/n meet again after years apart and all the feelings they had repressed come flooding back.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The party was starting, and Arthur and Carla were having their slow dance as a couple. I was smiling, watching them until the music ended and another one started, and other couples hit the dance floor.

"Do you want to dance?"

"With you? No, thank you," I replied. He rolled his eyes and took my hand, pulling me. "Are you deaf?"

"Can you stop hating me for a minute and just enjoy the party?" I sighed and put my arms over his shoulders. "Your mother is smiling at us like a psychopath; I'd say the Joker's smile is smaller."

"I'm sure she is," I rolled my eyes, and he looked puzzled.

"Are you two okay?"

"We haven't been okay for years."

"What do you mean?"

"Since we broke up, she never treated me normally. She said I should have given up my job and stayed here, married you, and stayed home like a typical 50s woman, taking care of the kids while you work to support the family," I said, and he continued to look at me. "Her ideal family is one where the woman doesn't work, and the man provides, and that's definitely not for me."

"So, she treats you badly because we broke up?"

"Exactly. So, besides having to deal with what you told me, I had to deal with the fact that my own mother defends the guy I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with when, in fact, I was completely wrong."

"Sorry for ruining so many things in your life."

"It's okay. In the end, I got most of what I always dreamed of, so..." He agreed.

The music ended and dinner was about to be served, so we all went to our respective seats.

A few hours had passed since we were at the party; I danced until I couldn't anymore and went to change into a shorter dress and definitely put on sneakers. Then I returned to the party, and Carla was about to throw the bouquet. Of course, I didn't want to participate, but my mother pushed me, and since they were recording it for memories, I couldn't just walk away. I just needed to dodge it.

But, of course, it went wrong because instead of the classic back toss, the bride simply turned and threw it at me and out of instinct, I caught it.

"I think you should throw it again; I don't even have a boyfriend." I extended the bouquet to her, and she declined.

"You don't have one, but there are some who wish you did," she pointed to where Charles was smiling at me.

"You'll pay me for this," I muttered through gritted teeth, and she laughed.

"When you're marrying him, you'll thank me for this."

"Keep dreaming about that."

She laughed, and I went to the table to leave the bouquet, and when I turned around, Charles was there, and I bumped into his chest.

"I told you we'd get married."

"We're not getting married, Charles, we're not even dating."

"We've moved past the dating part."

"We've definitely moved on so much that we broke up," he rolled his eyes.

"That's just a technicality," I scoffed, and he took my hand. "Come on, let's dance again."

"Okay, let's hear the toast." their mother said on the microphone, and Charles pulled me closer to the stage. "Charles is taking care of this because I know if I do it, I'll start crying and ruin the party."

He let go of my hand and climbed on stage, adjusted his shirt; he had already ditched the tie and was only wearing the shirt, giving a glimpse of his chest.

"Well, I haven't rehearsed or written anything because I think there's nothing better than saying the words we feel we should say at the moment, so here we go," he took a deep breath. "The moment you meet the right person, your entire perception of life changes. A life that you had planned with what you want and don't want changes completely because you love that person so much that you include them not only in your life but in your purposes as well. You imagine celebrating life's small victories with that person, and the little things that you didn't care about before become significant when you have someone to share them with."

By now, I was already crying because to a certain extent, we had all that; the small things became huge when we celebrated them together.

"And many times, we only realize how important that person is to us when we lose them," he continued speaking, and I felt eyes on me, probably from our families. "So, it makes me very happy to know that my little brother Arthur found the right person to spend his life with and enjoy the simple moments that life offers us. TO THE BRIDE AND GROOM!"

Everyone applauded, and before leaving the stage, he looked directly at me; I could see that his eyes were also filled with tears, but the difference was that I was on the verge of sobbing.

I decided to go to the bathroom to calm down. I entered it and went into one of the stalls, sat on the toilet lid, and let all the pent-up sadness and anxiety pour out. I heard the door opening and suppressed my cries, placing my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.

"Hey, I know you're in here," the voice continued as I sat there. "Come out so we can talk."

I stood up and after a few seconds of contemplation, I decided to leave the stall, unlocking the door. He had a half-smile and hugged me. I buried my face in his chest, allowing all that agony and sadness I was feeling to spill out. He kissed my forehead, and one of his hands was on my back.

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"The speech?"

"No, not the speech, why did you have to ruin the best thing that had ever happened in my life?"

"I don't know babe, I don't know," he kissed my forehead.

"I just wanted you to be happy for me. I wanted to come home and tell you that I had gotten the best opportunity for someone who had just graduated and all I got were screams and disapproval," he remained silent. "You treated me as if I were nothing in your life, as if I had meant nothing to you."

"But you were and tou still are the most important person in my life, and I made a mistake, a mistake in letting you walk out that door," I sniffed and let go of him.

"You don't know how many times I regretted letting you leave through that door or how many times I wanted to find you."

"But you never did."

"I did, yes," he looked at me. "A few months later, I went to Milan to find you, and I saw you smiling and walking with another guy, and I thought I had already moved on, so I decided not to ruin your life anymore."

"That was Benny, my college friend, and he's gay."

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. When Arthur told me he was going to propose to Carla and how he was going to do it, all I could think about was you and how much I thought about doing that with you. I love you, and I will always love you, Y/n."

"Sorry, but this is the women's bathroom." Charlotte entered and smiled when she saw us. "Hi again, Charles, your mom is looking for you and what happened to your shirt?"

"I accidentally got makeup on it," I said, wiping my tears.

"You were crying? My goodness, are you okay? Do you need anything?" She asked me and I smiled.

"No, thank you, Charlotte."

"I'll talk to your brother and see if there's any spare clothing."

"Don't worry about that; I can cover it with my arms and put on the blazer again."

He left the bathroom, and she smiled at me, turned on the faucet, and wet some tissues, passing them over my eyes, probably eyeshadow.

“I'll help you.” she takes the bag from me and hands me a handkerchief. “Are you all right?”

“I can't say, we have a bit of a troubled past.”

“It was you he was referring to in his speech, wasn't it? I saw that he was looking at someone but I couldn't see who it was.”

“It was about me, yes.”

“I'm really sorry and I don't know what happened to you but he seems really sorry." she says, rubbing something in my eyes that I think is a shadow.

“I know.”

After she helped me, I went back to the party. I don't think anyone had noticed that I was missing, which I was thankful for, because I didn't want to have to explain why I was different from before.

“Hey, are you okay?” Arthur appears with Megan.

“I am.”

“You sure?” I agree. “I'll be right back.”

“Charles was with you, right?” she asks and I agree.

“How did you know?”

“Because he went out and put his blazer back on and you're wearing different make-up, and I know when you're crying. Not to mention that Charles and you disappeared right after his speech.”

“Yeah, what he said got to me more than I thought it would.”

“He meant it.”

“I know he has.”

"Can I ask you two questions, and you answer honestly and without irony?”

I nodded in agreement.

"Do you still love him?"

"Yes." I answered without thinking twice

"Do you still think you can give him a chance?"

"I don't know; it's all so confusing. As much as I love him and want to go to him now and forgive him and never let him go, I also want to keep my heart away from him because I don't want him to break it again."

"Can I be honest?" I nodded. "I've lived with you both for years, I've seen you be everything to each other and I've also seen you become nothing afterwards. I've lived with you both all these years you've been apart and believe me, he's changed a lot. Charles is no longer the same guy he was when he said those things to you.

And you know that as your best friend I would never lie to you and as much as I love Charles I will always be there for you. Without you I probably wouldn't have met the love of my life who I'm married to right now. So trust me on this one and go after him, say what you feel and say what you're afraid of and be together again, you don't know how bad it is to see two people who clearly love each other stay away from each other."

"I'm just scared."

"I know you are, and you wouldn't be human if you weren't. But you might regret it if you don't try. You've been apart for years and it will be like starting over because, besides not being the same people anymore, you don't know what each other is like. This is your fresh start, Y/n. Charles is completely different from what you remember, so everything will be different."

I wiped a tear that had fallen, hugged her, and she smiled at me.

"I'm going to talk to him.” she said, excited, and Arthur appeared again.

"What did I miss?"

"Y/n is going to talk to your brother," she said, and Arthur did a little dance, making me laugh.

"I'm so happy about that.” he kissed my forehead. "Well, I think I'd better go after him because he's leaving."

"I'm going now."

I ran outside and saw that it was raining, and from a distance, I saw Charles heading towards his car. I started walking fast, but with those damn heels, I'd never catch up with him.

I stopped to take them off and started running; on the way, I shouted his name and he stopped, looking at me in confusion. I ran even faster and managed to reach him.

"What are you..."

"Just shut up." I said and kissed him.

I held his face with both hands after I left the heels on the ground; he didn't understand for a few seconds, but soon he reciprocated. Charles put his hands on my waist, squeezing it lightly, and we separated for lack of breath; our foreheads were touching, and I could see him smiling with his eyes closed. The rain was still falling and getting stronger.

"Not that I'm complaining, but why did you do that?"

"Because I realized that even after all these years, I still feel everything when you're near me, and it was just that quick 'hi' you gave me on the day we saw each other again, and in a second, everything I felt for you came back." He was still motionless, listening to what I was saying. "And you probably don't know this, but you're the only one, even after all these years."

"What does all this mean?"

"It means I love you, Charles Leclerc and I always will."

He smiled and kissed me again, and my God, how I missed that kiss and his touch.

"I love you too, and I always will, Y/n Y/l/n."

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“My babies got married.”

Tag list: @formulas-bitch @nuggetvirgo @lndonrris @cmleitora @janeholt3 @coffeewhore18 @blueflorals @agentadhd @eviethetheatrefreak @honethatty12 @lec-16 @ariamox @boherahpsody @ssararuffoni @leilani13gc @alldaysdreamer @minmira95 @dessxoxsworld @dessxoxsworld @vellicora @meadhbhcavanagh @viramila @lightdragonrayne @morenofilm @millinorrizz @leclercdream @buendiabebeta @ironmaiden1313 @julesandro @ssararuffoni @sialexia @notleclerc @glow-ish

[starry-eyes-love]

Marriage Dynamics-Happy Halloween

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (18+, Minors DNI), AU universe, No Outbreak

Summary | Joel takes his wife out to a Halloween-themed party. A slight disagreement changes the course of the night for both of them but ends with Joel and his wife giving each other some much-needed attention in the woods.

Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI, Explicit Smut, Age gap (Joel 52, reader 37), married with husband/wife dynamics, language, fluff, arguments with angst, dom/sub dynamics (a bit), daddy kink, pregnancy reference (if you squint at the end), alcohol consumption, driving after alcohol consumption (don’t do this people, drive sober)- in the story Joel isn’t even tipsy with alcohol, piv sex, creampie (they’re married folks, and she wants it), body type descriptions (slight), reference to Halloween costumes. Sorry (not sorry) about this one guys, man it’s a rollercoaster ride like any marriage is with a lot of steamy smut at the end. Enjoy & Happy Halloween!

Word Count: 9.1 K

“I know mama, I know,” he said, closing his eyes and trying to will his impending release off a bit so he could give you what you needed.  When he opened his eyes he looked into yours and saw that you were staring into his soul. You whispered, “I need you husband.” Joel smoothed his hand over your hair and whispered “I know baby, I see you, and I’m right here.”  Joel then bent down and passionately kissed you as he deepened his motions.

October 31st, Halloween

It has been a long time since Joel, your husband, has felt these intense feelings for you, his wife. Yes, you were beautiful, the mother of his 2 children, and a step-mother to his first born daughter Sarah. But something was different about tonight, especially when he saw you walk down the stairs in that black silk dress hugging your curves just right.  Tommy, Joel’s brother and your brother-in-law, agreed to watch the boys tonight so you and Joel could have a night out for just yourselves. Sarah was already out of the house and in her second year of college in Seattle, so she wasn't around to help out as much as before. Your friend, Tasha, had convinced both you and Joel to come out to an adult-only Halloween themed party.  After many discussions with your husband, and a few nights where he slept on the couch, you both had finally agreed to one night of adult-only festivities, including dressing up in costumes.

Joel didn’t want to do anything that was too flashy, as he didn’t usually feel comfortable doing things like this. You agreed that a simple costume, him going as Dracula, would be appropriate.  After several discussions, you decided to go as a female vampire for yourself.  Joel had teased you and asked if you were going to be going as Dracula’s bride, and you adamantly said no. Explaining to him that Dracula’s bride was older, had white hair, and never got much attention from her husband. When Joel teased you asking why that was a problem, your response was “I want to go as something different than what reality is.”  Your statement had caused another argument where your husband was, once again, spending another night on the couch.

It wasn’t that you weren’t happy in your marriage, you were.  But things with Joel Miller had gotten stale.  You ate at the same restaurants, watched the same TV shows, hung out with the same people, and did the same things every day without any deviation.  You missed the fun nights the two of you would have when you two were dating. You'd been together for 17 years, 15 of those years married. In the past the two of you would stay up all night talking, fuck on every possible surface of your home, including inside Joel's truck. 

Even though Joel was almost two decades older than you, now in his early 50s, he looked good, really good. He was physically fit, had a little bit of a softer tummy, not the rock hard abs younger men had. But he looked good with no shirt on and just pants. He had a construction worker's build, salt and pepper hair, and facial hair that you found out that you loved. In bed Joel was amazing, always has been. He'd get you to cum multiple times if he wanted to, that is if he wanted to. 

Over the past year the bedroom activity was nice, but lacked a bit of passion or intensity. He could get you there with ease, but you wanted your man to breed you, show you who was boss, edge you, something. You didn't know how to ask him for more, considering he was always so exhausted most of the time. 

Joel owned Miller Contracting, his own contracting business. It was an established business for a long time, but recently it had expanded out and was taking on larger projects. About a year and a half ago Joel remodeled a client's kitchen. The client was a CEO of a major company, something no one knew. But Joel said he never cared, he always did quality work as if the person owned everything. He took pride in working with his hands and creating things he loved. The client loved Joel's work so much that when the large company expanded into a different nearby town, Joel was the person they called. He nailed the largest contract in history of Miller Contracting, it was a full time year around job that was going to take 3 years to finish. He hired 30 employees to help get the project done on a large high rise that was going up. 

About a year ago is when the bedroom activity became lackluster, and that was the same time Joel started his large contract. He worked longer days, sometimes also weekends. He made time for his family and boys, making sure to be a present father. He attempted to be an attentive husband in the bedroom, but you could see how exhausted he was. Some nights you cried yourself to sleep as Joel fell asleep on the couch, right before he agreed to give you some much needed affection.

But tonight was going to be different, you thought. Tonight you wanted to feel young and alive again.  So you decided to buy a sexy black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, that gave yourself a good amount of cleavage, and was mid-thigh in length. You paired it with some sexy lingerie, just in case someone went looking later on, someone you were hoping was your husband.  After you finished dressing yourself, doing your makeup, and spraying on your expensive perfume (the one that Joel bought you a year ago as a gift apologizing for falling asleep early), you put on your high heels and then walked down the stairs.

"Babe, we gotta get goin' if we want to make it on-" Joel said as he turned around to see you descend from the stairs in your costume. Joel wasn't able to finish his sentence the moment he laid eyes on you. He always thought that you were a beautiful woman. But tonight, in this moment, it was like his heart stopped beating and he could hear Angels singing from heaven.

"Cat got your tongue, Big Boy?" you whispered as you got up to him with a sly smile.

Joel had his eyes focusing hard on your cleavage and your curves. When he heard you call him his nickname, Big Boy, he almost fainted. He hadn't heard that nickname since he dated you. It usually meant that you were in the mood for some dominance in the bedroom later, where he'd show you who was in control. He had to admit though that since having children, the whole play dominance in the bedroom had stopped because with younger kids, you sometimes had to be fast. He'd still take care of you, but not in the ways he'd used to. Joys of marriage and kids that no one ever talked about. He still loves you, but he did miss your sexual appetite. He just didn't know if he could do some of those moves anymore like he did 10 years ago.

"You, uh" Joel squeaked. 

As the high pitched notes came out of his voice, you smiled and chuckled a moment to yourself before you said "what was that baby?"

Joel glared at you for teasing him. He then pulled at the collar by his throat, cleared his throat, and said in a husky manly voice "You look wonderful, darlin.'" 

"Well thank you, handsome" you said with a slight wink as you turned to walk out the door, swaying your ass just a little bit more for your husband's roaming eyes.

As Joel watched you walk away he let out a low growl at how you looked.  Joel wasn’t a religious man, but he definitely was thanking the good Lord on high tonight for seeing you like this. He took a small breath and let it out in a huff as he followed you outside, saying to himself "that woman's tryin' to fucking kill me."

The entire drive to the party Joel kept glancing over to where you were seated. You were looking out the window with a solemn look on your face. He kept trying to figure out why you had that look. Sure, the two of you have been arguing more. But he thought the both of you had made up, especially when he fucked you in the bed the other night instead of sleeping on the couch yet again. That night he made sure to give you two orgasms, and not just the usual one.

Unable to figure out what was going on in that pretty little head of yours, Joel decided to reach over and lightly grab your hand. He brought it to his mouth, kissed your knuckles gently while saying, "you look absolutely beautiful tonight baby. I feel like I just landed into a dream with you, one that I never want to wake from." He then gently placed your hand back on your thigh, and gave it a little squeeze before returning his hand to the steering wheel.

He saw that you looked down at your hand, like you could still see something there when you said with a slight sniffle, "yeah me too, and I hope I never wake up." Then you went back to looking out the truck window. In that moment, Joel felt his heart ache. Why did she just say that?, he wondered. "Baby, I-"

"Forget it Joel, it was nothing. I didn't mean what-" 

"You meant something by it darlin'" Joel said, interrupting you. 

"Baby, I don't wanna fight" was all you said to him.

"Not fightin' Angel," he said turning back to the road. "Are you happy or- or angry with me yet?" he said with a slightly shaky voice, hoping that you weren't angry yet.

"Joel, oh my God, no baby, I'm not angry. I am happy, incredibly happy. I just miss how we used to be, that's all," you say trying to defuse the situation.

Puzzled, Joel glanced over at you and said "what do you mean, how we used to be?" 

"It's just, you know. It ain't as good as before" you say quickly avoiding his gaze.

"What? What ain't as good as before?" Joel questioned you. As you sat in silence Joel's stomach started twisting in knots trying to figure out what you meant. After a moment he said "Angel, please." 

Silence continued from you.

"Baby please, please answer me? What ain't as good, is it our marriage you don't like, or?"

"It's the bedroom, Joel" you said with a rushed voice.

"What's wrong with the bedroom? Is it the decorations or-"

"I don't like how we fuck, ok? It's not as good as it used to be. It's honestly stale" you say with a sarcastic laugh. "Instead of me feeling like I’m fucking my husband, I don’t know, I feel like I'm with a total stranger. Someone who I really don’t like. I walk away hating it, or worse, feeling like no one cares. I just wish it was like it was before with us, where you'd see me, and actually want me."

“I want you” Joel snapped in defense, emotions swirling around his stomach and head like a hurricane. His mind was trying to figure out what was happening in front of him.

“No you don’t Joel, we both know that’s a lie. Sure, you want me because you have to. That’s it. I’m a checklist you have to occasionally check off. Must have sex with my wife, check. You haven’t really wanted it for years, cause if you did, you’d known that I wasn’t always having orgas-” 

As you glanced over at Joel mid sentence, you were instantly mortified at what you saw. Your husband was white knuckling the steering wheel, grinding his teeth, and silently cursing to himself with glassy eyes.  Somehow you had removed the compassion filter of caring and just started to let your mouth run wild. You wanted to take everything back you just said, but you didn’t know how.  As you reached over to try to comfort Joel, he flinched and turned towards the door, away from you. It was then that you fully understood what had happened, you had seriously fucked up.

Joel felt his stomach tighten at your words. His wife, the woman who he cared about and loved deeply, wasn't sexually satisfied with him and apparently had been faking orgasms for a while. From what you said, somehow you no longer liked being with him, and that fucking hurt him so much and cut him so deeply. He loved you, and loved being with you sexually, but apparently you didn't feel the same way with him. So with a shaky voice he said, "Is there, um, is there anything you'd want me to do differently then if I’m not pleasing ya right?"

"No," you said in a meek voice.

"Are you sure?” he said with a huge lump caught in his throat. “It seems like maybe you’d want me to do something differently, cause apparently I’m fuckin’ this all up for you. So what do ya want done different Angel, please tell me" Joel said, trying to keep his voice both steady and even.

With a sigh you said, "Joel, just forget about it, ok. I don't know what I was thinking. I was just saying dumb stuff, I never meant any of it. I love what you do, can’t seem to get enough of it. Don’t worry, ok." Then you reached for the radio and turned it on to try to drown out the uncomfortable silence that now was present between the two of you.

As you thought about what you had said, you felt the feelings of embarrassment and shame creep up your spine. You didn't want to give Joel the wrong impression, and yet that's exactly what you did. It wasn’t that you hated everything he did, you just missed how it used to be. He still gave you orgasms, if that’s what you could call them. They were ok, but they lacked the major intensity that they used to have when you were dating. The more you thought about this, the more you realized that your wants weren't practical anymore with the current life that you were living. You silently sat there scolding yourself for opening up and creating another argument with your husband. 

God, why can’t I just let this stuff go and realize that I ain’t ever gonna get it again, you thought to yourself. I mean, I got a great guy, a beautiful house, children, and financial stability. I should be happy.  And you were happy, or at least you were trying to convince yourself that you were.  The longer you mulled over this in your mind, the more lost in your head you became. The problem was when you got lost in your head like this you didn’t realize that you started to fidget your hands nervously, it was a tick that you had.  You also started biting your lip and saying silently out loud “God I’m just so stupid.”  These were traits that you did when you were really upset about something, but you never fully register that you do them.  However, Joel knows these traits, knows them well.  While you were overthinking things, Joel was slowly grinding his teeth, clenching his jaw, and allowing his anger to rise up in the pit of his stomach. He felt like a  shitty husband, especially when he hadn't realized that he wasn’t satisfying his wife.

Underneath the surface Joel was seething, pissed off, and deeply hurt at the fact that he wasn't performing up to your standards. But mostly, Joel was pissed at your lack of communication on the topic for a long time. Telling him to forget about it, that you didn't mean what you said, and then scold yourself out loud all made Joel very angry. If you weren't satisfied in the bedroom, he wanted to know. He was your husband, goddamnit, and his wife's needs did actually matter to him, no matter what.

Without thinking Joel pulled the truck over to the side of the road, and then slammed it into park. He then turned and faced you stating in an irritated voice "look here little girl, don't you ever tell me something's fine when it ain't. Obviously your husband ain't performing up to his wife's satisfaction. And you better believe it missy, that I wanna hear about it if you're not satisfied. You hear me? Now, I'm only gonna ask you this question once again, and this time I better get an honest answer from ya. What in the hell would you like done differently in bed, if you ain't enjoying it?"

You sat there shocked looking at Joel seething with anger. Even though you wanted to smack him for that tone he just used with you, you also felt bad for him at what you did.  You saw a man who was compassionate and who was hurting. He was searching your eyes, trying to find something to hold on to that you still were ok with him. You also didn't want to argue, but in this moment you saw the hurt look behind those fiery eyes of your husband who you just told wasn't performing up to the level that you wanted. He did care, that much was evident on his face.

You reached your hand out and gently stroked his face while saying "Joel, honey. We both are so busy in life with careers and kids, that we just lost a bit of that spark. You are performing great in bed love, but I miss the days where sex wasn't a chore. Where it was something you needed to have from me, and not something that was a requirement as a marriage. That's all."

Joel took a shaky breath and then let it out with a huff. He closed his eyes and said "how can I communicate it to you, for you to realize that I want you. That I never stopped wanting you?" As he opened his eyes, you saw that they were glassy. "I never stopped needing you baby, what can I do to show you that?"

With a smile you said,"fuck me like you used to Joel," and with that you leaned over and planted a brief kiss on your husband's lips. Joel nodded his head once and cleared his throat, as he felt a thump there. He then put the truck back in drive and continued forward. The rest of the car ride was in silence as Joel contemplated what you said. The only difference was he was now holding your hand and slowly running his thumb over the back of your hand, reassuring both himself and you that he was still here, and that he still loved you.

When you got to the party, everyone was already there. Joel and you walked inside together, but he was quiet. The only statement he asked was if you wanted something to drink and if so what. You told him to get you vodka and pineapple juice, and he said "fine." When he came back you noticed he was drinking whiskey on the rocks, which was only usually reserved for times at home or when Joel was pissed. You didn't let it damper your spirits. You walked around and spoke to people for a while. A fellow contractor quickly got Joel's attention and he was off in the corner visiting with him for most of the night. You found Tasha, your friend, and started talking with her.

After 10 minutes of catching up with Tasha she went for the heart. "So you and Mr. Grumpy pants over there, you guys fighting again?" she asked as she pointed to where your husband was sitting.

"No," was all you said while you took another sip of the second drink you had gotten yourself. Usually Joel would bring you refills of your drinks throughout the night, but not tonight. You saw when he got his own refill, but he never came over to see where you were, or if you needed another drink.

"Oh bitch, please." Tasha said. "Seriously, you and him at it again, huh?"

"Tash, why do you say that?" taking another swallow of your drink while staring at your husband, who has yet to look over at you all night.

"Why? I'll tell ya why y/n, you've been shooting daggers at that poor man all night. Slamming one too many drinks down your throat. So what's up hun?"

"I told him" you say looking down. "I told him how I'm not happy and…"

"No, you didn't" she gasps, shaking her head. You had spoken to Tash before about this and she told you that you needed to open up to Joel about it, but she never thought you'd do it tonight.

"Yup," you said and you proceeded to tell her everything that happened on the car ride over here. "Yeah and now we are here, wherever the hell here is," you say laughing at the reference of being in the middle of nowhere. Which is exactly where you felt your marriage was at the moment, especially when Joel couldn't even look at you. 

"Yeah and who put you in that position girlie?" Tash says, staring daggers at you. You just looked at her dumbfounded, not understanding how any of this could be your fault.

With an eye roll she says "look, you needed to tell him you weren't happy, yes. But not right before you show up here, and not say it the way you did. That's a conversation for home girlie, not a fucking car ride" she says rolling her eyes.

"So what do I do Tash?" you ask in a defeated tone. "The asshole has yet to look at me all night, always talking to someone else. He hasn't even asked me for a dance either, and he knows that pisses me off" you tell her. 

"Well, show him what you want," she said. When you look at her puzzled, not understanding what she meant she adds "For Christ sake Y/n. Go over to your husband and flirt with his big dumb ass. Baby, he's hurting. You just told your husband that he can't fuck his wife right, and that he doesn't give you what you want. He's upset, hurt, and angry at himself. So he's doing everything he can to not think about it, or you, so he doesn't ruin your evening. So go over there and give that cowboy a ride he won't forget" she says, slapping you on the back laughing.

You giggle at her in return and then say, "I suppose I can go over there and show him how a real cowgirl drinks" you say screwing your face up. "Good thing I developed a strong taste for whiskey over the years cause that's all he's been drinking tonight."

After looking at Tash, you give her a big hug and say "thanks chica for always looking out for me. I love you."

"I love ya too, brat. Now go get your man and make sure to fuck him good tonight. Show him how you ride a real bull" she says laughing. 

"Jesus, Tash," you say laughing as you slowly walk away and go over to grab a whiskey on the rocks at the bar. You hated this stuff straight, but you were in the mood to impress the man who was your husband. So as you walk over to the 52 year old man, you quietly bite your lip and think to yourself well, here goes nothing.

Joel was talking to another contractor that you had recognized from the barbeque you held the year before. You remember meeting him there, his name was Dennis and his wife was Sharon. Dennis was about 10 years younger than Joel and still 5 years older than you. Yes, you and Mr. Grumpy pants were 15 years apart in age. You were 37, and Joel was 52. His wife Sharon was a year older than you, and you knew they had kids. But you couldn't remember how many, or how old their kids were.

As you approached Joel, you heard him talking about something with contract work, of pouring foundation, and how his one team member messed it up. You slotted yourself next to your husband and gently placed your hand on his leg, as he was sitting at a high bar table. After continuing their conversation, and neither man acknowledging your presence, you decided to move your hand a little further up on your husband's leg and gently squeeze it. When you still didn't get a response from him you slowly took another sip of the amber liquid in your glass, looking across the bar, as your hand slowly kept traveling upwards towards where you wanted him the most. You saw that Joel had registered your presence by slowly grinding his teeth with his jaw. As you slowly sipped your drink, looking the other direction, you continued your exploration. 

When you were about mid thigh range you heard Joel silently take a deep inhale, followed by a longer exhale. You knew your husband, and knew you were turning him on. As soon as you got to his upper thigh you felt Joel very quickly shove your hand out of the way, then he readjusted himself on the bar stool. After a moment you felt him open his legs a little wider. 

You looked down at your drink and smiled because Joel was giving you the warning not to continue, but also giving you the open door to continue if you wanted. Joel learned that move from you. He would always try to play with you when you'd be out on dates underneath the table. You'd shove his hand away hard, sit further up straight, but then once you'd relax you'd open your legs wider to allow him more access, if he so wanted. This was your classic move and when you grinned smiling down at your drink, Joel shook his head slightly laughing out loud to himself. Dennis took it as Joel was laughing at the joke he was telling, the poor guy. You knew in fact now that Joel wasn't even listening to him anymore, especially when he nudged your leg with his leg slightly. Telling you that he was paying attention to you with his body language, especially when he cleared his throat and then said "please continue" while looking at Dennis. When Dennis glanced away quickly you heard Joel say quietly to you "please continue darlin'" and then he nudged your leg again with his leg.

You couldn't let that silent plea go unheard, so after a few moments of rest to collect yourself and calm your nerves, you slowly started placing your hand higher up on his leg. This time you stopped one hand length below where you were last time, before he shoved your hand off. You let it rest there and then slowly squeezed his thigh, telling him you were still here. You slowly rubbed gentle circles on his leg in a soothing manner. He hummed his approval slightly, telling you that he was relaxed, content and comfortable with your hand position. But you weren't having it. When Joel went and took a drink of his whiskey you moved fast and reached to grab ahold of his crotch in a hard grip while adding a few firm strokes of his cock before you let your hand go. To an outsider it looked like you were scratching your leg. To Joel he spilled half his drink on himself muttering "Jesus Christ" while coughing horribly. People moved quickly around Joel to get napkins and you said "you okay honey? Don't die on me now. Here, I'll go get you another drink" and as you slowly stood you gave Joel a kind smile. Joel glared at you with steal eyes and muttered under his breath "trouble I tell ya, you're gonna fucking kill me woman."

