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lonelycowgirls · 2 years ago

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Been There All Along

Another concept nobody asked me for coming in hot...

I don't know about you, but I love the thought of Harry being in a long-term relationship. Call me old-fashioned, but the idea of him being truly in love with one special person since before One Direction just makes me feel all the feels!✨

So, I took influence from @satanhalsey's Since Forever universe - if you haven't read their writing you simply must because it's amazing - and here is my take.

For a bit of background, Stella is a midwife and Harry is everything he is in real life. This is a taster to their story, I'll see if you all like it first...

Please like, reblog and follow if you enjoy it!

My asks are also open for feedback and ideas to how this universe can continue.

Nel xxx

Where Stella goes to Harry’s last night at Madison Square Garden and gets a call that could change everything

Part one of two

“He’s so amazing, Stell. You must be so proud.”

Stella nodded to Jeff, Harry’s manager, who stood beside her in the arena. She couldn’t believe that little Harry Styles from Cheshire was selling out 15 consecutive shows in New York City. After 13 years together, she’d seen him play endless amounts of shows, not all of them he’d left feeling happy with but every one of them feeling grateful. He’d been blessed and in turn, she’d been blessed too. But they’d been through hardship recently, and she was beginning to lose faith in them as a couple and him as a partner - something she’d never seen coming.

“You’ve become exactly what we always feared. You’ve become selfish and egotistical… you’re all... Hollywood now. Remember who you are, Harry. Remember the kind of person you wanted to be. Remember us… Remember where you came from.”

That was the last thing she’d said to him before he’d hung up on her in a huff. But she was there, of course, at the last show of his residency. Because she was always there. She was starting to worry that that was their problem. She was always there, no matter what. He, on the other hand, couldn’t always be there. He’d missed her graduation from her midwifery course because he was on tour with the band. He’d missed her beloved Granddad's funeral because he had a movie premiere he was contractually obliged to attend. He’d missed her brother’s wedding because, “we’re running really behind on the album, Stell. I can’t miss a single day, the release date is literally a month away.” She’d cried all evening from embarrassment. And from the seven shots of tequila that she’d downed before the first dance.

But still, she was always there. Because she loved him and she loved being there.

They hadn’t spoken since he’d hung up on her that night she’d had a go at him. She wasn’t someone who lost her temper easily, so it truly shocked Harry when she spoke to him in the manner that she had. He was shaking when he’d hung up the phone. Out of anger mostly, but also out of fear. Fear that he could actually lose her this time. That all they’d been through would be a waste. He didn’t know what being without her was like. They’d been a partnership since they were teenagers. 13 years on, he didn’t know his world without her.

She clapped along to Treat People With Kindness and did an awkward small two-step to Cinema, inwardly cringing at, “you’re getting yourself wet for me,” just like she always did. Harry hadn’t even written that line but Tom knew the fans would love it. She didn’t like the line and thought it was too on the nose and tactless. Harry was clever and artistic when he wrote music. And they were so private as a couple that it cringed her out to no end to think other people were thinking about and imagining their sex life. Never once had he uttered those words to her because they both knew it would kill the mood. She loved when he talked dirty to her, but not if it sounded like he'd ripped it straight off a porn film.

She actually felt nervous in those moments before the encore. She knew he’d want to see her but she didn’t want to feel the awkward tension that would probably encase the room that surrounded them. She got her phone out to look at the time and saw a text from a friend at work.

George: 9.55pm

Mel’s gone into labour

George: 9.55pm

Got it dealt with but thought you might want to come in to support her x

George: 10.02pm

Let me know!

The hair on her arms stood up on end. She’d been reviewing Melanie’s pregnancy for practically the whole eight months, she wasn’t due for another three weeks. She’d grown very fond of her as a patient and knew that she was having the baby regardless of the fact the father wanted nothing to do with them. She vowed that she wouldn’t miss the birth and would be there to support her. Trouble was that she was thousands of miles away… in New York. Harry had the means to get her back in six hours but she didn’t know how he might feel if she was to shoot off while they were having issues. Just as Harry was rising back to the stage to sing Sign of the Times she tapped Jeff on the shoulder and held up her phone to signal she was taking a call. He nodded and turned back to cheer on his friend.

Stella: 10.09pm

How far along, G?! x

George: 10.09pm

Not far at all, water’s only just broke and no contractions

George: 10.09pm

She’s only just left her house

George: 10.10pm

Wouldn’t have messaged if I thought you wouldn’t make it

Stella bit her lip in thought as Jeff put a hand on her shoulder, she jumped and swung around. “Last song.” He said in her ear, meaning it was almost time to head backstage. Harry usually headed straight to the vans waiting outside, meeting Stella in the backseat and the two of them journeying back to their hotel. Tonight they were planning to celebrate a little longer at the venue with the crew. Jeff said the arena had a surprise for Harry and that when the last song came on they would all move together to a designated area closer to the stage so that Harry could see them clearly.

She followed Jeff and the rest of Harry’s extensive entourage behind security guards. She thought about the afterparty and tried to imagine herself drinking and mingling whilst she knew Melanie was giving birth, without her. It was Harry’s last night at The Garden… but she had to go. She glanced back up at Harry on the stage, and then caught sight of Olivia’s silhouette dancing wildly with her friends to Kiwi. She questioned whether if she left tonight, the shoulder Harry would choose to cry on would be Olivia's. Would she be pushing him straight into her arms? She shook her head to rid the thought and made the decision. She turned and split from the group to rush back to Harry’s dressing room and pack her bag. There wasn’t time to go back to the hotel, she’d have to hop a jet with what she’d brought to the arena. Luckily, she always carried her passport as ID when she was in foreign countries. Her hands shook with adrenaline as she used one to stuff things into her tote and one to call Harry’s travel manager.

“Stella? What are you doing?” Jeff said from the doorway. She glanced at him before snapping back to put the phone to her ear.

“I’ve gotta get back home, Jeff. Ugh, why aren’t you picking up the bloody phone?!” She groaned in frustration as she redialed the number.

“I can get you a cab back to the hotel, Stell. Just let me g-,”

“No, I mean I need to get on a plane back to the UK and these bloody people aren’t answering!” She began to anger. Jeff frowned and turned when he heard footsteps down the hallway. Harry’s brow furrowed as he caught eyes with his confused manager who just shook his head back before stepping aside to allow him to enter the room.

“Stell? You alright?” His first response was to be concerned at how flustered she looked. But he felt uncharacteristically nervous in her presence because of how they’d left their last conversation. He stepped across the threshold as she put the last of her belongings into her bag and zipped it closed. “Going somewhere?” He laughed humourlessly, never expecting her to actually be leaving on a night like that. One of the most special moments in his career. He’d looked over, teary-eyed, to where he thought she’d be stood as his commemorative banner dropped and he saw everyone but her. He saw Jeff, Glenne, James, and even Olivia. He imagined there would be an influx of gifs and videos of his face falling all over social media by the time he got into bed that night and unlocked his phone.

He saw her bursting tote bag and felt his stomach turn over. “Has something happened? Is your mum okay?” He said turning her to look at him with hands on her shoulders.

“Yes, Harry. Everyone’s fine but I need to go home,” she looked up at him and sighed, avoiding his eyes. “I need a plane.”

“Oh, why? Urgently?” She’d shaken off his hands from her shoulders and was heading for the door. “Stell, everyone’s in the other room waiting to celebrate. You need to tell me what’s going on or I’ll start to think this is it.” Stella's shoulders sank and she sighed deeply. Even just hearing him talk about them ending like that made her feel sick.

“I need to go back home because a patient of mine is in labour. George texted me during the show.”

“Seriously? You want to travel eight hours to see some woman give birth, something you see every day, when we haven’t seen each other in weeks? When I haven’t seen you since you had a go at me over the phone?” She swung back around and jumped when she realised how close he was. He looked angry, but when Harry looked angry he looked about as intimidating as a growling puppy.

"Come with me then!"

"Really? That's unfair, you know I can't do that." He said defeatedly. "Stell, she's just another patient, you'll have hundreds more to take care of in your lifetime." He said, softer, trailing his fingers down her arms to hold her hands in an effort to convince her. She snatched her hands away.

“Are you serious right now?” She poked his sweaty chest. “She’s not just a patient, she’s a woman in my care. She’s someone I’ve spent most of my time with for nearly a year and someone I’ve grown to care about.” She turned to walk down the hallway, him following close after her. She whipped around again in frustration. “You’d know all about it if you paid attention to anyone talking about anything that wasn’t to do with you.” His eyes blazed and he opened his mouth to argue before they heard someone pointedly knock on the wall.

“Hey, H, we’re all waiting to toast you.” Olivia smiled from the doorway of the catering room. They both turned to look at her and Stella breathed deeply through her nose and glared at Harry when he glared back.

“Go on, H," She made a point of using the nickname. "You deserve to celebrate.”

“Stella,”

“Just get me a plane and I’ll be out of your hair.” She smiled, short and tight-lipped, checking her phone for the time, every second she spent arguing with Harry was time she couldn’t afford to waste. He stepped forward so that Olivia couldn’t hear as clearly.

“If you think it's more important, sure, I’ll get you the plane.” His nostrils flared but she stayed stoic. “This hurts me though, Stell." She softened slightly at his words. "How do you think it’s gonna look to everyone that you raced off somewhere instead of being here for me?” Stella scoffed. She couldn’t even force herself to argue with him anymore, she couldn’t believe how selfish he’d become. She didn’t even want to look at him, he was nothing like the boy she’d fallen in love with. She took her gaze to the floor to keep from rolling her eyes. He nodded in submission. “I’ll go get Jeff to sort the plane out. Hope you get there safe.”

Stella sat in her aeroplane seat, taking deep breaths to keep herself calm as they flew over France. She was so close to returning to the UK and ached to take her phone off of safety mode. But a part of her was thankful to switch off, to be forced to stop doom scrolling through endless pictures and videos of Harry that fans would post on social media after a show. She prayed that Melanie was holding back, that she’d make it on time. The way she’d left things with Harry made her very anxious, to the point where she’d picture him and feel nauseous with anxiety. They’d never been in such a state. She questioned every move she’d made leading up to boarding that plane. The plane that he would end up paying for. She shook her head and leaned it back on the headrest, closing her eyes and running her hands over her face. She didn’t want to cry in front of the crew, she couldn’t trust whether they’d be taking pictures, despite it being a private plane company. All the years with Harry had caused her to become paranoid.

“Would you like another coffee, Miss Mallone?” Stella jumped again, the day’s events had caused her to have the serenity of a doe in headlights.

“Oh, yes, please. Thank you so much.” She said, smiling softly at the kind air hostess, she looked barely 21 years old. ‘Caitlin’ was written on her gold badge pinned to the lapel of her sleek navy blue skirt suit. Caitlin probably knew exactly who she was, and probably wondered why Harry wasn’t on the plane with her. Stella went red with embarrassment and awkwardness and lifted the beige cashmere blanket up to her chin. She rolled over to her side in her reclined seat and stared out at the passing clouds through the small plastic window. She glanced at her watch, around ten past eight in the morning back in London. About five o’clock in the morning back in New York. She thought of Harry, she couldn’t help it. He’d probably just be getting back to the hotel after a night of celebrations. He’d flip the lamp on, and see her suitcase that she’d had to leave to go straight to the airport. He’d roll his eyes as he collected up her makeup that was sprawled across the bed where she’d sat in her fluffy hotel dressing gown an hour before the show, dragging eyeliner across her lids in a rush because, as always, she’d been running late. He’d see her neatly folded stack of fresh underwear and pyjamas that rested on top of her pillow, ready for when they stumbled through the door, full of Champagne bubbles and Don Julio shots, giggling with wandering hands and greedy lips. Perhaps he’d smile a bit at the clothing knowing she’d done the same thing since the first time she’d stayed the night at his mum's house. He’d imagine her doing the same for their children, so they could have cosy memories of when they stayed at big fancy hotels away from home with mum and dad.

She opened her eyes when she felt a slight shove to her shoulder and turned to see Caitlin again, the lights were off, replaced with a low twinkle from the warm strips that glowed from the overhead bag compartments.

“Miss Mallone, apologies for disturbing your nap. We’re preparing to land in ten minutes.” Stella nodded, still a bit out of it and wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth and cheek with her thumb. Caitlin helped her push her seat back up from its reclined position and handed her a glass of water, assuming correctly that she’d have a dry mouth.

“Thank you, Caitlin.”

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Mallone?”

“No, thank you, you’ve been fantastic,” Stella smiled genuinely at the young girl who nodded. “Just ready to get home now.” She leaned forward to take a big gulp of water before resting back, clipping her seatbelt and bracing for landing.

As soon as the tyres hit the tarmac and she was ensured that she could turn her phone off aeroplane safety mode, Stella called George. She skipped over the texts from Pauli checking on her and went straight to dial.

“Hiya Stell, she’s still going,” Stella sighed deeply in immense relief. She grabbed her bag with the phone to her ear and nodded to the flight crew as they lined up to show her off the aircraft. “Where are you now?”

“Literally just getting off the plane,” she walked over to the car that had been organised to take her straight to London Royal Hospital. “Tell her I’m coming, won’t you?”

“She already knows, she said to tell you you’re mad!” Stella chuckled and sunk back into the soft leather, thankful for the heated seats after coming straight from the heat of New York City, and being dressed accordingly. She stressed to George to keep her updated and then hung up. Tapping through to the messages app, she navigated to Pauli's chat.

Pauli: 10.24am

You good, S?

Pauli: 10.35am

H said you dipped, you've spun him out

Me: 11.02am

Tell him I’m fine x

She tapped out the message and locked her phone to watch London go by as she sped to her destination. She was fine, regardless of how she couldn’t sit still and how her hair had become greasy with how many times she’d raked her fingers through it. She thought it was nice of Pauli to check on her, but she knew Harry was pissed off and would most likely be puking up the walls by now. He never handled anger well. With all the free booze, she knew he would be taking everything offered to him when he was in a certain headspace. She just hoped Olivia wasn’t an option on that list. But she couldn’t imagine him doing something so hurtful.

Finally, the driver pulled up after getting stuck in what felt like endless traffic. She rushed through the double doors of the hospital and ran past the desk to the lifts, bashing the button to call it.

“Morning, Val!” She exclaimed as the maternity check-in clerk frowned in her direction, confused as to what she was doing there when she’d booked the week off.

“What on earth ya doing here, girl?” She yelled brashly in her Jamaican accent, waddling behind Stella as she whipped her way through the ward towards the staff changing rooms to get into her uniform.

“I couldn’t miss Mel’s birth.” The older woman’s face fell before she kissed her teeth and threw her arms in the air, stomping and mumbling back out to man the desk. Thankful to be ridding herself of the clothes she’d travelled almost seven hours in, she opened her locker and grabbed her scrubs and shoes. She bundled her hair into a, ‘as neat as it’s going to get,’ top knot and washed her hands and forearms with warm soapy water. She took a deep breath in the mirror and tapped at her under-eye bags to try and get the blood flowing and skin de-puffing. Stuffing her belongings into her locker she exited the changing room and as luck would have it, ran straight into George, the head of her department.

“You’re here!” He said, wide-eyed. “Come on, she’s well on her way now. Doing brilliantly.” He marched ahead of her back to the ward and drew back the curtain to where Melanie was led, belly strapped up and gas and air flowing. “Got a visitor for you, Mel.”

Melanie’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she saw Stella peek around the corner. “Oh my God!” She tried to get out but it came muffled due to the tube she was holding in her mouth. Stella manoeuvred herself around the side of her bed into Mel’s open arms for a squeeze. “You must be mad, Stell. Oough.” She groaned the last part, contractions taking over.

“Alright, how are we doing with examinations? Dilation stats?”

“She was at four centimetres half an hour ago. Contractions seem to be every three minutes.”

“Okay, so we’re definitely in active labour. Shall we do another quick check?” Mel groaned again and took a good pull off the tube, turning onto her back and spreading her legs. It’s true when they say dignity goes out the door in childbirth. Stella manoeuvred the stool over to where Melanie’s legs were perched on medical stirrups. “Okay,” she said, lubing up her gloved fingers and diving right in. “Hmm, just relax for me, Mel. That’s it, well done.” Mel leaned her head back and groaned in pain as she contracted once again, the pangs coming faster as time went on. Stella pulled her hand out and passed the glove to George to get rid of. “That’s about seven centimetres. Time to get you through to the delivery room I’d say.” Stella grinned excitedly at Melanie, she always tried to keep the energy positive during labours, especially for first-time mothers who would usually be terrified. She moved up to the head of the bed and stroked back Melanie's hair away from her forehead. She was well and truly sucking the life out of the gas and air machine by then. Her watery blue eyes stared up at Stella with worry and pain. “It’s all going to be fine. We’ve got you.”

The room turned to chaos as the curtain was yanked back and nurses flanked each side of Melanie’s bed as they wheeled it to the nearest free delivery room.

Part two coming soon!

Author's note: I realise this is the second angsty piece I've posted on here... we're 2/2 now.

I guess I really am a messy bitch who loves drama.

#harry styles fic rec #harry styles #harry styles writing #fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles series #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles headcanon #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic

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butyou-callmewhenyourebored · 2 years ago

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Matty Healy Imagine

Summary: In which you "dated" Matty pre 75 fame (2011-2012) and bump into him seven years later (late 2019) never realising you meant more to Matty than you could ever imagine.

Warnings: Swearing. Vulgar language somewhere around the middle because there is a tiny section of smut my friends!

Author's Note: Hope you enjoy this one. This was the 'Matty realising who his person is/in love with' piece that you all voted for next. Not entirely sure if it's any good to be honest but I hope you like it. A short blurb might be posted at a later date. Ross and George stuff coming up next! Enjoy! x

P.S If any of you can think of a 1975 song that we could use to title this bad boy I would be highly appreciative because currently I have nothing!

4.8K Words

When you met Matty Healy you were just shy of turning twenty one years old, you were still at uni and you were at a wedding of a friend of a friend that you only knew kind of through work and he was captivating from the off. He had a stunning set of curls and a cheeky charm about him, that had you knocking back whatever shots he was offering, laughing at all his stupid jokes (read chat up lines) and letting him feel you up as you danced until the early morning. You would have followed him into whatever trouble he got himself into without a single question asked.

He told you he was in a band with his mates from school to which you humoured him, nodding your head as you hummed in vague response. Of course he was, this was the noughties, every boy in your age range was or had been in a garage band doing covers of Blink 182 and hoping to make it big one day. What made Drive Like I Do or whatever weird name he told you any different from the rest of the kids?

Except they were different. They were fucking brilliant and when you found out they were from a small town in Cheshire not far from where you were from, you thought it might have been fate that you two would find each other.

