#but i like the ending. i so desperately want to know what paul was thinking about ch 25. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

makeyoumine69 · 10 days

Text

Memory Reboot x2

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

SUMMARY: After wrestling with the lingering thoughts of Bateman, you finally found yourself open to Paul Allen's offer — a life-changing opportunity. But despite your resolve, you couldn't shake the need for closure. Determined, you sought one last encounter with Patrick, intent on resolving the unsaid and the undone before the cityscape of New York faded into your past.

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, mutual pining, obsessive behavior, desperate & sensual foreplay, anal fingering, pegging, sex toys, face riding, penetrative sex, rimming (Patrick receiving), oral sex (69, blowjobs), edging, biting, spanking, cum shot, masturbating, praise kink, body worship, drug usage, pet names, dirty talk, needy Patrick, misogyny, swearing, gaslighting, manhandling, mind manipulation.

WORDS: 8.7k

SONG REC: VØJ, Narvent — Euphoria

A/N: Hello everyone, I'm sorry it took me quite long to write this, I hope you like it! If you find any mistakes regarding gn!reader, please let me know!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [CHAPTER 1].

The clock’s ticking was the only sound in the opulent meeting room of Pierce & Pierce office. Your heart seemed to beat to the rhyme of ticking, while you were nervously spinning the thin cigarette in your hands but never really trying to actually smoke; the glass ashtray in front of you would probably be left empty till the end of the day. It was even funny how drastically things changed after that…moment of privacy you shared with Bateman. Starting from that, you couldn’t really get him out of your head, even though it has already been several weeks of your pretending game of “nothing had happened” between you and Patrick. It was a matter of time, when your colleagues would start to notice your strange behavior whenever you and Bateman were in one room.

Squeezing the cigarette between your shaky fingers, you turned around in the leather chair to look at the New York skyline through the wide window. ‘That it is not an exit,’ echoed in your ears and you tried to shake the nervousness off from your tense shoulders, but the more you were being alone, the more surrounding space was weighing on you as if you were on the very bottom of the Pacific ocean.

The moment the door swung open and Timothy Bryce entered the meeting room, you were more in control of yourself. “Hey, Tim. Haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Sorry, (y/n). Had a business call with some delusional prick.” Bryce snarled and took a seat across from you.

“Delusional prick?”

"Yeah, you know...delusional," he chuckled and glanced at the cigarette in your hand, which was still more like an accessory. "The guy thought I gave a fuck about his life and his wife, who used to be a whore, by the way."

With a soft snicker, you made yourself more comfortable in your chair, throwing one leg over another. “Wanna smoke?”

“Yep,” he leaned over the table to take the cigarette, your fingers touched for a moment but none of you paid attention. “So, what happened? Why did you want to see me?”

Confused, you took a moment to think about your answer. You worried a lot about picking the right words, but now you were even more anxious. ‘I just need to tell him the truth and that’s all,’ you reassured yourself before turning to face Tim. “Well, the thing is - I’m quitting P & P.”

Tim’s face remained unchanged for a second, but then the man furrowed his brows, tilting his head and rubbing his ear as if he didn’t hear. “You're what? Quitting?”

"Right," you gave him a half-smile and continued. "Recently, I received a very... very good offer from one company in Chicago."

“Jesus Christ. Chicago? Really?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Bryce lit the cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “Who the fuck even gave you this idea? And why so sudden? You have such a good job here, with a good salary and…” He paused and blew a few rings of smoke. “Do those bastards pay well?”

Laughing heartily, you crossed your arms over your chest and watched the smoke dividing the room in two with a white veil. “So many questions. Are you interested in leaving Pierce & Pierce too?” That was not a serious question, since you knew that Bryce was more than satisfied with his job. “If I say who recommended that place to me, will you keep it a secret?” Tim nodded even before you could say something else. “I was at one P&P party, that one you decided to skip a week ago. So, there I met Paul Allen and we talked a bit and he mentioned that he just came back from his business trip from Chicago…we had a long conversation, but as a result he proposed to me to think about the option to change my current job.”