You refilled Joel's glass, and as you were standing there at the bar you didn't know what your next move was going to be. You honestly never thought that far ahead. You knew you just walked right into the Lion's den and yanked the lion hard by the tail with a move you just pulled. You were racking your brain, trying to think of a good excuse that Joel would buy of why you did what you did when you heard behind you "you know, the first time I laid eyes on you, I knew you were trouble. Tommy told me not to chase ya, but I didn't listen. Thought I knew what I was getting myself into. After that, I don't know anymore" Joel said, caging you between the bar and his chest, with your back against his chest. Joel slowly reached around and grabbed your drink while whispering in your ear, "let's see what type of liquid luck the lady's drinking tonight shall we?" He slowly put it to his lips and then hummed his approval as he downed the rest of the contents and slammed the glass back down on the bar. "You think you're clever at the little antics you just pulled?" Joel sneered in your ear.

You didn't respond right away. You knew now that you had pulled the lion by its tail, and that lion was named Joel, who was slowly snarling.

Your lack of response did nothing for Joel's mood, it actually made him angrier. He bent down and whispered in your ear "I asked you a question, love, and I expect an answer." He then slowly ground his pelvis into your ass, to show you why he was mad. He was hard as a fucking rock, and he felt himself throb in his pants. Your little antics spurred a different feeling inside of him, one that was dormant for a bit. The side to claim you as his in a very dominant way. The way he knew you loved and begged for. 

All night Joel talked with Dennis, not because he really wanted to, but because he needed time to mull over what you had told him in the truck. Joel prided himself on taking care of your needs, so when he heard that he wasn't fulfilling that duty, he took it to heart personally. He knew what you liked, he knew that you were adventurous and wanted a man to dominate you in the bedroom from time to time. He didn't know why the two of you stopped. He tried blaming it on kids, but he knew that wasn't the only reason. He was pissed at you for not communicating this to him, but he was more pissed at himself for not seeing it.

You stood facing the bar and felt a weird array of emotions. You could sense Joel's anger, could feel it radiating off from him. Usually in the past this would excite you beyond belief. But something here was different, and it made you feel uneasy. Without thinking, the only thing you said was "yellow."

Joel froze and eased back from you. You said yellow, a warning that you weren't comfortable, and something you never say. He immediately turned you around and said "okay, why yellow?" as he took a step back and placed his hands in his pockets. He acknowledged you, gave you space, and now wanted to know your boundaries. 

"You're mad" was all you said.

"Yes" was his only reply.

"Why Joel?"

"You know why, for the antics you just pulled." 

"I was just trying to have fun" you said, feeling tears sting your eyes. This was not the way you wanted this night to go.

"That wasn't fun Angel," Joel said, taking another step back to give you some more space.

"Neither was you ignoring your wife."

"I had my reasons tonight" Joel said matter of fact to you.

As you stood there it felt like he just smacked you across the face with his cold truth. You thought he wasn't intentionally trying to ignore you, but apparently you were wrong. Tash was right, you should have kept your big mouth shut earlier. 

You looked away and felt the sting hit your eyes of your tears. How did you two get this off track over the years? What happened to you both? You felt a burn hot in the back of your throat. You took a step away from the bar and pulled off your black lace lingerie panties that you had on for your husband tonight. You didn't think he'd be interested tonight in seeing them, but you wanted to give him something. You balled them up into your fist and stepped towards Joel. 

"Here, Happy Halloween. I'm going home now, don't worry, I'll get my own ride. You can do what you want with them I guess, cause I- I'm-" and you felt the tears begin to fall. You shook your head and said "this was all for you tonight, and for me to be seen again. I guess I read the situation wrong. And if I'm being honest, I think I've read you wrong a lot in life. I get it, things are different now. I should be grateful for what I get, and I am. I'll sleep on the couch tonight, and you can have the bed" you say as you turn to walk away. After taking a few steps you turn around and say "for what it's worth, I think you're the sexiest man in the world, and I love you."

As you turn back around to leave, you hear Joel say "Red," and then you freeze. He's never said red, never. And now honestly you're too afraid to ask why. But you know the rules; you give space, listen, and then comfort. You slowly turn and see him looking you straight in the eye again when he says it again. "Red y/n, I said fucking red."

You felt a large lump in your throat at his admittance and anger yet again. You swallow, and with a shaky breath you say, "ok Joel, why red?"

Joel takes a moment to contemplate how he's going to communicate this to you. He takes your lingerie and stuffs it in his back pocket as he approaches you and says "one, you thinking that I don't want this or you. Don't. Don't tell me how I feel y/n, ok?" Before you can respond he speaks again.

"Two, you are not getting a ride home from someone else. You are my wife and even if I am mad or upset with you, I don't ever want you to think I'm not going to keep you safe and take you home. Baby, I'll always take you home."

"Three, don't you give me those sexy lingerie and then think I don't find you attractive, or that I don't want to fuck you. Also, don't ever suggest that I should do it with someone else. That makes me angry. You're the woman I want, and the only woman for me. Understood?"

You just nod your head. "Ok, and finally" he says while taking a step closer to wipe your tears from your face and more gently says, "Finally baby, no one is on the couch tonight. You were feeling neglected honey, and I'm sorry. You're right, we shouldn't have talked about it right before we arrived. That was wrong for both of us, but we needed to talk. Baby, I fucking love you and I'm so damn attracted to you. And for the record, I wasn't ignoring you. I was giving you space and myself space so we both could figure our shit out. And you get what you ask for in life with me, and more. If your husband ain't rockin' your world, I need to know. But don't drop that bomb on me right before we do something like this together, ok? Now c'mere" Joel says while giving you a tender hug.

You both stand together, holding each other for a moment in a comfortable hug. It's right here in his arms that you feel comfortable, safe, protected, and at peace. He's the man that you've always wanted. He's your husband, best friend, and soulmate. As you pull away you look your husband in the eyes and say "ok big boy, take me home and fuck me," then you give him another peck on the lips.

"No baby, I think I got one better" he says as you both turn to head out the door. 

Joel practically dragged you out to his truck, and helped you inside.  He then jogged around to the front seat and then left in a hurry.  When Joel didn’t make the turn to go back to your house you looked over at him puzzled and said “where are we going?”  He just smirked at you and never answered, just turned the radio on and turned it up while singing along to John Mellencamp's 'Hurts So Good’ song.  

When Joel turned on a dirt road that wasn’t marked, adrenaline spiked in your veins.  You’ve never been out here, on this unmarked road, but obviously Joel had.  When he pulled up to a gravel pit, Joel turned the truck and started driving around the gravel pit and through some more trees.

“You know” Joel said, “that dress looks amazing on you tonight baby, kinda makes me hate what I’m gonna do in a moment.”

“What Joel, wh-what are you gonna do?” you whispered panic slowly setting in at how remote the two of you were.

“You’ll see darlin’” is all he said while he gave your knee a little squeeze.

“Joel, uh, baby. You ain’t gonna bring me out here and kill me now are ya?” you said with a small laugh, after all this was Halloween.

Joel looked over at you intently and when he looked back at the gravel path he said “nah babe, gonna do something much better.”

You felt panic spike up in your body and neck, along with desire.  Joel was playing it cool, not giving in to your panicked state that you felt.  He definitely had something planned, that much was certain, and you knew how this situation played out.  You’d find out either when the time was right or if you used a safe word.  But you knew that if Joel had something sexy planned that if you used a safe word it would stop, and you didn't want that. So you sat there quietly and tried to calm your anxiety.

Finally Joel stopped the truck and reached into the glove box pulling out a blindfold.  He held it up to you and said “turn darlin’ we gotta blind fold you for a bit.”  As you turned, you allowed Joel to place the blindfold comfortably on your face.  When he was done, he kissed the top of your head and said “ok baby, color?” You knew Joel was checking in with you, to see if you were still ok.

“I-I don’t know” is what you said to Joel in a quivering voice.  

“Yes you do darlin’, now come on baby, color” he said in a more soothing tone.

“Between green and yellow, honestly” you said while also adding “I want you to continue though, I’m just nervous and a little scared of what to expect considering all of what has happened tonight.”

You felt him gently wrap his arms around you and said softly in your ear “baby, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry for what has all happened tonight, trust me.  This is me making it up to ya. Nothin’ bad’s gonna happen to ya, you can trust me darlin’. If ya want, I can take off this blindfold” he said while reaching to remove it.

“No,” you said, “leave it on Joel, I want you to leave it on.”

“Ok darlin’, I’m gonna help you outta the truck and then we are going to walk for a bit. I’ll help ya so you don’t fall, then I’ll remove the blindfold after we get to where we need to, ok.”

You nodded in agreement.  Joel tsked at that and said “words darlin’, you need to use your words for me.”  

“Yes Joel, I understand.”

“Good girl” he said while giving you a quick peck on the head.  

Joel then followed through with everything that he said he was going to do.  He helped you down and helped you walk through the forest a bit.  You had never been out here so you had no idea what to expect.  Finally after walking, and Joel communicating to you where to step, you two had arrived. He told you to wait for a second and you heard him walk around doing something, but you didn’t know what.  Finally after a bit he was back at your back.  He reached around you and told you quietly in your ear “gonna take this off from ya now. Close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell ya.”

You nodded in agreement, and he huffed saying  "Angel, I ain't gonna ask again. Words," and he lightly nipped your neck and jaw. 

"Yes Joel, I understand. I won't open my eyes."

"Good girl" he said while slowly grabbing your ass and squeezing. "You're always such a good girl f'me." He then gently kissed and lightly nipped your neck at your pulse point. Joel took his time going from your jaw down to your collarbone, and then shoulder. He'd nip you, then use his tongue to soothe the little love bite he just gave you. This drove you wild and he knew it. When he was done, he slowly removed the blindfold.  

Finally after a moment he told you to open your eyes and what you saw was the most romantic thing you had ever seen.  You two were in a little clearing that wasn’t very big, but Joel had lights strung all around the trees that were orange, red, green, and purple in color.  He had cute little Halloween decorations all around, a black blanket on the ground with a dozen pillows.  Two glasses of champagne, and a bottle that was sitting on ice already.  

“What, how?” is all you said looking around and taking notice of the most romantic scene in front of you. 

Joel stood to your side and said “you like it?” 

“Oh my god Joel, yes. It’s so amazing. But baby, how?  How did you do all this?” you asked wide eyed looking at your husband.

“Well, today at work Tommy and I cut out about 30 minutes into the morning to go work on this. The crews had it all under control. Tommy helped me, took us all morning and most of the afternoon. I picked all of it out at the store, and he helped me put it all up.  Teased the hell outta me all day about it, but it was worth it if you like it.”  

You stood there shocked and a little teary eyed at the effort that Joel put in.  As he could sense your mixed emotions he approached you and said “I know things haven’t always been that exciting recently with us, and I know I’ve been exhausted and tired a lot. Baby, I love you more than anything in this world. Tonight, this is for you. For us. For us to reconnect and rekindle that spark between us. I love you” and he slowly kissed you on the mouth. But he quickly pulled back before the kiss could turn heated and said, “come on, let's get comfortable.”

He led you over to the pillows and blanket and got you situated.  You noticed that he bought a whole pile of your favorite snacks and had them all out in little trays with covers on them.  He took the covers off, opened and poured your favorite champagne, and then put some romantic music on.  

The two of you spent the next hour talking, laughing, and joking like you used to do before kids, and the crazy life that you had.  After you had finished the bottle of alcohol you said to your husband “this was perfect Joel, thank you” and then you kissed him on the cheek.

As you pulled away he grabbed your chin and said “that’s not a kiss baby,” while slowly stroking your cheek with his other hand.

“Oh it isn’t” you said teasing, "I thought it was" while gently batting your eyelashes at him.

"No darlin', that's not a proper kiss for your husband who wants you."

 “Then show me big boy, show me what is.” And with that you heard Joel growl low and crash his lips onto yours.  

The next thing you knew you were straddling your husband's lap and grinding down on his crotch hard, trying to get some friction.  He still had your lace underwear in his back pocket. Asshole knew what he wanted to do tonight, you thought. You had a sneaky suspicion that Joel had the plan of getting you out of those lace panties sometime earlier so you could do this without any barriers between you.

After a few more glides of your hips, and a few moans out of your mouth, Joel was unbuckling his pants and taking his hard cock out and thrusting it hard up inside of you.  As soon as he did that you moaned at him stretching you so fast and deep.  “Fuck babe, you’re so perfect for me. Been thinking about fucking this pussy all day, fuck” he said while he started snapping his hips hard up into you.  He wrapped one of his arms around you and tangled his hand into your hair while the other rested on your hip and he helped you grind yourself down into his lap as he fucked up into you.

The two of you were a moaning mess, both chasing your highs fast.  “Joel right there” you moaned as Joel moved both hands to your hips and was moving them back and forth hard and fast. “Fuck baby” you said as you tipped your head back and gave over to your pleasure.  Your senses were heightened dramatically outside and you were getting close.  

Then you felt Joel wrap his arms around you again and then slam you to the ground pounding into you hard and fast saying “fuck woman, why haven’t I fucked ya like this before.”

“Joel” you whined, “baby, please, please I need to-”

“What do you need darlin’, come on, use those pretty words” he said while he continued to fuck you hard and fast.

“God, shit, fuck” you yelled as that coil inside you was winding tighter in your low belly, getting ready to snap.

“Come on mama, say it” he growled in your ear as he placed both forearms on the side of your head, giving you that contact you desperately were craving.  “Come on baby, tell me or I’ll stop” he said, biting your jaw and neck in the process.

“I need to fuck so bad Joel, damn, baby. Please, let me.” you said trying to move him off from you so you were back on top.  He knew what you needed, that you wanted to ride him hard and fast with your hips.  And he loved it when you did, but this was something else. Something primal that was in Joel’s body, his need to claim you as his, to mark you as his.  So he moved his arms underneath your knees and hiked them up and adjusted his position so he was getting more deeper inside of you when he growled “not this time baby, let your husband fuck ya ok. When I’m done, I’ll let you fuck me the way you need to pretty girl, got it.” he said as he swiveled his hips and slammed harder into you.

The angle he put you in was something that caused your eyes to roll back into your head.  He was hitting those parts of you that were deep, that you had forgotten that he could reach. You wanted him to do this more at home and you made a mental note to fix the headboard so it wouldn’t slam against the wall and wake up your kids. You wanted him to do this position more frequently.  

After a few more thrusts and grunts from both of you, you felt your walls flutter around your husband’s cock.  Joel could sense it and said “ya gonna cum for me baby, you wanna come on daddy’s cock?” And as soon as you heard him use the term daddy, you were gone and your orgasm took you like a tsunami. You were mumbling incoherent words, most of them being shit, fuck, or Joel, Joel, Joel from your mouth.

Joel slowed his pace down a bit and slowly was rocking back and forth into you as your orgasm took you.  He was giving you praise. “Good girl, good girl baby, that’s it. Don’t fight it, come on mama, you got it” over and over again.  It felt like this orgasm took a time to die down, but Joel continued rocking into you back and forth through all of it. When you finally came back down to Earth, you opened your eyes and looked up at your husband. Sometime during your orgasm Joel had lowered your legs, and wrapped them around his waist. He was gently stroking your hair, looking at you like he was the happiest man on Earth.

“Wow” was all you said slightly laughing at how fucked out you were.

“Pretty intense there wasn’t it mama” he said while smiling down at you and kissing you passionately.

“Yeah it was Joel, damn. I-I didn’t know”

“See” he said interrupting you “daddy still has a few tricks up his sleeve there darlin.’” You felt Joel slowly start to rock into you back and forth a little faster but still at a leisure rate, giving you praises and affection. You, not realizing what he was doing, opened your hips wider for him and wrapped your legs around him tighter as he continued to rock into you.  Joel just smirked at you, knowing full well what he was doing.  He was building you for another orgasm, and you weren’t realizing it, something that he cursed himself for that he needed to do more often with you.  

As he started to pick up the pace a little, deepening his thrusts you moaned “Fuck Joel, I-”

“I know mama, I know” he said, closing his eyes and trying to will his impending release off a bit so he could give you what you needed.  When he opened his eyes he looked into yours and saw that you were staring into his soul. You whispered “I need you husband.”

Joel smoothed his hand over your hair and whispered “I know baby, I see you, and I’m right here.”  Joel then bent down and passionately kissed you as he deepened his motions.

You needed your husband. You needed him to kiss away the pain you both had been feeling recently.  The heartache of feeling ignored, of feeling left behind, of not finding a connection.  That is what you craved the most, the connection with your spouse.  It was in this moment, with the way he was looking at you, and how he was making you feel, that you felt the two of you were connecting again.  The two of you stared into each other’s eyes as Joel slowly made love to you in the woods. 

Joel rocked into you a few more times, loving the way your walls dragged up and down his cock. After a bit he stilled and moved his arms underneath your legs again to deepen his reach. As he bent down he kissed the tip of your nose and said “I’m gonna give this to you hard and fast again baby. And you’re gonna be a good little girl and come all over daddy's cock with that pretty little pussy again, ok? Then I’m gonna take you home, and fuck you on every surface of our house again, making sure you remember who this pussy belongs to. When I'm through with that, we'll end up in our bed. I’m gonna take advantage this one time of our boys not being home, and I'm gonna make sure that headboard is slamming so fucking hard against that wall tonight, getting deep inside that beautiful little pussy. Then when I’m through fucking ya every way I want, including multiple times with my mouth darlin', I’m then going to slow down and make love to my beautiful wife like she deserves.  You got that darlin'?” he said as he kissed your nose again.

“Joel, if we do that much love making I’m gonna get pregnant again. I’m off the pill, remember, and about mid-cycle. I don’t remember us having that many condoms,'' you say laughing a bit at how descriptive your husband was at his intentions with you. If you were being honest, you were trying to ignore the excited feeling that you had about wanting him to do all of that to you. But you had to be serious, and had to remind him that you weren't on the pill anymore. Your body needed a break from the pill, and because of some weird lab test results that your doctor had seen, she wanted you to stop birth control and go back to using condoms for a few months.

“Well darlin’” Joel said with a smirk on his face “I guess I’ll just have to give you that little girl that you’ve always wanted then, ain’t I.”  And with that, the two of you fell into an intense stride.  Grunting and rutting into one another like two animals in heat, him trying to get in you as deep as he could, and both of you connecting both physically and emotionally with each other.  

You eventually both fell over the edge together, panting each other’s names, him coming deep inside of you. Secretly you loved how your favorite Holiday gave you everything that you have ever wanted in this world. You loved everything about the man right above you, especially when he said "fuck wife, I need you" as he painted your walls with his white ropes of love. You fully submitted to him that night, and allowed him to give you everything in this Life and more. And when the night ended, with both of you finally sated, and in each other's arms once again. Joel finally gave you that little girl that you've always wanted.   

A/N: Happy Halloween guys 🎃

Taglist: @punkshort @shotgun-shelby @strawbunnyx @orcasoul @pedritoferg @chiogarza @jesfreedark @untamedheart81 @rainbow12346 @nandan11 @swiftpascal @eliza-8 @joeldjarin @vickie5446 @nastiasnow @staywildflowahchild @ratoonstown @l3laze

[shyvioletcat]

Long time no see! After having a nap yesterday I was very awake last night and wrote this. I thought I’d join in and write something for @throneofglassmicrofics I used Memory as the prompt, as you can probably tell. And I broke the rules. I went 50 words over but I couldn’t bear to cut anything. Anyway…. Enjoy?

~~~~~

The chapel was lit by mid morning light, rainbows cascading from the stained glass windows. The flowers at the end of each pew elevated the ambiance just a touch more as the white blooms seemed to harness the warm light—nearly glowing. Aelin sat second row from the front, groom's side, a place of honour for her as one of his closest friends. There had been some cursory talk of her being in the bridal party, but in the end it was never going to happen, despite how much it was wanted. The bride and her family were far too traditional for the allowance of a woman in the groom’s entourage, so it was three male groomsmen along with three quintessential bridesmaids to match. All perfectly paired up for the perfect day.

Aelin tried to appreciate it, to smile along and blend in with the excited energy in the air. But the sinking in her stomach was cold and hard as a stone. She couldn’t ignore it, try as she might.

Rowan stood at the head of the aisle, dressed in a dark grey suit and trying his best not to look nervous. He was doing a fair job, he was always good at hiding his true feelings. That was part of the reason they had wasted so much time. Aelin hadn’t known how he felt until it was nearly too late. They’d only had a few precious months together before life got in the way and they had been sent to opposite ends of the world. Rowan was being deployed to gods knew where, traveling the world on whichever Navy vessel he was assigned to, while Aelin went back to Terrasen to work for her father. That had taken her all over the world too and never staying in one place too long. She had desperately tried to hang onto what they had but in the end it hadn’t been fair to him. They had struggled through time zones and lack of communication. In the end Aelin was the one to let him go, let him be free. She would regret that mistake for the rest of her life.

It had been foolish of her to imagine they would find their way back to each other. Rowan was too good of a man for that. Aelin wouldn’t be the one to hold him back from anything. He had so much love to give and a life of his own to live, it was Aelin’s fault she wasn’t there in the right place at the right time. Sometimes Aelin wondered if maybe they had had longer together in those initial months if they might have been able to weather the storm. Now it was too late, she would never know.

After smoothing down his suit sleeve for the hundredth time Rowan looked up, catching Aelin’s eye. He gave her a wink and a wave, his nervousness all but emanating from him. Aelin smiled back, rolling her eyes playfully to tell Rowan to get a grip. Catching her meaning Rowan huffed a laugh before his attention was taken by the appearance of the priest at his side.

The interaction drew the attention of Rowan’s parents in the pew in front, Aelin saw their faces light up as they recognised her.

“Aelin! You made it,” his mother beamed.

It was impossible not to smile back. “I did. Wonderful to see you Iris.”

“You too, sweetie,” Iris said a lent over the pew to squeeze Aelin’s hand. “We know how hard you work and it means the world to Rowan that you’re here.”

Aelin was saved from answering around the growing lump in her throat by the music swelling from the solo cellist in the corner. Everyone stood, knowing what was happening next. Almost as one, the gathering looked towards the doors. Not Aelin, she just needed one more moment. In the end it cost her, because it allowed her to see the look on Rowan’s face. It was filled with so many emotions, down to the tears brimming in his eyes. He smiled at his bride, his gaze never straying as she made her way down the aisle to him. His smile was unfaltering, wide enough that it caused his adorable dimple to appear. Rowan’s happiness was off the charts, filling Aelin’s chest with a bitter sort of happiness. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from it.

Memories flooded her vision, back when he used to smile at her like that, when that dimple in his left cheek would come out just for her. The haunting echos of his touch on her skin, the brush of his lips, the press of his body on hers. In those moments Aelin had never felt more cherished. As tears began to sting her own eyes Aelin had to look away, lest she become a sobbing mess and ruin this day for the man she loved.

Finally, Aelin took in Lyria, filling every definition of a radiant bride. Her dress was pure white, lace sleeves to her wrist with just the right amount of princess puff in the skirt. A veil trailed down her back from the elegant bun her brown hair was spun into. She smiled at Rowan with the same excitement he had. There were whispers of a pregnancy as to why the engagement and wedding were so rushed, Aelin didn’t know the truth of it. If it was true it might just break her. The secrecy first of all, and then because Aelin always imagined it being the one to have Rowan’s children—had been sure of it. That was a future that was rapidly vanishing to nothing but dust.

The congregation sat down and the ceremony began. Aelin barely heard it, almost in a daze. At one point the best man caught her eye, Fenrys sending her a concerned look. The small kindness was too much and Aelin shook her head with the clear message of stop. Thankfully he did and she went back to trying to keep herself together.

When they say I do the finality of it all hit Aelin like a shotgun shot to the heart and she would swear it was the exact moment her heart shattered into a thousand pieces because now all those memories… they meant absolutely nothing.

~~~~~

*laughs nervously* surprise?

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Encanto Switcheroo AU

Or just an age swap AU. And also role swap.

An anon asked for the former and I got a little carried away. It’s now a full AU.

Please do send me asks with any questions you have.

Pepa (50) is the eldest of Alma and Pedro’s triplets. Passionate and admittedly bossy, she has been leading the way for her siblings since they were born. The de-facto leader of the Madrigals in her mother’s absence.

Bruno (50)… yeah, we don’t talk about him.

Julieta (50) is the final piece of the Madrigal triplets. Though she is usually outshone by her older siblings, that is not to discredit the town’s appreciation of her. Certainly, her husband, Agustín, would be very lost without her.

~~~~~~

Camilo (21) is the eldest of Pepa and Félix’s children. He is a charming and sociable young man, though theatrical and mischievous, he finds himself overlooked in terms of usefulness and perfection.

Antonio (19) is the younger of the two boys. He isn’t particularly close with most of the townspeople, he is a shy boy and much prefers the company of his siblings. But he is always willing to lend a hand to anyone who needs him.

Dolores (15) is the youngest and only daughter of Pepa and Félix. The only Madrigal to not receive a gift on her fifth birthday, she has remained a figure of mystery ever since.

~~~~~~

Mirabel (21) is the eldest of Agustín and Julieta’s daughters. This perfect young lady is considered to be very much her mother’s miniature. She is soon to become the most ideal bride to Natalio Alfaro; a very lucky man, indeed.

Isabela (15) is the typical problematic middle child, however, has seemingly won over her Abuela’s favour and somehow escapes all of the trouble she causes. It is not unsurprising to see her with leaves in her hair and dirt on her dress

Luisa (4) is the youngest and the current holder of the baby privilege card in La Casa Madrigal. An excitable and friendly girl, though a little nervous for her upcoming birthday.

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Act I, Scene I: The Wedding

The wedding of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laena Velaryon was a grand affair, of course.  The ceremony was held in the Sept, with sunlight streaming through the fine glass windows, and the benches were crowded with highborn attendees from all across the continent.  Hoary old Rickon Stark was there with his son Cregan, sitting two rows behind Jason Lannister and his young wife.   The widowed Lady Leonette Tyrell sat beside Alicent’s own family, and all of them were kept away from the representative of House Martell, who had come as a peace ambassador following the war in the Stepstones.  Everyone was talking amongst themselves, and the Sept’s high ceilings created a reverberating echo that only quieted when the High Septon called for the ceremony to begin.  Alicent could hardly think in the noise, but the proceeding silence was just as jarring.

Rhaenyra cut a dashing figure in her wedding attire.  Her cloak was a masterpiece of midnight black velvet with an army of red dragons flying upon it.  The three-headed sigil of House Targaryen was embroidered in the center, encrusted in a mine’s worth of rubies.  Blackfyre hung from her belt, a gift from her father.  It was customary for alphas to wear a sword during their wedding ceremony, but carrying the Conqueror’s sword was an especially pointed statement.  Here is my heir, your future queen, Viserys was saying.  Look upon her and bend the knee.

Laena was stunningly gorgeous in her own right.  Her dress was vibrant, shimmering, and blue as the Summer Sea.  Pale seahorses danced along her skirts, and her arms, fingers, and neck were swamped in silver jewelry.  She was perfectly put together, but Alicent knew she had been up early that morning, having her skin perfumed and her curls tamed.  She’d yawned incessantly all through the breakfast feast, to the gentle chastisement of her mother.

Alicent was in no position to judge, as she’d spent the morning dealing with her own problems.  Three months in, the hardships of pregnancy were already weighing heavily on her.  Her breasts were sore and sensitive, requiring frequent massage, and all her gowns were being resized to accommodate her growing belly.  The dress she wore today had been mercifully altered, but even so, she prayed the ceremony would end swiftly so she could change out of it.

“You look lovely,” Rhaenyra had mumbled when they waited for the wheelhouse.  Her cheeks had flushed when she delivered the awkward compliment, but it warmed Alicent to hear.

At the altar, however, the princess only had eyes for her bride.  Don’t her cheeks hurt?  Alicent thought, watching Rhaenyra’s face split into the biggest smile she’d ever seen.  It barely budged when she recited her vows, and remained in place even after the ceremony as their carriage rode through the streets of King’s Landing.  There was even an echo of it on Viserys’s face, one of the few times Alicent could discern a resemblance between them.

The wedding festivities were many and grandiose, and the following feast was entirely too lavish.  Over 70 dishes were served alongside 50 desserts, and wine and mead flowed faster than water, splashing into cups with such vigor that it made her ill.  The curse of morning sickness had passed a week prior, but Alicent still found her constitution sensitive.  She nursed a single cup of wine through the entire evening, and avoided the punch after she saw a lord of the Fingers pour something into it from a hip flask.  Even when her husband called for toast after toast, she kept her lips dry and her head clear.

The bride and groom were not concerned about such things.  Though neither drank heavily, their inebriation was apparent when they laughed and stumbled onto the dance floor for their first turn as newlyweds.  It was heartwarming to watch.  Or it would be, if Alicent’s heart was a kind or magnanimous thing.  As it was, the sight just made her dour.  She refused all offers to dance, citing tiredness from the baby, and sulked at the high table while the celebration passed around her.  Viserys was her only company.  His health had improved a great deal in recent weeks, but he was still easily fatigued, so he too refrained from joining the throng.

“A few more weeks, and I’ll be good as new,” he assured her.  “Mellos insists I still limit myself to our daily walks, but I mean to host a grand hunt once he gives his approval.”

“A hunt would be exciting, my love, but you must be careful.”  If her response was hollow, she hoped he didn’t notice.  He’d been sweeter to her, of late. The babe had won his attention back for now, and he’d spared no expense in the past three months meeting Alicent’s every wish.  He could be a kind man, when he thought to be.  Yet his expensive presents were paltry compared to the single gift given by his daughter.

Rhaenyra had shown up at her door a day after the Grand Maester confirmed her pregnancy.  “I heard the news.”  Her cheeks had been pink; from exertion or shyness, Alicent couldn’t say.  “C-congratulations, my Queen.”

Alicent’s lips had trembled when she tried to smile.  “Thank you, Princess.  The King and I are very happy, and your well wishes mean a lot to both of us.”

“I’d like to do more than simply offer well wishes,” Rhaenyra had pushed, stepping closer to her.  “If you’ll allow it, I want to give you a promise.”

“A promise?”

“For the babe,” the princess nodded.  “Syrax will soon lay a clutch of eggs.  When the child is born, I will bring one for their crib.”

Alicent had been startled out of her inner turmoil by this information.  “You would put a dragon egg in the crib of ou- of a baby?”

Rhaenyra had grinned so proudly at her.  “It’s tradition.  All Targaryen children have a dragon’s egg placed in their crib.  Father would do it, but he doesn’t venture into the Dragonpit anymore.  So I will.”  

She’d said it with such conviction, and such eagerness too.  She was excited about the babe.  Alicent could hardly believe it.  At best, she hoped Rhaenyra would be kind to her “sibling”, if not close, but even her most far-fetched fantasies hadn’t considered this to be a possibility.

She was happy for their child.  She already considered them a true Targaryen.  She was going to give them a dragon’s egg.

I love you.  The words had sprung to her tongue with force enough to dislodge teeth, and she barely bit them down in time.  Rhaenyra had rambled on about something to do with the Dragon Keepers, but Alicent had been too stunned to pay attention to it.  She only recovered when the princess bid her a cheery farewell and marched away.

Ever since then, the illuminated histories and brand new horse that Viserys bestowed upon her meant next to nothing.

“The bedding!” Someone shouted from the crowd, quickly followed by dozens of raucous, cheering voices.  “Bedding!  Bedding!  Bedding!”