You “dated” for roughly six months. You use the word loosely because looking back at that time in your life, it seemed like it was just a flurry of a lot of sex and a lot of fighting. Fighting about the states he would get in when he’d do drugs with his mates. Some of your most profound conversations were with him when he was high or you were both drunk out of your minds. But you probably fought more in those last two months than you did in the entirety of your next relationship. Which is a shame because you could have really loved him.

When the two of you finally admitted defeat and decided to go your separate ways. You didn’t hear from him or the boys again. Not that you ever expected to as he was busy becoming the front man in the biggest band in the world and you ended up moving to London for work and working up the ladder at your law firm and living with your boyfriend for the next seven years. You couldn’t escape him though, the band were the biggest thing to come out of the North since Arctic Monkeys and they were on every channel, every magazine, their music attached to every social media post.

Even though you weren’t on speaking terms with any of them because you had too much respect for Matty to make it weird. You knew George, Adam and Ross deserved the success they had achieved over the past seven years. Matty too, this was his dream and he was living it to the fullest.

You expected the success to find them. What you didn’t expect was to run into Adam and his girlfriend on your walk home from work one late October evening in 2019. He spotted you first, the two of you just standing in shock in front of one another for the first time in so long, in silence. His girlfriend highly confused as to what was happening until one of you finally spoke.

“Hi.” Adam immediately smiled sweetly at you before embracing you. “How are you doing Ads? Congratulations on everything! I knew you’d do it!” You told him, your happiness genuine for him, he was one of the nicest people you had ever met.

“Thanks. Carls this is y/n an old friend of ours. Her and Matty dated what…” He paused a moment, whist trying to figure it out. “How long has it been since I’ve seen you? Seven years now?”

“Sounds about right!” You managed to chuckle. “I ehhh heard about what happened with him a couple of years ago. I wanted to reach out but didn’t know how or if it’d be weird or not? Is he doing okay?”

“Better than ever.” Adam smiled warmly at you at your concern.

“Will you pass on the message that I’m glad he’s well.” You had started to ask but before either of you could say anything else. You heard the dulcet northern tones of a man that you shared your life with many moons ago, rupture through the evening air.

“Hann! What you doing mate? Who are you talking to…”

Words died on his tongue the moment he took in the sight of you in front of him for the first time since your last fight in the spring of 2012. Very rarely did Matty not know what to say. But there you were, his muse for some of his most beloved songs. As he lived and breathed, dressed in tight leather pants, a smart white blouse tucked in and stiletto heels that looked like they could kill him if he got in your way. Shock etched across your face but you looked more beautiful that Matty ever remembered.

“Hi”

Your voice came out a little less confident than you anticipated and it made you want to shoot yourself in the foot but when Matty let out a breathy “Hi” like he was unsure of what to say it made you feel a little better. The pair of you continued to stare at one another, not completely sure how long neither of you weren’t saying anything but Adam coughed awkwardly and prompting you to look over in his direction.

“Well it was lovely to see you again.” Adam leant down to press a deft kiss to your cheek before throwing a look over his shoulder at his best mate. “Hopefully it won’t be seven years next time.” He laughed, squeezing your arm gently as Carly sent you a soft smile and a wave as they both headed off in the opposite direction to you.

“You look good Healy.”

You broke the silence, smiling at him sincerely as you took in how good he looked. He looked happy and healthy, had this glow about him and that’s all you ever wanted for him, was for him to be well. Matty grinned at your compliment before shaking his head, laughing as his curls fell in front of his eyes.

When he finally looked back up at you, you noticed the crinkle in the corner of his eyes were still prominent in his features when he laughed and this overwhelming feeling appeared heavy in your chest. A soft tingle rushed up your face, through your nose and prickling at your eyes. You didn’t want to cry but the softness of his face made the nostalgia wave over you so strongly that you didn’t know if you could keep composure for much longer if he didn’t say anything.

“Shit sweetheart! So do you! Sensational!”

Matty’s words made you laugh, that feeling instantaneously washing away as you both laughed with each other for the first time again. Tentatively he took a step closer towards you. Opening his arms almost awkwardly gesturing for a hug as if he was unsure you would. You immediately stepping into his arms; his finding their way around your waist as yours naturally found theirs around his neck.

His body felt warm against yours; hands pressed flat against your back, his curls tickling the side of his face as you curled up against his neck, squeezing him that little bit tighter as he attempted to step back and trapping him in your arms for a little longer. The smell of cigarette smoke and his signature aftershave the same after all this time, invaded your senses, making you relax into him. The pressure on your waist automatically tightened as he reciprocated your affection before you both finally took steps to move away from one another before it got awkward.

“It was really good to see you sweetheart.” Matty smiled; shoving his hands into his coat pockets. You noticed him shuffling his feet awkwardly, unsure of why he seemed nervous. It was just you. “But I’ve got to…” He gestured in the direction Adam had left. “It’s a work thing. But I’ll message you.”

Nodding, you assumed after he pressed a messy kiss to your cheek and was jogging off after his band mate, that you probably wouldn’t hear from your rockstar again. But the notification from trumanblack not a hour later that just said ‘Call me x’ and his number had stupid butterflies swimming in your stomach that maybe if anything you’d be able to make things right with him, even if it just meant he was apart of your life.

That was eighteen months ago. It was now Spring of 2021 and I think it was fair to say you were fully submerged back into The 1975’s world. There were times when you could see the jealousy swimming through his brown eyes when you hung out with the other members of the band. Laughter echoing around whatever room you were in as your laugh intertwined with Ross’ infectious giggle.

Jealousy that this time around, your attention wasn’t solely focused on him. Which lets be honest a decade ago, the two of you were completely infatuated with one another. You were friendly with the boys but your entire world was Matty and Matty you. You can’t believe you missed out on this type of love that the boys were giving you. George was happy to have someone to entertain his horrendous dad jokes. Adam to have meaningful life talks with. Ross to go to when work was stressing you out, he always knew what to say to ease your mind. He had quickly become your best friend. All of them happy to have someone on their side to help wind Matty up!

You don’t even know what you and Matty were. Not long after you were reunited, the boys headed off on their American tour and you spent every night speaking to Matty over FaceTime once he got in from the gig. It was always middle of the night/early morning for you and after a certain amount of calls, you didn’t care what you looked like anymore.

Your conversations always ranged from what the tour was like, travelling, stupid things the boys had done whilst on the road to your work, missing him, him missing you, missing home and his mum and just wanting a good cup of tea. He of course was naughty as always and sometimes you found yourself wearing less and less just because you could and if he could tease so could you.

Yet once they returned home and they headed out on their UK tour, you found yourself working remotely and tagging along. This was everything you had dreamed of for him and it made your heart ache with so much joy you weren’t sure if it was pure happiness for them or you were slipping into the nostalgic feeling of being around him 24/7.

Then covid hit the world and you were forced apart again. You were currently living alone since your ex had moved out of your apartment six months prior but by some sort of miracle your neighbour one street over happened to be one Ross MacDonald. Him and his housemates so graciously offering you to move into their spare room for the next few months. Living with Ross felt like a better idea for your sanity than entertaining the idea of Matty if he had got in there before him, somehow you knew you had made the right decision.

Ross MacDonald was a fantastic housemate plus knowing it meant Ross had someone on his side when ganging up on Matty was worth it on its own. You lived for that shit! You and Ross also made a great team during your weekly zoom quizzes, having coming top of the leaderboard almost every time much to Matty’s dismay. Him proclaiming the two of you were clearly cheating on more than one occasion, which only made you laugh harder, the more he continued to rant. There is one thing you should know and that is Matthew Healy is a sore loser! This of course always goes down well with the rest of the band when he throws a strop like the man child that he is!

Matty on the other hand wasn’t impressed by the speed in which your relationship with his bassist was forming.

“You moved in quicker with Ross than you did me!”

“We never lived together Healy!” You laughed at his pouting through the phone.

“Exactly!”

“To be fair mate. You were kind of a nightmare to live with back in the day!” Ross’ voice could be heard from the other side of the living room.

“I don’t like that you two gang up on me!”

“Stop pouting at me!” You laughed loudly at him, “To be fair to him, the rate in which we were going ten years ago. If we lived with each other. We would have killed each other and I’d hate to be the person to have deprived the world of your talent.” You tried to soften the blow a little with a compliment.

“Yeah.” Matty sighed, before shooting you a soft smile. “Thanks sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you.”

The softness in his voice, made your heart burst and you hated how you knew how this was going to end up. “Me too babe. Me too.”

“Plus I need to make up for lost time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to accumulate the same amount of hours you’ve spent with Ross once we’re allowed out of the house.”

“You’re ridiculous. You know that right?”

“So I’ve been told! But you love me anyway!”

“Sure. Whatever makes you sleep better at night Healy!”

You laughed at the dramatic gasp of horror from the man on the opposite side of the phone. A roll of eyes definitely happened from both you and Ross who was drinking a cup of coffee on the other end of the couch.

That was a year ago. You were currently in the studio with him and George, just quietly watching them work. Adam and Ross long gone and happily tucked up in bed and you were currently falling asleep on the sofa and being held hostage by their lead singer. George threw you a sympathetic smile over his shoulder as you struggled to keep your eyes open, nudging his mate and gesturing towards your slumped frame.

Immediately standing up; Matty made his way over to you, kneeling down next to you and brushing your hair behind your ear so softly. That if you were actually awake, you would have leaned into his touch but you were completely wiped out. “Lets get you home sweetheart.” His voice soft as he pulled you up and he dragged you gently out of the studio and into his car, George’s goodbye muffled by your sleepy brain as he headed towards his own car further down the street.

Matty drove to his, your shit already there and tucked by the side of the bed in his spare room, despite the fact the past two days you had fallen asleep curled up next to him as you watched documentaries in bed together. You still don’t know what you were because friends don’t continue to sleep in the same bed with one another and not go any further than that. Scientifically impossible especially with the history the two of you had, a tension of the sexual kind always tethering the two of you together, no matter who was around, you always toed that line.

That was all about to change.

When you woke up the next morning, Matty’s face in your neck, hands up the t-shirt you were wearing for bed, body wrapped around you as he spooned you from behind. The kiss he pressed to the back of your neck before moving away was enough to stir you from your sleep to search for him again in the sheets. Rolling over; you slotted into his side seamlessly, foot automatically intruding between his legs as your leg draped over the top of his waist.

“Don’t want to go to work. Tell the boys you’re not well. I’ll ring in sick.”

You mumbled into his neck. His skin vibrated against your lips, his chuckles dying quickly in his throat as you pressed kisses to the upside of his jaw. Leaning down slowly he caught your lips between his own, neither of you bothered by whatever morning breath you may have, having seen each other in worse states than this.

Matty’s hands moved from your face, dancing down your body as you tugged at his curls. Hands grabbing at the globes of your ass roughly as you kissed lazily in the morning light that was seeping through the curtains. Time was not a concept for either of you as you made out like a pair of love struck teenagers. You had gone nine years without him and now you didn’t want to let him go now you had leapt over that line.

A particular tug of his curls had him moaning into your mouth as he squeezed you against him, your ass firmly between his hands as you straddled him. “Babe gonna have to piss. Sorry.” He mumbled against your lips, before wiggling out from beneath you. The both of you yawning as you both stretched properly for the first time that morning. “Maybe coffee too. Shit I’m tired as balls. Come on sweetheart.” He held out his hand for you take, finally leaving the confines of his bedroom.

Coffee brewed, breakfast eaten and teeth brushed. You and Matty happily trudged back to his bed after you called in sick to work and Matty text George some bullshit excuse as to why he wasn’t going to the studio today. The pair of you continuing to make out like horny teenagers until your lips were swollen and you were desperate to be under him and your wish was about to come true.

The hum of contentment left your mouth as Matty’s hands bunched up his shirt you had slept in the night before, soft kisses making their way down your stomach until he reached the top of your lacy knickers. Thank fuck for always thinking a head, you’d pat yourself on the back later for that one. Matty continued to press kisses to both of your hips before continuing his assault everywhere but where you wanted him to.

Looking down at him, Matty leant against the inside of your thigh, his eyes swimming with permission and when he looked like that between your legs, you’d happily give him anything he wanted. “Please.” You managed to whimper as his fingers tucked underneath the lace and dragging them down your legs quicker than you anticipated.

Matty held your legs apart as he looked up at you, hearts appearing in his eyes as he looked up at your heaving chest before delving in. Fingers wrapping around his curls, you couldn’t help but tighten your grip as his tongue swept through your folds to lick at your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Your back arching into his touch as he devoured you, the pornographic moans you let out as he lapped up your mess enough to make him cum in his pants like a teenager.

“Fuck how have you got better at this?” You moaned; throwing your head back into the pillow as you groaned at his ministrations as he mouthed at your pussy. “Jesus fuck! That’s good!”

“Loads of practice.” He hummed against you, a soft kiss to your inner thigh before running his tongue over you again, before pressing his middle and index fingers into you too and pressing against that spot he loved so much.

“Don’t want to hear about other girls Healy.” You huffed, just as he sucked your clit into his mouth again, causing you to groan loudly. “Fuck going to cum.”

The grip you had on Matty’s hair was impossibly tight, the feeling of your nails indenting into the palm of your hand proof of that as your legs started to shake either side of his head. Matty doubled down on his efforts as you started to tingle all over, his fingers rapidly moving in you had the brunette holding your hips down as you started to gyrate against his mouth in a hurried effort to cum for him.

When you finally did, it felt like you were cumming forever. Your legs still shaking as Matty slowly made his way up towards your face, pressing kisses in the wake of his path before pressing a deep kiss to your lips. The taste of yourself now on your tongue making you hum as you pulled him closer.

“Could fucking stay between your legs forever baby.”

“I’d let you. That was fucking good Healy.”

“Hmmm.” Matty hummed into your neck, as he pressed delicate kisses to your skin as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Ringing in sick, best idea ever.”

After that; you too couldn’t keep your hands off you. You had opened the floodgates and you were never not having sex of some sorts. It was constant which was saying something because when you were both in your early twenties the two of you were at it like rabbits!

Now that the two of you seemed to have established that you wanted to be with each other, life seemed to fall into place so easily. You went to work during the day, working with high end clients in the law firm you worked at and being a bad ass bitch by day and went home and fucked your sexy, talented ass man when you got home and hung out with the other boys in the studio at the weekend/days off. You couldn’t complain really and neither could they when apparently Matty was tuning out material so good, that George claimed that he was just playing him a song that was an old classic and not something new.

You had already become a constant within the boys’ lives at this point but it was when you were chilling in the studio, draped across the sofa and atop of both Ross and George as Matty faffed about at the sound board with one of their sound technicians that you realised you were all way too comfortable around each other.

The sound technician had been out of the room all of two seconds before he was sending you a suggestive look from the spinning chair he was currently occupying. His eyes drifted from you to his crotch and back again, raising an eyebrow to challenge you. But you weren’t playing these games today. You knew you were falling for him, 99% sure you already had and there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for the stupid fucker. But you wouldn’t play these games in front of the lads.

“No.” You tilted your head up from where it was leaning against George’s leg, to shoot your boyfriend a look.

“Why not?”

“Babe I’m not sucking your dick when the boys are here. Don’t be gross!”

“Baaabe” He whined dramatically at you.

“Yeah. I object to that sort of behaviour.” Ross piped up from the other end of the sofa with a chuckle.

“I love you both but I don’t want to see your dick mate.” Adam looked up from his guitar in the corner.

“Agreed, we put up with a lot of shit but do I want to see your dick in our sweet innocent friend’s mouth. No.” George joked from above you. You pinched his thigh much to his annoyance, hitting you with his flailing arms in reflex to your assault.

“Your dick is practically in her mouth now. Shut up! Come on baby, let’s quickly sneak out.”

Your boyfriend’s unfiltered mouth, seemed to think he was funny. But his joke didn’t settle with any of you the way he thought it would. Especially you and George and it was the first time you made an effort to sit up and move away from the friendly giant you called your mate. As the awkwardness settled between the five of you, you quickly dropped your legs from Ross’ lap too and sat up.

The atmosphere in the room had quickly shifted and you made an excuse to make a “work call” and left the room.

That was the first disagreement you had with Matty since you had gotten back together. You were up for a dick joke as much as the next lass but making you the butt of the joke like you were some type of slut was where you drew the line.

Although to give Matty’s his dues, he let you talk it out with him after giving you the space you needed. He apologised immediately and promised he’d not slut you up in front of the boys again. Which if it had happened ten years ago, you would have screamed about him being “such a boy” and how he would have screamed about “how you just don’t get his humour and to get over yourself.”

“I’m sorry baby. I forget I don��t have a filter sometimes. Won’t happen again.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, hands draped around your waist. “I’ve never been this happy. This is the happiest I’ve ever been and it’s all because of you sweetheart. Don’t want to mess this up.”

“I know baby.” You kissed him back harder than before, twirling his curls around his fingers before pecking your lips against his over and over again, just wanting to be close to him. If you could see yourselves, you’d hate the two of you. “You won’t, I know you won't.” You whispered against the side if his neck, as you mouthed at his jaw and pulling a groan from him as you pressed just underneath his ear.

“I fucking love you sweetheart.”

You felt like your heart stopped as his words entered your ears, his forehead resting against yours as he pressed you up against the wall.

“Yeah?” Matty nodded. “I fucking love you too Healy!” You grinned.

Matty pressed you further into the wall, kissing you so deeply you thought you’d go through it. The moan you tried to suppress as you felt his thigh press between your own echoed through the corridor in the studio and it was only when you realised where you were, your mates just on other side of the wall. Had you pulling aways as sense invaded your brain.

“I love you but not here. When we’re home.” You laughed at his pout.

“Only because I love you so much. Don’t think I ever really stopped to be honest.”

Matty had the nerve to look demure as he said it but the giddiness as he bounced on the balls of his feet, you knew he was anything but as he looked like he was ready to burst. You rolled your eyes as you know what he wanted but you sent him a soft smile all the same. God you were down bad for the silly fucker!

“You can tell the boys! Go!” You shoved him playfully. Your laugh reverberated around the hall as he pressed a kiss to your mouth once more before running back towards the room you had both disappeared from. “She fucking loves me mate!” You heard him shout as he burst through the studio door.

Not far behind him, you stopped to lean against the door frame as he bounced around the room. The boys patting him on the back with smiles equally as big as they voiced their congratulations.

“We know!” Ross cackled, rolling his eyes when he spotted you.

“Fuck knows why! You’re a pain the arse!” George smirked, pulling his best mate into a tight hug.