All the time while you were speaking, Tim was glancing at you with wide open eyes, his prominent brows curling up and down whenever you mentioned Paul Allen’s name. It was always funny for you to watch Bateman & Co getting so frustrated and annoyed whenever Allen was around or whenever someone discussed his success with having the Fisher account. To say the least, his ability to get a reservation at Dorsia. ‘I’m not gonna tell any of them that Allen offered me dinner in Dorsia after that party.’

“So you were unsatisfied with your job all this time and didn’t say anything? That sucks, (y/n). Didn’t expect that to come, not gonna lie,” Bryce made a low sound which was very similar to growling, but at the same time it also sounded like a scoff. “But, if that really is what you want, then who am I to judge you? We have only one life to fulfill all our needs, right?”

Timothy’s statement was like a balm to your soul, that was exactly what you hoped he would tell you and when he did, you felt some kind of relief washing over you like a breeze of fresh air.

“Thank you, Tim,” you finally grinned and put your elbows on the table. “Glad you didn’t start to read me notations.”

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“Him?” You squinted and tilted your head; your intuition was screaming that something was so damn wrong.

“Bateman,” with a sly smile, Bryce put the cigarette out in a glass ashtray; his glance was eloquent but you never really managed to read it. “I bet he will be upset. Very upset.”

“Bryce ” you rolled your eyes. ‘Is he lying or…?’ That question remained unspoken. “Leave these cheesy jabs to yourself, okay?”

Tim only laughed at your weak attempt to threaten him and stood up from the table. “You know, I saw him with Jean in Arcadia last night…” Now this information could come in handy… “I think they had some kind of date or something, huh,” he chuckled again and fixed his tie, giving the picture on the opposite wall a scrutinizing glance. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but something is definitely happening. In my opinion, you should tell him about your…unexpecting leaving, you know.”

Before you could respond, Timothy Bryce looked at you one last time and left the meeting room. Now, you were left alone but not really alone as the weight of the newfound information lay on your shoulders like two massive dumbbells. ‘If everything is too obvious for Bryce, what other things might the others think about me and Bateman?’ That was a rhetorical question mostly, but still you couldn’t even get up from the chair, sensing the strange, chilling fear inside your chest—what if you were mistaken with accepting the offer of a new job?

Gritting your teeth, you snarled and almost kicked the table from beneath, your palms were clenching and unclenching, thankfully no one could see you like this. Swiftly but nervously, you finally stood up and headed out from the meeting room, striving to avoid any of your soon-to-be-ex colleagues on your way to Bateman’s office.

How many times have you rehearsed the words you were going to say while you were walking up there? Countless. But still, when you entered Patrick's office and saw his lovely secretary, everything inside you froze - words, emotions, even your breath.

“Hi, Jean,” you mumbled, with a half-smile on your slightly tensed face. “Looking good.”

“Uh, thank you,” the blonde woman replied and fixed the stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

As soon as you heard the echo of Patrick's voice through the office door, a lump formed in your throat and you had to cough several times because of the unpleasant dryness.

“Well,” you paused and glanced at the closed door with a nameplate ‘Patrick Bateman’ on it. “You would help me a lot if you let me have a private conversation with your boss.”

“Patrick is,” her voice suddenly wavered, implying that something was wrong. “He’s busy right now.”

“Oh,” you stepped back involuntarily. “Okay, I can come later.”

“No,” Jean replied curtly. “I’m sorry, but today is not an option at all.”

‘Is that some kind of joke?’ You hummed to yourself, already regretting coming here in the first place. “All right then. Have a nice day, Jean.” Turning around you already stepped out from the office when you head her voice:

“(Y/n), wait. Oh, I hope I pronounced your name correctly.” She blushed once you came back inside. “I think I can tell him about your visit, when he will be less busy.”

That offer was not something you would expect. “Actually, that would be nice,” you clicked on your tongue, considering your next steps. “Tell him that I have a reservation at Dorsia at eight o’clock–”

“Today?” Her question cut off your bluffing. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

You just grinned politely in return. “Yep, today. Tell him…that I need to talk with him about business and stuff. And, that it would be probably the last chance for him to catch up with me.” Jean’s eyes widened for a moment, but you reassured her instantly. “No drama, just changing my job.”