Alicent’s teeth dug into her cheek as Rhaenyra and Laena, still laughing, were shuffled to opposite sides of the hall.  Laena was swarmed by loud, obnoxious alphas while pretty, preening omegas danced circles around Rhaenyra.  

“You could join them,” her husband suggested, to which Alicent quietly balked.

She could join them, yes.  No one would look twice at a mated omega joining the bedding ceremony of her alpha friend.  But she couldn’t bring herself to.  Unlike those silly creatures fluttering about her, Alicent knew Rhaenyra’s body intimately.  She knew how it felt, its curves and contours.  Her touch would be too familiar, and even if no one could possibly notice, Alicent couldn’t shake the paranoia.

Her restraint was also due to jealousy.  She was not so craven as to deny it.  To participate in the bedding ceremony would be to prepare Rhaenyra for someone else, and she would rather die than do that.  So she simply glared as careless, lustful hands stripped away the princess’s clothes.  Soon, Rhaenyra and her entourage were out of sight, and the revelry continued in her absence.  Alicent stayed at the high table, and asked the nearest servant to refill her cup.

[that--fish]

《Hellfire》

Chapter 1: The Wedding

Synopsis of series: Yn gets married off to the head of the Kamisato Clan. Yn's family, Inazuma's wealthiest tycoons, were nearly on the brink of bankruptcy so they arranged a marriage with one of Inazuma's most powerful politicians to maintain their power. Would Yn be a sacrificed pawn in a bigger game or would she turn the tables?

A jug of angst and a pinch of fluff ☁️✨️

The bachelorette party wasn't as fun as I expected. But what could I have expected? Mainly relatives and my step-mother's acquaintances. Mostly everyone had passed their 50s years ago, it was as if I was visiting a retirement home. Everyone were catching up, talking about life and gossiping. But I have no life to talk about and I have no one to talk to. I'm sure father spent most of our money on this. The well decorated room, a giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling; he almost made a replica of a ballroom.

Today is the day. The day where I'm going to start my miserable life as someone's wife. Will he treat me like a servant? Will I get my freedom? It dreads me to think about it. I don't even know him, I don't even know how he looks like. Father didn't give me any pictures of him. Let's just hope he isn't too...undesirable.

My wedding dress looks stunning nonetheless. It looks like a ballgown, like of those princesses I read in fairytale books when I was younger. I know how to sew dresses, I could have just sewn one myself but father insisted not to. The dress was adorned with shiny pearl beads and flowery lace patterns. Slipping on the dress was not an easy task. The corset is tight! It's very hard to breathe in this, I'm as slim as it gets! Wait...this dress comes with heels? I thought I can wear anything I want under this. The heels are the perfect fit, but they are very high. I've never worn heels this high, I didn't have the need to. It looks like a glass slipper but with diamonds, a lot of diamonds, I wonder if these are real? One of the bridesmaids are doing my hair into a bun and another is doing my makeup. Luckily the makeup isn't as cakey as my step-mother's, given that my bridesmaids are my step-mother's friends. I suppose she has chosen a maid of honour for me, I can't tell who it is though, they all don't look too different.

The reception is starting soon. I'd better be prepared to be under the eyes of many old men. Kamisato Ayato, my soon-to-be husband. I hope the age gap isn't too big. I wonder how much money did father give to get him to marry me. We don't have much money to offer, our company is going bankrupt soon. Well, father might have played some nasty tricks, but that's not for me to know. Sigh Let's get this over with.

The reception is held in a ballroom, a fairly large one. There are murals on the walls and ceiling depicting a heaven, with angels and clouds and a clear blue sky. I requested a piece to be played when I entered, Winter. (Vivaldi Four Seasons: Winter) There is a whole orchestra playing. The piece is very dramatic, like the climax of a story. I walked down the aisle, holding father's arm. He is smiling ear to ear, I'm sure it's a fake one. I plastered a smile on my face, walking towards my fiancé.

He is more handsome than I expected. Father made a good choice for once. The person who I'm going to spend my life with, this blue-haired guy who is a head taller than me. My neck hurts from looking up. He gave me a soft grin...

Remember dear, do not trust anyone.

Mother might probably say that to me.

His lavender-blue eyes, soft features, his hair tucked back into a sleek ponytail...GIRL, GET A GRIP! He is probably way older than me. Father must have bribed him into this, just as he does for other things.

I said my vows just as how I practiced weeks ago. It went flawlessly, no stuttering.

"You may now kiss the bride"

Okay, this part - father didn't tell me about this - I didn't expect father would do me like this - I am so not ready.

He leaned in for the kiss, one hand pulled me closer by the waist, the other cupping my face. Act natural, Yn. I put my arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss. Haha~ I wonder what father has to say about this. I pulled away. Such a coward. His face was barely pink, he doesn't seem fazed.

After cutting the cake, popping champagne and all, I am tired. How late is it now? Ah, I need to greet the in-laws. How do I do that exactly?

"Ah, Yn, we heard so much about you from your father. We knew that you would make a lovely wife for our son." I suppose that's his mother. She seems rather sincere with her words. "You should stay at our estate, to get you used to it."

"Yes, yes I agree. Your step-mother and I will miss you so dearly, Yn." His menacing grin could go unnoticed. Who knows what he's plotting behind my back.

Well, smile and nod, smile and nod.

The night is still young, Yn. Ugh, when will this end? I don't do social interactions and plus, it was father's idea to keep me cooped up in the estate. Was this how mother might have felt on her wedding day? I wonder what did she see in father?

"Yn, is anything the matter?" He asked. His voice... i-it's so...calming? His voice makes me feel like I'm melting in a warm embrace. I doubt father has ever talked to mother like this.

"Oh, n-nothing."

It was almost midnight, and it ended. Finally.

As everyone left, father ushered me to my husband's limousine, which I could have done very well by myself.

"Take good care of my precious Yn."

"I will, Mr Tanaka."

Father waved goodbye, dabbing away his tears. It's all just for show. The Kamisato estate isn't far from here. Now, father can't interfere with my life anymore.

I am my own person.

Freedom.

[madarasthicc]

I posted 5,447 times in 2022

That's 5,447 more posts than 2021!

176 posts created (3%)

5,271 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@yusoutpost

@madaraservingcunt

@madablues

I tagged 1,142 of my posts in 2022

#madara - 724 posts

#yukio - 431 posts

#royalty au - 429 posts

#crack with a side of uchiha - 397 posts

#snoot rp - 188 posts

#madara uchiha - 141 posts

#hotaru - 124 posts

#ghost of konoha - 70 posts

#naruto - 50 posts

#itachi - 35 posts

Longest Tag: 130 characters

#plus hashirama talks as if the village is in the name of peace but he'll commit violence indiscriminatorily if it's threatened????

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Map to Hope: 3

Madara x Reader

- An arranged marriage twenty years in the making comes calling for Madara Uchiha. Now that Konoha has stabilized, his bride-to-be is ready to be at his side. But is Madara ready for what marriage all entails?

[Chapter Two] —> [Chapter Four]

@peachteeaaa

@immazebrah

Chapter 3: Head over Heels

Approaching Konoha, the Hidden Leaf village was truly a sight for sore eyes. Not that she had ever seen it before but she was so over traveling. The way there had been beautiful, clear skies and nice temperatures, but she was more than excited to be sleeping in a real bed again.  None of this tent and sleeping bag nonsense. Y/N could see the appeal of it, as a family get away, but anything more than a few days had her back aching. Plus riding a wagon wasn’t much better either. She felt dirty, sweaty, and sore looking forward to a nice bath that night. 

“Now, be on your best behavior. I’m sure Lord Madara will have someone meeting us at the gate.” Ume said looking over her daughter, Y/N, to ensure she looked good enough. She dressed in her best travel safe clothing- She hated anything too constricting or long but her mother insisted that she look like a proper lady. At least as best as she could from traveling.

There had been few letters between their clan, the Cayuga’s and the Uchiha’s. Other than setting a date of when they would arrive, they didn’t know who would be meeting them. It was a bit exciting to arrive in Konoha even if she wasn’t sure who would be greeting them. Probably a few shinobis, maybe an elder there to lead them to the Uchiha compound within the village. 

And as her mother predicted there stood two men at the gate. The closer they got the more nervous she became. The first man was tall, dressed in dark blue, long black hair and deep set dark eyes. It couldn’t be anyone other than her husband to be, Madara. Not that she had seen him in recent years but it matched any and all description she had of him. Granted Y/N had heard the same description used for many Uchiha’s.

The man at his side was taller, long brown hair, and a very cheerful look on his face. Seeing the two stand side by side was strange since they seemed to be such opposites. And as far as she was aware none of his siblings lived. It made her wonder who it was. He wasn’t as fair skinned so she doubted he was an Uchiha but she could be wrong. 

——

“So …. Have you remembered her name yet?” Hashirama asked as they stood at the open gate. Apparently one of the Uchiha Elders wanted to have some random shinobis waiting for their arrival, which Hashirama found unacceptable. Instead he cleared both his and Madara’s schedule so they could be here to welcome her themselves. Not that Tobirama knew of this. Well, Tobirama would find out when neither of them showed up. 

“You’ve asked me every day this last week. No, I don’t remember.” Madara growled. At first it didn’t really bother him that he couldn’t remember her name. But after thinking, trying to remember he was beginning to feel bad about it. So much so, that he found the treaty and read over it. “It’s Y/N.”

“Oh Madara!” Hashirama gasped. “Wait, if you didn’t remember how do you know for sure?” 

“I found the treaty our parents signed and her name was listed. Since you were bothering me so much over it.” He hissed, turning back to see a small group of people approaching. Madara was surprised she wasn’t traveling with a larger group. Sure, she didn’t come from a huge clan, but they were decently wealthy and she was engaged to marry him. Surely that required some measure of Security. 

“Oh Lord Madara, we were not expecting for you to meet us here.” The older woman spoke up first as they stepped through into the village. She bowed to him before the rest of the group followed her lead and bowed as well.

“Yes, well, it is not every day that one greets their bride after twenty years.” Madara said bowing to the two women. 

“It’s wonderful to see you've grown into a strong clan leader.” The older woman said. 

“This is Ume Cayuga, and my bride to be Y/N Cayuga.” Madara said, turning to speak to the man next to him. “This is Lord Hokage Hashirama.”

“It’s wonderful to have you come. I hope your travels were safe?” Hashirama bowed to them. 

“Lord hokage? It’s an honor to meet you.” Ume bowed again. Madara was starting to wonder if his bride was deaf or mute, but he did remember hearing her talk when they first met. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Hokage.” Y/N said, turning back to look at Madara. “Thank you for meeting us at the gate. The trip was fine but I’m very excited to see the village.” Offering a smile, she stepped forward only for her shoe to catch on something. Of course. It would be her luck that not only would she trip and fall in front of her husband but the hokage as well. Good first impression would be ruined. 

She was suddenly surrounded by firm arms, face and hands on a firm chest. Y/N didn’t know what was worse-falling on her face or falling into Madara.

“She’s falling for you already, Madara.” Hashirama joked, and her mother laughed it off as well. 

“I am so sorry.” She pulled back, his warm hands still on her arms to keep her steady. 

“Ah, it happens.” Madara wasn’t sure what to say. He supposed for someone who wasn’t a trained shinobi, one might be more prone to tripping and falling. He was more focused on not reacting to Hashirama’s retort.

She lifted her foot, to see what she could have tripped on only to find her shoe broken. “Oh Ah, just a moment. I have broken my shoe.” Y/N felt her face flood with embarrassment. She’s worn these shoes for nearly the entire trip and now they break. 

Madara shrugged and lifted her up. “It happens.” He cringed realizing he had just repeated himself. Shifting her in his arms, he began to walk into the village. 

See the full post

66 notes - Posted July 21, 2022

#4

Map to Hope: 2

Madara x Reader

- An arranged marriage twenty years in the making comes calling for Madara Uchiha. Now that Konoha has stabilized, his bride-to-be is ready to be at his side. But is Madara ready for what marriage all entails?

[Chapter One] —> [Chapter Three]

Chapter Two: Agreements

This chapter is a series of flash backs for reader.

Come vote on what one shot you want to read after this chapter -> [link]

She barely remembered meeting him. She had only been six at the time and she didn’t understand everything that was being discussed. It had been a quick meeting, with her parents and his father. Their agreement was on paper, but there was something more final about agreeing in person, verbally, for everyone to hear. She stood beside her mother, eyeing the older man and his son. 

“We are in agreement? Your daughter’s hand for one of my sons, in return we join together, under Uchiha’s protection.” The stern man said looking down at her, he scared her so she shifted behind her mother’s dress. 

“Yes, we are Tajima Uchiha.” Her father, Ichiro said, offering his hand to Tajima. They shook hands, both men gripping each other’s hands harder than strictly necessarily. “Y/N, come out from behind your mother. Mind your manners, say hello.” Her father snapped, gesturing for her to step in front of them. Keeping her e/c eyes downcast, she stepped forward. 

“Hello, I’m Y/N.” She said looking up at the man and boy. The boy would be her husband, it felt foreign and too far into the future to comprehend. Y/N didn’t even really understand what that would mean. Sure, she heard older girls talk of marriage, having children, and running a household. This was what they were discussing between the boy and herself. She looked back at her parents for a moment-her father gestured her to step closer to Tajima and her mother offered a small smile.

The man knelt down to her level, offering her what was supposed to be a smile. It came off too wide, and a bit of a grimace. “It’s wonderful to meet you at last, Y/N. Your father speaks of you often, he’s a proud father.” He said clearly trying to soften his hardened face and voice. It didn’t really work but she offered a small smile. She was being watched by her parents, these two strangers, and her own clan members. She had to mind her manners, and make her parents proud.

“Thank you, I do my best to be good.” She said looking down again playing with the hem of her jacket. 

“This is my son.” He said pulling the boy forward. He was just as stoic as his father, even as a ten year old. “He’s growing into a strong shinobi.” 

Shinobi. 

Her friends liked playing house with dolls, while most of the boys ran off to be shinobis. She didn’t see what the fuss was all about. Shinobis. Her mother said it was dangerous, and that she better keep her mind away from such thoughts. Honestly, she didn’t understand the hype boys had with sharp knives and chakra tricks, and what made those things so dangerous. She wasn’t going to risk her mother’s anger asking about something she didn’t really care about. If it really had been of some importance her parents would have told her what that meant. 

“Hello, Y/N.” The boy said, shifting as he felt many eyes on him. “I’m Madara Uchiha.” He stood straight, proud of who he was, of his clan as he offered his hand following his father’s action. 

Staring at his hand, she shook it. 

The Uchiha’s left not long after the meeting concluded. She ran back to her mother’s side, much to her father’s scoff. 

That was the first and only time she had met him. For the most part she forgot all about it. The meeting was a mere blip in her life, something she didn’t need to think of until she was older. 

-----

It was another three years before she put any thought into the Uchiha’s. She had overheard people talking about ‘the warring’ but did not really understand what it meant. Who were they at war with and why, but none of her teachers really had an answer to her questions. It wasn’t until an older girl had found dead bodies in a nearby river that it really became a talked about issue. Suddenly it was all the whole clan was talking about it. How unsafe it now was, never had the bloody violence been so close to their clan’s lands. Her father proclaimed that no one was allowed outside alone or once the sun began to set. 

The elders called for action to be taken immediately on this turn of events. This caused an argument between her parents: her father did not want them to retreat, instead he wanted more people trained and sent to the war front. Her mother for once outspokenly disagreed with him. 

It had been the loudest their house had ever been. The fighting between her parents had been out in the open, first tense and firm words turned into yelling matches. Surprisingly her mother won the argument eventually. After days of screaming her father out of the house he yielded to her pressure. She would take any non-shinobi members of their clan retreat west further into farming country instead of training more people. The rest of the clan and her father would join forces with the Uchiha’s. 

Her last memory of her father was the morning of his departure east to join forces with the Uchiha’s, while she and many clan members moved west. Her parents said nothing to each other and Y/N didn’t try to make conversation at the breakfast table. The only sound was of their chopsticks and the chewing of their food. The weight of this being their last meal together and the heat of summer on top of it made the air feel heavy around them. Without a word her father stood from his place at the head of the table, he bypassed Ume and gave Y/N a pat on the head before he left. Her mother merely relaxed once he was gone. Y/N’s eyes followed her father’s movements until she could no longer see him, and turned back to her mother.

“It’ll be just us now.” Ume sighed, reaching out to pet her h/c hair now that they were alone. She offered her mother a small smile, which she returned. 

They left with the rest of the clan later that day. Taking only what they needed in day to day life. No one seemed too bothered to be leaving most of their things behind. The ever encroaching fear that war would be upon them must have helped erased that upset.

It wasn’t long after they reached where they would make their new home did they receive word her father had been slain. The messenger stood in front of her and her mother. Clearing his throat after he read the message aloud, confused as there had been no reaction. Y/N looked at her mother, a few tears in her e/c eyes. But her mother didn’t cry, merely nodded to the messenger and dismissed them.

“It’s just us now.” Ume said squeezing y/n hand. “We’ll be fine, we have the Uchiha’s protection.” Ume added, kissing the top of her head. 

There is the end of Chapter two. Hope you all have enjoyed! Looking for 15 notes(comments/likes/reblogs) for chapter three. Please and thank you! Ask about this fic are always welcome!

67 notes - Posted July 15, 2022

#3

Map to Hope: 4

Madara x Reader

- An arranged marriage twenty years in the making comes calling for Madara Uchiha. Now that Konoha has stabilized, his bride-to-be is ready to be at his side. But is Madara ready for what marriage all entails?

[Chapter Three] —> [Chapter Five]

Chapter Four: For Shits and Giggles

“Tobirama you should have seen it-“ Hashirama couldn’t help but howl with laughter. 

“I can’t believe you cleared an ENTIRE day just to pick up a woman.” Tobirama couldn’t give in to Hashirama’s laughter. If he did, then his brother would think going behind his back and leaving for a whole day was okay.

“Not just any woman! Madara’s wife to be. Oh Tobirama. She’s so cute!” Hashirama laughed, wiping the tears away. “She tripped-“

“You know it’s not very nice of you to laugh at her. She was probably tired from a long trip and nervous to meet Madara. It’s not as if he has a brilliant reputation.” Tobirama pointed out, but didn’t bother to look up from his scrolls.

“No. Listen. Listen before you chastise me.” Hashirama said, clearing his throat. “She literally tripped and fell right into Madara.” Tobirama could not contain a snort. He almost wished to have been able to see it. “She tripped, and he caught her.”

“I’m sure you made some silly comment like ‘she’s falling for you’, right?” Tobirama asked, finally meeting Hashirama’s eyes. 

“I did! She was all flustered as he steadied her. Come to find out her shoe had broken, the poor thing was so embarrassed.” Hashirama giggled.

“I would imagine so. First time meeting her husband, and the hokage not only trips, but breaks her shoe as well. I’d be embarrassed.” Tobirama said, frowning. “Laughing at it is not very nice, brother. Either Madara’s bad behavior is rubbing off on you or you’re not finished.”

“Oh no, no I’m not finished.” Hashirama has to cover his face to keep his laughter in. “Madara merely shrugs and lifts her up to carry her. I thought her mother was going to have a heart attack!” The howling laughter is back. And at least Tobirama can understand the hilarity of it. “Madara just explains that it’s faster if he just carries her than letting her mother get her another pair of shoes.” Hashirama has to lay his head down, he’s wheezing so hard.

“Hm, let me guess. It was a mostly silent walk- you trying to hold in your childish giggles, the mother repeatedly telling Madara she can get her daughter a new pair of shoes, and Madara just ignoring it all?”

“Oh no, no the girl made small talk in hopes of it being less awkward.” 

“I don’t think there was anything that could save that from being awkward. Did Madara try to talk at least?” Tobirama felt so bad. Bad that this poor girl’s first day in Konoha was an embarrassment. It's bad that he wanted to laugh at the situation. Bad that he didn’t get to see it. 

“He did, but in his no nonsense right to the point kind of way.” Hashirama said, shaking his head. 

“I swear to Divine, if you are telling another person about yesterday Hashirama I will personally make Tobirama the next hokage. Effective Immediately.” Madara yelled as he opened the door to the office. 

“Hashirama! You’ve been telling people? First laughing at her misfortune and then gossiping like an old woman.” Tobirama shook his head. “Terrible example you’re setting.” 

“I’ve told a total of-“ Hashirama has to close his eyes and think. 

“If you’re thinking this hard it’s too many.” Madara hissed, laying his scrolls out and began to organize them. 

“Other than Tobirama only four people.” Hashirama said firmly. “Come on, it was so adorable and funny. As the best man at your soon wedding, I will be bringing it up.” 

“You know four other people? Must be because you have Madara and I do all your work.” 

“Wow! He counted to four, this must be a record, Tobirama.” Madara said, leveling Hashirama with a dry look. “Who’s to say you’ll be my best man. Maybe it’ll be that waiter from lunch, or Tobirama.” 

“Blasphemy! Tobirama don’t steal my best friend.” Hashirama gasped. 

“No worries there. I absolutely do not want Madara as my friend.” 

——

“I cannot believe that man!” Ume huffed combing through Y/N’s hair. “Just lifted you right up.”

See the full post

83 notes - Posted August 15, 2022

#2

Map to Hope

Madara x reader

- An arranged marriage twenty years in the making comes calling for Madara Uchiha. Now that Konoha has stabilized, his bride-to-be is ready to be at his side. But is Madara ready for what marriage all entails?

[Master list]

—> [Chapter Two]

Chapter 1: Konoha’s Most Supportive Best Friend.

“I'm getting married in three months.” 

Madara had almost forgotten to tell Hashirama and Tobirama. Well, telling Hashirama meant Tobirama would hear about it as well. Fuck. Hashirama would probably tell the whole village. Not that it mattered, his clan was already aware of the arrangement so it wasn’t as if his loud-mouthed best friend could tell anyone of importance. And it wasn’t as if it was that close to coming. Three months was still plenty of time to tell them. Not as if he was springing the news on them.

When he’s met with silence he looks up at the other men in the room. As of late he had gotten pulled into helping the two Senju’s with Konoha’s government matters- “you have an equal hand in building this village. It was as much your dream as mine” Hashirama had said to him. It was what led the three of them, often late nights in the Hokage tower. Mostly Tobirama and himself going over Hashirama’s work. Ensuring it was completely filled out and correct. 

“What? Are you two deaf suddenly?” Madara snapped, banging his first on the table. It clearly woke them up from whatever stupor they were in.

“You know a woman?”

“How did you convince her to marry you?”

“Is she real?”

“This is a joke. There’s no way you convinced any sane woman to marry you.”

“Hey!” Madara snapped. “I am a catch, excuse you both.” He said straighten his clothing. “Any woman would be lucky to be my wife.” He huffed, crossing his arms. This, he expected from Tobirama. But Hashirama? His so-called ‘best friend’? It was just rude.

“I’m sorry, Madara. It’s just, well, you’re not exactly one to be romancing women.” Hashirama cleared his throat. It was obvious he was trying to be nice in explaining their disbelief. “And you’ve never mentioned a lover so-“

“He’s trying to say you’re shit with other people, neither of us have ever seen you interact with a woman outside of pleasantries, never showed interest in anything other than battle-I’m pretty sure you’d have more fun tormenting me for the rest of your life than being with a woman.” Tobirama said, holding his hand up as he counted this off. “And only the crazy put up with your bullshit.” He added flatly. 

“Hey! I’m his best friend!” Hashirama gasped, throwing a pen at his brother. 

“Exactly.” Tobirama sighed, rubbing his forehead where the pen had hit. “Only crazy puts up with you.” 

“So who’s the lucky woman??” Hashirama asked after throwing another pen his brother’s way. He rubbed his hands together excited to get the details now that he was over his Initial shock.

“I don’t remember her name.” He said with a shrug. 

“MADARA UCHIHA!” Hashrama hollered, absolutely shocked. 

“What a lucky woman, don’t even remember her name. How ever did you woo her?” Tobirama huffed, feeling a headache forming. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to ignore his brother’s rambling. 

“Madara! I cannot believe you! Your own fiancé, you can’t remember her name?!” Hashirama began to ramble off his disbelief. 

“Hey! In my defense, I have not seen her in twenty years.” Madara yelled over Hashirama's outrage, and Tobirama’s insults. 

“Then how-why in the fuck are you even marrying her?” Tobirama snapped. Gods, he felt even more pity for the poor woman. “Some poor random woman tied to you till death.” 

“Tobirama language!” Hashirama gasped, throwing a balled up paper at him. 

“Are you always looking for the worst in me?” Madara growled, his eyes narrowing at Tobirama. “It’s an arranged marriage.” He said firmly. “Has been in place since I was ten.” The room went silent. 

“Ah, so a marriage for alliance and peace?” Hashirama said, resting his head on his hand. This took all the fun out of the news. But certainly calmed his frustration with his friend. And made the situation much more understandable.

“Loyalty, money, shinobis, land-all that.” Madara waving his hand. “As the war expanded, she and other non-shinobi members of her clan moved further west.” He explained. “I didn’t have time to focus on someone I had met once when she was a toddler. It wasn’t necessarily to me she was betrothed to anyway-it was myself or any of my brothers if I died. I just happen to be the last one alive.” There was a bite to his last words. They all knew Madara would never forgive Tobirama for the death of Izuna. Both men understood and respected Madara’s grief and anger. They understood, no one loved like an Uchiha, no one hated like one too. 

See the full post

91 notes - Posted July 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Melanie was entering the last weeks of her pregnancy. He really felt as big as a whale but the pregnancy had been easy. She was looking forward to staying in the palace until the baby came. See how the upper half live.

One of the counselors from the orphanage arrived with her. They wanted to go over a last few things with Yukio and Madara. He was thankful they were waiting for their arrival at the entrance hall.

@yusoutpost

181 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[moonstonedrawsrandomly]

Wildberry Honey Part 2

Part 2 (Desert the Hive)

It’s the day of the wedding, a cool brisk afternoon. The large acre of land behind the Rules House was decorated in white and lace for the wedding. White streamers, cream and silver decorative hanging lamps, the guests dressed in colors ranging from orange to violet, and a decadent 3 tiered cake. A lot of this was leftover from June’s planning. Miller didn’t have any input, let alone wanted to give any. 

Everything else, including the planning of the cake, was done by her father and the Groom. Despite the coldness between the bride and groom, The air was lovely and filled with music as the last of the guests began to arrive. Williams was out greeting the guests with Richard. Not his choice, but here we are. 

“Honestly, I feel bad for both of you, but Miller is a lovely woman! She’d make you happy! I’ve known her for years, you just need her to warm up to you”

Kimmy, Miller’s long-time friend said to Williams. She was a spunky girl with green hair, brown eyes and had a knack for the history of the Magically inclined. She even studied in the world-famous Plumbesh Magic Academy, and she doesn't have a magic bone in her body.  Despite marrying his best friend, She was still very sweet to him, preferring to form bonds to help her friend instead of burning the bridge.

“I mean, your courtship didn’t even happen. And she isn’t in the best headspace right now, especially with the death of her beloved pets, but maybe this will all blow over and everything will be okay…or maybe I am too optimistic.”

“No, I appreciate your optimism. I needed it. It’s refreshing. It’s been a hard month for her and me. I just want to make her happy. ”

“You’re welcome. I just- how could Richard do such a thing like this?!? Even I was telling Miller that he was out of her league. She’s a Gemstone compared to her. And now I was right. I wish I wasn’t, she deserves so much better…”

Kimmy sighed, defeated. He knows how she feels. 

Will didn’t feel good about this arrangement either. He tried to stay optimistic, but something about her splashing wine in his face after speaking ill about her bees didn’t make him feel like this marriage was even possible. 

“How dare you! My bees didn’t die from neglect! I cared for them every single day and YOU are accusing me of neglect?!?”

“Miller, calm down-”

“NO! I will not calm down! You already forced me to marry a man I don't like, I’m not going to sit here and let him talk ill of me! GET OUT!”

Williams remembered her distress, the shouting, the red wine dripping down his body. Her words echoed in his head. Sure, he didn’t ask to marry her, but was he really that bad? The only thing that was bad about him was his heart condition. And this situation wasn’t making it any better either. His heart quivers, but he tries to hide it. 

“So that’s what truly happened that day, huh?”

“Yes. I just told her that maybe if everything was possible, maybe it was neglect in something else. I didn’t mean she neglected her bees…you were there, did it come off like that?”

He said. Kimmy put her arm around him, comforting him. 

“Hey, I know you didn’t mean it like that. She was already in serious distress so that probably rubbed her the wrong way. I’m sure you two can patch that up in time. Maybe you can help her make another Beehive with her, that would be a nice way to bond. Oh, I gotta go. I don’t want Richard going up to her room. Good luck Williams”

She said as she dashed up past Richard on the stairs. He was going to go up to Miller, who was getting dressed for the wedding. Kimmy got upstairs and was then gently pushed out of the way by Miller’s father. 

“-You should be grateful his Lordship is marrying you, Mill. After that stunt you pulled back there, he should’ve retaliated! Remember, you need to produce an heir for his family name, preferably a boy, so stop being stubborn and get on with it. End of discussion!"

He shut the door behind him. Now the room only had Kimmy, her mother, and her sister June.  Miller had that 50-meter stare on her. She’s tuning everything out. Even on her wedding day, Miller couldn't catch a break. The supposed happiest day of her life was filled with nothing but unhappiness. Not like she cared. She didn’t want to get married in the first place. 

Kimmy got her attention, finally. She didn’t even smile. Like all the joy was sucked out of her. She felt for her friend. She was like an older sister to her so seeing her in this state, broke her heart. Then she saw June. 

“Wow. Couldn’t even get herself a boyfriend, so she stole her sister's. That’s pretty low”

“Hush you! Richard CAME to me instead. You should be grateful, Miller! Your sister is giving you a decent guy! So stop moping!”

Nothing from Miller. Her mother frowned. She’s not present right now. Physically, yes. Mentally, no. her mother tried to get her attention, she couldn't bear to see her like this. June however took pleasure in this.

“Aww come on, sis! Smile, you need to before your big day!”

“June enough!”

Her mother said. June smirked. There was nothing to smile about. The rest of her bees suddenly died one night. No warning, no nothing. She was only able to save 5 bees. She kept them in a small jar In fear of whatever was killing them off. And even those died the following day… 

Williams was no help in relieving her sadness. He had no tact in how to treat a lady, just knowing that girls like dresses and Jewelry. So he bought her the finest dresses and Jewelry. Granted, she does like fancy dresses and jewels, she just doesn’t like them as a transaction. I give you a nice necklace, you be nice to me. That is not how a relationship works. And they were both fumbling through it. 

Miller felt bitter as she turns around from her bed. The afternoon sun was beaming in from the window. A nice crisp breeze rolled in, blowing the curtains from their resting place. And in the middle of the room was the dress the maid was mending the hem for. 