“I’m happy for you both.” Adam spoke from his corner, a bright smile on his face as he nodded at you in the doorway. Adam had this all knowing look on his face, having been there the moment you reunited. You think he always knew deep down, this was where it was heading. You both loved hard and fast, he saw it first hand ten years ago and had seen how happy his best mate had been just by having you in his life again. He knew there was no way you weren’t going to realise that the two of you were meant to be.

Your boy turned to look at you. Leant against the doorframe, arms folded across your chest and the softest look on your face as you watched his energy bounce off everything he touched, it was so infectious that you couldn’t help but feel your eyes gloss over. The overwhelming feeling of love hitting you square in the chest as the four of them teased one another. Teased Matty for being soft. You caught each others eyes, Matty beaming as he took you in.

A chance meeting at a wedding ten years ago. A fleeting love affair. Nine years apart.

A chance reunion between an international rockstar and the one who got away.

Yeah you were fucking so down for this man.

He was your person.

#matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #matty healy x you #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy #the 1975 imagine #the 1975 fic #the 1975 x reader #george daniel #adam hann #ross macdonald

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curiositydooropened · 2 years ago

Text

Better Off - Part One

Four years since Argyle's wedding, Robin invited you and the gang to her boss's lake house. Hoping good memories will be made, you're forced to wrestle with some ghosts of your past.

This fic runs in the same Universe as My Whole Life, Too.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader

Wordcount: 11,019

Warnings: second chance romance, angst, fluff, sex and sex adjacent (minors DNI, thanks!), recreational drinking and drug use, mentions of pregnancy and parenthood, mentions of the loss of loved ones

Navigation • Masterlist • Part Two

---

The paper garbage sack slipped against the slick chiffon of your floral skirt as you fumbled for the brass door handle. When the door swung open, you hoisted the sack back up your hip like a sack of flour, catching a rogue apple with the crook of your chin before it went rolling off the pile.

“Hello?” You called out, stepping into a warm house. Windows were open on either side, a breeze trickling through the foyer and tickling your upper thigh where your skirt had ridden up, caught on your haul. You toed out of your sneakers and huffed your bangs from your eyes. “Anyone home?”

To no response, you sashayed through the cramped dining room to the kitchen entrance to find a figure hunched in the warm glow of the refrigerator lightbulb. Blue checkered boxers stuck out from the waist band of painted-on black jeans, a black t-shirt loose around a slender build. You waited for him to stand before you slumped your groceries to the wooden countertops with a dramatic sigh.

“It’s fine, I’ve got ‘em.”

Eddie Munson spun on bare feet to face you, a look of genuine surprise flashed before the corners of his lips turned up in that iconic Cheshire grin, all teeth. You were disappointed to find his dimples hiding behind the patchiest goatee anyone could grow. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” He cracked the beer in his hand and kicked the fridge closed.

“Uh huh,” you practiced an unimpressed demeanor, despite everything in your body screaming to launch yourself into his arms. “Help me with the groceries.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted with two fingers and his beer can before taking a long gulp. His eyes never left yours, so you rolled your eyes and broke the contact, dipping into your bags to start putting things in a bare pantry and refrigerator.

Eddie sidled up behind you, all spice and cigarette smoke and warm, arms snaked around your middle while his head rested on your shoulder. You cried out and swatted at him as his stubble came to tickle the skin where your jaw met your ear, but he only tightened his grip. “I haven’t seen you in months, and you thought you could get away without affection? You wound me, sweetheart.”

With a resigned sigh, you gave in, sinking into him nearly deadweight, and he heaved dramatically to hold you upright, swaying back and forth as he pressed lithe kisses to the tops of your cheeks.

“I missed you,” he graveled, that vibration in your back that sent your knees weak every God damn time.

“Missed you too,” you rubbed his forearms before patting at his wrists for release. “Now put this meat in the freezer before it goes bad.”

He did as he was told, albeit like a teenager, balancing a steak on top his scraggly hair and one in each hand. He tossed them in and they landed on the frosty interior with thumps. “D’you run into him?”

“Who?” You breathed, glancing sideways back through the dining room. Your heart began to race in your chest.

“Steve,” Eddie answered.

You shuffled flour and sugar, baking soda, and lined it up against the wall, eyes still fixed on the front door you left open. “No, should I have?”

“He and Nance went to the store.” Eddie picked three apples from the top and began to juggle them. “Figured your paths might have crossed.”

Your shoulders relaxed, and you caught one apple midair and walked it to the fruit basket nearest the breakfast nook on the opposite side of the kitchen. “Could you not play with your food?”

“You never had a problem with it before,” Eddie tongued at a molar, cheeky grin spread across his features again. His eyebrows waggled.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. “I thought Robin made you promise not to be gross this week.”

He shrugged, added butter, eggs, and bacon to the refrigerator. “Mom’s not home, and we’re both consenting adults.”

You barked a laugh and glanced around the corner once more. The breeze swept in through billowy, white curtains. After a moment, they fell to expose the long gravel driveway. Your car was parked out front next to another you didn’t recognize. Out of state plates signified it must be a rental. “Yeah where is Robin? She left her boss’s vacation home in your hands?”

“Ouch,” Eddie snickered, leaning against the back counter to sip his beer again. You shot him a look. He grinned, shaking his hair from his eyes. “She went to pick up Jonathan and Argyle from the airport. She left Nancy in charge.”

“Ah,” you smiled, folding the paper bags in on themselves to stash under the sink. You hadn’t realized your hands were shaking until now, didn’t feel the tremor of your knee cap as it bounced in place. You licked your lips, glanced once more toward the entrance hall. “When do you think they’ll be back?”

“Any minute,” Eddie answered behind you.

“Cool,” you breathed.

He laughed. “C’mere, sweetheart. Let’s get you a drink.”

You spun on your heel with a smile, nodding fervently.

Eddie’s eyebrows raised, and he tucked his fingers around your hip bone to pull you in closer.

You slipped his beer from his other hand to sip. It was cheap, and a little stale, and the rim tasted of Eddie, cigarette smoke and spice. “I don’t think I’ll survive this week sober. Do you have anything else to help me out?” You smirked, trailing your fingertips from the guitar pick on his sternum down his chest and past protruding hipbones to the tight front pocket of his jeans.

He wriggled out of your reach, but you managed to sneak two fingers in to procure a rolled up piece of paper. Holding it between you, you were disappointed to find a one dollar bill in place of the joint you were hoping for. “Told you, sweetheart. I don’t do that shit anymore. You’re going to have to ask Argyle.”

“Traitor,” you admonished.

He chuckled, fingertips finding purchase under the flow of your t-shirt, just where your flesh rolled above the elastic waistband of your skirt. “But I can offer your something harder than expired beer.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Keep it in your pants, Munson.”

And then, you were launched across the room. Not quite launched, but had the hard wood been a little slicker, your socks might have betrayed you under the shove Eddie gave you. Some beer sputtered from the can in your hand and splashed the ground. He stood up straight and flashed you an apologetic look before you heard the ruckus in the next room.

“Hey, assholes. Want to help with these groceries?”

Your heart fell into your toes. You hadn’t heard those tones in four years. Not that clear, at least. You’d forgotten how Midwestern he sounded, the long As of his profanities. It hurt, ached somewhere within you you didn’t know existed. Your mouth was dry, and your hand shook too hard when you tried to take another sip, so you placed the can to the countertop.

“Dude, seriously, there’s like three more bags in the car - “ Steve’s voice cut off the moment he entered the claustrophobic kitchen, and he froze right in the doorway, blocking your only exit.

You swallowed and mustered the courage to look up, and there he was, Steve Harrington in all his glory, arms full of plastic grocery bags teeming with snacks. “Hi,” your voice cracked, betrayed you.

“Uh… hi.” His pink lips quirked in a strained smile, and suddenly he was far too close, all encompassing. His face was clean shaven, but his hair remained long and voluptuous. You couldn’t help but notice the pepper graying his temples, the wrinkles at the corner of those honeyed doe eyes. It hurt in that spot again, emotion dammed at your throat, blocking you from making any more noise.

“Awkward,” Eddie snorted in a singsong.

“Shut up,” you snapped, while Steve simultaneously groaned, “fuck off!” And at least that had the three of you snickering.

“Car, you said?” Eddie pointed past Steve, and the latter had to shuffle further into your space to let the other man through.

Steve smelled the same, expensive cologne and a bit of whisky, and you had to grip the countertop with your fingertips to stay upright when his bicep brushed your own so he should schlep his overfull bags off his arms. His forearms were thick and tan and veiny, and you busied yourself with helping him empty the bags just to keep your mind occupied on something other than being within touching distance.

“Oh, someone bought eggs.” His voice broke through the awkward swish of plastic and squish of styrofoam and cardboard and ting of tin cans.

“Yeah, me. Sorry. No one told me.” You trailed off, tonguing at a canker sore near a back molar that you’d manifested in the stress of the week leading up to this trip, the anxiety of this very moment.

“No it’s cool. We just had to get out,” he offered as an explanation, and that stung a bit too. “I mean… stretch our legs. Me and Nance.”

You glanced his way, and he ducked back into the fridge. “Where is Nance?”

“Upstairs. I guess she’s not feeling well. Food poison from the airport, she thinks.”

You hummed and turned back to the bag, nearly empty in front of you. You felt a bit panicked, closed in, like your face was too close to the plastic and it was all you could breathe. You dipped shaky hands inside to find the last glass jar, white lid, full to the brim with the florescent brine of maraschino cherries.

You heard the suction of the refrigerator door close, and you felt Steve’s eyes on you, but you couldn’t look away from the cherries, each of them slamming into one another like buoys after a storm. Your heart thundered in your ears and your chest, and all of you rattled when Steve muttered the syllables of your name.

“Hey, look who I found!” Eddie burst through the door with arms full of the last three grocery bags, and the ruckus of the entrance hall startled the cherries from your hand to the countertop beside your baking supplies. You moved aside to give him room to drop his haul, and you glanced around his lean frame to see Steve scratch at the stubble on his chin, a far-off look in his eyes.

“Is my best friend in there?” You heard a screech and the stomping of feet, and you plastered on a smile and stepped into the line of fire to catch Robin as she came sliding into the room.

She was all limbs and hair, and she cackled in your ear as she enveloped you in a hug, rocking you back and forth too many times. “Ohhhh, I’ve missed you.”

“I talked to you yesterday,” you laughed, running your fingertips down her slender shoulder blades.

“Yeah, but that was on the phone. I haven’t seen you in person in ages. Did you cut your hair? Did you get a new perfume?” Robin held you at arm’s length to shower you in compliments. “You look incredible. Doesn’t she look incredible?”

Instinctively, your gaze met Steve’s over Robin’s shoulder. Your face heated, and his lips fell open to say something.

“She looks incredible,” Jonathan interjected from behind you, grabbing your wrist from Robin’s waist to sweep you into a warm hug. He always smelled of leather and the metal of the New York subway, and was the refreshing breath of home you needed in that moment, centering, calm. You and Jonathan had grown close over the years, seeing each other every few months for coffee or bagels or a slice at 3am between the bar and home. “You good?” He mumbled in your ear, and you nodded, giving him an extra tight squeeze.

“This house is super nice, Robin,” Argyle commented, admiring the setting of your little reunion. He’d aged the most, but perhaps aside from Steve, it’d been the longest since you’d seen him. A sleek of grey framed his face, long hair tucked back into a low ponytail. His mustache nearly met his sideburns, and his dark eyes crinkled in a smile when he caught your eye, reaching to envelope you in greeting.

The room shuffled around to allow everyone to say hi to one another, and Eddie began emptying the final bags and clinking things around, and Robin yammered on about her boss letting her using his summer home before the season, and the lake, and Argyle and Jonathan crowded countertops and sidestepped Eddie, and soon you were sandwiched beside Steve. You leaned back to catch yourself, and caught the meat of his thigh in your grasp, both of your jolting upright at the sudden contact.

“Alright,” you huffed. “There are far too many people in my kitchen right now. If you idiots want buns for your burgers and an apple pie for dessert, I’d recommend you all find somewhere else to congregate.” You wiped your hands on your skirt, the warmth of Steve’s denim leg sent all nerve endings ablaze.

Jonathan chuckled, hands up, eyes sparkling as he backed slowly out of your way and back into the dining room.

“Okay, Your Highness, Geeze,” Robin laughed. “Come on, gents. I’ll show you to your rooms.”

“Oh!” You crossed to the purse you’d managed to drop some time ago and fished around the bucket for your keys. “If anyone could please get my suitcase and pillow out of the trunk for me, I’d love you forever.”

“I got it, sweetheart,” Eddie tugged the keyring off your finger, mischief flashing in his dark eyes.

“Don’t even think about looking through my stuff, perv,” you jabbed at the pick around his neck.

“Nothing I haven’t already seen,” he winked, voice low, and twirled his way out of the room.

You rolled your eyes and pulled the flour from its spot against the wall.

“I’m going to check on Nance.” A voice muttered from behind you, and you startled long enough to see Steve’s towering frame rush from the room.

You exhaled, brushing your bangs from your eyes and made to pull down a large mixing bowl. This was going to be a long week.

—

Robin’s boss had taste, or at least his wife did. Lakefront views, west-facing so every angle of the house was bathed in rich reds and burnt auburns as the sun dipped into tranquil waters on the horizon. The cottage-style home stood at the top of a slope downward, a deck with barbecue and place settings sat a level down, and the dock on the third level below, bobbing calmy in the wake.

You licked condiments from the corners of your lips, fingertips stretching through a paper napkin, hunger from a long day satiated. Everything smelled of smoke and summertime. You tipped your head back, sunglasses gliding up the bridge of your nose, and basked in the warm glow of evening, breathing in the chatter of family, of home.

“So, Jonathan, I hear you’ve finally sold out like the rest of us.” Steve commented, bringing his beer bottle to pink lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jonathan nodded, stretching himself out in his own chair beside you. “Kids call me Mr. Byers and everything. It’s disgusting.” Jonathan started teaching in the fall, photography at NYU. Freelance wasn’t paying the bills as he’d hoped.

“I shudder to think that today’s youths are being taught by you four,” Robin pointed in disdain at each of the men in front of her. Argyle taught shop. Steve taught gym at Hawkins High.

“Hey, I don’t teach. I hold extra curricular jam sessions and spend my time picking notes out of locker doors. Have you seen Mr. Harrington’s ass today? He’s soooo hot.” Eddie snickered, sloshing beer with every dramatic gesture. You swallowed around his words, trying not to imagine Steve in his track suit, hands on his hips, tonguing the whistle between his lips.

“Dude, gross,” Steve tossed his napkin at the other boy. “Those are kids. Literal children.”

“Oh yeah! Nancy told me Holly was your student this year.” Robin cackled. “Nancy, what was it she was saying about him over Christmas?”

Steve groaned, and the group turned to Nancy for an answer, but she was caught in her own world, staring off into the sunset behind designer glasses. Her hair was cropped short, sleek, perfect pink lips pursed in a pout. It took Eddie’s bump of her knee to realize she’d been called out.

“Um… what?”

“Earth to Nance,” Robin snapped her fingers. “You good? What the hell did you eat?”

Nancy had barely touched her hamburger, lettuce and tomato remained untouched and wilted to the side of her bun. “Nothing,” she snapped, pushing out of her chair. The metal feet scraped against wooden floorboards. “I’m going down to the water.” She grumbled and bolted for the staircase, sandals clacking against her heels with each step.

“Jesus,” Robin grumbled, pushing up from her own chair with a huff, resigning to apologize, but Steve beat her to it, hand to her shoulder.

“I’ve got it.” He reassured, soothing her back to her seat so he could head off after Nancy. You allowed your eyes to trail his frame as he left, watching the shift of his shoulders, the slight limp in his walk still prevalent after all these years.

“So…” Jonathan bumped you with his elbow. “How’re you?”

“I’m good,” you replied, simply ignoring the implications in his tone.

“They’re both freaking the fuck out,” Eddie translated. You shot him a glare. “Oh, don’t act like everything’s fine, sweetheart. You guys should have seen them say hi to each other. They were staring, mouths wide open like a couple of fish, man.”

You groaned and tipped your head back again, praying the heat of the sun would disguise the warmth crawling up your chest and throat.

Robin’s groaned matched yours. “You guys said you’d behave. This was a mistake, wasn’t it? I just wanted a good vacation with my best friends after ten whole years, and I guess I should have known better.” Robin Buckley was the master of guilt trips.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Jonathan offered.

“Sure,” Robin chided. “Then why haven’t you spoken a word to Nancy all day?”

You rounded on the boy with a smirk, the tables turned his direction.

He gaped back at you both, peeling at the label of his beer bottle. “We’ve talked. We said hi. I see Nancy all the time. We’re good. The last time you and Steve spoke, he asked you to marry him.” He smirked.

“Cheers, asshole,” you grumbled into your drink, finding the disappointment of the last few drops of beer, now warm under your clammy touch.

“Whoa, my dudes, chill,” Argyle pushed his sunglasses up and off his face as he leaned forward. “We’re all adults here, and Robin invited us to this beautiful lakeside oasis to have a good time. Everyone’s going to get along, even if it takes a little encouragement.” He fished in the breast pocket of a technicolor shirt until tanned fingers exposed the stark white paper of one of the largest joints you’ve ever seen.

“Robin,” you grinned, plucking the cigarette from the man’s oversized hands, “you’ve just been replaced as my favorite person here.”

“Hey!” Eddie and Jonathan argued, but you watched with delight as Argyle leaned toward you, flame of his lighter a royal blue.

—

With the sun went the warmth, and a blunt between seven people, no matter how big, quickly dwindled to giggles and hummed songs and playing with Robin’s hair between your fingers with her head in your lap. You wore someone’s well-loved sweater, the duck on the front no clear indication of owner, and savored the morsels of apple pie that stuck to your molars while you sunk deeper and deeper into the couch, your head light and your heart lighter.

“I appreciate that you’re all happy high,” Eddie snorted, running fingertips over your freshly shaven shins. He meant what he said about not partaking, despite all of your whiny peer pressure, and you admired him for it. He was a good babysitter anyhow, and he smoked a cigarette while the rest of you passed around saliva and anecdotes about the daily life.

“Dude, we appreciate you, man,” Argyle nodded slowly, patting his sternum in devotion. He confessed he hadn’t been high in two years, not since the first baby was born, and it was clear as his pupils grew wider, slap happy smile across his features.

Eddie patted him on the shoulder in solidarity.

“Dude, do you remember prom?” Steve chuckled.

Your ministrations on Robin’s scalp stopped, and you could feel the tingle of your heartbeat against your ribcage. You’d never forget prom. Steve wore a turquoise cummerbund and bow tie to match your taffeta dress. His hair was slicked into that perfect coif, and he met you at your front door with a corsage in hand. He smelled of peppermint toothpaste, and didn’t even flinch when mom pinched his cheek, or when dad gave him that hard ass handshake.