“Uh, that was probably a tough decision?”

“Not really,” you winked at her and crossed your arms over the chest. “But don’t tell him about that, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” She tried to hide her confusion behind a warm smile but failed. “I’ll tell him that you will be waiting for him at Dorsia tonight and that this conversation is very important.”

“Uh-huh,” you hummed and for a moment just stood there, looking at the closed office door. “Thank you, darling. For everything.”

You made a special accent on the word ‘darling’, purposely embarrassing her and leaving no room for any questions and other stuff that would make a current situation even more fucked up.

After you left Bateman’s office you had to find Allen as only half of what you told Jean was actually bluffing—you knew that Paul had a reservation at Dorsia tonight, considering he was inviting you for dinner. Allen’s strange interest in you wasn’t your top priority at that moment but using it for your sake was something you couldn’t deny at such a situation. So when you finally found Paul in one of the meeting rooms, you persuaded him to give you that reservation, explaining that you wanted to show one of your colleagues Dorsia before you would leave New York and move to Chicago. And even though everyone would find out that that colleague was Patrick Bateman, you wouldn't’ care since you would be far away from here.

A few hours later, the melodious voice of Whitney Houston reverberated off the walls of the opulent living room in Bateman's apartment, the lyrics of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody," which Patrick knew perfectly, striking a chord in his chest every time the song came on.

But today everything was different.

Everything, except some random blonde bimbo who was on her knees between Bateman’s spread legs, sucking his thick cock but not actually giving him any pleasure. Frustrated, the man tugged on her hair without any compassion, bringing her closer, so her nose was almost brushing against his hairy pubis. But almost immediately, the woman began to whimper and claw at the perfect skin of his hips, and he didn't like it.

“What? Already tired?” Bateman sneered and fixated the blonde’s head in one place for a moment by her neck. “Or is that your first time? Then, I’m so fucking honored!"

As soon as the man let the blonde go, she pushed him away and sat back on her ass, breathing heavily. “Are you crazy?” the bimbo inquired and pressed a hand to her half-exposed breasts, her whole appearance looked messy. “I was about…t-to choke on your fucking dick!”

Sighing, Bateman rolled his eyes and just stretched out on the couch, lazily stroking his half-hard shaft. "So, this is your first time?" The woman hesitated to answer, which only made Patrick mock her even more. "Did you tell me that you have a boyfriend? And he works at P&P, right?"

Wiping her mouth with undisguised contempt, the blonde started to get up, but Patrick stepped on the hem of her dress and she almost fell. "Marcus! Stop it!"

"Uh, look at you," the man chuckled, watching her feeble attempts to get up. "Such a pathetic little bitch, pathetic and greedy," the man added, giggling. "Ready to give head to every vice president at Pierce & Pierce! Your boyfriend should be so proud of you."

The woman was on the verge of tears when Bateman finally allowed her to get up and collect her things. She had been in such a hurry that she had left her panties on the glass coffee table. All this gave Patrick much more pleasure than the blonde's inexperienced blowjob.

"Ask your boyfriend to teach you how to suck dicks," he blurted out as the woman rushed into the hallway, rifling through her purse looking for something. "Since he's probably a pro at that sort of thing."

But the girl was already gone. So the man could only laugh to himself, so proud of his cheeky jabs, if only he didn't feel like a schoolboy dreading his upcoming meeting with his teacher. With a heavy sigh, Bateman closed his eyes for a second, his cock was already soft, but his sac were still tense and full of his cum; he felt too unsatisfied with himself, which only made things worse.

What was it even for?

The man could just take some coke, lie down on his bed, close his eyes and think of you—that was enough for him to cum so hard that he had to go to the laundry almost every day because he ran out of sheets. But today was different, considering that Patrick was going to meet you, and not just anywhere, but in fucking Dorsia. It seemed that everyone in this town could get a res there, but not him.