The wedding dress, the one she will wear in a few hours was a big poofy dress, adorned with the finest lace and pearls, poofy sleeves, a veil made of the finest silk, a pearl necklace, and matching shoes. Sure, it was a pretty dress, but Miller came to despise it. She’s been staring at it for days. This wasn’t even her own dress. It was Junes. There was no time to make her one, just to expand the dress so that she could fit. June even asked to borrow it after her wedding, since Miller would only use it once and she even believed it would look better on her. She didn’t care if she took it now, but her mother insisted on not muddying the waters anymore. 

“You know? I wasn’t aware he was so rich. The wedding hall is so beautiful! That dress must cost a fortune it’s so lovely! Too bad they had to alter it for you”

“He was YOUR boyfriend, how the hell didn’t you know that he wasn’t rich? Sounds to me like you neglected Williams as well. And you’ll do the same to Richard.”

“No, I won’t”

“Now that I think about it, he deserves it!”

Miller’s mother intervenes. 

“Enough. Kimmy, you should be cheering Miller up. Please. And June, I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

“Whatever, she’ll look fat in it anyway”

“Juniper Sally Rules! Go outside!” 

Her mother shouted. Miller didn’t answer. Kimmy and her mother gave June a nasty look after she wouldn’t leave. She didn’t care about how much the dress cost or how it looked, she hated it. She hated this situation. She hated everything. The maid gets up from where she was, finishing her mending. The room was quite tense. 

“Let’s get you ready Miss Miller”

One of the maids said. Miller sighed. She wanted to stare out the window a little more. 

“I…want to be alone. Just 30 minutes…”

She said. Her mother sighed but she stayed optimistic about this. She did need the breather. 

“Fine, everyone out. Give the bride some space. She probably needs time to breathe”

She said. Everyone cleared out, including her mother. Her sister was waiting outside the door with her partner. HER Partner. They closed the door gently. Her father was out there, listening. 

“Goodness, father. I overheard that Williams wanted how many kids? 6? 7? she’s about to be busy for the next couple years of her life, this might be her last moment to herself before she is constantly worrying about her children. I can’t wait to have little nieces and nephews soon!!”

“June, do you not have any manners? That is inappropriate! Do not say that in front of the door. And you, out of my sight”

Richard clears his throat 

“Sorry, I’m your future son-in-law-“

“Future son-in-law? Hah! After that stunt you pulled? You don’t care for any of my daughters. You mistreated Miller, and you’ll mistreat June! You’re as good as dead to me!”

The mother leaves down the stairs, along with everyone else. Kimmy is the last one to leave the room. Miller cringed hearing that from the door. Busy…with babies she makes? Now the consequences of this marriage were weighing on her almost 2 hours away. What is she to do? Kimmy gently puts her hand on hers

“I wish I knew how to help you…but I’m here if you want to talk”

“Thank you, Kimmy, but I think the next thing I need to do is act.”

“Do you want help putting on your dress?”

“No need. You helped me enough, thank you. Go down and enjoy the party, okay?”

She hugs Kimmy and she departs. Miller walks to the window one last time. She starts to think. A plan to escape, maybe? She looked further out the window. 

She’s not on the ground floor, only one story up. Their house had a grape vine that grew for decades, to the point that it’s grown into the house. It wasn’t dark just yet, just dark enough that she could see the lanterns beginning to flicker on. A magical stone detects the sun setting. Warmed from the sun, they shine a beautiful bluish-green flame until morning. 

Miller, stood there, still staring outside. She could hear the musicians practice the entry of the bride. It made her shiver. In her dressing gown, looking at the branch, and that huge forest behind her house. A possible sense of freedom. Then back to the room. The wedding dress, sitting there. Almost mocking her at this point. A prison with no way out of it. She grabs onto the ledge and puts her foot up. But then she has a change of heart. 

“No, no. I’m not doing that. That is too risky.”

She walks away from the window, and to the dress. She touches the lace it was adorned in, and the necklace. In the corridor, Richard was able to sneak upstairs and wandered up to her bedroom. He pressed his ear on the door. 

“Strange, I don’t hear anything?”

Richard didn’t hear anything, because after she touched the necklace she backed up to the door…only to get a running head start on the window. She wasn’t thinking anymore, she wanted her freedom more. She grabbed onto the ledge of the window, positioned her feet against the window sill, not even looking down at how high it was…and she leaped. And two stories was a long way down.

Oof!”

Was the sound she made when she hit the ground. She gets up, not even looking around to see if someone saw her and she took off for the forest. She ran fast. No time to check if she was injured, she took the opportunity to go.

Ducking through tree branches and running down a faint path, she takes off. Her shoes were getting destroyed in the process. Not realizing that they weren’t built for running, she didn’t stop. Her dressing gown got caught on branches, even getting her hair caught, undoing the bridal bun, letting her wild hair fly free. She couldn’t fathom someone catching her, but she had no plan. 

She had no money, no other clothes, possessions, nothing. Was this truly a good idea? Her legs were still carrying her to an uncertain future. Leaves, bugs, and branches whipped at her body and her face as she finally came to a clearing. She was mostly tripping on a rock and stumbling onto the ground. She wasn't hurt, but she was definitely exhausted.

“Strange? This was behind my house all along?”

She had no idea how far she ran. Her legs burned from it.  There was no need for her to run again, not for a while. As she lay on the floor, catching her breath, she looked at her surroundings. 

She was in a clearing so far from her house that it was nearly a speck in the distance. Still not feeling far enough away, she decided to just walk. Where? No idea. Maybe to an Inn? With what money? The air began to grow cold and the sun was setting but then she came across a small puddle, nothing big, maybe about the size of her foot and as deep as her ankle. This clearly wasn’t meant to be here, it stood out too much. 

“Was this made by magic?”

She thought. The plants were a different color and a lot healthier than their autumn-kissed counterparts. The pond itself was sparkling, with little crystals floating inside of it. They looked manmade, despite the puddle looking a bit dried out. She couldn’t help but stare at them.

“What lovely crystals…maybe these are worth some money!”

She said, distracted. Almost as distracted as the bearded man watching her pick the crystals out, fascinated by the beautiful woman. He had his basket full of wild berries and mushrooms but didn’t dare make a sound. A man like him would frighten her. Or so he thought. 

[krishnamali786-blog]

How to Choose the Perfect Mother of the Bride Dress: 41 Dresses for Women over 50

Finding the perfect mother of the bride dress can be just as daunting as finding the wedding gown itself. Having gone through this beautiful experience myself, I understand the emotions involved—wanting to look stunning while ensuring the bride shines on her special day. Today, I’m here to share my personal journey and insights on choosing the best mother of the bride dresses that will make you…

[texmexyall]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Adrianna Papel Evening Gown Sequins 10.

[earaercircular]

The Clothes Are Old. New Yorkers’ Love for Them Is Ageless.

The Manhattan Vintage Show featured Victorian-era diamonds, flapper dresses from the 1920s, motorcycle jackets from the 1990s and so much more.

By Dodai StewartPhotographs by Lanna Apisukh Oct. 26, 2023 Sofia Wallis held up a delicate lace garment, in awe of its history. “This is an original 1930s puff-sleeve wedding gown, and I have a photo of the original bride on her wedding day,” she said. “It’s from Texas. And I have the original box and where it was bought and everything.”

At 18, Ms. Wallis was the youngest vendor at the Manhattan Vintage Show[1], a three-day event held recently at the Metropolitan Pavilion in Chelsea, where vintage fashion enthusiasts gathered to socialize, shop and swoon over old clothes.

The aisles were lined with Victorian-era diamonds, flapper dresses from the 1920s, sculptural hats from the 1940s, minidresses from the 1960s, motorcycle jackets from the 1990s and so much more.

While many events in New York City are self-segregated by age — a party that attracts 20-somethings, a restaurant with a mature clientele — the Manhattan Vintage Show is a magnet for New Yorkers from various generations who indulge in fashion nostalgia. Three times a year, it draws young people attracted to sustainable shopping and unique pieces created before they were born and elders who lived through eras with fewer mass-produced styles.

Amy Abrams, who with her husband, Ronen Glimer, bought the 20-year-old show last year, has boosted their social media presence and invited new dealers, attracting new shoppers of all ages.

And at some sales booths, the vendors, too, were multigenerational.

Lucille Damone, who was born in the ’80s and loves “the psychedelic ’60s,” owns Galipette Vintage[2], which specializes in elegant statement pieces, and was working the booth with her mother, Donna Damone.

“She is not only style inspiration, but my shopping partner since day one,” Lucille said.

The elder Ms. Damone, who was born in Puerto Rico in the early ’50s and loves the aesthetic of the ’60s and ’70s, said that style was in their blood: “We’re from sort of a long line of fashion enthusiasts. My grandmother loved fashion. My mother loved fashion and I love fashion.”

Her daughter noted that enthusiasm alone is not enough — vintage clothes require care.

“There’s a lot of work that goes into getting them ready to be here on the floor today,” she said. “You’re mending, you’re cleaning; if you can, you’re dry cleaning. And I always try to bless each piece, too, to bring them forward to their new owner with good, clean energy.”

There was a different kind of intergenerational relationship at Lady V’s stall, Second Time Around.

Vivian Rodgers-Hill, Lady V herself, works with interns from the Fashion Institute of Technology, and they cycled in and out of her booth all weekend, selling brightly colored pieces from multiple eras.[3]

“Vintage is about legacy building, vintage is about sharing memories,” she said. “A young person will learn a lot of history about fashion here.”

Lady V, who was born in the late ’50s, is retired from her position as an assistant principal at a school in Queens. As an educator, she said, she values the multigenerational aspect of the vintage show. “I have an innate ability to teach,” she said, “so the young people just come easy to me.”

Around the corner, at Olive’s Very Vintage[4], was a mother-son team: Jen McCulloch, who was born in the ’60s and loves “a really great 1940s jacket,” and her son, Evan Miller, who was born in the year 2000, but admires the fabric quality and tailoring of suits from the ’50s.

Ms. McCulloch, who has been selling vintage clothing for 20 years, said that she had recently noticed a resurgence in interest.

“Vintage is so popular right now,” she said. “It’s very trendy and young people are really embracing it.”

Mr. Miller admitted that he didn’t always appreciate their unique finds: “Growing up, I’d be playing video games while my mom was thrift-shopping and stuff, and I’d just be so bored,” he said. “Over time, I definitely started to realize the beauty — and the history.”

Keesean Moore

The history is especially key for Keesean Moore, the proprietor of Moore Vintage Archive.[5]

Mr. Moore, who was born in the late ’80s, is “specifically obsessed” with Black designers of the ’80s and ’90s.

Mr. Moore searches for pieces by Stephen Burrows,[6] Patrick Kelly, Scott Barrie and Willi Smith. His mission, he says, includes educating shoppers about the contributions of Black designers.

“So much of this process is about preserving those stories and just letting people know, even if they’re not buying, we exist,” he said. “Not only do we exist, we existed in luxury spaces, we existed internationally,” he said.

Among those interested in more recent history was Tomide Moradeyo, who was born in the early ’90s, and is the curator of the Igala NYC[7], a curated collection of leather jackets, mostly from the ’80s and ’90s.

Mr. Moradeyo, who was wearing an Avirex jacket from 1986 (“You can just tell it’s high quality; the fading on it — it’s really faded nicely”), arrived in New York from Nigeria about five years ago and works as an engineer. He is interested in the positive global impact vintage clothing can have. “I like how it also helps the environment,” he said, calling it “technically recycling.”

Browsing the show were Jean and Valerie, style bloggers in their 70s who are known just by their first names, or as the Idiosyncratic Fashionistas, to their 54,000 Instagram followers.

The pair are always impeccably dressed, often in whimsical hats and bold eyeglasses. Both have been going to vintage shows for decades, and have seen a lot of change — including what counts as “vintage.”

Many of the younger shoppers said they were drawn to the high quality, unique pieces and “circular economy” aspects of vintage shopping.         

“There has been a shift,” said Jean, who was born in 1949 and loves garments from the ’40s. “Vintage was 1920s, ’30s, ’40s.” She pointed to her ensemble. “This is Norma Kamali from the ’80s. This is Moschino from the ’80s. It’s not vintage to me. Vintage is Bakelite,” she said, referring to the jewelry she collects, made from the brittle resin invented in 1909.

Jean gravitates toward items that are beautifully made. “I have no skills whatsoever. I can’t make anything,” she said. “So I support the people who do — and the people that can actually save these things, retain them and pass them on.”

Still, both welcome a new generation of vintage enthusiasts, and younger people often approach them with compliments. “It’s very fulfilling when people come up to us and say, I’m not afraid of getting old anymore,” said Valerie.

“I’ll tell you what I love more than anything else,” said Merle Weismer, 70, a friend of Jean and Valerie’s who tagged along to the show. “Gender fluidity. It’s so creative.”

And there, interviewing shoppers and vendors and creating content for social media, was David Ross Lawn, a bearded, gender fluid social media sensation who was born in the early ’90s and collects Gunne Sax dresses from the ’70s and ’80s. The beribboned and lace-adorned calico confections are a little bit Victorian, a little bit prairie, a little bit renaissance faire.

“I feel more myself when I wear these dresses,” he said.

Mr. Lawn, who has over 180,000 followers on Instagram and 500,000 on TikTok, often uses the tag “vintage style not vintage values” on his posts. “We don’t want to perpetuate ideas from the Edwardian era or any of the fatphobia and racism and gender inequalities and all of that,” from other decades, he said. “We want to be able to leave the house creatively and freely.”

His look captures the attention of even the most jaded New Yorkers. “On the subway, people will be like, ‘Are you going to a fancy dress costume party?’” he said. “And I’m like, ‘Yeah — it’s a Friday. What’s the special occasion? Being alive is a special occasion.’”

Source

Dodai Stewart, The Clothes Are Old. New Yorkers’ Love for Them Is Ageless., in: New York Times, 26-10-2023, https://www.nytimes.com/2023/10/26/nyregion/new-york-vintage-clothing-show.html?smid=nytcore-ios-share&referringSource=articleShare

[1] The Manhattan Vintage Show is New York’s iconic vintage experience—an inspiring celebration for everyone who sees vintage as the future of fashion. Discover and shop NYC’s largest collection of clothing, jewelry, accessories, and textiles. Three times a year, the Manhattan Vintage Show convenes 90+ dealers featuring collections from every era, style, and price point in a fun, festive environment. We welcome vintage enthusiasts and newcomers alike to discover their unique style and celebrate the joy of vintage for all. We provide phenomenal services and amenities to create an elevated vintage experience and promote vintage as an essential part of the circular fashion future. Manhattan Vintage Show is a member of the Shop Extraordinary Enterprises family. Founded by Amy Abrams and Ronen Glimer and headquartered in New York City, Shop Extraordinary creates retail experiences that bolster the courage of entrepreneurs, the spirit of creativity, and the power of human connection. Our portfolio includes Artists & Fleas, a retail showcase for makers and creators, and Regeneration, a marketplace of vintage, thrift, and upcycled fashion for the next-generation vintage shopper. https://www.manhattanvintage.com/about-manhattan-vintage-show

[2] https://www.instagram.com/galipettevintage/

[3] https://www.instagram.com/ladyv.sta/

[4] https://www.instagram.com/olives_very_vintage/

[5] https://moorevintage.com/

[6] https://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/21/fashion/a-stephen-burrows-retrospective.html

[7] https://www.instagram.com/theigalanyc/

[longsleeveeveningdresses13]

Wearing a slightly heavier shoe can help to anchor and balance your top half !@%&&(mother of the bride dresses over 50

Daytime: You'll stay cute and cozy for colder weather in an easy outfit of a snug cable knit sweater, layered over body conscious black jeans. Carry a classic day bag and opt for wearable ankle boots, to take you through a day of running errands or walking through the woods. Kitten Heels - Wear kitten heels for comfort if you have smaller calves. These heels are easier on your feet, so you can wear them all day without trouble.Wedges - Embrace chunkier style shoes like wedges. Wearing a slightly heavier shoe can help to anchor and balance your top half mother of the bride dresses over 50. Remember that no matter what your body type, you'll need to choose the right color to flatter your skin tone. Ask a friend what colors look good on you, or try taking photos of yourself in basic tees and seeing what looks best.

Sleeves Select narrow sleeves that extend at least to the elbow cheap cocktail dresses, and avoid short cap sleeves, flutter sleeves, or puff sleeves because they widen your shoulder line. Sleeveless styles usually look best on women who have slender, toned arms. Lengthen and slim your legs with a pair of heeled shoes. Heavier style heels, which are not stilettos, will balance out your calves.Avoid shoes with ankle straps or t-strap styles short formal dresses, which can make your legs look larger. You May Also Like: One of many suitable chapters within a ladies lifetime is ... Sleeveless Scoop Neck Satin Wedding Dresses people is able to do devoid of are classified as the ... - 站点标题 the duration of wedding costume along with outfits strapless ... rose gold bridesmaid dresses&wedding dresses — should ...

[ladyvader23]

Like all college students, I was desperate for money. My piano teacher also happened to own a Liberty Tax franchise. For those who don’t know, it’s a major chain tax company that you can do our taxes at, but they’re notorious for having their employees dress up as the statue of liberty and wave signs on the side of the road. 

This is what it looks like (taken from some random internet search, not actually me) 

Well. It turns out, there’s another position where you wear the costume: a marketing position. You go to 50+ businesses a day wearing this costume, you give a little spiel, ask the business to set out some flyers, and in return you give them treats and take their business card to hand out at the main store or whatever. 

That was my job. As a theater kid, this didn’t bother me in the slightest, but out of all of the other marketers in our area, I had the most unique experiences. 

I did not know it at the time, but churches apparently run like businesses, so I had to go to churches, too. One Friday, a church of some Christian denomination was my last stop before heading home. I walk in...and I walk into the middle of a wedding. The Statue of Liberty. Showed up. To a wedding. Naturally, everyone freaked out, I freaked out, and the mothers of the bride and groom literally prayed me out of the church. In panic, I tossed a loaf of bread (the treat I’d give out) into their arms and said, “I’m so sorry, here, have some bread!” I bet somewhere there’s a couple who has a picture of a panicked college student in an ugly Statue of Liberty costume in their wedding album. 

Probably the craziest though was I was driving to my next set of businesses, wearing the costume (I usually took off the hat, but the shopping areas were so close, I didn’t that time). A cop driving the other way sees me, turns around, lights go on. I pull over and he comes up to my window. He stares. Squints. Finally, he says, “What...are you doing?” 

Me: Um. Working? 

Cop: Why are you dressed like that? 

Me: (I explain the whole thing) ...so...you’re not going to give the Statue of Liberty a ticket, right? I mean that seems kinda unAmerican to me. 

I did not get a ticket, but he did find the whole thing the highlight of his day. 

Honestly, that whole job seems kind of like a fever dream now that I look back at it, but according to my boss, I seemed to attract the weirdest situations, so maybe it was just me. 

[harryforvogue]

7′s the Number*

welcome to the divorced!harry fic!! warnings: OC has OCD, mention of a death of a parent, sexual content.

just another clarification: lucía, aka the OC, is NOT harry’s ex wife. they did not get a divorce. harry’s ex wife is a different person

please donate to my ko-fi here! like...please. donating is sexy.

this is 28.8k words because i have no self restraint. i don’t even want to think about how much i’ve written this year <3 as always, happy reading! and tell me what you think!

special thanks to @themeerkatnate​ for helping me out with the spanish bits, to @harryhoney-bee​ for her great grandma, and to @havinaballinthisbitch​ for being a pain in my ass

***

LUCÍA

They say staying friends with your ex is a gamble because you’ll always have intimate feelings for them. They never do go away, I’ll agree with that, but I didn’t think about that when Harry and I broke up only because I couldn't imagine life without him after he’d been with me for so long. Meeting someone like Harry was a privilege and I’m not saying that just because we were once together. What Harry brought to our relationship is what he brought to our friendship before and after we were together. His excitement for life put a smile on my face when nothing else would, and it continues to do so.

People say watching your ex move on is heartbreaking, and I agree with this too, but somehow, I’ve managed. He’s dated for two years after me. It’s been the same girl. I avoided being alone with them, for my own sanity, but slowly the burning jealous monster inside of me began to cool soon enough. It wasn’t an overnight occurrence. It took weeks and months, but that smile on his face made it all better.

Nothing, however, would have prepared me for Harry’s wedding day, marrying someone else.

He’s always said that he only wants to get married once because it’ll be with the right person. I thought that person would be me, but there he was, looking beautiful in his suit, combed back hair, and excited smile. He was unable to stand still for the entirety of the ceremony.

I recall it clearly. He sent me a nervous look and then furrowed his brow when he read the expression on my face. I wouldn’t be able to hide my hurt. His eyes went soft and then his expression turned apologetic. I wanted to tell him that I was happy for him, but standing there in the front row next to his sister and mother, I felt anything but happy. I felt stupid in my dress and makeup. I felt angry at myself for not fighting for him harder two years ago. I felt like the love of my life was slipping away and this was my last chance.

Say something, a voice in my head screamed. Say it now!

I opened my mouth. Harry raised his eyebrows and his eyes widened. I think he leaned towards me. But then the music began to play and his bride stepped into the room. I tore my eyes from him before he could, unable to stomach the look he was about to give her. My mouth closed and the ceremony proceeded.

This was a year and a half ago. They say that 50 percent of marriages fail, and most fail in the first two years.

Nothing could have prepared me for Harry’s wedding, but nothing could have prepared me for Harry’s divorce either.

***

November 1

I’ve been in weird places with Harry at the weirdest hours, but this is a new one. We’re in the bathroom stall, Harry’s hand hovering over the toilet holding a valuable item that should not seem all that important to him now, but he’s hesitating at the last moment. It was my idea to come here after all, the bathroom of a bar at nearly 2 in the morning, but neither of us are drunk and everything has come down to this. All the arguments, all the late nights, all the tears. It ends now.

We’re cramped in this stall, barely standing a few inches apart. I have a clear view of Harry’s face and all the emotions passing over his features. He’s sad, but also determined. Confused, but his mind is set.

His shoulders drop. “It’s fucking engraved in her grandmother’s handwriting. Jesus Christ.”

I poke his bicep, hard. “Don’t go soft on me now, Styles. Her grandma won’t care.”

He gives me a pointed look. “And how do you know that?”

“Her granddaughter ruined your life. I’m pretty sure she’ll let this one slide, Harry.”

“She didn’t…” Harry trails off, knowing I’m right. I nod at him and raise my eyebrows to acknowledge the ring in his hand. It’s a fancy one, gold all around with a neat engraving inside. He reads it one last time and then takes a deep breath.

“Okay.” He holds the ring over the toilet. In a voice that suggests otherwise he says, “I’m ready.”

I get into position, holding my finger over the flush tab. “Let’s do this.”

“Let’s count to five.”

“Let’s do three.”

I hear his sharp intake of air. “Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“One, two…three.”

It happens quickly. He drops it and I swiftly flush it down before he can have second thoughts and then we both stand side by side watching the ring get flushed away. Somewhere behind us, a light bulb goes out and it’s suddenly darker in the stall. When I glance at him, I can barely make out his features, but the hard line of his mouth is clear.

Harry turns and looks at me when the ring is gone. He suddenly steps forward and holds his arms out, wrapping them around me and squeezing until I'm struggling to breathe. His neck is exposed due to his hair being tied out of the way, and my nose presses into the column of his throat.

“This really sucks,” he whispers in my ear. I hold him firmly to my front, gently guiding his head to my shoulder.

“I know,” I say, though I really don’t. “We can get through this. I’m sure of it.”

I hold him until he releases me and asks to be taken home. Since neither of us are drunk, it’s no question that it’s time to head back. What we came to do has been done, a mission gone not-so-smoothly, but successful in the end nonetheless.

Harry climbs into my car and sits with his head against the window.

As I’m driving, I glance down at his naked fingers, a weird unsettling feeling in my stomach. He’s too silent for my liking, but I can practically hear the relentless thoughts in his head joining in with mine. For the first time that night, I regret making Harry flush his ring. After all, it was my idea, and now that I ponder over it, worrying if I’ve offended him, I realize how dangerous the ground we’re treading on is. If he doesn’t say something soon, crack a joke or make a passing comment about how it’s funny that we keep catching red lights, I may have to say something. The worst part is that I don’t know what I could even day to make him feel better.

“Hey,” he says a little while later, sitting up. Relief floods me immediately. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

He pause, still glancing out the window. “When I was getting married, standing up there, do you remember when I looked over at you?”

Discomfort pricks at my neck. “Of course.”

“I think about it a lot. Your face, I mean.” I see his clearly when I stop at yet another red light and he turns his head towards me. I can’t read his expression well enough though, something that frightens me because I was once able to read him with a single glance and now I don’t have the ability. I recall bragging about it for years, but now I’m debating just how well I know him. “I remember it so clearly. You weren’t crying, but there was so much pain on your face. It’s like I’d just...I don’t know. Like I’d done something horrible to you.”

I don’t reply, focused on the red light. I stare at it until my eyes water. When the light turns green, I jerk the car into motion. Harry has to grab onto his arm rest. 

“You didn’t say it was me,” he continues, “but it felt like it was me. I’d done something, right? And I never realized it. I was so stupid for inviting you to that wedding.”

I swallow, looking down at the cup holder for a bottle of water to relieve my aching throat. “You don’t think I should have been there? On your happiest day?”

“I'd never seen that expression on your face before. And I haven’t since then. But it was there on my wedding day, and I’ve been thinking about it so much. If I could go back and avoid it, I would.”

Harry’s normally slow speech is even slower now, carefully saying each word. “You looked betrayed,” he says quietly. “Hurt.”

I bring the car to a stop in front of his house. “I was hurt,” I admit, reaching for his trembling hand. There’s no cold metal to prevent my entire hand from touching his. “But you were happy. It was either going to be you or me.”

“But I’ve been thinking,” he insists, squeezing my hand back, “about how I’d feel at your wedding. And I’ve only realized now how ugly the feeling would be. We’d been together for so long. We were always planning a wedding.”

I remove my hand from his grip. “I’m not going to sit here and make you feel bad for being happy. Because you were happy for years. This divorce is making you think of things that could have been, but we can’t go back and fix it, so why bother? You were happy with her. That’s a fact. You married her and that’s a fact. You got divorce. That’s the fact we’re working on digesting. You have too much on your plate to be worrying about me.”

“Do you…” he begins suddenly, “do you ever feel like we…”

His eyes widen and he stops, looking away as if he can’t believe what he was about to say. His shoulders fall again. “I’m so tired. Goodnight, Luce. I’ll see you soon?”

Disappointment grows inside me when he doesn’t continue. “Yes,” I assure him softly. “I’ll see you.”

He disappears inside of his house. I drive away with an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It’s returned more than once since Harry announced his divorce, and I still don’t know how to identify it though it’s been weeks. When I get home, the feeling has settled deep within me and doesn’t show any signs of leaving.

***

November 7

It honestly seems like time is going by too fast and I’m not grounded like I was before. The sense of isolation worries me, but it’s what I’ve done to myself.

As soon as this month ends, it’ll be the anniversary of two separate events that have turned my life upside down, though one of those was caused by my own decision. Four years since I ended my relationship with Harry. Four years since my father passed away.

To make matters worse, it's been almost two years since I visited my father’s grave. Maybe it’s the guilt that’s piling up on me, or maybe that I feel like I’ve abandoned the one person who was always there for me. My mom has repeatedly telling me to come down to Ecuador to visit his grave. On the occasions that I call her, she always says, “Te extrañamos, mija” which makes me want to call her less because by that, she means to say both she and my father miss me. Tired of sobbing my eyes out every time she calls, I’ve decided it’s best for my own sake that we don’t call often. That doesn’t stop her from trying to reach me though.

Thinking about him too much makes my skin feel as if it’s about to erupt in hives. His lingering presence is around here, around me, but the thoughts of his apparition following me around makes me nervous. What if he’s still stuck around here? I’m not particularly religious, but at these times, I wish I'd been able to follow a religion and believe in something at least.

I wonder if this is how Harry feels, because if so, if we are connected through this miserable, helpless feeling, I don’t think I could ever help him.

The picture of my father on my desk has been turned down. At first, I turned it around so I wouldn’t be able to see it while I worked at my desk, working through paperwork upon paperwork since the pandemic has made me rely on working from home, but I’d see his crinkly smile and bright eyes as I’d approach my desk. I’m not at the stage where I’d like to remove him from the wood altogether, but I can’t stand the feeling of his eyes on me, watching every dip of my pen, every line I make with my art tools, every breath I take. I already feel his eyes everywhere. I can’t stand this.

For weeks, I didn’t get any work done, but now that he’s no longer looking at me, I can work.

My laptop takes most of my attention on weekdays. Typing has become a little harder for me recently. If I make a typo, I must delete the entire sentence and rewrite it. It takes so long to write a single email. I must attach and delete the attachments repeatedly until I can slide over the attachment in a single go and not accidentally drop it from my cursor. I need to hear a good click before I can send the email. The “enter” button on my keyboard has been stuck recently and it’s been driving me insane.

It’s the same with writing. If I’m writing a quick note on a notepad, if the letters are unreadable, I’ve got to discard the post-it altogether and redo it. It’s incredibly time consuming. I’ve wasted so much paper these past few months.

I enjoy my job thoroughly, but it’s been feeling like a chore recently. I’ve rearranged my office twice in the past week. I’ve cleaned my desk multiple times so everything feels right. Something bad will happen if I don’t. I don’t know what it would be, but I’d rather take the precaution. It’s always been like this, the discomfort slowly becoming a background characteristic of me. It’s just been worse recently.

My therapist says to just stop. Stop giving into the temptation. Stop rewriting sentences. Stop flicking the light switch until it feels right. Stop refusing to put my phone down unless all five of my fingers wrap around the width of it. Stop refusing to sleep until I’ve checked that my alarm is on three times. Stop counting.

“I’m trying,” I’ve been telling her. “I really am.”

“Keep trying,” she says. “Eventually you’ll see that nothing bad happens.”

I’m not sure about that. I’ve been doing everything my brain has been telling me. I haven’t explored the idea of not doing something. I can’t do it. I can’t explain it, but I just can’t walk away from an intrusive thought like that.

I swivel back in my chair, laying my head back. My mind wanders back to Harry. I should invite him to stay over for a few days while his ex wife packs her stuff. He’s been so scared about running into her. I understand. But, I am also selfish and I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from becoming intimate with Harry once more. And that’s the one thing he does not need.

I have to be his friend. I cannot be thinking of myself at a time like this when Harry could be, arguably, doing worse than I am. How did this happen? Just over three years ago, everything was falling into place. Our early twenties looked bright and the future was even more exciting to ponder over. What kind of adventures would we go on together? How much more money would we have to save in order to treat ourselves when necessary?

Well, life certainly works in mysterious ways because three years ago, I never would have thought I’d be in this type of predicament. I know life can be difficult and that people come and go, but I didn’t expect to be the type of person to stay hung up on important people I let get away. When Harry and I broke up, I told myself that it was for the best, for both of us. When my father died, I thought it was for the best that he’s in a better place. 

But now, four years later, I’m wondering if I’ve made a mistake thinking the people who have left were right to leave.