He danced every song with you, swayed under the lights and banners, until your feet hurt, and then he brought you a mouthful of bright red, spiked punch. That was the first bit of alcohol you’d had, a cherry floating to the top of your paper cup.

Eddie snorted. “Holy shit, do you remember prom?”

You sunk further under Robin’s frame, and she made a humph of protest at being stirred, tucking her cheek further into the underside of your boob.

“What was prom?” Jonathan chuckled, but you could see his mouth continuing to pronounce the letters of the word ‘prom’, like it was some foreign word to him. You’d laugh, if it weren’t for the panic.

“Couple months ago, I was cleaning up after prom, and I found this massive stash under the bleachers. So I brought it home, and since I don’t partake…” he gestured with a lazy grin toward Steve.

“I was fucked up. I don’t know what kids are into these days, but I almost - “ He met your gaze from across the coffee table, mouth quirked in the softest of smiles, until it coughed it away, running a hand through his hair. He shook his head and looked back at Jonathan. “I almost did something I’d regret.”

“‘Prom’s a funny word, man,” Jonathan giggled. “Prom. Prom.” And although his laughter was contagious, had the room going, you couldn’t help but feel the familiar pit of heartache in your stomach that hurt somewhere new every time Steve looked at you.

“Okay, dickheads,” Robin announced, pushing herself off of you with surprising force. “I love you, but you’re all being so loud, and Nancy’s trying to sleep.” She pointed to the floor above, disgruntled expression not unlike a toddler.

“Maybe it’s time for all of us to turn into pumpkins,” Eddie started a chain reaction of yawns and stretches, lanky arms over his head to expose a bit of pale skin on his stomach.

The cold water was refreshing on your face, hair tucked into a stretchy headband and teeth brushed. You weren’t sure if you’d partake in another round of Mary Jane this week. This high went from cozy to anxious far too quickly, and sometimes melancholy wasn’t the ideal way to trudge to bed. You passed Eddie on your way out of the bathroom, receiving a slap to the ass that had you blowing him a kiss before you slipped into your designated bedroom to turn in for the night.

Your room was small, with a double bed and a little nightstand, a chair in the corner that hosted your open suitcase, contents already strewn in piles around the room in the search for your pajamas. A small window faced the front of the house, moonlight filtering in, and the antique lamp on the bedside provided a warm glow. The ceilings were vaulted, a little nook of wood and plaster that peaked above the headboard, and the patched blue quilt was handmade.

Steve sat facing the door, hands in his lap, socked feet firmly on the floorboards.

You jumped, grasping at your chest as you slammed against the closed door behind you, nearly chucking your toiletry bag at him. “Jesus Christ, Steve,” you scolded.

His eyebrows shot up in apology, head ducked. He looked small, unsure, like the kids he used to cart around. He didn’t say anything, but you watched doe eyes trail your face and linger downwards.

You felt hot, exposed in a t-shirt and tiny bed shorts, and you shifted uncomfortably on the balls of your feet. “What uh…” You swallowed. “What’s up?” What’s up? Really?

“Do you remember prom?” This time you knew which he meant.

He stood from his spot, took a step toward you, and out of fear he’d pull you in for a dance, you made about organizing your mess of a suitcase.

Steve cursed under his breath. “I just mean… we were best friends once, weren’t we?” And God, did that hurt too. “I know I fucked up, I fucked everything up so so bad last time, and maybe I was stupid thinking that we could come here and it’d be like no time had passed, like nothing had happened.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“And now I’m just in your room, rambling about what a dick I am, when you know that. Of course you know that. And you probably don’t care or want to forgive me, or - “

“What do you want, Steve?” You were surprised at the evenness of your own voice, folding a t-shirt, back still turned, maybe terrified to look at him while his hesitation rang like a bell in your head.

He sighed. “Civility? I guess. I want a truce. Just for this week. For Robin.”

You glanced over your shoulder, saw his demeanor shift from desperation to something stiffer, unnatural, salesman Steve. You swallowed and folded your arms over your chest, turning to face him. “What does this truce entail?”

He shrugged, arms mirroring yours. “You could talk to me every so often. Let me take interest in your life, maybe even take some interest in mine.” You cocked an eyebrow, but you could tell his facade was breaking, the corner of his lip quirked upward.

“No referencing us, or Louisville,” you gestured between the two of you, watched his smile falter. “If someone else brings it up, we act like we have no clue what they’re talking about.”

He stood a little taller, hands to his hips. “You quit acting like I have cooties, sit next to me, interact with me, laugh at my jokes.”

“Deal’s off,” you scoffed.

It took a second for your sarcasm to hit him, but you felt your lips tug up in mirror to his own. He snorted, shook some hair into his eyes.

You wanted to reach up and push it from his forehead, to trail your fingertip down the ridged edge of his nose, to cup his cheek. You noticed his eyes scan your features, trail once again down your front, to your exposed thighs. You swallowed and hugged your arms closer. “And we reserve the right to go back to normal come Friday.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob before he offered a curt nod. He wiped a hand on his thigh before extending it toward you, brows furrowed in determination. “Truce?”

You clenched your fist a few times before crossing to meet his gesture. “Truce.” You slid your hand into his for a firm shake, and you almost melted at the way his digits enveloped yours. Just like prom night, corsage sliding to your wrist. You broke away quickly with a nod toward the door. “Now get out of here, creep. I’m beat.”

“Yeah,” he scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry. I mean… you know… goodnight.”

“Night,” you smiled, and as he left, you couldn’t help but feel something was missing from your exchange.

—

Your midmorning scones were a bit too salty for your liking, no doubt a sabotaging tactic of Eddie’s. Everyone argued with you about how perfect and delicious they were until you waved them off, refilling your coffee mug and joining Nancy on the terrace while the rest trudged to the rickety dock for a morning zoom on the boat.

Nancy wasn’t looking much better, although the pink had returned to her cheeks, and a shower did a lot for the bounce in her hair. She sipped water from a glass and held slender fingers to shade her eyes from the sparkle of lake water. Even sick, she was a super model, stretched a satin robe across a chaise.

“How was last night?” She pulled an abandoned journal from your chair to make room, and tucked it under the rolled towel at her back.

You sighed and stretched out beside her, accepting the morning breeze across warmed skin from yesterday’s sun. “Steve snuck into my room last night.”

“What?” Her eyes went wide.

You waved her off. “Nothing happened. I think he just wanted to corner me. I guess we have a truce, for the week.

Nancy settled back into her seat. “Thank God. I don’t think I have the patience for that right now.”

You snorted and sipped your coffee, bitter from a second drip, again a sabotage on Eddie’s part. You made a note not to allow him in the kitchen for the rest of the week. “Yeah, what is up with you? Did work just like go to shit since I saw you last month?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Nancy was lucky you’d swallowed when you did, but you held your coffee mug aloft and blinked into your reflection in the sludge until your brain picked up on the meaning behind her words. Setting your drink to the deck, you swung your legs to her side of your chair and leaned forward. “Excuse me?”

There were tears in her blue eyes, welling just around the edges, an emotion Nancy rarely portrayed. She was tough as nails, would rather lash out in violence than in tears. Terror flashed through her features.

You scrambled to meet her on the chair, pulling her into your neck before she could meltdown. You were at a loss for words, your mind just racing with images of Nancy in Boston, the least-tied down of the group, even less than you. She never stayed in an apartment longer than six months, always begged for stories that took her out of town, traveling the world, chasing the exact opposite of that American Pie life her parents raised her in.

After two seconds of tears, all she’d allow herself, Nancy pushed off from you and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “I missed my period, which is whatever, sometimes it’s late. And then I threw up on the plane, but I just thought it was motion sickness of whatever, but something was off. Like I just kind of knew. So when Steve said he was going to the store, I tagged along and bought five tests at the pharmacy. Every single one was positive. Every God damn one.” That familiar anger flared in her eyes, and you thought her wrath might explode on the pregnancy test factory workers.

A thousand questions buzzed in your mind, but none of them bubbled to the surface, so you just ran light fingertips down her arm, hoping it provided some form of comfort.

“Steve found me catatonic in the bathroom, and I asked him to get rid of the evidence. So he knows, but no one else.”

Instantly, your heart sank for the man. All he wanted was a family, a full brood of Harringtons. First with Nancy, then with you. You couldn’t imagine how he took that blow.

“Can we keep it between us please?”

You nodded fervently. “Hand to heart. Are you…?” You didn’t even know how to end that question.

“I’ll live,” she shrugged. “I’m just grateful I found out here, with you guys, instead of on a job in South Africa or worse, at my mother’s.” Nancy groaned and buried her face in her hands. “My mom’s going to have an aneurysm.”

You rubbed between her shoulder blades and stared off at the shimmer of sunlight across the lake’s water, a little metal boat casting its wake your direction.

—

Light filtered through the kitchen window soft and slow, a breeze billowy gossamer curtains. You washed and peeled potatoes in the sink, an old apron tied around your waist that you’d found in the pantry cupboard. You hummed to yourself, some obnoxious tune Eddie had been singing all day, stretched out in his sun lounger, pale skin turning a deep shade of lobster pink.

Each friend had filtered in and out as you cooked, complimenting the scents of onions sautéing on their pan or offering unwanted help rolling out the pastry dough for the potato pies you were making. You reassured Robin you’d be fine on your own and ushered her back outside for an evening stroll to the nearest convenient store for liquor.

You thought they’d all gone, surprised when a large figure loomed behind you to see the potatoes in a strainer over your shoulder.

“Smells amazing in here,” Steve commented, stepping quickly out of your space to open the refrigerator.

You hummed in agreement, basking in the waft of coconut suntan and expensive cologne he left in his wake.

“So, you uh… talked to Nance?” Steve sidled to the countertop beside you, thankfully a few feet away, and cracked into a beer.

You offered him wide eyes, noticing the patch of red that rimmed his eyes like a mask from where his sunglasses sat. “Yeah, what the actual hell?”

“Crazy right?” He shook his head, dipping back for a swig, exposing the tanned column of his throat.

You licked your lips and turned back to your potatoes, not wanting to slice yourself with the peeler. “How are you taking it?”

His long pause almost had you regretting the question, wondering if you’d toed over the line, over the parameters of your truce. It was hard to fall back into acquaintance territory when you knew so many truths about him, his deepest desires, his biggest fears.

“Yeah,” his voice sounded small. He cleared his throat. “Yeah I mean it’s weird, right?”

You glanced his direction again, watched the pink of his tongue wet his lips.

He leaned a little closer, tilting his head your direction. Your heart began to race at the low rumble of his voice, breath fanning your cheek. “Do we know who the dad is? Is it… Jonathan?” He whispered the other man’s name, a sound for your ears only.

You shook your head, wiping your hands on your apron before elbowing Steve out of your way, transporting the strainer of peeled potatoes to the cutting board. “No way. They haven’t hooked up since like Argyle’s wedding. No, she’s been seeing this guy… Robbie. He lives in Hartford, and Jonathan just started dating this girl, Joanie or Julie?” You reassured, trying to disconnect any tacked yarn Steve had built on his mind bulletin board. Long gone were the days of Nancy and Jonathan meeting at your dad’s on the weekend from a friend trip turned third-wheel romp.

He seemed to relax at your reassurances, swigging his beer while he watched you work. He stood in comfortable silence, a sturdy frame with a silk shirt and board shorts, peeling at his label until you’d reached into the bucket for a third potato.

“And you?” He asked, voice a low rumble again.

“Me what?” You raised your eyebrow his direction.

“Do you have a Robbie in Hartford?”

Your knife slid easily into the flesh of a boiled potato, making a dull thunk against the wooden cutting board. Steve had angled himself your direction, blocking any light from the kitchen window. He was too close, all encompassing, warm breath against your cheek.

You glanced upward through your lashes find honeyed eyes, too much hope lingering in the way he watched you. There was something knee-weakening about the way he licked his lips.

“Steve,” a cry of anguish separated you. The sun filtered back in with the breeze. Nancy slumped herself to the door frame, wiping sweat from her brow. “Robin fell and skinned her knee, and the blood is going to make me puke. Can you handle it?”

Steve elicited a sigh your dad would have been envious of, and he pushed off the counter to take care of his eldest child. You tried not to watch him go, tried not to offer a sad smile when he glanced back your direction, tried not to wish he hadn’t gone.

“Are those carrots?” Nancy pointed to the pile beside your knife. You smiled and slipped one into her outstretched hand.

—

The crickets chirped their asynchronous tune, and the campfire crackled and glowed auburn off the water’s edge. Gravel and damp planks carved grooves into your asscheeks, but the cheap cinnamon whisky Robin found provided inner warmth and good company.

“Whoa there, sparky,” Eddie caught Robin as she swayed his direction, kneecaps covered in oversized band-aids.

“Yeah, Rob, you know the rules. No standing when you’re this flammable,” Nancy chided from her spot beside you. She was huddled in close for warmth, licking the chocolate off s’more stained fingertips.

“I just love you guys, okay?” Robin allowed Eddie to coax her back to the ground, knees curled to her chest to form the perfect mould for her chin while she sent heart-eyes around the campfire circle. “I just wanted to have a nice week with you all, like old times, minus the fighting monsters and setting the city on fire bullshit.”

You all snorted. A chill wracked your spine, eyes unfocused on the blaze in front of you, much smaller than the one that engulfed City Hall. You didn’t often let your mind wander that way, hearing the screams of loved ones against the dull roar of those things. Every time you were transported to that moment, reaching out for Mom, Steve’s strong arms around your waist, hauling you back to a military tent.

Feather-light fingertips stirred you from your daze, soft pads against the gooseflesh prickling your thigh. You blinked to find Steve watching you, worry etched into warmed features. Instinctively, you wrapped your fingers in his, the curl of his knuckles in yours, the steady sweep of his thumb across your wrist.

Maybe it was fruitless to think you could shrug off a lifetime of history just like that.

“I just wanted you to all come here and get along, and we could just laugh and get drunk and just act like nothing ever changes.” Robin continued her drunken ramble.

“Robin, everything good over there?” Argyle called from his edge of the circle.

“You tell me, bud,” she sighed, cheek pressed to the peeling edge of her bandage. “Everything good with you? What’s new? How’s life? Tell me something… juicy. A secret.”

Steve’s hand never left yours, circling a steady rhythm against the edge of your arm. Familiar nerve endings prickled. He shifted his weight to be closer, to hide your hands, all warm bicep against yours. If you wanted, you could rest your chin to his shoulder, if you wanted. You felt like a school girl again, stomach flipping like you were in a satin dress, watching out the front window for BMW headlights.

“I don’t think I have any secrets, my dude. I’m an open book. What do you want to know?”

“Ugh!” Robin threw her hands in the air. “Eddie, tell me a secret.”

Eddie leaned forward, gaunt featured shadowed devilishly in the firelight. He scrubbed at the goatee on his chin while he thought. He flashed a Cheshire smile before he responded. “I told Henderson you didn’t invite him. He’s pissed.”

“Can confirm,” Steve voiced from beside you, lifting his glass with a nod. “I also told him.”

“You guys suck!” Robin groaned, burying her head in her hands.

Your entire body vibrated with the rumble of Steve’s chuckle, you licked your lips and hid your smile behind your glass.

“What about you three?” Jonathan called from across the circle. “Any secrets?” There was a mischievous glint in his eye, and you yanked your fingers from beneath Steve’s while Nancy bristled stock straight beside you. Your heart thundered in your ears.

“I’m moving to France!” Robin cried out, hands in the air, whisky fleeing her glass skyward, luckily in the opposite direction of the fire.

“What?” Nancy breathed from beside you, instantly deflating in relief.

“It’s true. I’m moving to France, and I’m scared shitless, and I didn’t know how to tell you guys,” and with that, the poor sweet dear began to cry. Sob, actually, loud wails that wracked her tiny frame. Eddie was first to wrap an arm around her, pressing her into the crook of his shoulder and rubbing a strong hand up and down her spine, silver rings glinting in the firelight.

—

You held Robin’s soft waves while her stomach evacuated itself, and wiped the mascara from the corner of her eyes, off freckle-ridden cheeks. You lay on the pillow beside her, nose-to-nose, breathing in her minty toothpaste while she hiccuped herself to sleep, reassuring her that no one was mad and that you all loved her, and were proud of her for being an amazing change in the world. She’d feel better in the morning.

Her staggered breathing deepened, and her grip on your hand went limp, and the sounds of busied houseguests silenced over the floorboards, everyone having taken their turn in the bathroom before bed. You slipped from beneath soft covers and tiptoed out of your best friend’s room to gather your own toiletries for a late night shower.

Just as you reached for the bathroom door, however, you saw the wiggle of a brass handle before the door opened to expose Steve in a burst of steam, towel around his waist, toiletry bag in one hand, gripping the fold of the waistband. He smelled intoxicating, like expensive aftershave and toothpaste, and you watched a drop of water from his hair hit the plane of his chest and glide all the way down a chiseled abdomen to the v of his hipbone.

Your mouth filled with saliva. Sputtering, face burning from the steam, you side-stepped, but he bobbed and weaved the same direction.

“Jesus, sorry.”

“Excuse me, sorry.”

Finally, you managed around one another, your socks wetting on the drip of his bare feet against the tiled floor. Your reflection in the fogged mirror betrayed you, pupils blown, bottom lip forced under your top row of teeth.

“Hey,” Steve muttered.

You squeaked a hum, trying to stare at the darkness just over a freckled shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I crossed a line tonight,” he offered, but you couldn’t hear past the hum in your ears, couldn’t see past the sturdy grip of his fingers against the door jam. You missed those fingers. Christ, maybe you should have declined that last shot. “I just thought I saw you going back there, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You swallowed, blinked, tried to focus on his words. “Back where?”

“Home.”

You met his gaze then, honey eyes dark, eyebrow furrowed to crease in the middle. Home. It’s how you used to refer to him, the only piece of that Godforsaken place you clung to, the only positive memories. ‘Come home’ he’d coaxed, in that swanky hotel room in Louisville, fingertips bruising your triceps, same honey eyes pleading.

Your throat dammed with emotion, and you pulled away from him, glancing back at the look of hurt etched across your own features. You turned on the faucet and squirted toothpaste onto your brush.

“So are we good?” His voice came thick from beside you, too close, a looming stack of meat.

You pressed your toothbrush to your molars and hummed, feigning nonchalance with a shrug.

“Okay…” He seemed unconvinced, posted up against the door jam, fingers gripping his towel to keep it upright.

You tried to hold back your eye roll, spitting foam into the sink, and thought of Robin craned over the toilet. You cursed internally and turned to the man, gesticulating with the bright green utensil in your hand. “I’m good, Steve, really. Today was just a lot with Nance and now Robin, and I’m just tired.”