Biting his lower lip, the man looked down at the throbbing cock in his hand - the mere thought of you was making him horny as hell. "Shit…" If only he could reboot his memory and get rid of that scene in the Tunnel. If only. Meanwhile, the Whitney Houston tape continued to play the song "Where Do Broken Hearts Go". Bateman doubted he would be able to masturbate, he was too nervous and stressed out, even imagining you while that bitch was giving him head didn't work. Although it usually did. "Dorsia, huh," the man giggled nervously and checked his Rolex - he still had plenty of time. As if spellbound, Patrick slid to the floor and kicked off his leather shoes, his red tie already loosened and his pants hiked down. Leaning against the couch, Bateman threw his head back and began to jack off, recalling the forbidden, sinful sensations of your hand sliding along his hot flesh. "Mmm-fuck," he moaned and shivered, his free hand already gripping the edge of the white couch, several beads of sweat running down his tense temples. What if today he finally found the courage to confess? Confess that all these days had been a fucking torture for him, that he was ready to crawl on the walls from how much he longed for you, not even physically, but mentally. Maybe, just maybe, your reassurance that everything was not over for him, that maybe he still had a chance to have some normalcy in this cruel world—could change everything?

"Fuck, f-fuck!" Patrick cursed, sensing that his impending orgasm was slipping away from him just by reflecting on the things that were happening between the two of you. Jerking off and thinking about your sexy voice, your hot body and your cheeky smile was one thing, it always turned him on better than anything else, but thinking about the complexity of your relationship… that was not a turn-on for him. Not at all. Cursing to himself, Patrick slicked back his auburn hair and quickly got up to stagger to the bathroom, where he nervously opened the cabinet behind the mirror and found a small white jar of pills. Xanax was his only stress reliever so far. Taking a deep, almost desperate breath, Bateman looked at his reflection, his bloodshot eyes full of tears that threatened to cascade down like a waterfall. "This is not an exit." Patrick told his reflection, but opened the jar anyway and took a handful of pills. Frustrated, unsatisfied, he didn't know how he was going to survive dinner with you, and Dorsia was the last thing on his mind. "Because I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared."

Luckily, the marble walls of his bathroom were the only witnesses to his downfall.

Dawn came to New York faster than you could imagine. All the way to Dorsia you were nervous, but still confident in the plan you had made earlier that day. Even though you had failed in your previous attempt to dot the T's at the Tunnel, today would be different, you were sure of it. ‘I don't even know why, though,’ you chuckled to yourself, and the taxi driver gave you a concerned glance, but you just shrugged it off, signaling him to concentrate on the road.

In the restaurant everything looked the same as when you were here with Paul Allen, but this time you were not the one who was invited, but the one who invited another person—named Patrick Bateman—and speaking of whom, was late and that made you quite anxious. ‘What if he just doesn’t come?’ This thought made you fidget in the chair, your hands fumbling with the napkin on your knees and after telling the waiter for the second time that you were expecting someone else to come, your fingers became cold as if they were frozen.

“Maybe I can bring you some drinks?” The waiter didn’t give up, spurring you to order at least something to drink.

Quickly running a hand across your strained face, you exhaled loudly and nodded. “Yeah, drinks,” you stummered when you looked past the waiter, noticing the familiar elegant silhouette coming close to your table. “Can you…bring…some water?”

Confused, the waiter glanced down at the full glass of water next to you. “Uh, more water?”

“(Y/n),” Bateman’s voice echoed across the space. “I hope I didn't make you wait for so long,” he chuckled and took a seat at the table. “Had some important business affairs.” The moment he noticed the confused waiter, Patrick gave him his most sassy smile and checked his Rolex for no reason, probably just to show them out. “Can you please bring me a glass of J&B and some fresh salad to your taste.”

‘A salad, really?’ You almost snickered, but instead your face turned into a neutral expression. "Business, huh?"

Bateman rested more comfortably in his chair after the waiter finally left. "You know, some affairs with blonde hair and long legs, big tits and an amazing ass."

That came out of nowhere.