***

November 10 HARRY

It’s snowing. Not enough to stick, but enough for the roads to become slippery and the bridges to be encased with ice. When the temperature drops, I usually feel a lot better. I don’t like how hot it gets even in Boston. Though I’ve been in America for years, I’ll never fail to get excited at the sight of the snow. Winter is the best season, especially when it comes in strong. The hot days of summer blend into each other making me dehydrated and, oddly enough, feel lonely. But the winter makes it all melt away. 

I’m supposed to be working on quarterly budget reports for work, but there’s something else taking my attention. It’s the last bit of paperwork before the divorce is finalized. I was filling out the forms just a few moments ago, but since I’m left handed, looking at my bare fingers became too jarring and, frankly, a little bit depressing.

So now I’m just staring at the half filled forms and thinking how much trouble I’d be in if I packed up all my belongings tonight and decided to flee to England. I still have some family left there. I’m sure I could combine some savings and buy a flat. Rent, even. Get a dog so I’m not lonely.

Unfortunately, almost all my family is now in America, so parting from them will be difficult. Not to mention Lucía might kill me altogether.

Speaking of Lucía, I’ve got to ask her what’s been going on with her. Ever since I broke the news of the divorce to her, she’s been focusing so much on helping me move on, I've forgotten to ask how she’s doing. I’m grateful she’s my friend during these tough times, but recently, there’s been something dark in her eyes, something on the tip of her tongue that she’s held herself back from saying.

And it’s almost December. December is brutal to Lucía.

Given my position with the relationships in my life, I don’t think I should have a say in how she addresses hers. Not with my wife still harassing me about the forms I haven’t finished.

Wife. She’s made the word become so bitter in my mouth. As soon as she’s changed her name back and decided to move out, I imagine things will be a little easier, but for now, I’ll have to withstand the tight feeling in my stomach.

I’m 27 years old. I’ve been married for less than two years and here I am losing sleep over a divorce. There has to be something wrong with me. How have I made bad decision after bad decision? These thoughts torment me at night as I’m too busy with work and court dates in the morning and afternoons. My choices have taken a negative toll on everyone around me, and there’s nobody to blame but myself. I was in a sane state of mind while making these decisions, so how come the consequences are hitting harder than any other stupid thing I’ve done in my life? How did I decide that I was ready to settle down so early? How did I just agree to the divorce so easily without going to therapy or seeking a second, third, and fourth opinion? How did I let Lucía walk away from our relationship in a single night? Everything’s happening around me. This is my life, yet I am not in charge of it at all.

I push the forms back into their respective manilla folders and get up to brew some strong tea. Snow is still falling steadily, snowflakes dissolving as soon as they touch the ground. There’s puddles of water forming around the sewers on my street. All the lights are bright and some people have begun to put up Christmas lights already.

After tea, I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Then, I carefully wash my face and then look up into the mirror. Gliding my wet hands over my face, I check for any inconsistencies. My eyes look a bit swollen and perhaps a little jaded. My mouth looks the same with the small mole beside it. My cheeks look a little less full than usual and my collarbones seem to be sticking out just a bit more than I’d like. My dark circles are the worst of them all.

Then, I glance down at my hands. They look relatively the same as before, with the exception of the lack of gold band around my third finger. I wiggle my fingers a bit and then peer at my face again. Physically, I’m pretty much the same person. Just a bit weathered. That’s alright, I think to myself. People get divorced all the time. They make it out alive. You’re different now. You’re a divorced man. You’re no longer a married man.

Back in my room, I look at my king sized bed. I never had one before, even when I lived with Luce. We both fit comfortably on a queen size, and we didn’t spend a lot of time away from each other at night either. I always felt pleasantly suffocated on that bed with her, and I enjoyed every moment of it. This bed is much larger and I feel suffocated in a different way, as if I’m drowning. When I sit on it, I immediately sink in. Luce always claimed to have back issues so our mattress was more firm than this one. This mattress is comfortable, though very unsatisfactory.

I lay right in the middle, because I’m allowed to now. I feel small and then think of the person who can help me feel better. I’ve made it a mission not to bother her so often, but on days I feel terribly lonely, I become selfish and think only of myself. Sometimes, I wonder if that is the reason for her ending things with me.

***

LUCÍA

Tonight’s not a good night. I’m standing in the shower, focusing on my breathing instead of the temptation, but what if this is the time that the worst happens? The conditioner bottle in my hand nearly slips when I put it back down, taking a few seconds to brace for the worst. Nothing happens. Hot water sprays onto my face and burns my skin, but aside from the discomfort, the catastrophe that I expect doesn’t happen. My shoulders slowly begin to relax, breathing a little evenly. It’s okay. I can stop showering now.

Somewhere in the other room, I hear my phone ringing. My eyes open immediately and fear grips me as I glance down at the conditioner bottle, praying the ringing stops. 

Stop. Stop!

It’s not stopping!

As soon as I snatch the bottle up again and squirt more product into my palm, the ringing stops. Oh, God. Was I too late? No, I couldn’t have been. It was only ten seconds. Ten seconds, not three or seven. Ten is an awful number. Why did I wait so long?

So for the third time that night, I begin to condition my hair, rubbing the product through the ends of my curls. If I condition too much, they’ll become dry and brittle, but I can’t stop my hands. Three times isn’t so bad, I end up thinking to myself. At least it’s not seven times like two weeks ago. I cried so hard while detangling my hair in the morning.

When I’m out of the shower, I check my phone, only to be horrified because it was Harry who had called. And recently, I’ve been trying to save Harry from getting hurt. Is it finally this time?

Panicked, I call him back and begin pacing in my room. He picks up on the fourth bell and says, “Hey. Sorry, I thought you were busy. Then I realized it’s 10 at night.”

“Are you okay?” I press, holding the phone anxiously. My hair’s dripping water onto my floor and as I pace, I nearly slip. “Are you hurt?”

Harry was very confused when we first started dating. He didn’t understand the correlation between the state of my relationships and the obsession that came with numbers for me. I couldn’t explain how it had started or why, but that it was going to be a factor in this relationship. Over time, Harry’s become very accustomed to it.

So much that he laughs a bit. “Yeah, Luce. I’m good.”

“Stop laughing. It’s serious.”

He doesn’t sound serious at all. “I know. Thanks for worrying about me. What was it this time?”

“Fuck you. I had to condition my hair three times.”

“And why about me?”

“I don’t know. I just felt like if I didn’t do it, you’d blow up or something. And at first, I didn’t do it because--”

I hear his smile. “Because you don’t care about me.”

“No! Because my therapist says to try to break out of it and see that nothing happens when I don’t give into the temptation. And I tried that, but then you called. And I got scared.”

“Alright,” Harry replies softly, no longer finding it funny apparently. “I’m sorry. But, I’m fine. Thank you for worrying.”

“Shut up.” I can’t help but smile too, finally feeling a little better. “Are you good? It’s pretty late.”

Harry exhales deeply like he’s just settled into his couch. “Yeah, I’m good. I was going to ask if I could come by your job tomorrow. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“That sounds very ominous. You know I don’t like that, Harry.”

“I promise it’s not bad. I’d just like to see your face when I ask you.”

This makes my heart beat a little faster in my chest. “Oh. Yeah, just come before my first meeting at 11, okay?”

“I don’t have to come if you’re busy.”

“I’m not busy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “That’s all I had to say. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Okay. Bye, Harry.”

“Bye, Luce.”

There’s a pause right before we hang up. There’s always one. In my head, I tell Harry that I love him and I like to think that Harry’s doing the same. The pause lasts for three seconds before I hear him pull the phone away from his ear and end the call. I tuck my phone away under my sheets and then get ready for bed.

Thankfully, brushing my teeth doesn’t take too long and drying my hair too. And when I lay in bed, I find that sleep comes to me easily. Thank goodness, because I don’t think I could survive yet another sleepless night.

***

November 11

There’s a lot to do at work today. With the impending snow storm on the way, my department head believes the office will have to shut down for at least a day, if not more. The building itself is old so when there’s a big storm, there’s a high probability that the lights will go out and it takes hours of maintenance to revive the building.

I have a job interview in a few days. I want to be the new department head when the current one gets a promotion. I’ve been prepping meticulously for it and I have a team to help me get ready for the interview with corporate. Nearly every day, I meet with them at 11 o’clock to go over my key points over what I’d change as the new boss and how I’ll put my plans into action.

My phone goes off when I’m just getting into my key notes for today’s meeting.

“Harry Styles is here to see you. There’s no appointment in the book. Should I send him in or ask him to schedule an appointment?” the receptionist says.

“No, no, just send him up.”

Harry arrives at my office at 10:30 and sheepishly places a hazelnut latte gently in front of me. “I know. I’m pushing it with the time. I can tell you’re in a bad mood.”

I’m feeling a little nervous and trying to avoid caffeine, but I know how hard it must have been for him to get the coffee, especially with the weather outside. He still has some snow in his hair. I take the coffee and sip it, appearing disinterested.

“Did you get me a donut?”

“No,” Harry says, grinning, as he pulls out a bag and tosses it onto my desk. Two pumpkin donuts. 

“Hmm. Good enough. Sit down.”

Harry sits down, fixing his shirt as he does. He crosses his leg over the other comfortably and then rests his hands in his lap. Whenever I see Harry, I like to note the differences from the last time I’d seen him. His under eye circles are still very prominent.

His hair is still drying from his morning shower, face clean shaved. His clothes are neatly pressed, a spark in his eye. I feel proud just from looking at him. I hope he feels the same looking at me.

“I’m alright. Got a court meeting tomorrow about dividing our assets. It’s a bit annoying now.” He hesitates suddenly and then leans forward, placing his laced hands on my desk. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I know you don’t have a lot of time, but I’m occupied tomorrow so I’m just going to fit it in now.”

“Sure. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, everything’s good.”

“Alright. What is it?”

Harry opens his mouth and inhales, but then stops. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. I know Harry well enough to be able to tell when he’s stressed and his discomfort oddly eases my thoughts of not being able to read him anymore.

 “I wanted to ask you last time, but I guess we were a little busy,” he starts, glancing down at his bare fingers. “You can totally say no because I understand how weird this is and I don’t want you to feel pressured because I’m your friend, but I also want you to consider it, alright?”

I put the coffee down and reach for the donuts and take a big bite. “Sounds good.”

“Alright, well.” Now he looks uneasy. He cracks his knuckles. “I was wondering if it would be okay to stay with you for a little bit.”

I swallow the donut. It goes down the wrong pipe and I cough a bit. Harry looks concerned. With tears in my eyes, I croak, “Is the demon bitch kicking you out of your own apartment?”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth curves into a small smile. “What? No. It’s not that. She’s almost fully moved out actually. I haven’t seen her in a while. It’s just that, well, the apartment is meant for two or three people, you know? So now that she’s not there, it’s just big and empty. And I’m barely there except to sleep. I just… I don’t know. I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

There’s a pink blush over his cheeks, giving him a healthy glow on his otherwise pale skin. His summer freckles are long gone now, but the new color looks lovely on him. “I don’t mind,” I find myself saying, “if you stay at mine for a bit. But it’s a little cramped and it’s meant for one person.”

“I don’t mind that,” Harry says quickly, sitting up a bit straighter. “It’s not the space I’m worried about. I’ve never been there but I’m sure it’s a great space. I guess I’m more concerned about…”

“Staying with me,” I finish, putting the donut down. I wipe my hands on a napkin, but choose to do it under the desk because my fingers are trembling.

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, scratching his neck. “I don’t want it to be weird. But I also don’t want to be alone and I’d rather be with someone I know than be alone.”

This is one of the many times that I realize I don’t fully know how Harry’s been handling the divorce, only because I’ve never been through one. I’ve been through break ups, the worst one being with the person sitting in front of me, but never a divorce. After all those years and vows and sacrifices. It’s beginning to dawn on me just how lonely a divorce must be. She’d rejected him and the last thing I want is for Harry to feel unloved.

He isn't. I’m the one who loves him.

And not only that, but I know Harry’s nature after being with him for so long. He’s emotional. He feels hurt deeply.

Harry assumes my silence is a sign of discomfort. Immediately, his eyes widen. “Like I said, you don’t have to agree. You can even take a day or two to think about it. I’m not...I’m not forcing you. And I know that this is really weird because you’re… you, Luce. We have history and I’m not trying to open any stitches or do anything to hurt you. And-and you can totally tell me if I’m disrespecting boundaries because I’ve done that in the past without realizing. I just want to be comfortable and I want you to be comfortable, so be completely honest with me. It won’t make me upset or angry or anything, yeah?”

Fuck, he’s freaking out. I can see the vein in his neck bulging from lack of air. He begins cracking his joints again. I crack my own. Two on one hand, two on the other.

“That’s not the problem, Harry,” I tell him sincerely. “I don’t mind you staying with me. I think my concerns are the same as yours, that we’ve lived together before and we’re not exactly dating anymore so what if it’s awkward?”

“I promise I will stay out of your way and not bug you when you’re working and leave you alone. Like I said, I’m barely at my own place, so I don’t think I’ll be at yours much anyways except to sleep.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll pay for rent, Luce.”

I shake my head, offering him a smile. “I’m not worried about rent. You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, but if I’m using your apartment, it’s the least I can do.”

“You can buy the groceries.”

“Sure, I can totally--” He pauses, inhaling slowly. “Are you agreeing to this?”

Having Harry as a roommate again? I can do that. It’ll only be for a little bit. I can keep myself off of him. I’m agreeing to this, aren’t I? This is a bad idea, but he’s looking at me like that. Like the first time he considered we should move in together when we had been dating. Such hopefulness in his eyes. Such excitement and nervousness.

How could I say no to him when he’s looking at me like he’s completely dependent on me? I want him to be dependent on me, but it’s irresponsible of me when I’m struggling to take care of myself. Should I be selfish again and refuse him? Or should I give it a try?

In the end, the only selfishness that proves to be triumphant is when I think about Harry’s close proximity to me. And I love the idea of being physically close with him.

“Yes,” I answer, reaching for my donut again. “We can make this work.”

Instant relief breaks out onto his face. He smiles wide and runs a hand through his hair. “Thank you, Luce. I promise I won’t get in your way, okay?”

“I don’t mind,” I insist sincerely, wishing my heart would stop acting like it’s about to stop. “I hope your living habits have changed from before.”

Harry stands up and shakes his head. “They haven’t. At all. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t come tonight though. I’ve gotta clean up.” And freak out privately. “How about the day after tomorrow?”

“That’s perfect,” he breathes, leaning over the desk to press a quick kiss to my cheek. He glances down at his watch at the same time my phone’s alarm begins to ring, signaling that I have to leave for the meeting soon. “Thank you. I’ll let you go to your meeting now, but seriously. I owe you a bunch. Bye!”

And with that, Harry’s out of my office and I’m taking a bite out of my donut once more. This is fine, I think to myself. Everything is going to go smoothly.

I feel the weight of his lips on my cheek throughout the hour-long meeting. I am a very selfish woman, indeed.

***

November 13 HARRY

I thought sleeping in the king sized bed was lonely, but nothing hits the bottom of my stomach like pulling out a duffel bag and beginning to pack. It dawns on me only an hour into packing that the bag was originally bought for the purpose of vacationing, but here I am, using it for the first time to get away from my wife. 

She’s not here tonight, which is ideal because running into her has been terribly awkward and in no way avoidable. Since there hasn’t been much communication between us in recent weeks, I’ve been on edge about when she’ll decide to pop up. I know she won’t be sleeping in the apartment, but I also don’t know if she’s here while I’m at work. I do know she’s here, however, by some miracle, we’ve run into each other only a handful of times. And those times have made me incredibly uncomfortable.

I decide to pack quickly. Whatever I end up forgetting will be borrowed from Lucía or bought new.

Speaking of which, I’ve packed for at least two weeks. It doesn’t seem like much, especially when I lift the duffel bag and realize how light it is.

I don’t know how long I intend on staying with Lucía or how that whole dynamic is going to work out. But I’ve been so uncomfortable these past few weeks that if the feeling is going to follow me everywhere, I might as well be uncomfortable with someone who lessens that feeling for me.

As I continue to pack, I think of how her house must look. Knowing her, she’s meticulously cleaned every crevice of it, though I’ve told her nobody probably notices. I’ll make a special effort to mention the clean apartment though.

Before I leave, I throw out products that will expire in two weeks time. I haven’t seen her use any of the dairy, but every time I open the fridge, there’s less there. Apparently she’s bought some new cartons of milk recently and when I pick them up, they’re completely full. I bring them to the sink and hold the fresh milk over the drain, ready to spill, simply out of spite.

Then, I hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me to let go of grudges. And I put the carton back in the fridge.

***

Lucía’s place is closer to my office, which will work out well for me. I plan on just dropping my bags and leaving so I can head to work this morning. I don’t see any reason why I have to go into work late. 

Lucía clearly thinks differently about this. Especially when she opens her door, still in her pajamas, hair unraveling out of her hair tie. And she wears the most irritated look on her tired face. Her expression is shadowed and the side of her cheek has a print of her pillow pressed into her skin. Compared to her, I’m dressed in a sweater and jeans, more suitable for the weather.

“You’re upset,” I carefully note. “What have I done this time?”

When Lucía’s extremely angry, she can’t bring herself to talk. It’s a weird thing about her and I’ve laughed at it before, but it does not seem like a laughing matter this time.

She grounds her teeth and hisses, “It’s 6 in the morning.”

“Yes,” I answer cheerfully. “Hey, can I come in? It’s really cold.”

She’s shivering already from the cold air I’ve brought inside the house. I push my way past her, dropping my bags. “Hey, this is a really nice place.”

“I’m going to strangle you.”

“Did you go to sleep late? Why do you still do that? Look, I got you donuts, alright? So don’t be mad at me, woman.”

Lucía looks at the donuts with distaste and then narrows her eyes and snatches them. “I am going to sleep for an hour more. Do not wake me.”

I’m not going to, wanting to keep all my body parts intact. Instead, I do the only acceptable thing since I have some time to spare. I make myself a cup of coffee and begin snooping.

To be fair, I’m not going into depth with my detective work, simply scoping the place and trying to see what’s different about the way Lucía sets up her apartment. When we lived together, she was never particular about how we decorated, leaving that completely up to me (with the exception of her office which she swore if I ever entered without her permission, she’d maim me, but I never blamed her because I hate people messing around with my work when I’m absent, too.). Since the interior decorating was mainly on me, I designed the apartment how I would design it if I were living alone and it worked quite well. Hence why I’m interested to see what she’s done differently. I begin with the kitchen.

It’s the basics, with her kitchen island in the middle and a few stools perched around it. There are four, but only one looks slightly worn down which suggests she doesn’t have many people over. As soon as I realize that, I look around for pictures on the walls of her friends or family. Surprisingly, as opposed to her desk at work, she doesn’t have any of those up, just a few paintings and wall decor that I could have picked out myself. In fact, I would lean towards these abstract works of art rather than scenic, so I think that perhaps I’ve had an influence on her taste.

Still, it’s peculiar that she doesn’t have any framed pictures, despite her having lived in this apartment for two years. The living room has a TV in the corner and a regular sized couch with a dark grey throw flung over the back cushions. I sit down and cross my legs. I would snoop in her room if that were allowed. But then I remember she’s most likely prepared a room for me, so with newfound excitement, I’m back on my feet to check out my new living space.

Remaining completely quiet as I pass the bedrooms, I realize she hasn’t exactly told me which bedroom is mine, so it’s a guessing game between these two adjacent rooms. Both of the doors are closed. I go for the one on the left.

Lucía’s fast asleep on the bed, burrowed in her blankets with her head and curly hair peeking out. My hand tightens on the door handle, but I can’t seem to move, either into the room or away from it. She’s got the same troubled expression on her face that’s always there when she sleeps, despite her having a good rest. She’s not having a bad dream, I know that much, but one look at her and I immediately want to press the crease away from her forehead like I used to years ago.

Not allowed, I firmly remind myself, swallowing. I take a step back and shut the door behind me. Well. It’s got to be the next door, doesn’t it?

It’s a decent sized room with clean white sheets spread over the bed, a window behind the head board, and a joint bathroom. There’s a twist in my stomach at the sight of the empty bed. I don’t feel like snooping anymore. I go to the kitchen to make myself breakfast. I can’t get the image of Lucía asleep out of my head. Definitely not while I’m painfully aware of the fact that she’s only a few steps away. 

***

When she’s finally awake and less likely to hurl something at my head, she walks to the kitchen, grabs her water bottle, and then plops down beside me in the living room.

Despite the fact that she’s dressed and has her makeup and jewelry on, her face still tells me of how tired she is, not only by the puffiness of her eyelids, but the dark circles under her eyes. She blinks sleepily at me and then takes a big gulp of her water.

“Must be nice,” she says, resting her head back against the couch, “to have all that hair to warm you up.”

I tuck a strand of my curls behind my ear, aware of her eyes following my hand. “I mean, I’m going to put it up anyways.” I also open my mouth to tell her she has longer hair than me, but it’s already in a bun as always.

“Why? Looks nice out like that.”

I shake my head and smile at her, leaning my head back as well. “It’s annoying sometimes. Easy to put up. I’m too attached to it to cut it.”

Lucía sighs deeply and sips at her water again. “I don’t want you to cut it.”

The decision of mine to not cut it only solidifies with her words, which causes me to pause and reassess the true weight of her words on me. I immediately made up my mind after the words came out of her mind. I turn my head to glance at her; she’s idly looking at the ceiling fan.

A crease forms between her eyebrows and she picks her head up. “Why is the fan on? It’s 15 degrees outside.”

“20. And you know how hot I get.”

“You’re so weird.”

“You’re living with it now. Can’t back out now.”

“Right.” She sits up and yawns. “We’ve got to get going.”

“You won’t eat anything?”

“Can’t eat in the morning. You know that.”

I do, but I was hoping that had changed. “Want me to buy you anything on the way there? We can stop somewhere.”

Lucía’s fixing her collar when I say this and she pauses, frowning again. “You’re driving me to work?”

“Well,” I say, standing up and grabbing my keys from the coffee table. “You’re on my way, so do you mind?”

Either Lucía’s mind works slowly in the mornings or she’s taking her time to consider the answer to this proposal. “Can you drive me everyday?” she says, to my surprise. I smile and nod. “Okay, then yes. You may buy me something on the way. Everyday.”

“You’re trying to make my pockets hurt againn.”

“Yes,” she says, completely serious. “I am.”

I gesture for her to walk in front of me and once we’re both outside in the cold, I sit in the already warmed car as Lucía locks the front door.

“Do you like your room?” she asks, buckling her seatbelt.

“Yes,” I answer, thinking back to how I’d opened the door to the wrong room. I think about her warmth under her sheets, the hairs on my arm rising. “I love it. Thank you.”

She makes a sound in the back of her throat that suggests she’s proud of herself. “Good.”

I tap my fingers along the steering wheel when we wait at a red light. Lucía has busied herself with figuring out what music we need to listen to for our first drive to work together. When the light turns green, I begin driving to Lucía’s favorite coffee shop. She picks her head up and glances at the building as it comes into view and I don’t need to be looking at her to know that she’s much more awake now. She sits up eagerly and is already unbuckling her seatbelt by the time I’m parked in front.

“Go on,” I tell her, putting the car in park. “Get me a coffee.”

She opens her door. “Same order?”

I pause at how nonchalantly she says it. As if remembering my order from 4 years ago is not a big deal. “Yes. Do you remember it?”

“Of course I do.”

Lucía hops out and adjusts her coat before placing a hand in her pocket. She’s checking if she has her wallet because she refuses to buy a bag for it. She carries it in her pocket, attached to her keys, which I distinctly remember scolding her about years ago because if she ever misplaced that small wallet, she’d be losing both necessary possessions. But, clearly, she has refused to listen to me. She pulls out her wallet and then disappears inside the shop.

She returns a few minutes later with a cup holder in one hand. “Here you go,” she says, passing me my coffee, tucking herself between her thighs to warm her up.

“Thank you.” I take a cautious sip. “You do remember my order.”

“Of course I do,” she repeats, thinking nothing of it. She takes a sip of her own coffee and then sighs, melting into her seat. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Your order is very easy to remember. Not to mention I always got you coffee when we were dating.” Her voice falters at the last word and she glances at me through the corner of her eyes to check if I’m alright with the mention of our history.

As soon as she reminds me that we once dated, I realize just how close we are in this car. And so alone.

“Right,” I finally say. “Don’t expect me to know your order though. It used to change frequently.”

I place the car in reverse and drape an arm behind her seat, carefully maneuvering the car out of the parking spot. 

“It changes almost every week. I no longer like hazelnut lattes.”

“I got lucky, then.”

“Yes. You did.”

Lucía finally finds a good song for the ride and continues to sip her coffee, letting out small “ah’s” whenever she swallows. Intrigued, I don’t say anything, but I’m thinking about how her habits haven’t changed over these years. I don’t know if the feeling in my stomach is discomfort, hope, or nostalgia, but whatever it is, it amplifies every time she swallows her drink and makes that noise.

Her lips must be incredibly warm after having them attached to the top of the cup during the entire ride. My hands absentmindedly tighten around the steering wheel.

“Luce.”

She turns to look at me. Her eyes are wider and less puffy. It’s a miracle what a cup of coffee does for her. “Yeah?”

“I have a court date on the 17th. Four days from now. We’ll talk about dividing our assets so once we decide on the apartment, I’ll let you know when I’ll go back home.”

Lucía is quiet for a while. She taps her nails against her cup. “You don’t have to rush. You just got here today.”

“Right.” And I’m losing my mind already. “But I don’t want to impose on you for too long. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

“I really don’t mind, Harry. Would you like me to come to court with you?” When I glance at her with uncertainty, she clarifies, “For moral support.”

“Yeah,” I answer, shooting her a smile. “I’d like that.”

She nods and turns back to her coffee, taking a longer sip despite how hot the beverage must be. She lets out the small “ah” and I have to focus on all my face muscles to reduce my smile because it only continues to grow listening to that soft sigh.

Arriving at her building, I pull up to the front and watch her get out. “I’ll be out by 4, okay?” she tells me, leaning down to reach the window. “When do you think we’ll go home?”

“I’ll be here by 4:15. Same spot.”

“Okay. See you.” She gives me one more smile before turning away and entering the large building.

As I’m driving away, a shiver runs through my body despite the blasting heat in the car and the warm coffee settling in my stomach. When do you think we’ll go home?

***

As promised, I arrive to pick her up at 4:15. She’s walking outside with one of her coworkers, talking to him animatedly. No doubt she’s explaining something of importance to him so I wait for them to finish their conversation.

Something heavy lands a blow into my gut when Lucía laughs and rests a hand on his shoulder before stepping away and heading towards my car. By the time she’s at my door, I think I’ve concealed the expression on my face well, offering her a smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi. It’s very cold,” she whispers, holding her hands over the air. “I am so hungry. Let’s order take out because I can’t be bothered with cooking right now.”

“Sure, Luce.”

She peeks at me as I pull out of the parking spot. Wordlessly, she reaches over and takes the AUX cord, attaching it to her phone. “You okay?”

She’s allowed to like other people. I would be a prick to deny her of that right, especially since I found myself married not even two years after that December night.

“Of course. I’m pretty hungry too.” I was, but I don’t have an appetite anymore. I swallow, in hopes of drowning the ill feelings deep down. “Let’s get some food.”

We have dinner and the discomfort I feel is momentarily gone. I listen intently as Lucía talks about her day, carefully chewing her food in between her words. She drinks her water in intervals of 3. Her throat works to swallow the liquid and I’m constantly catching myself staring and end up forcefully tearing my eyes away from her.

As I sit across from her and listen, I can’t help but examine her face. She’s tired, not only physically, but it seems emotionally too as she takes long pauses between her words to gather her thoughts and continue. She describes in detail how she has been trying to get a promotion, however, she’s been so stressed about the outcome because while she likes her job, she believes she can do better in a higher position with more access to managing her software department. Her mascara has leaked down to her under eyes, causing them to appear darker than normal. Her lipstick is a bit smudged and the collar of her blouse open.

After I’m finished telling her that my day was “fine”, she gathers our plates and puts them in the sink.

“I’ll do the dishes,” I tell her, gently steering her away. My hands have automatically latched onto her shoulders, but I drop them quickly, in fear I’ve made her uncomfortable. They land on her waist instead, which is a hundred times worse, and then I pull my hands back to my side. “Ah. Sorry. Here, move over.”

“I can do it,” she argues, thankfully not thinking too much about my touch. If she is dwelling over it, I certainly can’t see from her face. “You’re my guest.”

“I’m taking over your house, Luce.”

“I’ll wash, you dry.”

“I’ll wash, you dry,” I counter, to which she agrees.

“Fine.” She stands on my other side and waits for the water to begin running. There are a few cups and plates from this morning. “How do you feel about the court date?”

Her eyes watch unashamedly as I roll up my sleeves. “I feel fine.”

“Yeah?” Then, she hesitates, focused on my tattoos on my forearms. “Do you cry?”

I raise my eyebrows. “At…at the court dates, you mean?”

“Mhm.”

“No. I haven’t shed a single tear over this divorce.” She glances at me warily and I laugh. “I have no reason to be sad about it. The only thing I do feel is sorry.”

“You feel sorry for yourself?”

“Incredibly.”

“But not about losing her?”

“Not a single bit. What? Don’t look at me like that.”

Lucía begins drying the plate I’ve passed to her. She goes over the surface many times and then the back. She puts the plate away for two seconds before picking it up and drying it again. “I just think you have to be emotional.”

“I have to be?”

“Yes,” she says, tucking the plate back. “It’s healthy.”

“But,” I argue, passing her the next plate, “I don’t feel bad.”

“But you must feel something if you’re here with me, Harry, instead of being at your own place.” She meticulously dries the next plate. “I mean, it’s a divorce. It’s a huge change. You can’t just be okay with it. I’m saying that it’s okay to not be okay.”

She quietly tucks the plate away and takes a cup from me. “Sorry if I’m overstepping. You’re my friend and I have no idea what you’re going through, but I think you need to be in touch with your emotions.”

“Luce, you know better than anyone how in touch with my emotions I am.”

She sighs and puts the cup down on the counter. “You need to cry.”

“Alright, step on my feet or something.”

“Harry, I’m serious.”

I rinse my hands and turn to her. A muscle in her jaw tenses. She has the same crease between her eyebrows that she does when she sleeps.

She says, “I want you to be happy.” And then she steps forward, slowly wrapping her arms around my torso, pressing her forehead to the hollow between my neck and collarbones. For a second, I’m frozen, my heart beating wildly in my ears. When she presses her cheek against my neck, I forcefully ground myself and relax, succumbing into her embrace. Though my hands are wet, she doesn’t mind how cold I make her skin through her thin blouse, gathering her closer to me.

“You’re right,” I say quietly, inwardly begging my heart to slow down. I lean against the counter, tugging her with me. Her knees brush against mine. “It is a very big change and I hate it. I wish it never happened, but I’m glad it did at the same time. I don’t want to be with a woman who isn’t faithful to me. I’m not asking for a lot, so don’t you think I deserve better?”