“Yeah?” He still had that lost puppy look in his eyes.

You shrugged and continued to brush. “Who knows,” you sipped dribble before it fell from the corner of your mouth. You turned and spit, rinsing your brush. “I might even let you knead some of the pizza dough tomorrow.”

He chuckled at that, that sound that hurt somewhere within you. “I’m holding you to that.”

You snorted. “Goodnight, Steve.”

And then he reached out, linking his fingers around your wrist, feather light. “Goodnight.”And he was gone, floorboards creaking into the darkness of the hallway.

—

Midway through the third day, when the sunlight glinted off dark waters, and the bob of a boat brought a lull of contentment over the group, the homesickness crept back in.

You curved yourself into the bow, legs outstretched and glistening from your dip in the cool waters, head back against leather seats, basking in the warmth of the sun. Eddie sat at the other side, ankles tangling with your own while he wrapped a rhythm on his sternum with nimble fingers. Jonathan and Argyle splashed and laughed, somewhere just out of sight, too close to the vessel to be seen over the edge, but their cackles made your mouth upturn to a warm smile.

And just a few yards away, Steve popped up from a swim, head swung back in a gasp, droplets cascading in pools around him. He swiped at his eyes and nose, treading water to stay afloat, all tanned and toned, a grin spread across pink cheeks when he spotted whatever ruckus the other boys were getting up to. His smile hurt.

All at once, you were transported to the last pool party in Hawkins, the last time you’d all been there, before Argyle went home, and you moved, and everyone went off to college. Steve did his laps, surfacing at the shallow end to push his hair from his face, grin making you weak at the knees. It hurt then, too, knowing you might never see him again.

He’d taken you for a drive that night, just out of city limits, to an abandoned farm house. You’d broken in, sandals crunching on broken glass, blowing dust from mantelpieces. It was there, you’d let him kiss you, let him touch you. You realized that even if you left Hawkins, you’d always have him. He’d be your anchor, your guiding light, your home.

Eddie toed at your ankle, stirring your attention from the sparkling water, from the boy breast stroking your direction. Your eyes focused again, and you cleared past the emotion stinging in the back of your throat. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded and shimmied upright, fanning yourself. “I think I’m getting roasted alive.” You pulled a tube of sunscreen from beneath your towel, the plastic soft and smelling of coconut. “Do my back?”

“With pleasure,” Eddie smirked and took it from you.

You rolled your eyes, but gave him a soft smile while you cleared any hair from your shoulders and turned your back toward him.

Eddie Munson was a life preserver of sorts, the buoy you needed in the storm. You’d felt guilty to cling to him, at Argyle’s wedding, when your internal storm thrashed at every sign of what-could-have-been. You apologized a dozen times, tangled in sheets and curled hair and tattoos, and Eddie laughed and trailed fingertips to your skin and understood.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He grumbled, calloused hands pressing out the knots between your shoulder blades. You tilted your head to expose your left trap, sucking in a breath when he thumbed at a particularly sore spot. “Sorry.”

You sighed, watching Steve reemerge from the depths, closer now than before. “Why are we here, Eds?”

“I think this was a test.” Eddie responded, certainty etched into his graveled tone. “To see if you could be in room together and get along. I think it was the reassurance you both needed that you aren’t monsters.”

You scoffed at his accusation, but his words rang true, cut a little too deep.

“You were both too proud to call each other, to apologize for being assholes to each other, so I think you both needed this to prove you were adults who could put the past behind you.” He squirted more lotion into his hands and lathered to heat it up before applying it to the backs of your arms, sliding lithe fingers under the straps of your bathing suit.

“I can’t put it behind me. It’s all I can think about.” You confessed, chewing at a sore spot in your cheek.

“So talk about it,” Eddie offered, catching the back of your neck with one oversized palm, thumbs pressing into the pressure points on your skull. You curved under his touch, closing your eyes to the soothing pressure of his hands. “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve caught him by the phone.”

You frowned and glanced back out at the water. Steve was watching you, a crease formed between his own brows. When he caught your gaze, he turned around, dove back in, ear to the water as he stroked away.

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” Eddie sighed, squeezing your shoulders. You reached up and locked your fingers in his.

“I know.”

—

The dining room table was a graveyard of rustic pizza toppings and marinara in ramekins, empty wine glasses, tossed napkins, a clutter of silver spoons in ice cream bowls, the last bits melting into vanilla soup. You’d all moved onto harder things, pulling whisky bottles to the table to top off glasses, maraschino cherries staining lips cherry red when everyone cheersed to Argyle’s eldest son, Rami.

Eddie had been humming something all day, a tune you couldn’t mess through as the carbohydrates and the alcohol warmed beneath your skin, tingling at your fingertips and thighs and the tips of your canines, which you tongued in laughter, humming the tune alongside him.

“Will you two shut-up?” Robin groaned, tossing her napkin your way. “I’ve had that stuck in my head all fucking day.”

“Me too,” Nancy sighed, swirling her cherry from the stem. You’d been sneaking drinks of hers for her, hoping no one would catch you, but getting tipsy twice as fast as the rest of them. “What even is it?”

Eddie shrugged, a wide grin etching a dimple into his cheek. He waggled his brows at you.

“Elvis,” Argyle answered, arms swaying like a wild conductor. “The King. Can’t Help Falling in Love. My wedding song, remember?”

Your cheeks warmed with familiarity, but you sunk into Eddie’s arm as he swung it over the back of your chair, giving a little shimmy when he sang the words to you, breath hot on your cheek.

“Never have I ever hooked up at somebody’s wedding!” Robin announced, well proud of herself, as though she invented high school drinking games. You all chorused various groans of protest. “Stop your bellyaching and drink up, bitches!”

You smiled as Eddie clinked his glass to your own, and as you brought the drink to your lips, all sweet syrup and the kick of alcohol, you noticed Steve watching from across the table, thumb tapping the side of his glass. His gaze flitted from Eddie to you, and when you noticed you watching, he quickly stared at the ice cubes bobbing in his discarded drink.

“Never have I ever been eighty-sixed from a bar,” you sputtered, your mouth moving faster than your brain in the slog of your inebriation.

Steve looked back up at you then, and a private moment was shared between the two of you as the others squawked various words of protest you couldn’t hear. Steve searched your face for something, you weren’t sure what, maybe some evidence that you meant what you’d said, some understanding of this olive branch, a truce. Then, you watched him shake his head, grin stretching across his pretty, pink lips. “Yes, you have.”

You blinked, trying to remember what you’d said and how you’d said it, wondering if you’d misunderstood the parameters of the game, or maybe you’d misremembered that moment in Louisville, when things were at their peak, days and unending memories before the end. “What?” The room echoed with the same sentiment, although the rest of your comrades were cackling at your demise.

Steve cleared his throat, choked on an awkward laugh, wrapping his knuckles against the table. “Remember that tiki bar? We were hashing bets all night, and I bet you wouldn’t get up on the table…”

The room erupted in laughter, and chants of “drink, drink, drink!” until you extended your glass in a cheers of surrender and drank. Steve kept his eyes on you, settled back in his chair, but there was still that contemplation playing on his features. You had broken the rules of the agreement. You brought up Louisville, and if you were being honest with yourself, the consequences stirred something within you.

“Okay, my turn,” Eddie leaned forward, running fingers through his shaggy hair. “Never have I ever lived outside of Hawkins.”

Everyone but Steve booed and drank, and you avoided his gaze as you went for another sip. That was too big a wound to prod right this second.

Nancy shifted in her seat, sighed, giving into the game. “Never have I ever been in a band.” Robin, Eddie, Jonathan, and Argyle drank, mumbling under their breath about how bands were cool.

“Never have I ever had sex with a man,” Jonathan chuckled, and no one was surprised when Eddie drank beside you and Nance.

And on and on the game went, targeting one another with hyper-specific memories, until you were all toasted and giggly, the game devolving into other silly little quips and anecdotes. You’d fallen back into Eddie’s embrace, finger spinning the chain of his necklace while you struggled to keep your eyes open, too blissed about because you were home again.

“Okay, I dare you to tell me about the last girl you slept with,” Robin crossed her arms over her chest, narrowed her gaze at her target.

Jonathan paled. “What? Why?”

“Robin,” Steve bristled from across the table, his tone a warning, protection mode activated.

You frowned when he met your gaze in warning, before glancing at Nancy. She sat stiff beside you, her own lips pursed and arms crossed, water glass empty in front of her.

“It’s fine, dingus,” Robin shrugged. “I just wanna live vicariously through you. I haven’t had sex in months.”

Jonathan chuckled, ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

“Her name?”

He swirled his ice in his glass, staring straight into it before muttering, “Julia,” and crunching down on anything remaining.

You allowed your gaze to flit to Nancy, and she didn’t show any physical reaction, eyes watching him, waiting for him to look up at her.

“Julia,” Robin mused. “Sounds sexy. Italian?”

Jonathan hummed a response.

“The last person I had sex with was Jonathan.” Nancy’s voice cut through the room like glass, every hum of warmth and intoxication buzzed like live wire. There was a moment of recognition before the table erupted in questions. Jonathan wasn’t looking at Nancy, staring at his hands in his lap, but her gaze was unmoving. “Jonathan is Robbie from Hartford.” She offered as clarification.

“What!?” You, and Robin, and Steve chorused. She’d been seeing Robbie for ages, a regular basis, trips back and forth, something serious. You never expected her to lie to you about it. Secrets kept between lovers, you supposed.

“Is Nancy Julia?” Eddie asked with an uproarious laugh, but the look of guilt on Jonathan’s face said it all. “Oh, shit.”

You cursed under your breath, and reached for Nancy’s hand, but she swatted you away, teeth grit.

“I’m pregnant, Jonathan.”

You buried your face into your hands and sunk further into your chair as the other voices in the room erupted in questions. You felt Nancy push out from beside you and rush from the room. Steve told Robin to sit down, and when you peaked from between your fingers, Jonathan tossed his napkin to the table and rushed after her, feet stomping up the groaning staircase.

“What the fuck just happened?” Robin looked to you for answers, and then to Steve.

“Well that’s one way to harsh a mellow.” Argyle grinned from his side of table, standing to start collecting plates and bowls to take to the kitchen.

“No kidding,” Eddie grinned, pressing a kiss to your temple before he got up to help clear the table.

Robin stood from her spot too, napkin falling from her lap to the floorboards below. “What the hell else is going to happen on this vacation?” She turned to you with a pointed finger. “You two better not be hiding anything from me. You aren’t sleeping together, are you?”

“No!” You squeaked the same time Steve repeated her name in that Dad voice, your entire body warmed.

“Who’s the last person you had sex with?” Robin asked, point-blank, arms crossed over chest. “And be honest with me.”

You sucked in your cheeks to avoid a laugh, the absurdity of the situation bubbling in your chest.

“Eden,” Argyle nodded, matter-of-fact, sliding back in to stack glasses.

“Thank you, Argyle. I believe you.” Robin scoffed before blowing out the candles dripping wax to the center of the table. She shot you a death glare before stamping up the staircase.

You shuffled in your seat, uncomfortable as Eddie hummed that stupid song, peeling the candlesticks from the tablecloth and bunching it up. Your mouth tingled, and your fingertips, and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Eddie glanced down at you and winked, and you swat his knee until he scampered off to the kitchen where Argyle had the water running.

That’s when Steve said your name, low and slow, and in seconds, your smile was wiped from your face. You watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, and he nodded toward the entry way. “Can I chat with you outside?”

Your mouth went dry. You swallowed, nodded, pushed out from your chair on wobbly limbs, and followed him outside.

Steve stood against the porch railing, hands shoved into the pockets of his Levis, soft blue sweater hugging the swell of his bicep, the expanse of his chest. The glow of the moon cast everything in blues and lilacs and silvers. Crickets chirped over the sound of rocking boats and the softest waves.

With a deep breath, you closed the front door behind yourself and sidled up beside him, basked in the warmth radiating from him. You waited for him to speak.

“Do you think they’ll be okay?” He asked softly, after a long moment. “Jonathan and Nance?”

You licked cherry syrup from your lips, stared out at the expanse of trees and twilight. “I think so.” Your heart fluttered in your chest, the buzz blurring your vision and lowing your inhibitions. “Things tend to work out for people as close as them.”

He turned to you then, and you wondered if your eyes mirrored the hope in his. After a long moment, he coughed a laugh, scratched at the back of his neck. “I actually was thinking about our truce.”

“Oh yeah?” You smiled, turned to face him completely.

“Yeah,” he let out a shaky breath. “I was wondering if I could… add something to the terms and conditions.”

The sweet breeze fanned your cheeks, and you closed your eyes, leaned into it, hummed for him to continue. Warmth from your chest bloomed up your throat, to your cheeks. You hoped he’d cup your face, cool your skin with his strong fingers. You hoped he’d pulled you in tight, press his lips to your own, tell you how he feels.

“Just for this week, while we’re here, and we’re getting along. Could you maybe… not be so cuddled up to Eddie.”

Your eyes blinked open.

He ran his hand through his hair, shrugged. “Like I know you guys are friends, and I love that, you know I love that. And I know you slept together at Argyle’s wedding, and that’s cool. Whatever. You’re consenting adults, but it just makes me feel a little uncomfortable to have to like… see and be around or whatever.” He was rambling, and all you could hear was the rushing of blood through your skull. Here, you thought he wanted to kiss you, wanted to forget the truce, wanted to go back to the way things were.

“We slept together a few times.” You don’t know what possessed you, but it just came spilling out, and the second something heartbroken expression flashed across his features, you wished you could inhale it all back in. Your mouth slammed shut, and you tried to regulate your breathing, your heart rate, the panic at its boiling point.

Steve took a step back, nodding slowly as his gaze drifted to the toes of his sneakers. “Right, sure. Again, like I’m glad you’re comfortable with each other. I’m just asking for you not to like… rub it in my face.”

“When did I rub it in your face?” You were embarrassed, mortified even.

Steve shrugged, avoided your gaze. “Just now, at the table with the song, the Elvis song,” he grumbled. “And earlier, on the boat, I saw him giving you a massage.”

Now, a laugh bubbled out, a bark, dry. “He was applying my sunscreen,” you explained, and suddenly all of your anger from the last four years surfaced, bloated and gruesome, untethered from the depths. “And what gives you the right? I can’t spend my life coddling your comfort, Steve. I came here to spend time with old friends. We’re comfortable around each other. We have love for each other, and I’m not just going to stop acting how I’m going to act because you’re jealous.”

His nostrils flared at that, and you watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and shoulders. He grit his teeth, nodded, shrugged. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s just so typical,” you cried out, fists clenched at your side. “You never considered what I want, or what makes me happy. You always had this picture painted of what our life would look like together, of the perfect wife I’d be for you, and I’m sorry but I can’t just do whatever you want, Steve. I have to live my life.”

And God, the hurt in his eyes made you want to take it all back, but it’d just been growing for years, festering, peeling apart, and now it finally had an outlet, an escape, and you couldn’t hold it back if you tried. So you left. Before any more could spill out, before he had anything to say, you stormed back inside, slamming the door behind you.

“All good, buddy?” Argyle called from the kitchen.

“Fine,” you breathed. Your hands shook, your lungs burned, your jaw ached from clenching. With a deep breath, you stormed up the stairs until you found a bedroom door, and you slammed it open to find Eddie slipping his socked feet out of his jeans.

“Whoa, you okay?” He asked, standing upright. He was all limbs and inked skin, scraggled hair, pale skin, checkered boxers, the perfect outlet.

You grabbed the front of his t-shirt and pulled him down into a fervent kiss. It was all teeth and surprise, but Eddie sunk into it for a moment, grunting and groaning as his cold hands slid beneath your t-shirt at your waist, and you dug your fingertips into his scalp, relishing in the sounds he made into your mouth.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed when you came up for air, lips finding his jaw, his throat, the lobe of his ear. He whined, guttural, low in his chest, and gripped your hips. “Fuck, no. Stop.”

“What?” You breathed, biting a mark into the curve of his collarbone. You pushed his boundaries, sliding a hand down the front of his boxers.

He yelped and used the strength of his sinewy arms to push you away, holding you at arm’s length. He cursed again, running his fingers through his hair. “We can’t.” He licked his lips, pupils blown.

“What do you mean?” You sucked your cheeks in, your chin raw from the stubble of his goatee. The inside of your mouth tasted metallic.

“You know I want to,” he offered, watching you. He reached a hand out to push your hair behind your ear, but you stepped out of his reach. He sighed, crossed his arms over his chest. “I just won’t. Not when Steve’s here.”

“This isn’t about him,” you scoffed, but your voice wavered, your jaw trembled.

“Then tell me you don’t want to make him jealous.” Eddie responded, even-toned, and the hurt in his eyes was worse than Steve’s.

You swallowed and shook your head. “Fuck you,” you whispered before you left, the hallway a blur of too many doors and the sounds of your housemates readying themselves for bed. You knocked blindly, knuckles trembling, and Robin greeted you with open arms, ducking you into her chest and clearing your hair from bleary eyes.

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A/N: This is part one, be sure to click over to read part two. Thanks, so much, for reading xo xo

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#better off fic #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington angst #eddie munson angst #steve harrington fluff #eddie munson fluff #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #jancy #argyle #robin buckley

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my18thcenturysource · 2 years ago

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Portrait of Vivienne Westwood by Christian Shambenait

It took me a few days, but with the death of icon-goddess-genius Vivienne Westwood, I had to make a post here about her work and how massively influential she was during her lifetime, and why her influence will remain for years to come.

"I take something from the past that has a sort of vitality that has never been exploited – like the crinoline – and get very intense. In the end you do something original because you overlay your own ideas." Vivienne Westwood

Born in 1941 in Tintwistle, Cheshire, Vivienne Westwood (nèe Swire) did not have a "traditional" path into fashion and design, even though she took a course of jewellery at the Harrow Art School (she thought it was not for her, being a working-class girl), she became a primary school teacher and got married with Derek Westwood, had a kid... But she was a maker of things and a creative mind, and made her own wedding dress and jewellery that she sold at a stall.

Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood at the Let It Rock store (London, January 1972).

But all of that was about to change when she met Malcolm McLaren. She got divorced, moved with him and had another son. McLaren became the manager of the Sex Pistols and with Westwood, they became a creative duo who dressed the band and became VERY influential during th punk era. We must add the after that they opened a store called SEX, which was the meeting place for the punk scene in London in the 1970s. So, yeah. punk wouldn't look like it does without Vivienne Westwood.