Still calm, you watched the man across from you smile, surely proud of himself and so damn bossy it was almost absurd. "You mean someone in particular, don't you?"

“Oh, yeah,” Patrick put his both elbows on the table, clasping his hands, revealing his gold Rolex once again. “Her name is Stephany, if I’m not mistaken, she’s a girlfriend of one of our accountants,” the man paused before snickering. “That one who makes monthly reports, you know him. So, I’m a bit late because I couldn't leave such a lovely girl without a treat she deserved.”

Right now, you didn't care if it was true or not—his well-framed—confidence was something you found very interesting and even amusing, as it was proof that he was preparing for this dinner just like you were.

"And that's when I thought vice presidents actually worked at Pierce & Pierce." With a slight grin, you joked and finally took a sip of water, feeling your throat suddenly go dry, just like when you were talking to Jean earlier.

Bateman's sudden laugh rang out like shattered glass. "'C'mon, (y/n), don't pretend you don't know that-"

"I know that your father owns almost half of the company," you interrupted him abruptly, and he wasn't happy about it. "And that gives you certain privileges."

"Don't be envious. It doesn't suit you."

"Envious?" You set the glass of water aside. "I think it was me who invited you here so that you could finally visit Dorsia… at least once."

The air between the two of you was thick with venom and something even more poisonous. Nevertheless, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't think Bateman was acting like the jerk he undoubtedly was. But, to be honest, you expected him to act a little less smug.

"I still think this place is overrated," Patrick hissed through clenched teeth right as the waiter brought him his whiskey and salad with sliced vegetables and some cheese, which he didn't even touch, taking a big gulp of his drink. "So, uh, Jean told me you wanted to talk to me about something important. What is it?"

The waiter didn't even try to offer to check the menu again and retreated, but he would definitely come back later with the same request, since you hadn't ordered anything yet.

"Well, it doesn't seem to matter anymore," you suddenly declared, crumpling the paper napkin before dropping it on the finest tablecloth. "The thing is—I'm quitting P&P and moving to Chicago. That's it. Nothing special, really."

The moment of silence washed over them both like a tidal wave. Visibly shocked, Bateman just sat there, then nervously straightened his tie and looked around as if to call for help. 'Not so ballsy anymore, Patty?' There was something about the way he was humiliated, something that stirred a burning flame in your gut that came dangerously close to burning you alive from the inside. And again, you would be lying to yourself if you pretended you could control it.

"Chicago?" Patrick repeated as if he hadn't heard correctly.

"Why do both you and Bryce react as if Chicago were a desert island?"

"Heh," Bateman rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair. "So Bryce knows everything. Why am I not surprised?"

"I'd tell you more," that was the moment you'd been waiting for so long—the moment of his vulnerability, and you couldn't stop yourself like a shark who sensed blood in the water. "Paul Allen was the one who actually recommended this job to me."

Patrick's jaw clenched at the mention of Paul Allen. "Really?"

"Yes," you continued to corner him. "One day we were having dinner, here, in Dorsia," you grinned, catching every little change in Bateman's no longer confident face. "He said one of his buddies was starting a new company, and they were looking for specialists… like me."

"Well," he began, sliding his hand across the table's surface as if to calm down. "Good for you, (y/n). Congratulations!" That was the most fake 'congratulations' you ever heard, even though you were expecting a slightly different reaction. "But I don't understand. Why didn't you talk to me before? Before you made your decision."

This question almost made you choke. 'Did he really say that?' And just as you were about to answer, the waiter came across the table again, choosing the perfect moment. Before he could offer to check the menu, you raised your hand in an irritating gesture. "Bring me a vodka and orange juice," Patrick's eyebrows arched almost immediately. "Double vodka, please."

"Yes, s-sure." The waiter stuttered before taking the crumpled napkin and walking away, very stressed.

Without giving yourself time to think, you leaned against the table and muttered. "Why should I? We are not friends."

"Of course not," Bateman scowled, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the black pinstriped suit outlining his physique perfectly. "Not after you gave me a decent handjob in the Tunnel bathrooms."