She pulls away and insists, “Of course you deserve better! But you’re still allowed to be angry at her or upset with yourself! I don’t want that, but it would be healthy.”

Her dark eyes have always been painfully hypnotic to me, and this intense look she’s giving me has the same effect. I smile and slowly tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Listen,” I tell her softly. “I do feel a lot right now. I’m here with you because I couldn’t stand being alone in that house. Not because I miss her or I wish I could fix things, but because I feel lonely. I’m lonely, Luce.”

Her mouth curves down. “It’s okay to be lonely sometimes, as long as we know how to fix it.”

“That’s not fair. You don’t get to tell me that with how lonely you are. What have you done to fix it?” I ask gently.

Her eyebrows pull together, alerting me I’m in dangerous territory. “That’s different.”

I drop my hand and cross my arms over my chest instead. “How so?”

“Because it was my choice! I like to be alone. Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. You didn’t have a choice in the divorce.”

“I signed the papers first. I initiated.”

“No, I mean, there’s nothing you could have done aside from divorce.”

“There’s nothing I would have wanted to do either, Luce. Divorce isn’t something that just happens overnight. It was a bunch of things and her cheating on me was the final blow that made me walk away. This was also my decision. And I’m not upset about it, I’ve already told you.”

“But you’re lonely!” she repeats exasperatedly.

“I can’t be lonely if I’m here with you,” I reply, raising an eyebrow. “I have you.”

“And when you go back? You’ll be lonely, won’t you?”

“I don’t know what type of answer you want from me. Yes, I will be. Not because I miss her, but because I miss having someone around all the time. And I’ve accepted that. I’m okay.”

Something suddenly changes on her face, and she takes a step back. Her expression is completely unreadable, yet guarded. “Is that how it was after us? With you being lonely?”

I open my mouth to immediately reassure her, but she frowns, conveying she doesn’t want anything sugarcoated. My shoulders drop and I take a few seconds to search for the right words. “Yeah, Luce. I was really lonely. But the difference was that I missed you. I don’t miss her. And honestly? That breakup hurt a hundred times worse than this.” Oh, God, I need to stop talking. I need to shut my mouth right now. “So just think. If I made it out of that alive, don’t you think I’ll come out completely unhurt with this one?”

I’ve said the wrong thing. I can tell by her face that she’s not heard anything I’ve explained after mentioning our breakup. She swallows, taking another step back, now refusing to look at me, which I find incredibly frustrating. I’m itching to grab her and bring her back to me. “I’m sorry,” she quietly says, rolling her heel absently. “I didn’t know I hurt you so bad.”

This conversation has made my head hurt with confusion and now I can’t remember how we turned this on ourselves. No amount of reassurance will put the words I’ve already said back in my mouth. So instead of trying to ease her worries, I answer, “It was a long time ago, Luce.” I don’t try to tell her that I’m fine now, because I don’t think I could summon a lie like that and make it sound believable. “A lot has happened since then.”

Finally, she picks up her head and nods. “Yes. It was a long time ago. We’ve grown, I think.”

“We have.”

She returns to her position besides me and picks up the discarded wet cup, beginning the process of drying every single crevice. I take the hint and start washing the dishes again.

After a tense silence, I say, “So you’re not going to kick me out or anything, right?”

To which Lucía surprises me with a slight smile and a shake of her head. “Of course not.”

And after we’re finished, we part and she heads into her room while I’m left in mine. I sit on the spare bed. Unpacking my bags seems exhausting. So I leave them by the closet and get ready for bed. Despite my proximity to her, I feel even more distanced now, laying in a separate bed.

I turn to open the window behind me and remove my clothes, slipping into bed. My eyes remain focused on the wall separating us until I’ve fallen asleep.

***

November 17 LUCÍA

And I can't decide if I’m happy or sad that living with Harry has been easy. We’ve settled right into a routine that is suspiciously similar to what it was when we were together. Perhaps I’m happy now and dreading the moment he leaves. There’s just something about seeing him as soon as I wake up that makes me ready for the day. 

There’s also something about Harry smiling softly at me in the mornings with a murmur of “Good morning, Luce. Did you sleep well?” along with those gentle eyes, wet hair from his morning showers, and well pressed professional clothing. It’s different than seeing him later in the day when he’s less fresh (but still attractive). Seeing him in the afternoon and evenings makes my heart swell, but seeing him in the mornings, freshly shaved and still smelling like his aftershave does something else to me. Something I thought I repressed a long, long time ago.

But mornings aren’t the only time I feel that type of raw urge around him. It happens in other more inconvenient times as well, such as when he leans against the counter in the evenings when I’m finishing dinner and he wants to talk about his day, or when he’s driving and he glances at me with a soft smile, working on the steering wheel with one hand. When he comes to me at night to bid me goodnight, or when he’s tying his hair up and I can’t help but think of how his soft curls would feel between my legs.

I want to know how he kisses and if it’s still the same way as he would four years ago. I want to know that if he hugs me, will his arms still wrap around my waist and will he lean down to make up for the heigh difference? I want to know that if he ever undresses me again, will he start with my shirt because he still finds me irresistible in just my bra and jeans? And when we cuddle, would he still engulf me with his entire body and make it so I wake up, unable to breathe? Is his favorite way of relieving stress still what it used to be, with me in between his legs? 

But then, I think about only him. His old habits. Does he still make that face when he tries something sour, the face where his expression pinches and then he coughs? Does he still stand under the shower for a few minutes just to get warm before reaching for the shampoo? Does it still take him only 3 minutes to shave? Does he still dog ear his books instead of buying himself a new bookmark?

I want to know all of this. And it’s only been a few days.

Today, I’ve driven myself to work because I’m going to meet him at court after work. He’s been missing all morning, to my disappointment. But I’m also glad he wasn’t there to witness my panic over ironing my clothes exactly 3 and a half times on each sleeve, back and front, which resulted in tears. Given that start, my morning has not been fun at all, but draining.

Now, I’m excited to see him. I arrive at the city building right before his appointment at 3:30.

I’ve seen many versions of Harry. I’ve seen him glowing with a grin splitting his face, I’ve seen him cry until his body aches, I’ve seen him tremble with pleasure, and I’ve seen him scared with eyes as large as they can go, but I’ve never quite seen this Harry. 

He’s quite off today, but nobody can tell unless they look at him carefully, reading his body language. Physically, he’s looking really nice in a dark navy blue suit and white open collar shirt. His hair is tied neatly and securely out of his face. As promised, there he is, waiting for me, leaning against the pillar of the building. He’s on his phone typing away, and when I reach him, he tucks his phone into his pocket and says, “Mum’s wishing me luck. She says hello.”

Harry pushes his body off the pillar. “Hi.” I notice he’s checking what I’m wearing and I awkwardly pull my coat tighter around me.

“I didn’t know what to wear,” I admit, glancing down at my tapered pants. “I didn’t change after work. I’ve never been to court, so I hope it’s appropriate enough.”

“I’m sure it is. You won’t be in the room so it’s not too big of a deal,” he says, checking the time. He’s distracted. “Anyways. We should head in. I’ll walk you to the waiting area, yeah? I think she’s already here because I didn’t see her come in.” He finally looks at me. “I’ll try to be quick, okay? And then we can get something to eat.”

I nod and offer him a smile. He opens the door and heads in, leaving me to trail behind him. He’s holding a manila folder close to his side, drumming his thumb anxiously against it as he walks. He doesn’t look around for directions on where to go, clearly having been inside this building before. He navigates the halls easily and then stops at an elevator, leaning in to press the UP button.

The building seems deserted. My heels make a loud sound as we walk into the elevator and then the doors close around us. Harry hits the number 3.

I can’t help but peek at him, though the lighting in this elevator is subpar. His eyes are focused on the display showing the levels, arm clutching the manila folder tighter against his side. The scent of his aftershave has died down a little, but if I concentrate, I can still smell it.

“You okay?”

Harry’s eyes flicker to mine briefly and he sends me a faint nod. “I’m fine.”

“You sure you don’t want me inside the room with you?”

“No, Luce. It's fine.”

He’s not in the mood to talk, so I simply wait patiently beside him. When the doors reopen, he takes the lead once more and takes a right, leading me to a room that looks like a waiting room in a doctors office. He gestures to me to head inside and takes a deep breath.

“I’ll come get you in a bit.”

I nod, stepping into the room. “Alright. I’ll see you.”

Harry hesitates a bit, glancing down the hallway he’s about to walk down. It’s the first time I see a crack in his confidence. His throat jumps as he swallows and then he takes another deep breath.

“Okay. I’m off.”

Harry shows no sign of leaving. Instead, after a brief moment of hesitation, he reaches out and grabs my elbow with a large hand and brings me closer, ducking his head. He presses a kiss to my cheek and then tightly hugs me to his chest. He doesn’t say anything and I’m unable to either as he knocks the wind out of me with the grip around my body. I hear his thundering heartbeat under my ear, the warmth of his body rolling off and hitting me square in the chest.

“Thank you for being here.”

My own heart’s beating out of my chest already due to the close proximity, but I can’t let him go just yet. When he goes to move away, I refuse to depart from him. Instead, I yank the collar of his shirt so he’s closer and tell him firmly, “You’ve got this. I know you do.”

His eyes darken just the slightest bit when I release him and he takes a step back. The corner of his mouth twitches, he says, “Thank you,” and then he’s out the door. I see him fixing his collar as he walks down the hallway.

Falling into my seat and crossing my legs, I press my hands to my hot cheeks. It’s been a long time since he’s been that close to me, and everything feels the same despite all this time. Harry and I see each other on a regular basis, however, sometime during his relationship with his ex wife, he stopped embracing me or pressing those friendly greeting and departing kisses to my cheek. I understand why, but I never realized how much it upset me until now.

The last time he’d kissed me was the day I accepted his idea of moving in with me, and even then, I’d thought about the feel of his lips on my cheek for days after that. This is different.

Harry’s love language, I found out early on in our relationship years ago, is touch. At nearly every waking moment that we were together, I’d find some part of Harry touching me. I became used to his touch very quickly. His warm, heavy embrace calmed me whenever I had a burst of anxiety or stress.

How did I end up losing that touch? He touched me everyday and then he stopped altogether. I ended our relationship and he stopped touching me. I’d call it cruelty if I didn’t bring it upon myself. How have I survived this long without his touch? 

I lean forward and bury my head into my palms, resting my elbows on my knees. His strong grip has left a lasting feeling on my arm that I’m thoroughly enjoying. I can’t be thinking about Harry again. I’ve kept those feelings locked away since Harry announced his divorce months ago. He’s in no position to be subjected to my feelings for him right now. He can’t handle it. I can’t handle it! This should not be a matter of importance.

***

As promised, Harry returns just 20 minutes later and gestures for me to hop out of my seat. He looks a little disheveled, or rather, more than usual.

“I’m starving,” he mutters, holding the door open for me. “Let’s eat please. You pick the place.”

He steers us towards the elevator and jabs the button quickly. His foot taps impatiently as we wait for the doors to open and when they finally do, he places a hand on my back and all but shoves me in. Then he turns and slams the button to shut the doors.

I stare at him. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just not too keen on sharing an elevator with my ex wife.” He hits the ground level button. “Officially my ex wife.”

“Are we running away from her?”

Harry presses his tongue to the corner of his mouth and I realize with a gasp that he’s hiding a smile. “She freaked out about the ring. And when I say freaked out, I mean she threw a tantrum. I swear if there was nobody there, she would have slashed me with her heel. She was talking to me about it as I was packing up so I’m sure she’s not too far behind us.”

“What? Oh, God. Is she going to chase after us?”

Harry’s grinning now, shrugging a shoulder. “Don’t know. If we have to run, I’ll get away from her, but you might not.”

We both look down at my shoes. I tap them nervously. “No, she won’t do anything.”

Harry stutters out a laugh. “I hope not.”

“You’re having a lot of fun, aren’t you?”

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he confirms when the doors open. When we step out, we hear her heels, fast and rough against the tiled floor.

“Harry--!”

Harry grabs my elbow and tugs me towards him, steering us towards the entrance. “Just keep your head down.”

Unfortunately, keeping our head down does nothing because his ex wife’s loud bellow of “Don’t you dare run from me, Harry!” echoes through the lobby. 

Harry tilts his head down towards my ear and quietly says, “Think you can run?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Come on. Here, wait. Take them off and give them to me.”

We stop, just briefly, and I bend down to quickly undo the buckles, all but tossing the shoes to him once they’re off. Harry holds them with two fingers and glances behind him.

His hand touches my back again and he gives me a startling push. His longer legs encourage me to break out into a run, his hand sliding off my back and wrapping around my wrist instead. “Come on.”

His ex wife catches up significantly, her face looking like it’s about to combust. I haven’t seen her in so long. There’s a fire in her blue eyes as she yells his name again. “I paid for that fucking ring! I gave you yours back, now you give me mine!”

“She doesn’t know you flushed it?” I whisper.

To my surprise, Harry’s still laughing. “Nope.”

“Oh, God.”

Harry leads us towards the parking lot and glances over his shoulder. “Damn, she runs fast. Let’s go to my car.”

He unlocks it quickly and we part to get to our respective sides. He throws my shoes in the back.

“Don’t run her over!” I hiss as Harry begins to pull out of the parking spot. I grab onto his sleeve. “Look both ways. I don’t want to catch a case.”

Harry shakes off my hand and grabs it instead, holding it between the console.

“I won’t,” he laughs, navigating us safely from his ex wife. “Holy hell. I married her? Why’d you let me do that?” 

“I didn’t tell you to!”

“Someone should have stopped me. As my best friend, I think that was your duty.”

“As if you would have listened!”

Harry smiles, pulling out of the building’s parking lot, taking a deep breath. “We’re in the clear.”

“My car is still there!”

“Hush. We’ll get it afterwards. I’m starving. Even more now.”

We’re still holding hands in the middle of the console. Harry flips the indicator and then brakes at a stop sign, tapping my knuckles with his thumb absently in perfect rhythm, waiting for a break in traffic. I don’t make any effort to stop him or remind him this isn’t what we should be doing. His hand feels fitting in mine, soft and cold from the winter air. With the summer sun no longer around to tan his skin, his hand looks pale, and significantly more so with mine under it.

Nothing happens for a long time, the afternoon traffic causing us to stay behind the stop sign for well over two minutes. Should I be the one pulling away? He doesn’t notice our hands clasped together. It’s his hand that's heavy on top of mine, holding my fingers towards my palm.

I peek at him. He looks much better than earlier with clearer eyes and a dimple in his cheek as he bites into the inside of his cheek. I momentarily admire his outfit, my eyes falling down to his thighs. My jaw clenches as a memory passes through my mind. It’s a memory of his hands tightly holding my waist hard enough to bruise my skin, guiding me over his bare thigh tattoo, our bodies slick with sweat, the sound of our groans and heavy breathing bouncing off the walls.

There’s a break in traffic. As he’s been struck, he suddenly sits up, more alert. The suddenly movement makes me sit up as well, broken out of my daydream. Harry slowly draws his hand away, putting both hands on the steering wheel, driving onto the main road.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him, clasping my hands together in my lap. There’s a bit of awkward silence before I say, “Um, where should we get lunch?”

“Uh, I’m good with anywhere.”

“Okay.”

Harry’s phone goes off suddenly and he fishes the device out of his pocket. His ex wife’s name flashes over it.

He takes a deep breath and presses the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

I can hear her yelling and Harry winces, pulling the phone away from his ear. “I don’t have it anymore. Jesus, could you lower your voice? I said I don’t have it anymore. No, I didn’t sell it. I… Okay. I got rid of it.”

When she screeches, Harry pulls his phone away from his ear again, throwing me a comical look. He’s still enjoying this!

“Right, well I can’t do anything about it now. You can have your ring back, if that helps. I’ve no reason to keep it. Yeah. I’ll leave it in the mailbox. No, I'm not living there at the moment.” He glances at me again. “With Lucía. Yes, that one.” His jaw tightens suddenly and his eyebrows push together. “You didn’t have to say that.” And then he hangs up, placing his phone in his pocket.

“Sorry.”

I shake my head. “Don't be.”

He hesitates, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Feels like I’ve dragged you into this.”

“We’re friends, Harry. I’m here for you.”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly, pulling into the parking lot of one of my favorite restaurants, “We’re friends.”

***

November 20 LUCÍA

The clock is very loud tonight.

After every 5 ticks, I hold my breath until the 6th one is heard, but I’ve been doing it for so long that I feel lightheaded. It’s been half an hour of me laying here. I’ve tried to put in my earbuds and listen to some music, but my body is tired and now I have a headache even though I was only listening to some soft classical music. Turns out that that specific genre only helps me when I’m more awake. My body is sinking into the mattress with fatigue right now, but that stupid clock is somehow getting ridiculously louder and I’m losing my mind. I can’t fall asleep on the 5th tick. I’ll tolerate any other number, but not five.

After a few moments of misery, I force myself up and throw my legs over the bed until I reach my slippers. There are earplugs in the room Harry’s sleeping in. I can sneak in there, grab a handful and come back and sleep before my meeting. Or, I can suffer through this night and then sleep better tomorrow. Or I can take the clock apart.

The third option doesn’t seem that smart, especially since I sleep with my phone away on the dresser and I need to look at the time when I wake up. And I really need to focus for the meeting tomorrow, so option two isn’t the brightest either.

I stand up. We’re going to his room.

It’s 2 in the morning so he should be asleep, but regardless, I’m on my tiptoes as I approach his room. His door is slightly open as it always is and the cold gust of air immediately greets me when I slip in. He’s opened the windows! In this weather! The man’s going to get sick.

Luckily, he’s sleeping on his side with his back to the drawer I’m now crouched in front of. As I’m rummaging through the drawers, I realize that Harry’s clock is far less noisy than mine. It’s just as close as mine is, but less audible. I could steal it if I wanted to.

But I won’t do that. I redirect my attention back to the drawer and begin pulling things out, setting them aside as I continue to look for the earplugs. The more I check, the more upset I become because I can’t find them. I don’t have my phone to turn on the flashlight and look with a bright light either, and I’m really cold in my pajamas thanks to the stupid window. A few snowflakes have already hit my skin and made me shiver uncontrollably.

Irritated that I’m not going to sleep tonight, I push to close the drawer. Unfortunately, I end up underestimating my annoyance and end up slamming it shut, the loud noise reverberating off the walls.

“Shit!” I whisper, whipping my head to glance at Harry.

His curly head picks up off the pillow and he twists his body to glance into the darkness. He might not be able to see me, but I can see him as the moonlight reflects off his face perfectly. When he pushes himself up, the weighted blanket around him slips to display his bare shoulder and collarbones.

“Luce?” he whispers, pressing a palm to his eye.

Maybe if I pretend I’m not there and stay as still as a statue, he’ll put his head back down. 

“I can see you.”

Shit. I wrap my arms around myself, looking at him sheepishly. “Hi. Sorry. I was just looking for earplugs.”

At the sound of my voice, he picks his head up a bit more and then fully turns his body to face me.

“Why are you on the floor?” he asks quietly, clearly wanting to fall back asleep. “What’s...what’s the time?”

“It’s like 2. I was looking for earplugs,” I repeat. “My clock is being really annoying and I need to sleep before this meeting. But it’s alright, I’ll go back to my room and try again.” I balance my hands on his mattress and go to stand up.

“You don’t have any more?” he asks, watching me stand.

“No. I’ll get some tomorrow.” My attention is now divided. “Actually, can I steal your clock? You can have mine.”

Harry’s eyes finally fully open and he throws me a bewildered look. “My clock? What’s wrong with yours?”

“Nothing. You can have it.”

“Luce, either I’m still asleep or you’re not making any sense.”

“It’s too loud, okay?” I admit, sighing. “At this rate, I can get 6 hours of sleep and I need those 6 hours. I don’t know what to do.” I pick my head up and curiously look outside. “You think 7/11 is open during a storm?”

“Luce,” Harry says in an incredulous tone. “You’re shivering. I don’t think you could survive the walk.”

“Well, your window is open!”

“Right, but it’s always open. Come here. Sit on the bed at least. Jesus, woman.”

When he sits up some more, the blanket continues to slip down his torso to reveal his bare chest. I quickly look away.

“Sit,” Harry repeats more firmly.

“I can run to the shop.”

“I doubt anything would be open right now. It’s not supposed to stop snowing until 5 at least.” He stretches and yawns deeply. “Just sleep here then.”

I freeze, and for once it’s not from the cold. Harry’s rubbing his eye again with his palm, yawning again. I immediately feel guilty for waking him up. I know how deep of a sleeper Harry can be when he’s extremely tired.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” I quickly apologize. “I’ll let you sleep. You’ve got work too.”

“It’s fine,” Harry mumbles in his deep, sleep-filled voice. And then, to my surprise, he lifts the blanket and lays back down, holding it up as an invite. “Go on.”

I glance at the empty spot besides him and then the time and then the snow building up outside. “I don’t… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“‘S your choice. I don’t mind. It’s your house anyways.” Harry’s eyes are already closing and I feel like a burden just sitting here unable to make a decision. He’s nearly drifting off and I’m taking up his space.

But the clock in his room is barely audible and yes, it’s cold, but I know how heated Harry’s body can be. That mixed with the heat from the weighted blanket will send me straight to sleep. If I decide not to, I’ll be awake all night. I could take the clock in my room down, but then I’ll have to sleep with my phone under my pillow because I don’t have a nightstand like Harry does. And I’ve read too many articles about radiation and how harmful it is for your skin cells.

I peek over Harry’s shoulder. His phone is faced down on the nightstand. Another pro. It seems like the most logical choice.

“I need an alarm on,” I quietly tell him. “For 7.”

“I have one for 6:30. I’ll wake you after thirty minutes.”

“Okay.”

I shut the window and lock it. My slippers easily glide off my feet and then I tuck my legs into the blanket, slowly sliding my body down. Harry hisses when my feet touch his shins and he quickly reaches out and grabs my calf, pushing it away.

“Christ. You’re so fucking cold.”

“Sorry!” I whisper. I look at him, unsure. “Can I have a pillow?”

Harry raises his head and slides me one as if it's the most natural thing. I tuck it under my head. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“Let me know if I’m taking up too much space.”

“Go to sleep, Luce.”

“Okay,” I say, turning around, bringing my knees to my chest. Warmth invites me as I relax into the mattress. The sheets smell like Harry already. I feel his heat though he’s on the opposite side of the bed. His thigh is barely touching my heels.

And then, just for a brief moment, I’m freaking out. My palms are sweaty and I’m hyperaware of Harry’s body besides mine, somewhere it hasn’t been for years. Blood rushes in my ears and my throat’s as dry as it was in the car days ago. If I move in my sleep, I’ll accidentally touch him. He might be offended. I should get up and just leave.

I push back up into a sitting position and go to swing my legs over the side of the bed, but what stops me aren’t my own thoughts or the reminder that Harry’s clock is much softer than mine. No, it’s a sudden weight around my thigh, a familiar weight, and a man’s gentle whisper.

“Luce. Please sleep. We’ve slept in the same bed before. As friends too.”

His hand on my leg is arm and proven to be strong as he begins to tug me back to the mattress.

“I promise I’ll wake you,” he tries again faintly, as if he’s just a few moments away from sleep. “You need to sleep better. You’re like...like a zombie every morning.”

I can’t help but quietly laugh, rubbing my eye. “That’s so mean, Harry.”

“Lay down and sleep. I’ll stay on my side, alright? You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re making it worse on yourself. Stop hurting your body. Just lay down before I make you.” His tone lightens towards the end of his threat, but when he raises his head again, he can barely open his eyes.

The thought of being the reason for Harry’s dark circles in the morning makes me finally slide back into bed. I couldn’t carry that guilt. Harry removes his hand from my leg and then sighs, tossing his head back down onto the pillow. He mumbles something along the lines of, “Stubborn woman.”

To my relief, it’s easier to fall asleep that I’d anticipated, now that the anxiety has worn off. Or perhaps I’m just too tired to care. 

Finally, I think to myself as I’m beginning to drift, drowsiness hitting me like bricks. I’m so warm. I’ll get up nice and refreshed, take a hot shower, get dressed, and do well for this presentation. I’ll come home after, make some good dinner, and then buy some earplugs and melatonin. Everything will be okay.

I’m nearly asleep when someone pushes the blanket further up my shoulder and tucks it under my chin. That’s better, I hazily think to myself. That’s so much better.

***

November 21

Harry’s arm is heavier than I recall, or maybe it’s just because I have blocked his weight and sleeping habits from my memories. Or perhaps that I’ve come to terms that I’ll never wake up to his situation again.

Regardless of how I’ve processed memories with Harry in the past, the pressing matter right now is that his arm is heavy on my stomach and I’m struggling to breathe.

I try to shove his arm lower, but then it’s pressing into my bladder, so I gently pick it up and move it back to his side.

The sun’s just barely out and no alarm has gone off. The clock tells me it’s 5:30. I’ve only been asleep for a little over 3 hours.

My first mistake is turning my head back to look at Harry. He sleeps with his hair up, something I never would have guessed about him. I swear he had it open last night. It’s a mistake because suddenly, I can't take my eyes off of him and my chest feels tight as if I can’t get enough air into my lungs. With his hair out of the way, I have a perfect view of his face. His eyebrows are relaxed, lashes resting beautifully against his cheeks, chest moving evenly with each breath. He’s simply mesmerizing. He’s on his side, the other hand shoved under the pillow we’re sharing, and the pillow part is the only thing that makes me realize that I’m on his side. He didn’t come to me, but rather I shifted towards him. Or maybe it was his doing, with his arm over my body.

The second mistake I make is turning my body around fully to face him because the movement causes his eyebrows to twitch and then he lifts his eyelids slightly, just enough to peer at me. I freeze, holding my breath, hoping he falls back asleep, but instead, he slides his arm back over my waist and gently tugs me closer.

“You’re cold?” he mutters, voice deep and groggy. He’s already closing his eyes again when he tucks me into his chest. “C’mere.”

My heart feels weak. I don’t want to move away, and perhaps it’s my third mistake that I settle into my new spot against his warm body. If I was cold before, I’m not anymore and there’s no chance I will be for the next hour and a half that I’ll get to sleep. He rests his head over mine, takes a deep breath, and then seems to have fallen asleep.

I don’t try to glance up at him, in fear that I’ll wake him again. Instead, I close my eyes and remind myself, strictly, that friends can cuddle with each other. Friends...who are also exes. This is normal. It has to be. It’s not like I can wiggle out of his grip now.

***

The next time I wake up is when Harry’s alarm goes off. It doesn’t feel like I’ve slept, but the sun outside is brighter, reflecting off the snow I presume. The warmth of Harry’s body slowly slips away when he goes to turn his alarm off, and then he sits up.

I hope I can sleep for half an hour more so I keep my eyes closed. Harry seems to be lounging in bed for a while, not jostling me too much. In fact, he moves to the other side and allows me to have my own pillow. I can feel his thigh against my head.

For a few moments, he’s completely still, and I think I have the opportunity to fall back asleep. However, he then puts his phone back on the side table and slides back into bed. I can feel him pulling the blanket back over his body.

When I open my eyes, he’s laying on his back, one arm resting over his eyes.

“What happened?” I ask quietly, clearing my throat. He lifts his arm and glances at me. And he’s a sight to behold. His eyes are puffy from sleep, his chest peeking out from under the blanket. He could be a painting. My heart isn't even fully awake, yet it's pounding painfully against my ribs at the mere glance at him. I look away, wanting to give him privacy and myself a momentary break from the emotions I've been feeling since last night.

“Office closed,” he says sleepily, rubbing his eye. “The storm hasn’t stopped yet.”

I push myself up, aware of his eyes on me, and check out the window behind the bed. Sure enough, the snow has piled up high enough to cover the benches outside and the wind is still blowing, now with a whistle to it. “It looks lovely.”

I reach for my own phone to check if I have any messages.

“My office is closed too!” The relief I feel is instant, I immediately slide back down into bed and bring my knees to my chest, my back to him. “We’re snowed in.”

Harry chuckles. When I glance back, his eyes are closed again and he looks as if he’s ready to fall back asleep. “We are. Now go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice.

And I’m about to fall back asleep, toasty warm, when Harry says something again. He murmurs, “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I wasn’t able to keep my hands to myself. It’s a habit I haven’t been able to break since we… sorry. Usually I have another pillow, but you happened to be on the pillow, so...”

So it was his doing, I think to myself, slightly proud for not being the one to give into the temptation of touching him. I remember the Harry I'd met 6 years ago who hated cuddling at night. I'd transformed him immediately with my constant need to be held by him while sleeping. I shake my head. “It’s okay,” I tell him honestly. “I really didn’t mind.”

I feel him move my pillow as he nods. There’s a beat of silence that follows it, but then the bed’s dip becomes more apparent, along with the closeness of his body when he slides further into bed. And then with a soft, hesitating touch, he places his arm back where it was before, draping it over my waist.

My eyes shoot open to glance down at his tattooed arm, but I don’t dare to say anything. I don't even dare to breathe.

Harry says softly, “Is that alright?” My stomach erupts with both anxiety and butterflies.

I was warm before, but now I’m comfortable again. I nod and slowly slide back to make the position mimic how it was when I woke up the first time. “Yes.”

“I don’t want to make this weird,” he quietly admits, voice laced with sleep. “I haven’t slept well in so long and like this… I just sleep a lot better.”

 “It’s okay, Harry.” I think I’m saying this. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to the back of my head. “Thank you.”

Falling asleep like this feels addictive and I would be worried about this becoming a regular thing with an ex boyfriend if I weren’t so damn comfortable. And I agree with him. I sleep a lot better like this too. 

I feel his soft breath on my neck and the firmness of his chest against the back of my shoulders. It feels right. The tension in my stomach is long gone before I fall back asleep.

***

Struck with deja vu the next morning, I find myself awkward and unable to do the most simplest of tasks. Such as walking around Harry to get to the coffee pot or apologizing to him when our fingers brush against the handle or when I’m reaching for a plate and accidentally get two, not realizing it until Harry points it out.

I’d woken up in the bed alone and I got up to get ready for work before I saw Harry’s well pressed pants, shirt, and tie hanging outside his closet as he always sets up before heading to bed the night before. He’s always claimed that he has no time to pick out outfits the morning of. I suspect he just wants to be better organized because he’s always lounging around before work anyways. He’s incredibly punctual yet early at the same time, a skill that I don’t think I will ever master.

He’s been generous in letting me sleep in, something I rarely ever do. His side of the bed is still warm and his pillow is resting vertically against the headboard that suggests he sat beside me for a while before getting out of bed.

When I find him in the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in his loose sweat pants and tighter long sleeve shirt, he sends me half a smile and says, “Good morning.”

I pause in the threshold of the kitchen, gripping the frame a bit too hard. He looks heartbreaking. I take him in as quickly as I can, alarmed by my shifting emotions. Just a month ago, I thought I was fully over Harry. How stupid was I?