"Vivienne and Malcolm use clothes to shock, irritate and provoke a reaction but also to inspire change. Mohair jumpers, knitted on big needles, so loosely that you can see all the way through them, T-shirts slashed and written on by hand, seams and labels on the outside, showing the construction of the piece; these attitudes are reflected in the music we make. It's OK to not be perfect, to show the workings of your life and your mind in your songs and your clothes." Viv Albertine

This era of Westwood's design has a lot of collaboration, especially with McLaren, and they produced under the Worlds End label until 1985. These collections have each a theme and a name, and here is when we star seeing Vivienne Westwood's eye and curiosity for historical fashion, as well as nods and details especially from the 18th and 19th centuries. Of course, it was the 80s and all was way more colourful than what we thing of more contemporary Vivienne Westwood, but you can see that EVERYTHING was already there in the period which she dubbed as "New Romantic" with collections like Witches, Punkature, and Pirate.

Raincoat and belt, from the 1983 Witches collection, Victoria & Albert Museum.

Ensemble from the 1982 Pirates collection, Victoria & Albert Museum.

Knitted top from the 1983 Witches collection, featuring Keith Haring's graffiti.

The 1988-1991 era is called "The Pagan Years", and we can see the change of the main looks from punks to girls in clothes that parodied the upper class. And it is then that I think the ultimate Vivienne Westwood is seen: corsets, crinolines, tartan, colourful stripes... Here is when we begin to see the historical references taken to a extreme, mixed with the modern word and sense of humour, while always being perfectly made and patterned and fun for all genders.

Here some of my favourite ones:

Vivienne Westwood black satin corset with metallic gold pattern, ss 1992 Stays, late 17th-early 18th century, Met Museum.

Vivienne Westwood autumn/winter 2020.

Fashion illustration on L’Elegant, 1853.

Carmagnole Jacket, France, c. 1790 / Sans-culotte Trousers, France, c. 1790, Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

Vivienne Westwood, autumn/winter 2021.

"Watteau" evening dress, 1996, Vivienne Westwood, Victoria & Albert Museum. "L’enseigne de Gersaint" (detail), Jean-Antoine Watteau.

Vivienne Westwood, autumn/winter 2022.

Portrait of Madame X, 1884, John Singer Sargent.

Madonna in her Fever video, 1993, wearing Vivienne Westwood. Gold leather corset, sleeves and mini skirt, 'Time Machine' ss 1988, Vivienne Westwood.

Always a creative force and a punk at heart, Vivienne Westwood was also an activist, putting front and center important causes like climate change, or sustainability and transparency in the brand's supply chain.

Rose McGowan walking the autumn/winter 2019 Vivienne Westwood catwalk.

Designer Vivienne Westwood looks through the glass toward the media during a photocall at a retrospective exhibition to celebrate her 30 years in the fashion industry, at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, Tuesday March 30, 2004.

What is your favourite look/garment of this iconic designer? And does it have an historical reference? Let us all know!

#vivienne westwood #fashion #18th century #19th century #victorian #tartan #punk #1970s #1980s #1990s

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puellamagifashion · 10 months ago

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Kyoko Online masterpost

Cheerleader - White Christmas - Animal girl - Onsen kimono - Casual

Casual kimono - Santa outfit - Cultural dress - Swimsuit - Winter casual

Winter casual - Fancy kimono - 2nd swimsuit - Wedding dress - Cheshire cat

Kung fu gi - Casual - Big bad wolf - Gothic lolita - Casual

Festival kimono - Valentines - Animal casual - Springtime - Casual

Hinamatsuri kimono - Halloween - Maid - Reindeer - Band outfit

Courage test (Oni) - Football uniform - Raining casual - Lolita dress - Nighttime kimono

Idol - Historical play - Florist uniform - Springtime casual - Chef

Bar shirt - Miko bunny - 3rd swimsuit - Snow play - New years

White winter - B-ball - Clown - Musical

#kyoko #masterpost #online

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your-divine-ribs · 7 months ago

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White Wedding

Words: 2k (was supposed to be a blurb whoops!)

Van eats you out under your wedding dress right after the ceremony // Inspired by 🤍 anon’s horny thoughts… xxx

Imagines Masterlist Main Masterlist

"Good afternoon Mrs McCann."

You didn't register for a second, didn't realise Van was actually talking to you, but as you lifted your head at the sound of his voice and saw him beaming at you, the realisation hit you.

That was your name now. You'd done it. You'd actually got married... to the love of your life.

"Mrs McCann," you whispered to yourself, an excited giggle bubbling up from the back of your throat and bursting free. You were giddy with it, drunk on the heady feeling of the love that you felt for the man who was standing before you, the one who you'd just vowed to spend the rest of your life with... for better or for worse... and if it got any better than this then you were in heaven for sure.

"Feels funny you calling me that," you laughed. "Doesn't feel like you're talking to me at all."

"Well you'd better get used to it love, 'cause this is it now... for the rest of our lives."

He reached out his hand to yours but didn't take it, he simply slipped it to rest under yours, your matching wedding bands on display, the polished gold glimmering in the sunlight which streamed in through the chapel windows.

The smile stretched wide on your face, you couldn't help it. Your cheeks were starting to ache with the way that you'd been grinning like a Cheshire Cat all day. "I'm such a lucky girl," you said, reaching up a hand to brush Van's hair out of his face, letting your fingers trail tenderly down his jawline.

"Reckon I'm the lucky one," he replied, leaning in close to you, your lips connecting in a soft kiss that rapidly became heated as your hands moved down to his bum, squeezing firmly as you pulled his body closer to yours.

"Mmm... keep that up and I'm gonna have to whisk you away somewhere and have my wicked way with ya!"

You both chuckled as you broke away, a little breathlessly. You were alone in the small country chapel, all your family and friends having moved on to the reception in a nearby hotel whilst you awaited the arrival of the photographer. The grounds here were stunning and you knew they'd make a gorgeous back-drop for your wedding photos.

"I'm sure you can wait," you tutted at him, hands resting on his hips.

He shook his head, still smiling. "That's just the thing, I really don't know if I can..."

You were sure he was only joking but as you looked at him that afternoon, all kitted out smart and handsome in his suit, eyes simmering with love and affection and just a hint of lust, you started to entertain the idea. It was just the two of you after all. No one would know a thing about it.

But you couldn't... you were in a church for gods sake... You pushed the inappropriate thoughts away, busying yourself with straightening his tie. "I'm afraid you're gonna have to Van... first it's the photos and then the car's coming to take us straight back to the hotel. We're not gonna have time for one of your quickies today!"

"Where there's a will there's a way," he smirked, a hand smoothing down over your hips to grab a fistful of the silky layers and netting of your wedding dress. "Don't tell me you're not tempted. I can see it in your eyes love, I know you're thinking about it. I know that look all too well."

He gradually began to lift your dress upwards, grinning mischievously.

"Oh my god! We're in church remember?" You giggled, not making a move to stop him, your breath hitching as his cool touch connected with your thigh, his fingers moving upwards to alight on the soft lace of the frilly garter you wore.

"What's all this?" He exclaimed, eyes widening in delight as he pulled your dress up higher, exposing your white lace-topped stockings. He tugged on the garter, letting it snap back gently against your skin. "Fuckin' 'ell, just look at you! Now I know I'm definitely the lucky one!"

"It's tradition," you grinned, laughing at his awestruck expression. "You know... something old, something new..." you indicated your grandmother's antique tiara and your dress in turn. "Something borrowed..." you slid a finger along the row of tiny freshwater pearls that you wore around your neck that your best friend had lent you. "And something blue..." you said finally, Van's eyes falling back to the garter and the delicate blue ribbon that was threaded through it.

"My beautiful wife," he grinned proudly. "You really do think of everything huh?"

Then all of a sudden he released your dress, firmly grabbing hold of your hand and pulling, urging you to follow him. "C'mon babe, come with me... I've had an idea."

"What are you doing now? Where are we going?" You asked, letting him tow you down the narrow aisle you'd just traversed nervously an hour previously, your satin-covered stilettos clacking loudly on the stone flooring.

"Reckon we've got about fifteen minutes before the photographer arrives," he called behind him as he pulled you into the far corner of the church and urged you to sit down on a small wooden pew pushed up against the wall. "Just enough time for a little appetiser..."

If his words didn't tell you what he had in mind then the mischievous smirk on his lips and his next actions certainly did. You watched on, excited and stunned as he quickly sank to his knees before you, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he looked up at you to gauge your reaction. He placed his hands on your thighs, easing them apart. "What d'ya say huh, Mrs McCann? We got time for a little bit of fun?"

"We can't do it in here! Are you bloody crazy?" You uttered in disbelief, imagining the wedding photographer arriving early and catching you in a compromising position, pristine wedding dress hitched up around your hips whilst Van had you bent awkwardly over a wooden pew whilst he pounded into you from behind. It didn't matter that the deliciously naughty thought lit a fire between your legs, there was no way you could risk it.

"I don't mean like proper shagging!" Van laughed, gripping the hem of your dress, bunching it up in his fingers and raising it, fixing you with a smouldering look. "Just wanna make my gorgeous new wife feel good don't I? You know I can't resist ya."

As he spoke he leaned in, pressing a featherlight kiss to the inside of your knee, eyes still on yours, your heart starting to race as his filthy intentions became clear all at once. "Can't believe you wanna do this now... in here of all places!"

"C'mon love," he pleaded, pausing to drag his soft lips up your inner thigh, catching the garter in his teeth to tug on it gently. "Now's the perfect time. I know what you'll be like after a few glasses of champagne at the reception, you'll be falling asleep before I've even got your wedding dress off. At least this way I can make sure the smile you wear for the photographer's genuine!"

"Of course it'll be genuine, silly!" You giggled, easing your legs further apart as he started planting warm, lingering kisses all over the skin of your upper thighs, his nose nudging temptingly against your lace covered core. "I just don't wanna get caught that's all. What would people say?"

"Not a problem... no one'll even know what I'm up to," he chuckled, and then to your surprise he pulled the voluminous layers of netting and silk up and over his head, nestling himself neatly into the small space between your spread legs.

"Ahhh shit..." you breathed, sucking in a gasp as you felt his fingers curl firmly around your thighs, his lips grazing over your covered clit. You couldn't quite believe what you were doing... and where you were doing it, but you shouldn't have been surprised. Van's fun-loving, reckless and incorrigible naughty streak was one of your favourite things about him, that and his ability to reduce you to a moaning, whimpering mess with his skilled fingers and tongue within minutes.

You could feel him under there now, his breath hot on your core, his tongue teasing you over the sheer lace of your panties, making you shiver.

"Van..." you sighed, an appreciation and a plea all rolled into one, your hands curling tightly around the edge of the wooden pew. You could just see his legs and his well-shined shoes sticking out from underneath the layers of your dress and the comical sight made you snigger to yourself, but your laugh was soon cut short when you felt him snare the lace of your panties in his teeth as he began to tug them down your thighs.

You were bare under the dress within seconds, fretting fleetingly that he'd torn the delicate lace in his haste, but you couldn't dwell on your inconsequential worries for long. Not when the heavenly feel of his tongue was a euphoric distraction, laving purposefully over your folds, seeking out your clit.

"You taste so good babe... so fuckin' sweet for me," you heard him murmur from under the layers of your dress, your cheeks flushing rosy red in response. There was something so deliciously naughty and arousing about not being able to see him but feeling his tongue fervently exploring you, every tender kiss and warm, wet lick intensified as you felt your toes curling, your eyes fluttering shut.

He grabbed harshly at the flesh of your thighs, fingers digging furrows into your tender skin, the roughness of his hungry touch a thrilling contrast to the soft blissful drag of his tongue. If he'd not been under your dress right now you'd have your hands buried in the roots of his hair, pulling and twisting his locks between your fingers. You had to settle instead for gripping the edge of the pew tightly, your fingernails digging into the wood as Van honed in on your sweet spot, tongue drawing slippery circles over your bud. He did it over and over, spurred on by the way the muscles in your thighs clenched up tight, the soft moans and sighs you tried so hard to hold back spilling forth anyway.

"Fuck... 'm gonna come," you squeaked out, your legs starting to shake. "Please don't stop... there... right there..."

You bit down hard on your lower lip to stifle your sounds, feeling Van press his face even further into your slickness, eager to lick up every last drop of your sweetness. Lightening bolts of pleasure coursed through you, zipping up your spine and radiating out along your limbs, your core on fire. You'd have screamed out loud if you weren't currently in a chapel, even the muffled whimpers you were making were amplified acoustically as they bounced off the stone walls.

"Shit... shit... shit..." you cursed as the waves of your climax peaked and then started to recede, your legs still trembling as Van released his grip to tenderly stroke your skin.

"Oh my god... that was unreal... now I know why I married you!" You giggled in between panting, your head tilting back to rest against the wall, trying to catch your breath.

There was a moment of fumbling under your dress, some incoherent muttering as Van manoeuvred himself out from beneath the silky layers, his hair all disheveled and his eyes bright, his red lips glistening with your arousal as he licked at them proudly.

"So it turns out my wife's a dirty little minx... who'd have thought it huh?" He smirked, giddily getting to his feet and brushing down his suit, adjusting his tie which was askew. "And there was me thinking you were all innocent in that pretty white dress."

"It's all you... you're the bad influence," you chided playfully, rising up on still shaky legs, reaching out to rest your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

The wedding photos taken that afternoon turned out perfectly, some would even go so far as to say they were magical. The photographer was overjoyed, enthusing about the pretty flush staining your cheeks and the sparkle in Van's eye, saying it added that extra little 'je ne sais quoi' that he always strived for when he photographed couples in love. Of course, you and Van knew perfectly well what the secret to that was... 🤍

#white wedding #catb imagines #van mccann #van mccann x reader #fanfic #vanfic #smut

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gothamslostboy · 2 years ago

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Jervis Tetch w/ Alternative S/O

I know he’s a bad person but I’ve kinda built this blog on bad ppl/villians

I don’t support his creepy ass relationship with his sister

He was a bit shocked at first

He expected his Alice (male or female) to look like

well

Alice!

Light colors, long blonde hair, subtle makeup

You certainly were not that

But he knew when he first saw you

mostly black clothes

face covered in bold make up, particularly the designs made from eyeliner

Your wild hair: one part the brightest red he’d ever seen and the other a pastel pink

Every step you took making countless chains, pins, rings, necklaces, earrings, and whatever other accessories you had clink together

But you were his personal Alice

And he needed to talk to you

To have you

He was surprised at how easily you spoke to him- most people found him rather odd

He knew many ppl in Gotham dressed like you, but they didn’t live in this part of the city

Maybe that’s why you were so friendly

Jervis and you can be odd together

Before he even had the chance to consider well he did think about it a bit hypnotizing you, he had already been asked to go to the local movie theater with you tonight

You told him it was a movie you’re sure he loved by his “vibe”

He didn’t fully get what you meant, but he was fairly certain it was a positive thing

Jervis was delighted you had already been thinking about him, much more so that you could pick up on his tastes so soon

He said yes, hopefully not too quickly for his dear

He had already decided you were more than his Alice, you were his soulmate, future spouse, his Y/N

He was so nervous getting ready that night

He knew you didn’t care he was the Mad Hatter, being as perfect as you are you had figured it out early in the conversation that morning

not exactly hard to figure it out since he had just fled the scene in his full outfit

But he was nervous about someone else telling that murderous Officer Gordon where you two were

He couldn’t have his last shot at love be stripped from him again

So he hypnotized hired some guards

Arriving at the theater, his breathe left his body when he saw you

You had on a white skirt, reminding him so much of the dress Alice wore in the original story

But you’d also made the outfit so very Y/N

A black T-Shirt torn into a crop top, safety pins attached across a rip on the shoulder, your make up featuring the same blue from the Disney version of the tale, black combat shoes, little designs painted on in white that he couldn’t discern yet, and black ribbon earring dangling from your earrings

And his favorite part, embroidered on the skirts hem, was many different things from the story: a pocket watch, a bottle with “drink me” written on it, mushrooms, the Cheshire Cat, and several other little details

Somehow he fell even more infatuated with you

If that was possible

Even though he could tell from your outfit, he was still giddy when you confirmed you’d be watching Alice in Wonderland that night

The night was wonderful and the two of you began your relationship very soon after

You did all the stuff he imagined for the relationship, with a slight twist

Tea parties were had with black dish ware instead of white

Instead of calling you darling you seemed to prefer “love from darkness”

Movie night tended to be horror movies

of course

Alice in Wonderland

you were so perfect, you even helped get revenge on Jim Gordon, though you did talk Jervis out of the murder

his Y/N was to merciful & sweet to kill

You just had the beautifully cruel plan to turn those close to him into his enemies

With a little hypnosis here, a little of you playing an innocent shoulder to talk to, and a little help from others Gordon wronged, you two had managed to leave Jim with no one to love him

Jervis couldn’t be prouder of his vengeful Angel

And you did it all just for him? Someone call the church bc I hear wedding bells

The 2 of you introduced each other to new bands and artist to listen to

Jervis even hypnotized convinced one of your favorite artist to give you a private concert on your birthday

Oh, and there is one more thing he LOVED about having an alternative partner

The hair

No matter what you did to it

Shave it? How wonderfully easier it is to see your face and the artistic make up you apply

Dye it? How many colors? What a surprisingly brilliant color combination! He’d of never thought those shades could look so perfect together

Any hairstyle you try has him giddy

And he LOVES when you ask him for help with your appearance; clothes, hair, accessories, makeup, all of it

Eventually he works up the courage to ask you to style him one day

It’s the best idea he’s ever had

It make his Dark Love so happy, practically skipping as you dragged him to your bedroom

Combining some of his clothes, some of yours, and making a small list of things you’d want to buy him to complete the outfit

You were absolutely radiant

He particularly enjoyed how close you got to him while doing his make up

Jervis only got nervous at the hair part of it all

He trusts his Y/N, of course, you always had his best interest in mind

But he didn’t know if he could rock outgoing hair like you could

So he created a compromise

No cutting, and only spray on or pastels could be used to color his hair

You happily agreed, and once you were done, Jervis was surprised at how much he fit the style

So much so he actually let you buy real hair dye

You began to give him trims, and later full hair cuts

The two of you working together became Gotham’s number one power couple

Any one who got in the way or gave you a funny look was hypnotized and had their dirty laundry aired to all

Occasionally the ppl who said especially rude things to you mysteriously vanished

But Jervis Tetch denied any involvement

I mean, all he did was swing a pocket watch at someone

If they happen to get the urge to kill the idiot who had the audacity to insult his Angel

that’s on them

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kbrick · 2 years ago

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WIP Snip

Thank you to @wolfpants for the tag! MWAH!

Take a look at wolfpants’s amazing ship fic snip, too! I cannot wait to read this sucker!!