I’m not sure how good of a morning it is. It’s a little awkward, and I’m trying my best not to step on his toes, but when I’m finally in the dining room with my coffee and scrambled eggs, I glance up at Harry, aware of his eyes already on me. He raises his eyebrows and wordlessly asks me what’s wrong.

My eyes then fall to his hands, his fingers tapping around the rim of his own mug, bare fingers pale and long. The clock behind my head is relentlessly loud and I suddenly consider taking it apart, as I’ve done to multiple other clocks in this house. All of it is so familiar, as if Harry and I have been in this time and space before, and when I look at him again, his eyes are softer.

“You’re freaking out,” he says, taking a slow sip from his coffee.

“Am I?” I reply, suddenly taken aback by how guarded I sound. “I am not. What would I be freaking out over?”

“Last night,” he easily supplies, placing his cup back down. “It’s alright. I wanted to apologize for it anyways. It was really unfair. Should have just given you my bed and let you sleep.”

“No. I should have just slept in my own bed. Especially after finding out that our offices were shut down.”

And as I’m saying this, I suddenly recall why this space between us feels so familiar. So awkward, yet manageable. It’s almost December, the month that my father died, and the month that I broke up with Harry almost four years ago.

He sees my expression shift. “Really, Luce,” he tries again, “it won’t happen again, so don’t freak out. Don’t kick me out, alright?”

I ignore that. “Do you remember the morning after we broke up?”

He pauses, eyes suddenly shaded and showing signs of concern. “Every second of it.”

“Do you remember how awkward it was?”

“Painfully so.”

I bring my cup to my lips, taking exactly three identical sips. “It was like this. How this morning has been. This is our morning after routine.”

He doesn’t say anything more, but I can tell my words have settled in his head when his frown eases and the hard lines of his mouth relax. He hasn’t shaved this morning, I think to myself, but he looks different for another reason. It’s the lack of dark circles under his eyes. He looks younger than he has in recent weeks. Well rested.

But finally, when he does speak, his tone is laced with humor. “It’s weird that it’s happened twice. But I think that if we’re able to get through the first awkward morning alive, we can get through this one too. After all,” he leans in with sparkling eyes, “we’ve been here before.”

“You know, most people would consider this super depressing.”

He leans back and pushes his sweater sleeves up his forearms. If he’s aware that my eyes are glued to his strong arms, he doesn’t say anything. His tattoos slowly reveal themselves one by one, and I sit there, simply and shamelessly drinking him in. “Well, let’s not spend our day off becoming depressed. How about we go out?”

“To shovel snow?”

“No no,” he smiles, crossing his legs. “Let’s go to the pond.”

The pond. It must be apparent how I feel about the place based on my expression. How much I resent that place, though I loved it once.

It’s where I broke up with him. I haven’t been there in 4 years despite it being one of my favorite places to visit. It’s walking distance, behind my house. Every time I walk or drive past it, it’s impossible to stop my stomach from falling as I recall all the good and bad memories I've made there. Harry has those same memories.

My eyes narrow and I tuck my shaky hands under my thighs. “Why the pond?”

Harry’s smiling even wider when he shrugs and raises his cup to his lips, raising an eyebrow at me from over the rim. “For old time’s sake?”

***

I don’t have anything to do today and with no excuse to present to Harry, I step out into the snow with my windbreaker, boots, scarf, and gloves. At first, it’s not that cold, but when a strong gust of wind blows after Harry’s locked the door behind him, I immediately regret not coming up with a good excuse.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he grabs my elbow and creates the first footprints in the snow and tells me to step into them. I wobble behind him and together, we wait for the snow plow truck to pass. I realize Harry’s still holding my arm tightly as we cross the street, making sure we both stay close to the curb on the road rather than the unshoveled sidewalks.

“We should have hot chocolate when we get back,” he says, finally dropping my arm. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself.

“I should take cold medicine when I get back.”

Harry grins at me. “You’re not getting sick. You’ve lived in Boston for 8 years and you’ve yet to fall sick in the winter.” He gives me a pointed look. “Now, your allergies are a different discussion. You’ll be fine.”

“The pond is going to be frozen,” I remind him, picturing the beautifully translucent ice. “There won’t be much to see.”

“I think there will be plenty to see.”

I peek up at Harry. The tip of his nose is already pink, his eyes watery from the wind. His pale skin looks beautiful, matching with snow piled up behind us. I look down at my gloved hands and then push my jacket up slightly to look at my own, tanner skin at my wrist. I push the sleeve back down when the wind blows, nearly knocking me over. Harry grabs my hoodie, pulling me back, laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me!” I hiss, smacking his hand away. 

He holds his hands up in surrender and looks back at the street.

The temperature reminds me of how warm Harry’s body was, the heat engulfing me so well throughout the night. Not once did I feel uncomfortable or cold last night. He’d bundled me up, pressed his front against my back. And I’d let him because there was nothing more I wanted in that moment.

We arrive at the pond just a few moments later, and as I assumed, the water is completely frozen. It’s a large field of undisturbed white snow and Harry makes fresh footprints for me to follow, my legs sinking into his steps. He doesn’t grab my arm, but he does hold onto my jacket tightly. I don’t ask how far he’s taking us, because I know he’s interested in seeing the ice formed over the water. As expected, he stops at the water and then sits down on the fluffy snow.

It's beautiful, like a winter wonderland. The willow trees surrounding the area are covered in snow, icicles hanging off their stems like a fairy's house. One time, I'd come here with Harry, and he'd stood under those icicles, teasingly telling me nothing would happen to him, but I recall being terrified about the sharp points and how he'd bruise if they fell on him.

“Sit,” he tells me, smiling up at me. His eyes squint. “It’s not that bad.”

“I won’t be able to feel my ass afterwards.”

“You’ll be fine, Miss Dramatics.”

Reluctantly, I find myself sitting beside him. The cold hasn’t pierced my jacket yet and made my ass freeze. He brings his knees up to his chest and I do the same.

“It’s been a while since I was here,” he says, looking out at the pond. The city municipal has turned the fountain off and rightfully so. “Years, I think.”

“It’s been four for me,” I tell him quietly, thinking about all the fish and turtles in the water. Where have they gone?

“You never came afterwards?”

“No. I didn’t want to.”

Harry makes a sound in the back of his throat and then gathers some snow into his hand, creating a packed ball. He throws it into the pond and watches how the snow breaks as soon as it hits the ice. “I came here once a few springs ago. I think it was two years ago.”

I can’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth. “With her?”

I suddenly can’t look up at him, afraid I’ll want to feel the warmth of his body again. There’s clearly a reason why his ex wife didn’t want us to embrace like normal friends. Perhaps she always knew how attracted I was to Harry years after our break up. I never thought it would be out of jealousy, but more out of possession. If Harry were still mine, I think I’d be the same way.

But Harry’s not mine. Why must I keep having to remind myself of the painfully obvious fact?

“Of course not,” Harry answers quietly, sounding hurt picking up more snow. “Why would I do that?”

I shrug. “It’s a public place and it’s pretty in the spring with all the flowers and the willow tree that--”

“It’s not a public place,” Harry suddenly interjects, tilting his head to look at me. “It was our place. We came here.”

I freeze, definitely not from the temperature this time. His eyes are cloudy despite how clear they should appear with the white background.

“Right,” I swallow tensely. “It was.”

He sighs and glances back at the pond. He doesn’t say anything else. Instead, a few seconds later, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, his hand resting on the side of my head, pulling me into his body. It’s as if he knew I was craving it. He removes his arm when my head touches his shoulder and then returns to his original position.

I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. I want to turn and press my cold nose against his throat, just to hear him groan.

 “Luce? Can I ask you something?”

Don’t ask why my heart’s beating so fast because I’m scared to admit the answer to myself, much less to you. “Hmm?” Real words will not happen today. He’s expecting too much if so.

Harry, goddamn him, doesn’t even waste a second. “Why did you break up with me?”

“Why did I break up with you?” It’s too early for this. I’m not prepared enough for this conversation.

“Yeah. I don’t think you ever told me why.”

“I didn’t?”

“No.” He sounds a little impatient now, as if angry that I don’t have the same memories as him despite us both being there. “I’ve thought about it often, but I never figured it out. I imagine it was something to do with your father’s death, but I couldn’t understand how it correlated with me. It’s not like I did something -- or said something insensitive -- that would make you upset enough to break up with me. And when you were doing it, I didn’t ask because, well, you looked really stressed about it. That, mixed with everything in your life at the moment, made me not ask.” He looks uneasily over my head. “I guess, I’m asking now. You never told me properly.”

He’s right. I’ve never told him. And he’s never asked.

“And,” he continues, taking advantage of the brief pause, “I realized after I started dating her that I missed my chance to ask what exactly happened between us.” He laughs a bit. I see his breath in the air. “I have been so confused for years.”

I’ve been unfair to him, thinking the reasons for the downfall of our relationship was clear. There’s no avoiding this conversation, not when he’s sitting there with nowhere to go, and not with my schedule completely clear for the rest of the day. It was coming. Had he planned this? Knowing him, he definitely had. He enjoys cornering people.

“Did you bring me here so I wouldn’t run away?”

Harry smiles wryly. “Yes. Now talk.”

“It wasn’t something you’d done. I don’t want you to think that.”

“Do you see how I could think that? For two years?” he says, leaning his head against mine. 

I swallow. “Yes. And I’m sorry about that.”

“Yeah.”

“I was very overwhelmed by everything happening and I suddenly didn’t want a relationship. It wasn’t ever about you or something you’d done. It was how I was reacting to everything going around me and, Harry, it was driving me insane. I was going to fly to Ecuador to see my family and help bury my father, but for a moment, I thought of leaving and never coming back.”

He speaks carefully. “And this wasn’t something you wanted to talk to me about?”

“No,” I answer immediately and he stills. “I couldn’t. I wanted to be alone.”

He glances down at his finger, rubbing the area where his ring once lay as if it were aching. “And how did that end up for you? Being alone.”

“I got to see you happy. Something you wouldn’t have been with me.”

He releases a slow breath. “Christ’s sake.”

“It sounds pathetic now. Given the whole--”

“Divorce.”

I feel flushed. “Right. But that was the whole thing. It wasn’t you.”

“It wasn’t you either.”

I shake my head. “No. I guess it was just the circumstances. I couldn’t control them and I knew it was going to have a strain on us so I wanted to prevent anything worse.”

“And you thought the best thing to do was break up with me.”

I want to pick my head up and look at him but his head on top of mine prevents that. “You’re upset with me.”

“No, Lucía. I’m angry at you.”

I wince. “Right.”

“I have a right to be, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” I answer immediately. “I don’t understand how you haven’t been angry for all these years.”

“I haven’t been angry until now. I just thought we were the type of couple to talk to each other about our problems. And the type of friends too. Why do I find out about things you go through myself? Why don’t you tell me? Your OCD has become worse, Lucía, and you try to hide it, but it’s not working. You need better help than your stupid therapist.”

“We broke up.” My voice is so small, I don’t recognize it as my own. “I couldn't tell you those things.”

And suddenly, as if Harry’s anger has dissipated, turns his body towards me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “God, Luce. It doesn’t matter what we are now. It matters that I’ve always told you to talk to me.”

Although there’s snow on his jacket, he’s still unreasonably warm. He leans his head on mine again and kisses the top of my head so softly, I want to cry out loud. But I wait until my throat opens up again to speak.

“To be fair, you asshole, you’re totally being a hypocrite.”

Harry’s chest rumbles when he quietly chuckles. “Am I?” he whispers in my ear.

“You didn’t tell me about your marriage problems until your divorce was nearly finalized.” I pick my head up off his chest. “You hypocrite.”

“No, but I have a valid reason. Thought it would be weird if I talked to my ex girlfriend about my marriage problems.”

“Why? Did you think I’d jump with joy?”

Harry’s eyes widen and he throws his head back as he laughs. I’m so relieved to see not a single speck of anger in his eyes. “God, no! I just thought it would be shitty of me. Especially after the whole wedding thing.”

“But as it turns out, you lost all your friends in the divorce and now I’m your only friend.”

“Hey,” he says, semi offended, but the smile still on his face, “I chose to drop those friends. They were covering for her!”

“Right.”

“Plus,” he continues, still smiling softly, “after your father’s death, I knew you had a lot on your plate, so adding my problems on top of that would just be unfair, don’t you think?”

“Are you telling me that we didn’t talk about our problems with each other for the same reason, Styles?”

“Wow,” Harry sighs, raising his eyebrows. “I guess we’re not so different at all. You should be angry with me too, then.”

I shake my head, admiring the melting snowflake that’s fallen into his eyelashes. “Hypocrite. I was never angry.”

“You’re a better person than me, then.” He removes his beanie from his head and gently puts it on mine, tucking my curls underneath. Immediately, he shudders from the cold. “Fuck’s sake.”

His hair is tied so his exposed neck gets hit by the gust of wind directly. He winces and stops my hands from taking the beanie off. “No, it's yours.”

Harry removes his hair tie and shakes his head so his own curls fall loose, covering his neck more securely. “Thank goodness for long hair.”

“Why did you decide to grow it out?” I ask him curiously. 

Harry shrugs. “Dunno, but I’m too attached to it now. How are you feeling? Still freaking out?”

“No,” I answer truthfully.

Harry’s mouth curves up when he glances at me, nodding. He takes my face into his glove-covered hands, squeezes my head tightly until I whine, and then releases me. He stands up then, holding a hand out for me to grab onto. “Let’s go around the pond.”

Half an hour later, when we’re walking back, I see some people have put up Christmas decorations already. “Hey,” I suddenly realize. “It’s your birthday soon.”

“Mhm.” Harry’s more concerned about crossing the street safely. “Three days. Look, watch your step. That’s ice. Hold my arm.”

I hold him tightly. “I’ll bake you a cake.”

“Let’s worry about that later. Right now, I just don’t want you to slip.”

I slip twice by the time we get back home. Harry makes the hot chocolate, scolding me from the kitchen while I lay on the couch in the livingroom with a hot bottle under my ass.

***

November 24

HARRY

It’s impossible to drive far with another snow storm outside, our offices closed once more, so we chose to celebrate my birthday inside. Things have been different since the incident at the pond. Lucía has been sleeping in her own room again, but she’s also disarmed her clock and changed her curtains to make her room even darker.

Though I’d like for her to sleep in my bed, I don’t want to push her. I’ve come to terms with what I feel for her, and having her in my bed would only lead to things that I’m not sure we can recover from if she doesn’t feel the same way.

We’ve gone to the pond every day, and every day, I’ve held myself back from kissing her. It’s proven to be very difficult.

But today’s my birthday and I’m celebrating having a new start. With her. Lucía brings out my cake and places it in front of me in the living room.

“Will you sing to me?” I ask her, grinning. I pat the seat next to me and she falls into it. “It’s my first post-divorce birthday after all.”

“Absolutely not.”

“No?” I frown. “Fine. Let me make a wish then.”

I lean over and ponder for a moment before inhaling, ready to blow out the candles.

“Wait!” Lucía cries out, pushing my head away with a slam of her palm. “Not yet!”

I should have known my birthday would not go uneventful.

“Ow!” I hold my hand to my forehead. “What’s wrong with you?” I demand.

She’s leaning over the cake, carefully fixing the candles so they stand upright. As I watch her, incredulously I may add, I lean back on my palms. She’s made my favorite cake.

I ask her, “I’m turning 28 so why are there 29 candles on the cake?”

“It’s a better number,” she answers, sitting back when she’s finished. She’s burned herself a bit, pushing the injured finger into her mouth.

“But I’m not 29. I’m 28.” I reach over and cautiously pluck one candle up, blowing it out. “There.”

Lucía looks at the discarded candle I’ve laid on the table. Her disturbed expression gives it all away, but I lean onto my thighs and ask, “What is it?”

“I don’t like that.”

“I know. Why don’t you like it?”

“I just don’t.”

“Can we leave it as 28?”

Lucía shakes her head immediately. “No.”

“Why not? I’m 28, Luce.”

“It’s not right. We can say the extra one is for good luck.”

She’s worn her favorite sweater and jeans, her hair tied up like mine is. My cake says, “¡Feliz Cumpleaños, Harry!” She’s written it herself.

“What are you going to do when I turn 34?”

“Lose my mind.”

I can't help but smile a little at that. “Right. That’s a different concern of its own. What do you think is going to happen if I stick with only 28 candles?”

She glances up at me helplessly, twisting her sweater sleeves between her fingers. “Something bad. Can we just put the candle back on? The cake is melting.”

“I’m 28. Don’t make me older than necessary.”

“They’re just candles!” she exclaims, growing irritated now.

“Exactly,” I say gently. “Just candles. They aren’t tied to some great significance. They aren’t meant for anything but to blow out. I promise you that if I blow out 28 candles instead of 29, nothing is going to happen. Watch.”

Her eyes widen as I lean forward and inhale sharply before blowing out all 28 candles. “Harry, no!” I feel her tense up besides me. When I draw back, she looks angry.

“See,” I tell her quietly. “Nothing happened. The only bad thing that happened was that I turned 28 and I’m old.”

“You took a very big risk!” she says, hands formed into fists. “Don’t ever do that again! Not in front of me.”

I take a deep breath and rest my hand on her clenched one. “Lucía. They were just candles.”

“I know! I know they were just candles!” she growls, pressing her palms into her eyes when she pushes my hand away. “You don’t think I know that?”

I take a quick moment to assess the situation. “Luce, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I tell her earnestly, trying to keep my voice down. “I was just pointing out that you said it yourself. They’re just candles and they’re not going to cause any harm. To anyone. It’s been at least a minute since I blew them out, and look. Nothing’s happened. Because nothing is going to happen. Yes?”

“No.”

I sigh again, scooting closer to her, taking her hands away from her face. “We’ve got to try to break out of it. Even if it’s little things like this.”

“It was little to you.”

Her voice is hard and I suddenly fear that I’ve ruined her night. I tug on her wrists a bit, pulling her closer until I get my arms around her frame and pull her into my chest. After her head touches my collarbone, she relaxes a bit and lets me shift her escaped hair over her shoulder. Resting my chin on top of her head, I tighten my arms around her, closing my eyes. Her hair is freshly washed and smells as sweet as it always does, her curls soft and bouncy.

“Sorry,” I tell her sincerely, rubbing her back. “Can we go back to celebrating my birthday?”

“That’s what I wanted.” Her voice is still firm but it cracks at the last word. I open my eyes when she picks her head up and sends me daggers with her narrowed, dark eyes. Her eyelashes are so thick that I can barely see the whites of her eyes. “But you had other plans.”

I laugh, bringing my palms to her face and pressing her cheeks together. “I’m sorry, love.”

A blush spreads over her face and I feel her skin under my hands grow warmer. I release her face after that and let her put an appropriate distance between us. I’ve made her nervous, I think, placing my hands in my lap. But she doesn’t say anything about it, reaching for the knife and pressing it into my hand.

“Here.”

“Cut it with me.”

She shoots me a look. “That’s okay.”

“What? There’s a rule about that too? Have to cut it at a certain angle or else I’ll combust on the spot?”

“It’s not funny!” Lucía says, smiling. “Just cut it, will you?”

I hold the knife against the cake and then reach over, picking up her hand, laying it flat on mine. And then to make sure she doesn’t take her hand away, I sandwich it between my other one and then firmly press down on the knife. We cut another portion.

Lucía pulls her hand away and says, “I’ll plate it for you.”

“I’ve got it.”

“No. Let me.”

She seems insistent, so I pull away and let her take control. She expertly puts the cake into the plate beside her and then picks it up. However, instead of handing it to me, she picks some up with her hand and before I can fully register where that piece is going to end up, she comes closer and smears it over my cheek and neck.

The coldness of the cream makes a shudder run through my body and a groan, closing my eyes at the thick cream falling from my face and into my lap.

“Okay,” Lucía says, putting the plate back down calmly. “I feel a lot better now.”

I lick my fingers after wiping my face. “I bet you were waiting for that all day.”

She smiles at me. “Actually yes. You just happened to piss me off at the best time.”

“Right. Luckily for you, I have a heart and I won’t smash your face into the cake that I want to eat.” There’s cake in my eyelashes and every time I blink, pieces of it fall out onto my lap. Lucía just watches it happen for a while before handing me a napkin. My face is all sticky now. My fingers too. Cautiously, I plate a slice for myself.

Strawberry shortcakes are my favorite. I love the sourness of the strawberries. “This is really good! Your baking skills have gotten better since last time.”

“Hey!” she says, offended. “That cake for your 25th wasn’t that bad!”

The ganache was so thin, it was slipping off the cake as I tried to cut into it. And the cake was dry. “It was awful,” I tell her. “Maybe chocolate cakes aren’t your specialty.”

“You have no right to say that. You’ve never baked a cake.”

I swallow. “Ah, but I worked at a bakery.”

“You worked at the register!”

She takes a bite herself and nods, satisfied. “Yeah, that’s really good. Look, I’m eating your name.”

“Thank you,” I tell her sincerely. “I love this.”

By this, I mean both the cake and the little moment we’re having together, though she won’t be able to distinguish between both things. I watch her face as she bites into a strawberry.

“I wish I could have done more for you.”

“It’s alright, Luce. I’m happy. Though, I’ve got to go change my clothes now. Give me a second and I’ll be right back.”

She nods when I stand up, the cold cream still making me shiver. I head to my room and pull out my duffel bag that’s yet to be unpacked. I’ve run out of sweaters so I take my shirt off and put another one on. The room is dark; I’ve refrained from turning the lights on since the white snow mixed with the setting sun outside illuminates the room enough for me to not bump into furniture. I feel for more fabrics in my duffel bag, but none of them are the sweaters I want.

“Hey, Luce?” I call out to her, peeking my head out the door. “Do you have any extra sweaters that might fit me?”

Should I also change my pants? They’re not too dirty, but I feel as if the icing will harden where it fell. As I’m pondering this, the floorboards creak behind me and when I turn, Lucía is there, holding something in her hands.

“I have this hoodie from before,” she says, holding it out towards me. In the dark, the only thing I can make out is her wild hair and silhouette. “I never gave it back to you after we broke up.”

I take the hoodie from her and turn it in my hands. “I’ve been looking for this!” I laugh. I pull it over my head and sigh, undoing my hair. I shake my head to let it fall evenly. “Thanks. I’ll give it back later.”

“Oh. No, that’s okay. It’s yours anyways.”

“You've had it for four years. Pretty sure that means it’s yours now.” It smells like her. A mixture of her shampoo and body wash.

Lucía doesn’t move out of the way, making no effort to head back downstairs. I don’t know what she’s waiting for, so I stay there too, the silence between us right on the edge of discomfort. Should I say something? Is she upset that I’m not keeping the hoodie? I’m waiting for something, but when she doesn’t say anything, wrapping her arms around herself as if she’s cold, I step forward.

“You alright?” I ask her quietly, resting my hands on her shoulders. I think she looks up at me.

“Did I ruin your birthday?” she whispers so softly I barely hear her. “With the candle freak out thing?”

Under normal circumstances, I’d laugh, but she sounds so insecure and worried, I don’t dare to even smile. “No. You didn’t ruin anything. I thought I ruined it.”

“I’ve ruined a lot of things between us. I thought by making a cake for you, I’d apologize, but I only made things worse.”

For a moment, I’m too stunned to say anything. But then, she takes a step forward and carefully finds my hoodie and then the strings. She holds onto it tightly. “I’m sorry, Harry. I really am.”

Every ounce of my self restraint goes out the window. I don’t know what part of her I grab or how I find her mouth in the darkness, but I do know the relief I feel when my lips touch hers and her hand tightens around my hoodie, instantly drawing me closer. She tastes like the tart strawberries with a hint of the whipped cream, the opposing tastes making me hungrily want her even more. And as I kiss her, I wonder how the hell I was able to keep my distance from her for four fucking years.

***

LUCÍA

He’s familiar. I know how he tastes, I know how warm his mouth feels on mine, and I know what causes these desperate kisses he keeps leaving on my skin even though I’ve broken my lips from his.

We’re both breathing heavily, my own heart pounding in my ears. I’m relieved that the lights aren’t on because Harry would be very worried if he looked at my face now. He’s already worried, speaking to me in a gentle voice.

“Luce, you okay?” Harry murmurs, gently rubbing my back. I clutch his hoodie harder without realizing, and then release it when my knuckles start to hurt. “Hey. It’s alright. It was just a kiss.”

It wasn’t just a kiss. How could it ever be just a kiss? “It wasn’t,” I say quietly, stepping away. “It wasn’t just…”

“It’s okay. We can talk about it. We can talk right now. Come here. Let’s sit down--”

“I don’t want to sit down.”

I can imagine the hurt that passes over his face for a second before his eyes soften and go back to concern. “You want to talk here?”

My mind is spinning. I always thought I’d be the one who’d end up kissing him. Now that it’s him, it feels too temporary. It wasn’t just a kiss.

“It was years, Harry. What am I supposed to do about all those years?”

Harry pulls away and strides to the lamp, flickering it on. Then, he returns to me, his big hands resting on my back. He’s not as confused as I am for some reason. Instead, everything is clear on his face, his normally stormy eyes more soft and his mouth slightly open. His chest is still rising and falling quickly and I can’t be imagining the way his eyes keep flickering down to my own mouth and back to my eyes.

“Harry. No.”

“Yes, Luce.”

“I don’t want to be your rebound. I don’t want to be your second choice.” I’m speaking without registering the words, but I feel myself returning to consciousness when the smile slips from Harry’s face and his eyes widen.

He’s clearly disturbed, holding his breath, his shoulders tense. “What? What did you just say?”

“I never want to be your rebound. I want to be your...your person.” I can’t stop. “And I have been a good friend. I’ve been patient. I’ve watched you get married and I’ve watched all this shit happen in your life. I don’t want to be your second choice just because you’re hurt.”

“Lucía.”

“I want to be so much more to you!” I tell him, feeling the long restrained anger bubble inside of me. “I didn’t want you to get married. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to love you for so long. I don’t want this! You’re being unfair to me!”

“Stop. Lucía.” Harry’s warm hands slowly cup my jaw and he pulls me closer with a quick tug. “Hey. Listen.”

I feel all ten of Harry’s fingers on my face, splayed out evenly. That’s good. His hands fit perfectly. My mind can focus on that and not be irritated like it would have been if he’d only placed one hand on my face. It’s even.

“When I say it’s just a kiss, I’m not implying it's meaningless. I’m saying that it’s no reason to freak out. We’ve kissed before. It was just one kiss. Not something new between us.”

I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished though I know he’s right. No reason to freak out. We’re mature adults. We know how to have a conversation. He’s right that we’ve kissed before.

“As for the other thing,” Harry continues, his voice significantly softer. “Luce. I married my rebound. Don’t you see that? It was supposed to be you. You and I were supposed to get married, remember? And then I was the one who fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” I whisper quickly. “You loved her.”

“I think I did,” he says with a small smile. “But all the choices I made after you and I ended things were wrong and I’m dealing with the consequences now. Besides, I’m really not the good guy you’re making me out to seem. I married someone while I was in love with another. Is that fair to any of the three people involved in this? Was it fair to any of our families? Or friends? Luce, I made many mistakes.”

“No, you didn’t,” I insist, placing my hands over his. “You moved on and I was happy for you. You were with her and you were happy and I was happy.”

Harry tilts his head and releases a slow breath. “So what went wrong?”

“Nothing! That’s just what it is. And we can’t change that so I can’t be this person for you.”

“What kind of person, Luce? What do you think I want from you?” he whispers, shaking his head, leaning down a bit. “You assume you’re one thing for me and I’m standing here telling you it’s not true. You are not my rebound. You are not my second choice.”

He looks sincere, the corner of his mouth tilting up slightly. Both his thumbs push my jaw up slightly. “Luce. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“I just don’t want you to settle. For me,” I push out despite the words not wanting to, looking away from him. “Because she was so good. And I’m…”

“Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that.”

“It’s true. I’m not--”

Harry’s brows pull in. “I settled for her. Can you believe me? I was that stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” I can’t bear the thought of him thinking that low of himself. “I was. For breaking up with you.”

He nods. “Yes, you were stupid for that one. Hey. Listen to me. I’m about to kiss you again.” I don’t have time to get another word in before he’s pressing his mouth to mine softly, dropping his hands to my waist. “You were stupid, but I understand why you needed it,” he whispers in between kisses. “But I hated it.”

“But you--” I can’t talk between the kisses since he’s the one controlling them so I step back. “Harry. I don’t want you to rush into things. It’s all so soon.”

“It’s not,” he says quietly. “I want to apologize. Will you let me?”

“You shouldn't! You were happy! You shouldn’t do something for me just because I want you.”

“You don’t think I want to be with you? Luce, can you let me be happy and let me make you happy?”

He waits as the words settle into my head. He’s not settling for me. He said it himself. And he wants me. Damnit, he wants me. I don’t want to marry him right now. Isn’t that what he wants? To settle down?

“I don’t want to marry you right now,” I blurt suddenly. “Maybe...maybe in a while, but not now.”

Harry’s face breaks out into a big smile when I wrap my arms around his torso. He feels like home, body pressed up against mine. “You think marriage is on my mind right now? Maybe you don’t know me at all.”

And then I say the next thing I'm most worried about. My face feels red from embarrassment, but the words come out before I can stop them. “It feels like me breaking up with you was the reason you got into a relationship right after and got married and then eventually divorced. It feels like I was the reason--”

Harry clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “I just told you not to do that. Don’t ever do that. Come here.” And then he kisses me again, front to front, warmth against warmth, his eyelashes fluttering against my skin, soft curls tickling the frame of my face. His kisses are so cautious but still exciting, and I push myself up onto my tiptoes, moving my arms to wrap around his neck. He smiles, just barely, and pulls away for a quick breath before kissing me again. I feel as if I’m about to burst, my legs weak, and my heart so full, I can’t stand it.

When he pulls away, he murmurs, “That was 7, by the way. 7 kisses.”

“I wasn’t even counting,” I breathe, pressing my face into his hoodie. “I’ve missed you.”

“You have no idea, Luce, how much I’ve missed you,” he says quietly, pressing a final kiss to the top of my head. “Are you alright now? No more freaking out?”

“No more freaking out,” I confirm quietly. “I’m good.” It may not be a complete lie.

“You sure? Won’t give yourself a nosebleed, will you?”

I have to kiss him again, so I do. I tangle my fingers into his hair and kiss him softly, tasting the remains of the strawberry shortcake on him. And when he kisses me back, matching my slightly desperate energy, I feel loved and cherished for. I know I feel happy at that moment.

And then I feel a different, more urgent emotion when Harry’s hand slides down to my waist and tugs me close, capturing my mouth with his once more, wet, soft, and delicious. His other hand slides up to cup the back of my head to silently tell me that if I have any plans to run away, think again. I don’t think I can’t tear myself away from him anyways, and I repeat the words to him when my hands hold his hoodie tightly between my fingers, drawing him impossibly closer. It’s similar to how I grabbed his collar at court. He seems to enjoy the motion, tilting his head and pressing his tongue past my lips.

Electricity zips through my body at his choice to deepen the kiss, but I push myself onto my tip toes and press back with the same amount of intensity. He breaks apart to steal a quick gulp of air, the sound he makes a cross between a moan and a whimper. I open my eyes briefly and watch him, but his eyes are still trained on my mouth. The hand pressed against my hair tugs me back so his lips fit against mine again.

“Come here,” he whispers, tilting his head again. “Come to me, Lucía.”

The sound of my name falling from his lips makes my knees weak and I’m instantly glad he has such a bruising hold on me, preventing me from falling to the floor. When his hand slips just slightly and rests above my ass, I take a deep breath and gently touch the drawstring of his hoodie and then the collar. His eyes open when I pull on it weakly.

“That’s what you want?” he breathes, drawing back just enough for me to be able to see his light eyes. He presses his tongue to the corner of his mouth and I’m instantly mesmerized by it.

“Yes,” I whisper, pressing kisses to his neck. I don’t like how far he is. “Would that be alright? I’ve been really patient.”

Harry’s frame shakes when he laughs quietly, cupping my jaw between his hands. “Yes, you have, haven’t you?”

I nod, pulling on his hoodie some more. “Would it be alright?” I repeat.

His smile remains wide as he bites his lower lip and nods, stepping away from me and pulling the hoodie off his body. He’s left in a thin black shirt, but I barely have any time to comprehend how attractive he looks when he draws me closer and begins to undo the button on my jeans. My breath hitches at the thought of what we’re about to do, and he glances at me, halting his movements.

“What is it?”

“I’m just so excited,” I whisper, reaching for his drawstrings at his joggers. “I want to go slow, but at the same time… at the same time I want to…”

Harry’s smile returns and he slowly drags the zipper of my jeans down. “I know what you mean,” he says quietly, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head. “I’m not sure how to go about this either.”

I swallow. “Maybe we can go slow and just see how we feel about that. I don’t want to rush.”

“I don’t want to rush either, Luce. We’ll take our time, then.” He reaches for my sweater next, and I put my arms up to let the material pass easily over my head. He tosses the white sweater to the side and takes a step back, his tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth again. His eyes move darkly over my torso. “Fuck’s sake,” he says under his breath. “Lucía. You can’t do that to me. I’m not strong enough.”

My hands reach out for him, trembling a bit with excitement. “Your turn now.”

As he removes his shirt, he admits, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“You get to see all of me now.”

He tosses his shirt away too and then tugs me back to him with his fingers around my belt loops. “Don’t be so far from me,” he quietly complains, kissing my mouth again. He walks forward until the back of my knees hit the mattress and then we tumble onto it. I softly laugh into the kiss, throwing my arms around him.

He doesn’t waste any time pulling me up to secure my body fully on the bed. “Now,” he whispers against my jaw, pressing a faint kiss there, “I’m going to do what I was made to do.” He hovers over me. “Worship your body.”

The first kiss pressed to my sternum causes a shiver, but the next few kisses cause giggles. I feel his lips pull into a smile when I tangle my fingers into his curls to keep them from falling over his face. He bites down on my stomach lightly as a thanks. He turns his head and presses a kiss to my wrist before returning his attention to the task at hand. He licks his lips and presses them softly to my stomach and ribs, glancing up at me between every few kisses. When my breath hitches, it’s when he’s biting down on my bra and pulling it away from my chest. He lets it snap back and then finally fingers the strap around my shoulders.

“Gonna pull this down,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulder and then earlobe. “How’s that sound?”

“Really good,” I whisper, still holding his hair. “I’d like that very much.”

Harry chuckles and then gently drops both straps and then I arch my back so he can get to the clasps behind my back. It feels natural to be undressed by Harry. Any nerves I’m feeling right now are out of pure excitement and impatience, not fright or unease. Before the material falls away from my body, I gasp at the cold air and say, “Wait! Can you grab the blanket?”

“‘Course.” He drapes the thick blanket over us and then finally pulls the bra away from my body, cheekily flicking it somewhere over his shoulder. I can’t help but giggle when his warm mouth continues to press kisses to the newly exposed area, creating a contrast to how the cold air feels. I’ve got goosebumps and around my breasts, but Harry gently kisses or massages them away with his palm. “Better?” he murmurs, picking his head up to grin at me.

“So much better,” I whisper, tucking his hair away again.

“Is my hair annoying you? I can tie it. I mean, I will have to when I fuck you or I’ll lose my mind. It tickles too much and it’ll get in your face.”

I open my mouth to answer, but the way he casually says “when I fuck you” renders me completely speechless. I know what I’ve gotten myself into, but hearing him say it and watching his mouth curve around the words excited me further and the impatience inside me grows intensely. That’s what I’ve been wanting from him, I realize, remembering the times where I dwelled on his hands on my body, his kiss on my cheek. I want that and more.

“No,” I manage. “Leave it out until you fuck me.”

My words seem to have the same effect on him. He breathes out a laugh and bends down to kiss my collarbones, his hands falling below to work on my jeans. They’re a little harder to get off, but Harry manages fine with a mix of his relentless tugging and my kicking, and soon my legs are bare and I’m left in my underwear.

“If I had thought,” I start with a gasp, watching him kiss the inside of my thighs, “that I’d be sleeping with my ex tonight, I would have worn cuter underwear.”

Harry hums, moving up to rest on his knees as he begins to pull his joggers down. He’s wearing the same tight black underwear he’s always worn, and he purses his lips. “Can’t relate. Yours are still cute. You have to remember: I’ve seen all your underwear, even the embarrassing ones.”

“But you haven’t seen the newer ones!”

“Knowing you, they can’t all be that bad.” He peeks down at my current one. “This one’s cute.”

“Wasn’t trying to go for cute, but thank you.”

He notices that my eyes are trained below his waist. Instead of making a comment about it, he takes my hand and gently presses it to his crotch, swallowing when I give him a squeeze.

“Good thing I know how to make you feel good,” I whisper, sitting up a bit to reach him better.

“It’s been a while,” he murmurs back, flexing his jaw when I slowly begin to palm over his length. “Do you even remember?”

“I do,” I tell him. “I think about it all the time.”

Surprise lands over his face. “Yeah? What do you think about?”

I push him down to the mattress, landing a thigh on either side of his hips. “I think about whether or not people have been able to please you like I used to.” He grabs onto my hips and pressing his fingers deeply, groaning softly and throwing his head back when I experimentally rock my hips against his. “Because for me, Harry, nobody’s been able to do it like you.”

“God,” he says weakly, lifting his head to watch my movement on him. “Warn a man before you say filthy things like that.”

His hair is now fanned out over the pillow and the setting sun colors his face dark orange and pink. The sunsets in the winter are always more colorful for some reason, and I thank the sun for the impeccable timing. I thought he looked like a painting while asleep, but he looks like a fucking masterpiece now. I can’t help but look around for any imperfections. Finding none, I lean down and brush a kiss to his jaw.

“Harry,” I whisper, smoothing my fingers over his strong brows. “I’ve missed you.”

“You have no idea,” he whispers back. I feel his throat move against my mouth as he swallows. “You have no fucking idea, Luce.”

“I want you to show me. And I’ll show you.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” His fingers are still squeezing my waist. 

“You want to be on top?”

“Yeah,” he says, licking his lips. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this position. Love feeling you on top of me. But I want to see you under me.”

The words slice through me ruthlessly. He sits up and allows me to roll off, adjusting himself in his boxer briefs. He takes a deep breath and then glances at the side table. “Do you have any condoms?”

I’m mesmerized by all his tattoos. They’ve been hidden from me for years. It takes me a second to answer. “They’re in the bathroom.”

He groans and looks at the bathroom door across the room. “It’s so far!”

“It’s not!” I laugh, pressing kisses to his jaw, holding his face. “It’s a little cold, sure.”

“Why don’t you keep them in the drawer anymore?”

“What am I supposed to do with them?”

Harry turns his gaze on me. “Don’t tell me they’re expired, Luce.”

“Well, the only way to know is to get up and check.”

Harry groans again, more dramatically, but he pushes the sheets off his body anyways and shudders, walking over to the bathroom. I hear him shifting things around in the bathroom before he returns to me, waving a packet. “One. You have one left, Lucía.”

“The lone survivor.”

“How much sex were you having, woman?”

“I should be asking you that considering you were married.”

“Don’t,” he says, raising a hand gesturing to me to stop talking. “Don’t bring up my sex life with her.”

I embrace him to my chest when he slips back into bed. “It was that bad?”

“Now that I think of it, everything was bad. You know what? I have an idea. Let’s refrain from speaking about the demon bitch while we’re in bed together. How’s that sound?”

His mouth is warm against mine when I kiss him. “Sounds like an excellent idea.”

“That’s what I thought. Because if you keep talking about her, I’m going to go soft.”

He lifts his head for air and then gently parts my legs so he can rest between them. And then he grabs a pillow, pushing it under my hips for some elevation. Everything becomes serious and more quiet when his long fingers dip into the waistband of my underwear and gently tug the cotton down.

Harry slowly lowers himself, and despite the direction he’s going in, the first swipe of his tongue makes me jolt, and if it weren’t for Harry’s warm hands on my thighs, I would have injured him purely from surprise. I gasp, tightening my fingers in his hair immediately as I’d always done years ago, feeling his familiar tongue press against me, lapping, and his mouth gently kissing.

“Fuck,” I whisper, pushing the blanket down despite the cold so I can get a good look at him. His eyes are on me, eyelashes tickling my skin. “Harry.”

He still manages a confident smile even with his mouth on me. When he pulls away, he licks his lips and then presses a wet kiss to my thighs, biting down gently too.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Just wanted to hear you.”

I swallow, tucking his hair back. “Don’t apologize for that.”

His dimples deepen when he drags the kisses back up my sternum and then neck. Everything about him feels the same, from his kisses to his scent to his almost overwhelming weight. He gently grabs my face and kisses my mouth.

“Let me fuck you?”

“You don’t have to ask me, Harry,” I groan, feeling his free hand trail back down between my legs. I wrap my legs around his waist. “You know what I want.”

He hums. “Promise I’ll spend more time with my face between your legs later. I’m trying to be patient, Luce, but I just--”

“I know. I know. I’m trying too, but it’s really hard. It’s been so long.” A slow sigh leaves me when he presses his middle finger inside me. I slowly release a long breath. “Tie your hair up,” I implore softly. “Please, just tie it.”

He doesn’t listen to me, instead pressing a second finger into me, marveling at my whines. “Don’t wanna hurt you. Need to make sure you’re ready.” Since he refuses to do as I say, I take the hair tie from around my own wrist and gather up all his hair before twisting and creating a bun, securing the hair on his head. It’s messy but it gets the job done. Harry chuckles, probably at my desperation.

“Harry,” I say, trying my best to sound firm. “I was ready yesterday.”

“Really?” he muses, smiling. “Should have jumped my bones then.”

“Harry, I’m serious.”

“Alright.” He gently pulls his fingers out and then pulls his own underwear down, watching my face as I watch the skin get revealed inch by inch. “The look on your face,” he breathes, reaching for the condom. “You really are ready, hmm?”

I wrap my trembling arms around his neck and pull him down, my heart beating wildly. He parts my legs once more and says, “Lucía, at least look at my face.”

My throat feels dry, but one look into Harry’s eyes and I feel much more relaxed. He presses my head back down into the pillow, and I hadn’t even realized I was sitting slightly up to watch him roll the condom on. “You alright?” I ask him, though I don’t need to, because he gives me a beautiful smile as an answer and then takes a hold of himself, gently pushing into me. 

He mutters a swear while I gasp, and he immediately takes my hands away from his neck and laces our fingers together, holding our joining hands above my head. He continues to move, monitoring my face, until he’s fully inside. The familiar pleasure warms my body, welcoming Harry back into the place he’s always belonged. The sun, now no longer pink but just a pale yellow, hits his hair and the side of his face that once more reminds me how breathtaking he is.

I have to tell him this. “You are so beautiful,” I whisper, closing my eyes briefly when he pulls away and then presses back in. My eyelids lift. “You are so perfect. You are everything I’ve ever wanted. You are so…”

“Lucía,” he murmurs, pushing my hair off my forehead with a quick sweep of his thumb. “You’re being unfair.”

“Am I?” I answer faintly, unable to take my eyes off his face. “I think you need to know.”

The corner of his mouth lifts up and his eyebrows raise when I moan softly at him pressing back a few more times. “I know, my love,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my right eyebrow. “I can see it all over your face.”

“Good,” I reply, squeezing his hands. “You should know. I can’t believe I let you go.”

My eyes flutter shut again when he kisses my other eyebrow and then my cheekbone, all the way down to my jaw. And then he repeats on the other side. In that moment, I feel so loved. I realize that my loneliness was never going to be cured by just anyone. It would only be cured by Harry.

I open my eyes and push up, catching his lips as they descend their way down to my neck. He makes a startled noise of surprise, but melts into my kiss.

“You feel so good,” he says into my mouth. “There’s nobody like you. It was always you, Luce. I was so fucking stupid.”

“No! No, it wasn’t you. It was me. All me.”

Harry presses his face into my neck and releases my hands, instead pushing his arms under my body and holding me tight against his chest. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hug him, burying my moans into his shoulder.

He moves effortlessly inside me, slowly, but meaningfully. At some point, Harry’s pace is so slow and his grip so tight, I can’t breathe, too overwhelmed by him taking up all my senses. I kiss whatever amount of skin I can reach, greedily. His own lower groans and grunts sound heavenly to me, and I close my eyes, content with his taste on my tongue, his sounds in my ear, and his weight on my body. At some point it’ll be difficult to breathe again, but I’m not too concerned about it. I’m happy. I’m so, so happy.

The only thing that breaks me out of this trance is a wet feeling on my shoulder and neck. My blood goes cold. For a moment, I just let Harry hold me tighter, but when his shoulders start trembling, I pass a hand over the back of his neck.

“Harry,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple. “No. Please, mi ángel. Please don’t cry.”

He takes a deep, trembling breath.

“Harry, baby.”

It takes him some time to begin talking to me again, but his hips ever stop moving, never stop giving us both the pleasure we’ve denied ourselves of for years.

“Love you so much,” he finally says quietly, picking his head up. His eyes are watery, breaking my heart as soon as he makes eye contact with me. “I’ve missed you so much. You have no idea. Every day. It was torture every single fucking day.”

I’m so happy that his hair is out of the way as I can see him perfectly. When he blinks, some of the moisture on his lashes hits my face, but I don’t move to wipe it away from my skin. Instead, I use my palms to wipe his eyes, pushing up to kiss his mouth.

“Don’t do that,” I whisper, my own eyes beginning to water. “Please don’t cry, Harry. I can’t handle that. You know I can’t.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, stuttering on a laugh. “I can’t stop, Luce. I can’t. You’re all I fucking wanted and I didn’t have you for so long.” He glances down at where we’re connected, giving me a generous, deep thrust. I gasp, throwing my head back. He cups the back of my head immediately to soften the blow against my pillow though it wouldn’t have injured me anyways. “You are so beautiful. You have no right to call me beautiful when you look like that.” My eyes cut to his again. “I’ve missed you. Sometimes….sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night and I’d expect you to be next to me.” A fresh wave of tears form in his eyes. “But it was never you, Luce. And I wanted it to be you so bad. I wasn’t ever the good guy if I wanted that. I wasn’t a good husband.”

“Harry,” I manage through a groan. “Stop. Stop saying that about yourself. It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does,” he says quietly, cupping my jaw. “Look at me. Hey. It matters because you think you’re my second choice. Or my rebound. Lucía. Lucía, that’s not true. It was never true and it’s not ever going to be true. It was always you.” With the last word, he gives me a rougher thrust that has me closing my eyes and relishing the pleasure.

He continues, “I’m not even upset about this stupid divorce. I was more upset when we broke up. Do you see? It’s always been you.”

I drag him back down to me with weak arms, kissing his face over and over, tightening my legs around his waist. “Harry,” I whisper, burying my face in his neck. “Don’t blame yourself, please. It was my choice to break up with you after all. And you didn’t even know why until recently. I’m at fault mostly.”

Harry smooths a hand over my hair and then bunches it together, tilting my head back so he can kiss my neck. Although he’s no longer crying, I can feel the emotion behind those kisses, enough to make me want to cry as well.

“You did what you felt was right. I can’t be angry with you about that.”

“You were angry before.”

“I was,” he admits quietly, kissing my forehead. “But I love you too much to be mad at you for so long.” He moves so deliciously inside me, I nearly forget to breathe. “Let me do you right. Let me make you cum.”

“Now you’ve got my attention,” I tease. In response, he cups my jaw and kisses me deeply while increasing his pace. At some point, however, it becomes hard to keep up with his kisses due to how demanding they are. Too overwhelmed to kiss him back, I whimper into his mouth instead, struggling to keep my sounds to myself. Harry’s driving them out of me.

My legs tremble at the intensity and when Harry releases my face, he places his hands on my waist and begins manually moving me on him. I suspect he’s a little tired, so I raise my hips to help him despite the burn already forming in my legs. He flashes me an appreciative look.

“When was the last time you had an orgasm?” he asks, pressing his thumb against my clit, slowly circling. The movement makes me whine and grab the bed sheets. “Oh, you are so beautiful, my Lucie.”

“I think it’s been...it’s been a week. It’s been a little hard with you around, if I’m honest.”

“Really?” Harry asks breathily, interested. “Why?”

“Well.” I feel my face grow hot. All I can hear is our skin slapping and his low groans. “I’m so used to m-my own place with nobody around. It’ll be an adjustment to try to keep my...my noises to myself.”

Harry lets out a laugh and then tilts his head back, uttering a swear under his breath. “You know I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would,” I whisper, shutting my eyes tight. “Fuck, Harry. Harry.”

“Can feel it. Squeezing me so tight, love. Go ahead. I want to feel it all over me.”

The orgasms I’ve had without Harry don’t even begin to compare to how intense this one is. Harry holds me to his chest, working me through the orgasm, letting me bite down on his shoulder harshly. My wrists hurt from how tightly I’m holding his neck. Tears erupt in my eyes at how well cared for I feel. His fingers run through my hair and he quietly laughs when they get stuck in my curls. “Thank you,” I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say. “Thank you. I love you.”

Harry presses a kiss to my hair and then softens his hold on me, still not letting go. He thrusts only a few more times before burying his own head in my neck to muffle his groan, stilling inside of me. He whispers swear after swear, and then finally ends with murmur of: “Love you so much, Luce.”

I don’t want to let him go yet, no matter how badly my arms are aching. He pulls out of me, and lifts his head, cupping my jaw when kissing me softly.

“Two seconds,” he whispers. “Just give me two.”

I swallow and nod, reluctantly letting him go, wiping away my tears. His eyes soften at the sight of them, and as soon as the condom is discarded, he returns to me and gathers me into his arms. He’s on his back and I scrawl myself on top of him, letting his hands run over the curve of my waist and the back of my neck.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to go again,” I whisper hoarsely.

Harry laughs, scratching down my back. “Oh really?”

“Yes. This was lovely reunion sex. Next, we gotta be rough.”

“Hmm. And this has to happen tonight?”

I pick my head up. “Are you tired, Styles?”

“A little bit, Luce. All that crying made me dehydrated.”

Suddenly, I feel the ghost of the tears he’d wept onto my shoulder. I sit up and cup his face. “You have no idea what happens to me when you cry, mi ángel. You’ve rarely ever cried in front of me.”

Harry laughs, his dimples as deep as they can go. “I wasn’t planning on crying mid fuck. If anything, I’m a little embarrassed now.”

I relieve his hair from the awful bun I’ve made and his curls fall effortlessly onto his pillow. “I cried too. It’s alright.”

We fall into a bit of comfortable silence, his hands on my back, and my fingers softly tracing his tattoos. I haven’t been this close to them in years. I lick my lips and begin kissing them, starting with the swallows and then moving down to the antennae of the butterfly. It looks smaller now that he’s gained more muscle. There’s a bit of sweat on his torso, but I don’t mind. I love all of it.

“I am going to spend hours learning your body again,” Harry murmurs, holding in a laugh when I kiss his butterfly properly. “Hey, did you know your mom called me the other day?”

I pause my kisses and sharply glance up at him. “My...mother?”

“Yes. You told her we’re living together again so I think she assumed we’re back together. Don’t look at me like that. I used to talk to your mom all the time.”

“When you had a reason to.” Anxiety spikes through me. “What did she say?”

“Well, she told me to keep an eye on you. Said you haven’t been calling home a lot. That you were being too quiet.” He gently encourages me to lay my head back down onto his chest. “Why haven’t you been calling your mom?”

“I do call her! I called her a few days ago!”

“She said she missed the call but when she tried to reach you again, you didn’t pick up.”

“Why’s she telling on me? And to you, out of all people!”

Harry kisses the top of my head. “Your mother loved me, Luce. As soon as I picked up she said, ‘Where have you been, yernito?’ And then I told her that her daughter had so brutally broken up with me and left me to pick up the remains of my heart by myself.”

“You’re funny.”

His fingers gently card through my hair, laughing softly when my tangles catch them before reaching the ends. “She’s worried about you.”

“She doesn’t need to be.”

His heartbeat has returned to normal. I close my eyes, enjoying the soft rhythm. “I’m worried about you too,” Harry says quietly. “I worry about you a lot.”

My heart falls as I pick my head up to glance at him again. “Why? I’m fine.”

He takes a deep breath. “We broke up a week after your dad passed away, Luce. I didn’t even get to properly help. I didn't even know why we broke up. I didn’t hear from you until the next year. Your OCD has gotten worse. There is so much that I didn’t do in the years we weren’t together. I’m worried that I don’t know how to help you anymore.”

“You did too much for me when we were together before anyways.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“It is. And mi ángel, you didn’t have an obligation to take care of me. We weren’t together.”

His jaw tenses and then relaxes, the harsh lines of his frowns disappearing. Instead, he says softly, “I’ve missed you calling me that. You used to call me that more than my own name.”

I press a long kiss to his mouth and then one to his cheek. “I love you. Things aren’t ideal between us, but the fact that there is an ‘us’ now makes me happy.” I kiss his other cheek to even it out. “If I learned anything about our past relationship, it’s that life sometimes sucks, but we’ve just gotta deal with it, no matter how much we don’t want to. I didn’t deal with it properly. And I’ve learned my lesson. So you’re not running away from me, got it?”

Harry smiles, fondly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Got it. And I love you.” He softly kisses me. “Please call your mom.”

“I will,” I whisper against his mouth, kissing him again, pressing my body more firmly against his. To my delight, I feel him against my thigh, once more demanding my attention. I slide a hand down between his legs and gently stroke him. He groans softly into my mouth.

“I need to give you a better orgasm, Luce.”

My ears perk up at that. “My orgasm was amazing, though. And what happened to being tired?”

“That conversation woke me up. Fuck’s sake.” He lets out a shaky breath and kisses my temple. “I promised I’d spend time with my face between your legs.” He wraps his hand around mine and gently pulls it off of him. “Let me do that and then I’ll fuck you again. Sounds good?”

“Sounds amazing.” He reaches for his hair tie and I watch, completely captivated by the man hovering over me. He ties his hair quickly and then pushes a pillow underneath my hips. My legs wrap around his shoulders and his hands splay over my stomach.

“I love you,” he tells me softly, kissing my inner thighs before pressing his mouth between my legs.

“Oh,” I whisper, lacing my fingers with his and squeezing tightly. “Te amo.”

[meandmyechoes]

Notes on Visions’ costumes

Kara (The Ninth Jedi): cannot for the life of me decide if Kara’s hoodie classify as a kimono. The shortened length puts it in Haori but it doesn’t have a straight collar. Also it’s serving more as a main piece instead of a jacket over the kimono. And the fact that it is properly closed with possibly a Hanhaba Obi if not something even simple with the lack of a visible knot. The sleeve length is common though sleeve hole is not small so I can’t put it in Kosode despite the straight slanted collar. So in the end it’s really more a hoodie jacket with overlapping collars and kimono sleeves? I did consider if I could call her whole ensemble a Jinbei but there’s the Obi and she is wearing it as a formal representation of herself. Yeah, so it’s more a kimono-inspired design but the sleeves, belt and Tasuki cord has all the most recognizable elements.

F (The Village Bride): Naturally all the kimono-wearing ladies has a modern/fantasy twist to it. Out of the bunch F’s ensemble might be closest to tradition, but it was still paired up with high heels instead of ankle boots. This point was particularly noted on during the special programme by director Hitoshi Haga as he mentioned the crew brought in heels to try the look on. Another deviation is that her single-layer collar is open quite wide over a turtle-neck, plus the sleeves are cut much shorter than the usual combo of furisode and the belt area is simplified. So you’d call her look 和洋折衷/Japanese-Western fusion (term applicable not only to fashion).

Haru (The Village Bride): The silhouette of Haru's bridal costume is closer to a 1840-50 evening dress with an off-shoulder neckline and poofy skirt. Though white only became western bridal standard after Queen Victoria's example, it has been a symbol of purity and choice of wear in rites of passage since the 15th century in Japan. The complementing blue recalls the craft of indigo-dyeing, under the spotlight courtesy of Tokyo 2020's designated colour. Despite a classic bridal/princess dress, Haru's horn headdress could be a smart subversion to the traditional Japanese bride's Tsunokakushi hat. 角隠し literally means "hiding the horns", as a metaphor to remind the bride to hide her temper and to become an obedient wife. It is the opposite case with Haru, where her love gave her courage to face the bandits.

Ocho (Lop and Ocho): I was a bit confused at Ocho’s childhood look at first because her ensemble is the standard festive costume for three-year-old girls at Shichi-go-san. I suppose it lends to the character’s innocence? The red-mustard-turquoise palette is a bit garish at first but the components from head-to-toe is actually quite typical: A (tsumami/fabric flower) kanzashi/hairpin, contrast lining or juban, hifu/poncho with the same hinata kamon/three-dots-in-a-circle family crest as her father and a pair of tabi/socks and funegata geta/wooden flip flops. Even the crest placement is faithful. Oh— the white chrysanthemum wouldn't be out of place if it was her mother that just died…

Ocho’s grown-up look is dramatic, over-the-top, perfect. The palette is the same except a darker shade in navy blue replaced turquoise. The gigantic bow reminds me, besides her namesake/kanji ‘butterfly’, of kabuki actors. I found the character Genkuro wearing a similarly exaggerated tasuki and side-slit kimono. While the character doesn’t share much in common, its play Yoshitsune Senbon Zakura, bears a similar backdrop of sakura blossom season and sibling rivalry. In kabuki makeup called kumadori, red is hero and blue is villain. In the mean time, scarlet eye makeup for geisha ‘wards off evil’ (along with the practical effect of making one look more spirited). I am fascinated by the conjecture that while Ocho’s costume is hinting at her antagonistic role, the dramatic blood eyeliner signifies Ocho’s mindset in seeing herself as the hero of the story. Then there’s the usual colour symbolism (or lack thereof) of stripping one’s identity with plain white armour/uniform. The cherry blossom + river motif is fairly normal. Before I noticed the Kabuki connection, I thought the side-high-slits were perhaps inspired by cheongsam and anyway is an act of rebellion against tradition by cutting up the furisode (thank goodness the sleeves are visibly longer than Kara’s). Either way, that’s a really cool look for a crime boss with the thigh-high boots and tattoo sleeves. 

[supertroupers-world]

August 6th, 2005, The wedding day

The sun shines bright onto the beach, the guests were chatting about why the bride is taking so long to come. The groom, even though he looked calm on the outside, he's starting to panic imagining the worst scenarios in his head: maybe she had an accident? Maybe she grow out of love with him? It is getting late, and of the bride there was no sight. The groom's mother was looking around to see if she can catched the glimpse of the bride.

Meanwhile...

"I'M LATE, I'M LATE, I'M LATE, I'M SO LATE! Why in the hell did I chose this dress to wear at my wedding??" Manevra, with the help of her friends, Alex and Francesca, is struggling to put the puffy dress on her, that she thought she gained too much weight and will never fit to the dress. "I knew it! I shouldn't have eaten the cake my mom brought me yesterday! Now I'm fat! I can't fit anymore and it's getting late!" Manevra cried out, trying to raise the zip of her wedding dress. "Don't force the zipper or you'll rip the dress! Here, let me help you!" Francesca scolded her gripping the zip and trying to raise it to close the dress. "Calm your tits, Mane, we are going to make it in time, don't worry! Ok, now turn your head to the side and..." Alex said, while applying the blush on manevra's cheeks "... Done, now let's put the lipstick!" Alex chipped, opening the pink lipstick and applying on the bride's lips "Open your mouth" the bride does as told and opens her mouth, so Alex can apply the lipstick. After Manevra has finished to do her hair, the trio went to the car untill... "... Where is my purse?" Manevra asked, starting to panick again, Francesca was about to scold her for forgetting things untill Alex handed her the purse "Here! See? Alex is always ready for everything!"

The trio went to the car where her father, Ludvig, was waiting for them to go to the beach "är du redo älskling? har du din handväska? (Are you ready dear? Do you have your purse?)" Her father asked Manevra, "Jag glömde nästan bort plånboken men Alex fick den åt mig! (I almost forgot about the purse, but Alex got it for me!)" She answered back, chuckling a bit. Her dad started the car, putting the friction, and the group set off for the ceremony, where her soon-to-be husband was waiting for her.

Josuke was almost losing his patience,

His nephew, Jotaro he rubbed his forehead with two fingers, profaning lowly: "Good grief, where did those three go? Don't they know it's getting late?" His wife Marina though, noticed a white car that was coming towards the place of the ceremony. "Here they are! See Jotaro? You just have to be patient!" She chipped. A gentleman, about 50 years old, with red hair, sprinkled with a little gray, came out and opened the door, helping the girl with the large and pompous dress to get out of the car. her guests turned to her, seeing her walk a little awkwardly on the sand, while her two bridesmaids held the skirt of her dress over her to keep her from getting dirty with sand.

The trio laughed at how they were walking on the sand, as their usual, I finally arrived in front of the aisle.

Francesca and Alex hugged her before saying: "Buona fortuna e goditi il tuo matrimonio (good luck and enjoy your wedding)" Francesca smiled at her "adesso vai e fai faville! (now go and sparkle!)" Alex cheered too, Manevra smiled "Grazie, grazie per tutto quello che avete fatto per me (thank you, thank you for everything you have done for me)"

She grabbed her father's arm and both started to walk to the aisle, walking towards her future husband.

Tonight the super trouper lights are gonna find me

Shining like the sun (sup-p-per troup-p-per)

Smiling, having fun (sup-p-per troup-p-per)

Feeling like a number one

AN: i apologize for the bad Swedish translation, I used Google translate. Plus: AAAAAAA I've been imagining how Manevra's wedding would look like, and now I finally got the time to write it down and I'm so happy about it! Francesca Castiglier belongs to @cesca-untoldstories and Alexandra Parker belongs to @ahoge-fish. Josuke Higashikata belongs to Araki of course u.u

And nothing else... Have a nice day :D

~Mane