This is from my currently-posting WIP, Tapestry. This one takes place over many years, and tells a version of Harry and Draco’s love story from start to finish. It’s messy and complicated and I am absolutely loving it at the moment 🥰. This bit is from an earlier chapter, when Draco and Harry come face to face with one another after being apart for a long time. Draco has married someone else in the interim, and Harry’s been freaking out about seeing him:

“I didn't know you were coming,” came a sharp, precise voice from behind him. Harry turned, feeling suddenly winded.

“Didn't know you were, either,” he said, meeting Draco's gaze.

It had been nearly two years since the last time they’d seen one another. Draco looked a little different, in a way Harry couldn’t really pinpoint. His cheekbones seemed starker, his shoulders more angular.

And then there was the matter of his fingers. The ring finger of his left hand, specifically. Harry braced himself for it, for the telltale gold band. Best to get the shock of it over with.

He looked, and there was nothing there. “How’s that banker of yours?” he asked nonchalantly. Draco’s hands were spotlessly clean, his nails perfectly manicured. He was a traditionalist, in many ways. Not the sort to forgo a wedding band. Harry felt a flash of prickling heat sweep over his body, followed closely by a shiver, like he was coming down with the flu.

Draco chuckled low, tossing back a shock of blond hair from his face. “How’s that slag you introduced me to the last time I saw you? The Christmas party at Neville’s, I think it was,” he threw back at Harry rather than answering the question. “The woman with the irritating little dog.”

“Caitlin?” Harry laughed. “Christ, that was forever ago. Anyway, I've seen you since then.” How could Draco have forgotten? Although, to be fair, they had hardly spoken that next time. "That day at Blaise's."

Draco looked away, his face doing something complicated. "Oh, that's right."

Harry needed to sit down. The floor was unsteady beneath his feet, like the house had been swept out to sea and was undulating with the waves. Draco was unbearably close now, so close that Harry could see the tiny blue veins on his eyelids as he looked at Harry’s wine glass. “Shall I top you off?” he asked, before looking back up and raising a sharp brow.

Harry’s throat was so dry he didn’t know if he could force any more words out. “Yeah,” he managed, sounding hoarse.

Draco went to the table and grabbed the bottle, and with an elegant little twist of his wrist, poured a splash of dark wine into Harry’s glass before filling his own. Harry cleared his throat. “Cheers,” he said. “To Edgewater.”

Draco brought his glass to Harry’s. His wrist was visible, the bone strangely prominent. “To Edgewater,” he said, his flinty eyes fixed on Harry’s. “And old friends.”

Harry drank deeply, watching as Draco took a sip and licked a ruby drop of wine from his lower lip.

“You took the yellow room, didn’t you?” Harry asked.

Draco grinned again, Cheshire-like, and brought his face close—too close—to Harry’s. Harry felt a gust of warm breath against his ear and a ripple of sensation down his spine. “The early bird catches the worm, Potter,” he said. Then he gave Harry one last smirk and sauntered from the room, leaving Harry staring at his retreating, shapely arse, looking good as ever in fine wool trousers.

He stood there, breathless, half hard in his jeans, feeling more brutalized than he’d felt walking out of that bath house in Budapest with a six-inch gash down his thigh, a concussion, and bruise the size of a dinner plate across his lower back.

Sweet Christ.

It never got any easier with that son of a bitch.

No pressure tagging @sweet-s0rr0w @the-starryknight @pennygalleon @oknowkiss @lettersbyelise @moonflower-rose @thehoneybeet @t4tdrarry @tackytigerfic @thebooktopus. I’d love to see what you guys are up to! <3

#drarry #wip snip

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cassiopeiagarcia · 1 year ago

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Wrote this for the Drug Cartel AU @cheshire-shuntaro created. Cass is a painter with perhaps too much imagination? A little help from above? Hope you like it. ♡

'He wants to do... what?'

An unplanned explosion of laughter, tears running down her cheeks. Dark eyes that looked for confirmation in her older sister's features, not believing what she was hearing. Cass had always known her brother-in-law was mad, but this... this really was something else. Stealing an Andean Cat.

'At least one of us finds it funny.'

'Come on! You have to admit it is kind of hilarious. I wish it had been my idea...'

But no joy could be found in Andro's perfect face. Not since that day in which she had answered "Sí, quiero" to the priest's question: do you, Andrómeda García, take Takeru Danma to be your wedded husband and live together in holy matrimony?

Worst mistake of her fucking life, if you ask me.

After wishing her a good night, Andro had left, ready to endure Hatter's emotional torture for one more night, the silence that haunted their bedchamber. He was fucking on the side, of course. Everybody knew it, but pretended they didn't; a blindfold covering their eyes, not seeing the honey-blonde woman sitting on his lap late at night, drinking from his cup, kissing his lips. That didn't stop him, however, from trying to get it on with his wife (or better yet, his appendage, because she was nothing more than that), if only because of his desire to get her pregnant, even if she wanted to claw his eyes out and spit in his face every time he was near.

But a King needed a Heir. Even his kingdom was made of nothing but white powder and counterfeit money.

Cass shook her head, feeling, once more, terribly sorry for her sister. It was not the first time thoughts of running away plagued her mind, but she knew they weren't realistic. She could get out, no problem. Hérc? Most likely. But the Queen was under constant vigilance, even if the only thing she did was tend to her garden. Blue, blue, blue.

The blonde woman went back to the painting she was working on.

A dreadful scene; a beheading. Her father, Fernando García, the executioner, holding the blade. Behind him, Orión, with sadistic eyes, capillaries bursting. Her sister, Andrómeda, the executed. Dressed in white; like a martyr, a symbol of purity, even if she had a child clinging to her chest. No tragic face, but defiance, on her expression. In the crowd, Hatter, with a smile. Aguni, horrified. Hérc and her, screaming in terror.

Was nobody going to stop this?

Could they not see how unfair this was?

After thinking about it for a few seconds, she grabbed the thinnest brush she had and dipped it in paint. Stroke after stroke, she formed a figure. A white rabbit. With its long ears and soft tail, looking at the scene knowingly. A wedding band on one of its paws, engraved with letters she couldn't make out. Did it say Fate, maybe? Next to it, a mask with six eyes and a red sigil. A card, the ace of Hearts.

Why? Divine inspiration.

A deity speaking into her ear, over the murmur of the wind: the tale is not yet over.

You can still win.

#aib drug cartel au #aib oc #aib roleplay

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nuagederose · 2 years ago

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As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Thirteen: Bones

ao3 link

“What’s that smell? Are you drunk?”

Christine had made her way out of the backstage area and back towards the bar area, where Eric, Greg, and Louie had already gathered drinks for themselves and took their spots one right after the other like a row of birds on a wire. Eric cracked a smirk at her once she emerged from the backstage area with her jacket slightly tugged down from over her shoulders and her hair disheveled.

“Are you drunk, Chris?” Louie asked her.

“No, I don’t think I am,” she replied with a slight hiccup. “If I was, I’d know.”

“You smell like wine,” Eric pointed out. “Like you just had a big glass of wine.”

“Okay, I had half a glass,” Christine corrected herself. “But I promise you fellas that I am not the least bit drunk, just a little bit buzzed is all.”

“Where did you get the wine?” Greg joined in, also with a sly smirk on his face.

“It’s a long story,” she assured him.

“Why do you look like you just walked right out of a wind tunnel?” Louie followed up.

“It’s an even longer story,” she assured him. Eric reached over to the table across from them for a fourth stool all for her, and she took her spot next to him. The stage had been all but set up there on the other side of the room right before them, complete with Alex’s bright blue guitar propped up on the stand next to the small drum kit. She had been promised to meet Nathan and Matt, his rhythm section, and yet she wondered as to when this would happen as she felt a tap on her shoulder.

She turned around and recognized Colette’s big Cheshire Cat smile almost immediately, as she styled her hair up with a slight part down one side of her head and accentuated it with a small bright red barrette. Christine dropped her gaze to her fitted white camisole underneath a black and white leather jacket and fitted black jeans with black leather Beatle boots.

“Hey!” Christine declared as she stood to her feet and put her arms around her.

“Hey!” Colette echoed her.

“I’m so glad you could make it, where are the other three?”

“Mar’s looking for a parking space, and Val and Sabrina are both outside talking to Alex,” Colette explained.

“Del Mar,” Eric chimed in.

“Har har,” Colette finished, and Greg and Louie chuckled behind her and Christine.

“Colette, right?” he asked her with a gesture to her.

“No, I’m Sabrina,” she joked, and Christine laughed out loud and clapped her hands. “‘Call Girl’ as Alex called me one time.”

Greg nearly spat out his drink at that, and Louie tilted his head back and cackled.

“At least he’s not calling you ‘Sluggo’ like with me,” Eric pointed out, and they erupted into more laughter. Sabrina and Valentina both then followed into the club together, both of them with slicked back hair and matching black and white jackets to Colette’s black and white leather. Once Marlene surfaced from right behind them, Christine found herself at a loss for words.

“You girls look like ice cream sundaes,” Louie remarked.

“The Sundaes, Lou,” Eric pointed out.

“The Sundaes!” Both Louie and Christine laughed at that; still with the smile on her face, the latter then turned her attention to the stage, where two men congregated together by the drum kit. She then realized it was Alex’s rhythm section, Nathan and Matt, and she hurried on over there to meet them before Alex himself surfaced from the backstage area.

Matt, a wiry man with curly blonde hair, nodded at her as he took his seat on the stool behind the drums, and then Nathan, the long-haired gentleman with a scraggly beard wrapped in a long black overcoat, turned towards her and nudged his round glasses up his nose. She noticed the wedding bands on both of their hands: if she didn’t know better, she swore that Alex was the bachelor of the band.

“You must be the infamous Christine Peck,” Matt said to her as part of his greeting.

“Wonder if you and I are related,” Nathan joked, and she shrugged.

“Not that I know of, but it’s a small world, though,” Christine explained, and she wondered as to just how much Alex had talked about her without her even knowing and without him even telling her as well. “I’m gonna be sitting right over there at the bar with those three boys and those four girls who look like ice cream sundaes.”

The two of them laughed at that.

“We gotta run that by Alex,” Matt suggested. “He’ll love that.”

“And that’s a nice little jam you got going on over there, too,” Nathan told her with a grin.

“We try our best,” Christine assured him.

“I think Matt’s got something for the whole gang over there to go nuts with.” He adjusted his glasses, and Matt nodded his head and held the stick in his left hand at an angle as if he played in a marching band rather than a jazz trio about to perform in a club. A few more people behind Christine filtered into the floor of the club, but she could care less, however: he tested the drums with the standard beat and then Nathan picked up his electric bass for a fledgling line, one with a bit of a groove to it: that coupled with the looks of determination on their faces made it seem as if they were to make her and the party of seven behind her dance as if it was that New Year’s Eve before the Twenty-First Century.

Before Matt could tap on the big splash cymbals to the right of his head, Alex all but stumbled out from behind the curtain off to the side as if he had had another glass of wine in the meantime. He ran his long lanky fingers through his black hair and nudged a few tendrils of the gray streak over the crown of his head.

“What’s going on out here?” he demanded, and he took off his glasses and shook his head about as if to jar himself awake.

“Just havin’ a little warm-up session,” Christine told him.

“A little warm-up before the real fun starts, eh?” He flashed her a wink, and more patrons took their spots behind her. She knew that the show was ready to start, especially since his rhythm section was already on the move. He then padded over to her and crouched down at the stage’s edge.

“Meet me backstage again afterwards,” he told her in a low voice.

“Round two?” she asked him, to which he nodded his head. Feeling warm, she then headed on back to the party at the bar right as more and more patrons flocked into the club: she took her seat between Eric and Colette once Alex picked up that blue guitar from the metal stand next to the small stack of amps there.

“Full house,” Eric remarked.

“Yeah, it is!”

The three men played light free jazz that seemed to wander and groove at the same time. Alex picked at the strings rather lightly and gracefully: he made it seem so easy and so simple without a second thought. The way that he moved about with Nathan and Matt made Christine want to get up and dance around.

Indeed, she could still feel the power of the wine within her. Only half a glass but it was enough for her to ride upon as she climbed up to her feet and took both Eric and Colette by the hands and began to dance with them right there at the bar. There was one song that they pulled forth for them, a song which Alex referred to as simply “Bollywood”, and Christine couldn’t help but close her eyes and visualize as she held Eric close to her. She had never done the tango but she could feel the dance within her.

Though she only wore her green coat over the white top, she imagined it to be a dress, complete with its long lacy black and white skirt lined with beads made of bone. She imagined Eric with a white lace shirt, even with the collar open to show off most of his chest to her: that long smooth black hair billowed back as if he had been mounted upon the back of a horse. The song may have been an homage to the world of Bollywood, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the tango as she and Eric took to the dance together in that small space.

She could feel another body next to her, and one that she knew didn’t belong to Alex.

The wine and the sensual feeling of the music swirled together into a hypnotic potion of sorts, a sort of super-aphrodisiac as the woman’s body next to her guided her away from Eric. It was a feeling that she couldn’t explain as Colette kept her hand on the small of her back and her breasts brushed up against her own.

It was as if she had dug down into the dirt below her feet and struck a large nugget of gold embedded within. She opened her eyes as Alex pulled double duties on his electric blond guitar and a little cherry red acoustic. Colette flashed her a wink; the lights from over the stage washed over her cherry lips to give them a bluish violet tinge on top. Christine thought about the girl crushes she had had in school, and she wondered if she could balance both Alex and a girl like Colette.

She was already neck deep in an affair with Alex, and thus, she wondered if there could be some loopholes in there as long as he was willing to undertake it as well.

Colette spun her in a twirl and sent her back to Eric right as Greg, Louie, and Sabrina clapped along with Matt’s steady drum beats. He put his arms around her and held her close to him. She wasn’t drunk but the feeling of his soft body next to her own made her believe that the wine had more juice in it than she had originally believed.

Alex nodded his head and kept it down so his hair spread over his face: his deep eyes were completely covered by that fuzzy soft black hair. To think that she had had sex with him in that back room not even some time before the show.

By the time Matt hit the big splash cymbal, Christine took her seat once again and raised her hands up over her head for a round of applause.

A little power trio that never became too loud and yet they seemed far too big for that room, especially with the way in which Alex would bend the strings and bring in some heavy doses of distortion every now and again. Every so often, he would raise his head to shake the hair from his eyes and show off the sweet smile on his face.

Christine thought about giving him a little kiss on the side of the neck once they were done with things as he launched into a slow and low solo over Nathan’s stand-up bass. He brought in distortion and low notes, and yet the whole thing was mellow and soft, as if she was about to curl up next to her parents and fall asleep right then and there.

Some days, she still felt like a young child, and as she watched Alex there with his eyes closed and his head tilted to the side as if he was a marionette puppet suspended from a series of strings up above, she could feel herself yearning to walk back home.

“We’re all just walking each other home,” as her mother had said.

Within time, he let his guitar fade out with the soft taps on the cymbals, and the room lit up for those three men. The party at the bar stood to their feet: Christine, warm from the feeling, thought about climbing up onto the stool to give him an extra dose of applause, but she knew that if she climbed up there, she wouldn’t be able to come on down again.

Instead, she bowed past Colette and Marlene for the side of the stage to catch up with Alex in the backstage area. She kept her head down low lest she be caught and thrown outside to the dark sidewalk and the cold of the November night. She skirted past the stage for the corridor to his dressing room: he stood there in the doorway with his hands upon his head as if he had just woken up from a hearty nap.

He let out a low whistle and turned towards her, and he showed her a smile.

“Hey, there you are!”

“Oh, my gosh, you guys were amazing!” she declared with a break in her voice: it was right then she wished that she had a big glass of water in hand.

“Aw, shucks, we try our best,” he said with a shrug.

“Did you see all of us dancing?” she asked him. “Me and Eric, and then me and Colette?”

“No, I wasn’t wearing my glasses,” he said with a shake of his head. “I think Nate and Matt did, though, I heard them laughing about it a couple of times.”

“Did you want to—finish what you and I had started earlier?” she asked him with a fluttering of her eyelashes at him.

“I don’t really know, I’m pretty knackered at the moment,” he confessed to her with a shrug of his shoulders: indeed, she could see the exhaustion in his eyes. “I can meet up with you tomorrow, though. I’ll come and get you, and then you and I can hang out and have some fun together.”

“You know where I live, right?”

“Of course. About ten minutes up the spine of Long Island from me in the heart of Queens. Being a teacher does have its perks, let me tell you.”

“Cute little brick building, second door on the left on the second floor,” she told him.

“I’ll remember that.”

“And could I at least have a kiss good night, though?” she asked him, and he leaned in closer to her for a kiss on the lips without a second thought. Christine put her arms around his waist and pressed her chest against his to feel his heartbeat. His lips were as soft and smooth as ever, and it seemed as though his body had been tenderized by all that performing up on the stage given he felt much softer than from before.

“Mmm, thank you, baby,” she whispered into his lips.

“No bones about it, my dear,” he whispered back with glee. He ran his fingers through his black hair again and cleared his throat. “Run along now, my Strawberry Girl.”

Christine scurried back to the party at the bar where Colette and Eric waited for her. The three of them followed Greg, Louie, Marlene, Valentina, and Sabrina outside to the cold night and a loud whirring in their ears, and not even the feeling of thirst could erase the memory of Alex’s lips on her own.

Eric took her home, and he flashed her a wink before she climbed out to the sidewalk.

There was so much love that she had to think about, and none of which she had any idea as to how to tell either Wendy or Nelly when she saw either one again.

She woke up the next morning with her mouth dry and her body refreshed, and she realized that Alex had never said as to when he would meet with her on that day. Quickly, and after she had brushed her teeth and took a large drink of water from the fridge, Christine dressed in a blue long-sleeved shirt, faded jeans, and her long green coat, especially when she knew that the rain could come in yet again for another round.

She had ran a brush through her hair and laced up her Chuck Taylors when she heard a knock on the door.

She opened the door and there he was, donned in that green Ireland shirt under a heavy black windbreaker as well as his faded blue jeans and with a corsage of blue and white flowers in hand.

“It’s like you’re taking me to prom,” she said with a chuckle.

“In a way, I kind of am,” he insisted with a chuckle and a shrug of his shoulders: he had brushed his black hair to utmost smoothness, and his gray streak spread down from the crown like a plume of white smoke. His eyes seemed to sparkle from their deep blue depths as he showed her that sweet lopsided smile.

Christine showed him her left wrist to which he slipped the corsage on over her hand. The smooth glass beads of the bracelet fit her just right, and she clasped a hand to her wrist.

“Shall we?” he asked her. She reached for her bag and her keys, and she strode up next to him. She shut the door behind her and locked it, and then she returned to him.

“We shall,” she declared.

The apartment across the hall was silent, but she knew that she would have to introduce Alex to Wendy at some point. They walked side by side to the stairs together, and all the while, Christine kept her hand down by her waist. Once they reached the front door of the building, she tucked her hands into her coat pockets. The feeling of rain lingered in the air over them, and she wished to protect those little flowers from any torrential rain around them.

“I just got paid last night after that gig so breakfast is on me,” he told her over the noise of the street.

“That is so sweet of you,” she said as they reached his car. A few raindrops fell upon her head, but she knew that she would be warm and dry in there with him. She climbed into the front seat first, to which she could tell that Captain Howdy had sat there a fair number of times before. Nevertheless, she nestled down in the seat and buckled herself in as Alex shut the door next to him.

He fired it up right as the rain began to fall again in a fine drizzle from the cold gray overhead.

“It’s cold,” he noted as he rubbed his hands together. “Think it’ll snow here sometime today?”

“It’s possible,” she assured him with a shrug.

They rolled up to the far end of the block, past Eric, Greg, and Louie’s building, but rather than making the turn for the diner by the cemetery, Alex took the opposite way all to head on back to Brooklyn. A few more bits of drizzle on the windshield turned into bigger rounder droplets of rain, and Christine huddled closer to Alex.

“Are you cold?” he asked her.

“Nah, just feeling cozy,” she replied, and he chuckled at that. He reached for the heater dial and turned on the heat at a low level.

“This’ll make things so much cozier,” he promised her.

“I find it so interesting that you never got married,” she remarked.

“I actually was married at one point, but… it went nowhere.”

She gaped at him as they pulled up to a stop sign. “Really? It went nowhere with you?”

“A complete dead end,” he proclaimed with a shrug of his shoulders and a glimpse up and down the street. “I realized that I didn’t love her and we weren’t on the same wavelength, either. She wanted children whereas I wasn’t in that state of mind—I’m still not in that mindset.”

Christine adjusted the lapels of her jacket. “Me, neither,” she assured him, and they bowed ahead to the next block. They were in his neighborhood.

“It’s funny because I’ve sometimes wondered how life could have been had I found someone I loved enough to father children with, though. To have an intimate family life…” His voice trailed off for a second, and Christine glanced over at him and the blank look on his face. She wondered if there were any secrets that he had never told anyone, be they Nathan or Matt, or even Captain Howdy. She knew that she had secrets that she never told her parents before.

The second she thought this, he cleared his throat and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

“Keep this between you and me for me,” he told her in a low voice, and they turned left to the narrow driveway outside a small bakery on the corner.

She raised a hand as if she was taking an oath of allegiance. “I vow to,” she said.

“I have been in love with a woman—like really in love, I wanted to marry her—” He held up two fingers.

“Twice!” Christine declared. “Did you?”

Alex nibbled on his bottom lip.

“You didn’t,” she softly said.

“I couldn’t,” he told her as he took the spot under the tall oak tree two rows from the front door.

“You couldn’t?” He pulled the parking brake and switched off the car, and then he glanced over at her and shook his head. “What do you mean, you couldn’t?”

“I simply didn’t have the courage to ask them to be with me,” he confessed. “It’s a big problem that I have that I often feel I can’t seem to fix no matter what I do. For years, I felt like I’m just not good enough to get with someone I truly love and start a family with them. Like I said that night you hid out in my closet, I had always struck out with women, and especially with women I had fallen deeply in love with.”

Puzzled, Christine adjusted herself in the seat and moved in closer to his face.

“I don’t understand, though, like… you and I had sex with each other,” she pointed out. “Twice, actually. At your place and at the jazz club. At the jazz club, you quite literally had your dick inside of me, Alex. You pulled out but you were there.”

“See, that’s the thing is I said ‘for years’, meaning… as I’ve gotten older and realized that it’s not the be-all, end-all of life, I’m a lot more relaxed about it. It’s really funny how it works, if I’m honest.”

“Because you realize that you’re past that age,” she followed along; the rain fell harder on the roof and yet she was still warm from the heater.

“Right, right. I don’t really regret it, either, like I made peace with it a long time ago and just went ahead with my career in music. I went ahead to be the very best ‘me’ I could with the guitars rested on my back.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” she said.

“And you would be right,” he chuckled. “But… I do think of being married, though. I’m getting older and sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to marry someone I really love. I may not want kids, but I see senior citizens getting married from time to time.”

Christine thought about the incident with Captain Howdy back in the apartment, how she said Matt and Nathan couldn’t be ushers. She frowned as she thought about what he probably wasn’t telling her. They slowed to a near stop with the cars before them doing the same. Five o’clock on a Monday in the heart of New York City.

“Alex… are you and her engaged?” she asked him.

“Yes and no,” he replied with a deep sigh through his nose and a closing of his eyes.

“Yes and no?”

“Yes, because… I asked her to marry me… about five or six years ago, I don’t even remember now because the honeymoon ended around that time. And no, because neither she nor I have had the resources or the time or—in my case—the balls to even so much as go through with it.”

“The balls? Alex, you have the balls, I have felt them.” He snickered at that. “It’s not a joke! I have felt your balls.”

“You have felt them, haven’t you,” he chuckled, and then his smile faded as the traffic lurched ahead. “I also never had the chance to buy her a ring, either.”

Christine resisted the urge to laugh at that.

“I did set aside money to buy her a wedding ring,” he continued, “but then I saw this really cool book about meteorology and I had to get it, though. She’s always like ‘you never buy me things’, even though I have. Many times.”

“So, let me see if I can get this straight,” Christine began. “You asked her to marry you… years ago.”

“Yeah.”

“And yet, you failed to buy her a ring and you told me that the feelings for her have gone away.”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you still with her if she very clearly doesn’t make you happy anymore, Alex?” Christine demanded, slightly frustrated. “Why destroy yourself like that?”

He pursed his lips and merged over to the right lane for the Upper West Side and Nelly’s neighborhood.

“Because… I still love her to death,” he confessed. “I still feel something there. I still want to treat her well, even after she slapped me and threw the flowers I gave her on the floor. I still want to make it right with her.”

“Alex, she’s going to keep hitting you no matter what you do,” Christine told him. “She is going to continually use you and bury the truth between you by refusing a picture with you and letting you get fuller and rounder when you don’t intend to. She is going to constantly haunt you, climb inside your head and guide you like Pinocchio. She may seem perfect to you but I see the Mark of the Beast on her forehead from outer space without even knowing what she looks like.”

All the while, Alex remained silent, complete with a blank look on his face. Christine put her fingers up on the handle next to the top of the door and closed her eyes. She knew that she had done something wrong by saying that to him as the rain swelled for a moment before it backed down to a light shower. She opened her eyes to find him staring out the windshield, at the little rivers formed on the outside, as if the sky was bleeding for him, for the two of them.

“That was too much, I’m sorry,” she quipped with a shake of her head. “I take it all back—”

“No,” he flatly said. Christine stopped, and she looked over at him. He turned his head to her and showed her the stoic, serious look on his face. She opened her mouth as if to say something to him but he pressed a finger to those lips. The noise of the rain filled the void of silence around them for what felt like forever, until he spoke again.

“No. Don’t you dare.”

He dropped his finger down from her lips, and he stroked the round shape of her chin, followed by the interior of her neck. His blue eyes, as blue and rich as the ocean waters, gazed back at her: though the rain continued to fall, the clouds broke and the morning sun shone through to make the back of his head glow. It was as if he had a head of pure platinum, a ring of preciousness all for her just to spite the one who was bringing him pain.

He then leaned into her face: he nudged her bangs apart for a soft kiss on the forehead, and she curled her toes inside of her shoes.

“I may still love her, but she is a stone cold bitch who doesn’t care as to how she makes her nut,” he told her as he leaned back a bit. “Never mind… everything else you’ve pointed out and witnessed about her. She’s pretentious, for one thing, and I don’t know if it’s just an architect thing, either. She expects me to buy her things, too, like for her birthday or for Christmas, and I always want to treat myself instead, and she ends up making me feel bad for it, too, like I’m somehow not allowed to feel pleasure every now and again. And she’s supposedly all about… being yourself and shit like that, but it always comes out all stilted, like she’s phoning it in or something. It’s really hard to put into words.”

“It’s akin to saying ‘that’s funny’ instead of genuinely laughing,” Christine suggested.

“Yes!” He smacked the rim of the steering wheel with both hands. “Yes! Yes! Yes! That’s exactly what it is!” He rested his hands in his lap.

“And sometimes I… feel like she doesn’t actually love me back, either. You know, we’ve never had sex.”

Christine gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. In fact, she barely touches me. I’ve seen her in her underwear, but—” He snickered and snorted.

“What?”

“I’ve had sex with you—twice. You aren’t even my girlfriend, either.” He shook his head. “It’s really weird to think about because her smiles are genuine. You think I’m full of contradictions.”

“No, I don’t,” Christine said.

“You don’t?”

“No. Humans are just messy, Alex. You seem contradictory because you’re a messy human who happens to have a relationship that brings him so much pain.”

“Not just bringing me pain,” he corrected her. “You’re lucky I’m even willing to talk about it.” He fetched up a sigh as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Her smiles are genuine?” she recalled as she picked up her purse from the floor. “You know who else had a genuine smile? Ted Bundy.”

He chuckled at that. “Jeffrey Dahmer, too. And John Wayne Gacy. And Charles Manson.”

“Nelly and I have been referring to her as Captain Howdy,” Christine confessed, and he laughed out loud at that. And then he stopped when he realized what she had said.

“Nelly? The lunch lady?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you this but,” she started, to which she cleared her throat. “—I’ve been talking about you with her, simply because I wanted to not feel as alone.”

“Man, you should have told me that sooner, I would have figured it out,” he confessed to her, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Figured what out?”

“She’s been acting almost avoidant towards me, like she’s hiding something,” he explained. “That’s probably why, too.” He then turned to her and took off his glasses. “I assume she knows that you told me about her knowing about all of this, too.”

“Yeah, I ran it by her and she very reluctantly agreed to it,” Christine assured him.

“At least it’s her and not one of those four girls who sit behind you in Mr. Hansen’s class,” he pointed out. “By the way, Matt and Nate were telling me that you and those three guys all called them—” He chuckled, a nice hearty deep one that came from deep within him. “—the Sundaes.”

“Because they literally looked like hot fudge ice cream sundaes,” she explained. “With their black and white leather jackets and red lips. They all loved it, though.”

“This bakery here has hot fudge donuts, I should probably tell you this now. They are ridiculously good, too.”

“You got your tummy from those, didn’t you,” she teased him.

“Nah, I got my tummy from a multitude of things,” he promised her with a gentle pat of his little belly. “One of those things is cannoli. Oh, god, get me away from cannoli!” He threw his hands up onto the ceiling and tilted his head back. “Help! I have a cannoli addiction! I have the problem with eating too many cannoli and getting too full in the belly I can’t seem to stop!”

Christine giggled at him, and he smoothed back his hair once more.

“Anyway, less talk more breakfast,” he declared, and the two of them climbed out together. The rain fell down over their heads in fine form, but it was enough for her to pull her hood over her head as they made their way inside for a pair of those donuts plus a pair of ham and cheese croissants fresh out of the oven. No bones about it, indeed.

She trusted him in that he could spoil her for the day, but she still thought about helping him again somewhere along the way, especially when he became so emotional on that morning back at the school. She thought about things he could worry about like his rent and of course, a potential wedding between him and Captain Howdy. She inwardly snickered at the thought of paying for a wedding all out of her pocket as a means of getting inside of Captain Howdy’s mind and fooling her that way, but she knew that she would have to save most of her money to even so much as pay for the catering.

After breakfast, Alex took her to a cute little bookstore up the street which also had a rack of movies for about a buck-fifty. He picked up one box from the rack and raised his eyebrows at the sight of it as Christine walked on over with a book about art glass tucked under her arm.

“What you got there?” she asked him.

“American Hot Wax—one of the movies that got me into music next to The Blues Brothers.” He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It’s mainly out of print, but sometimes, if it comes up in conversation, I’m there.”

“I’ve never even heard of it,” Christine confessed with a shake of her head and a shrug of her shoulders. He turned to her and nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Here, I’ll get it for you,” he said without a second thought.

“No, no, Alex, I can’t,” she quipped. “I mean, you barely have any money on you right now.”

“No, I want you to have it. Don’t worry about the money, I’ll take care of it. Besides, it’s only a buck-fifty. It’s like a cup of coffee.”

Something caught her eye and she turned her head for a look at another picture disk there on the rack, right on full frontal display, and one with a photograph of a long row of people up on a stage dressed in formal clothes. At the center of it all was a tall man with a mop of curly black hair. Even at a small level, she recognized that plume of silver at the crown of the head.

“Is this you?” she asked him as she picked it off the shelf for a better look.

“That’s me. I was in Trans-Siberian Orchestra for a whole decade. You ever go to a show with a big band that almost sounds like an orchestra and the production is surprisingly vast?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Christine said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Oh my god! I have to take you to a show now. They tour every December into New Year’s.”

“Could I bring my parents?”

“You sure can! We’ve been on TV and performed in front of huge crowds like you wouldn’t believe. I’m glad you found that because it got me thinking about classical music, now. I really wanted to dance with you in that room, but I never could because we had no music on hand.”

Christine held the disk to her chest along with the book, both of which he was happy to buy for her.

When they climbed back into the car, the rain had stopped, but the cold only left her wanting to snuggle closer to him. She brought her lips up to his ear as if she was about to kiss him there.

“Come away with me,” she whispered right into his ear. “Come to the coast with me and Eric.”

He raised his eyebrows and put on his glasses once again.

“When are you guys leaving?”

“June third,” she said.

“Really! That far away.”

“Yup, we’re going to be out there for a full week.”

He swallowed, and she could see a glimmer of fear in his eyes from behind those lenses.

“If I get the full-time position and I start making some money, I’ll see if I can pitch in with you guys.”

“That is so sweet,” she told him with a hand to her chest. He fired up the car again and peered over his glasses at the clock on the dashboard.

“Ten-thirty…” He lifted his head and fixed his glasses.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him.

“Let me take you down to Coney Island,” he decreed.

“Right now? Alex, it’s November.”

“It’s open,” he pointed out with a shrug. “It’s Saturday so it’s open, plus there’s no one there.”

Christine sighed through her nose and showed him a smile.

“Let’s do it,” she said.

It wasn’t that much of a drive but the way down to Coney Island always felt like some kind of adventure for her, especially after her parents divorced and her father moved near there. Indeed, she pictured him there at the front gate as they took that sweet parking spot there at the very front.

Just as Alex had said, they were alone aside from a few vendors and the person who tended to the Teacups.

“Some churros, my Strawberry Girl?” he suggested to her.

“Ooh, yes, please!”

It was right then that she didn’t care how much she was eating or how much he was spending on her. And it was when the crispy fresh churro straight out of the fryer hit her tongue when she realized that she could do this forever.

They walked along the heavy, aged wooden boards of the Boardwalk, right along the rim of the cold Atlantic waters that seemed to stretch on for infinity right before her eyes.

“When things are better, we’ll ride the Teacups and the roller coasters,” he promised her.

“Together?” she asked him with her mouth full of churro.

“Together, of course.” He stopped at the one carnival game with the balloons on the board, and he handed the guy inside a dollar for four darts.

He held one by the fins and chucked it at the balloon closest to him, and it instead popped the neighboring one. The next one popped another one, followed by the third: he only missed one, but he still won her a bright purple teddy bear.

“So soft and sweet,” she said as she held it close to her chest.

“It was a cinch,” he assured her with a little gyration to his head; he thanked the guy behind the corner and they kept on walking towards the other end of the Boardwalk.

“My dad lives about a block from here,” she told him.

“Really?”

“Yeah. My mom lives right across the hall from me.”

“So cool that you’re close to your parents. She—you know—she—was always so turbulent with her parents, especially her father. Kind of explains everything to be honest…” His voice trailed off, and a gust of cold wind swept over them. The sky overhead swirled with the darkness of more rain and probably snow as well.

“The temperature dropped,” he declared, and he turned to her. “Did you feel it?”

“I did!”

“We better get our asses home,” he proclaimed.

“Good idea,” she replied as she tugged her hood over her head and tucked her teddy bear closer to her chest. She tossed the empty churro container into a nearby trash can and the two of them hurried back to the front gate. They passed the shuttered churro stand when the rain fell in sheets once again over their heads. They bowed out of there right as the rain turned into sleet. Alex nearly dropped the keys but he caught them with his thigh, and he unlocked the car as fast as he could.

Christine ducked inside of the front seat and shut the door before anything could get wet. Alex let out a low whistle and smoothed down his wet hair.

“Jesus—” he muttered. He started up the car and fired up the windshield wipers.

“It’s been some time since I’ve seen my dad, too,” she added.

“Wanna go over there real quick and say hi?” he suggested.

“I don’t see why not. I usually call him for his birthday and for Father’s Day, but he works long hours and I’m also in school, so it’s not like I’ve had too many opportunities to see him. I pretty much grew up as a daddy’s girl, too.”

He smiled at that and, very carefully, and by her direction, he drove her to his apartment complex, exactly one block away from Coney Island.

“This is where all the rich people live,” he noted. “And yes, I would totally know this, too.”

She chuckled as he brought her up to the front door, twin glass doors under a protective awning that looked to be made of paper over the walkway.

“Want me to just ring the buzzer and see if he’s there?” she suggested.

“Yeah, and if he’s home, I’ll find a place to park,” he told her. Christine rested her teddy bear on the center console between them and, with her hood over her head, she ducked out to the downpour, which had returned to straight rain; but she knew it would be snow soon enough. She strode along the walkway to the doors as well as the buzzer on the side.

She was about to reach up for his buzzer when a loud crack caught her off guard. A hole had opened in the awning right over her head and rain water fell through onto her head. At least she had her hood on.

“Holy shit!”

Shaking her hands about, she turned around back to the street, and Alex sprinted over to her, around the awning as most of it collapsed right then and there.

He put his arms around her and held her close, even though she was completely drenched.

“Are you okay?”

She breathed hard as though she had just ran a mile, but she was fixated on the warmth of his body despite the cold rain. His warmth in spite of the cold.

“Christine, are you okay?”

She lifted her head up to him as the raindrops fell in sheets over their heads and shoulders. His black hair spread over the sides of his face as if he had just been submerged in the ocean waters nearby there. The rims of his glasses were dotted with little droplets: his head protected her from any extra water that could come down through the hole in the awning over them.

She reached up and put her arms around his neck, and she stood up on her tiptoes to reach his face for the kiss in the rain. She held back for a look into his eyes.

“I take that as a ‘yes,’” he said in a soft enough voice for her to hear over the rain. “Come on, let’s go back to my place, get you dried off…”

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