Patrick caught you off guard by injecting this argument so blatantly into the conversation. "Decent? It was fucking amazing." You growled and quickly turned around to see if anyone was paying attention to your table, and when you were sure there was nothing to worry about, you faced Patrick again. "Too amazing, considering you seem to be thinking about it all the time."

"W-what? I… I didn't…"

Sneering, you tapped your fingers on the table in nervous anticipation of your drinks, even though you hadn't planned on drinking any alcohol, wanting to keep yourself as sober as possible for the dinner and everything that might or might not happen afterwards.

"Relax, Bateman," you rested your chin on your clasped hands, finally allowing yourself to examine his handsome appearance, including the way his cheeks were tinged with a red hue. "You've said too much already."

And from that moment on, you began to feel relaxed, even pleased with all the things Patrick revealed to you, accidentally or not, you would use every little detail to your own advantage when the time came.

A little later, when the waiter finally brought your cocktail, you finished it too quickly, so you asked for it to be repeated under the attentive hazel eyes of the man sitting on the other side of the table. The more drunk you got, the more topics you discussed, but when you mentioned Paul Allen again, you noticed that Patrick's good mood was fading.

"Wait a minute!" You held out a hand to stop him from jumping from one topic to another. "Can you tell me why the mere mention of Paul Allen triggers you so much? Is there something between you two?"

Bateman couldn't hold back a loud, hearty laugh. "That joke's too tasteless even for Bryce," he finished his whiskey, the salad still untouched on the table in front of him. "Allen…he's…not the person he tries to pretend to be."

"Oh?"

"I think he's part of that Yale thing."

You narrowed your eyes and leaned in closer. "Yale thing? What do you mean?"

Patrick quickly licked his lips, not expecting you to delve further into the subject. "Well, I think he's probably a closeted homosexual who likes to do a lot of coke and have orgies with male hookers."

At first you just giggled out loud, not caring that some people were looking at you, but then your face suddenly became serious. "How do you know about that? Did he tell you or…" you smiled playfully. "Did he do something… that made you think so," you bit your lower lip and drank the last drop of your cocktail with unabashed thirst. "That sounds strange…very strange."

"You're drunk, (y/n)," Bateman murmured, tilting his hand as if thinking about something. "Too drunk, which gives me the impression that you're as much of an amateur at drinking as you are at doing coke."

"Uh, s-shut up."

"See? Can't even speak words."

"Maybe...maybe I am drunk, now what? Are you gonna be a fucking gentleman like you always try to be and offer me a ride? Or maybe," you fixed your hair nonchalantly, your vision slightly blurred. "Would you be brave enough to show me your apartment?"

As soon as those words came out of your mouth, you knew there was no turning back, and your inner voice, which usually kept you from doing shit you would regret, seemed to fall asleep from the high level of alcohol in your system.

The man across from you straightened up at your bold suggestion, reading the subtext with ease. "Is that what you want? For me to take you to my place?"

His question hung in the air for a moment before you managed to come up with an answer, but you didn't know how to get out of this situation and turn it into a joke, as you usually did. Maybe you just didn't want to get out of it? Just like you didn't want to let him go when he helped you get up from the table after he'd paid for dinner and the two of you were in a cab. Not to mention when you almost fell down and the man caught you in his arms, but there was still a barrier between the two of you—an invisible wall—the only line that kept you apart. The line that was too dangerous to cross, but too tempting not to think about what lay behind it.

By the time the cab pulled up at the American Gardens Building, you were half asleep on Bateman's shoulder, his Lancome cologne not helping at all, making your mind even more cloudy. But you did your best to get out of the car without his help, letting the cool fresh air bring you some relief and clarity.

In the elevator, Patrick began to mumble about his musical preferences, but you didn't really pay attention because your brain was overworked trying to come up with a plan B in case things went too far. 'As if they hadn't gone too far already,' your inner voice suddenly tried to break through the thick layers of alcohol, affection and uncontrollable desire.

Bateman's apartment looked exactly as you had imagined—opulent, stylish, and very minimalist. Everything seemed to be in its place, including you, standing next to the tall window in his living room.

"Not a bad view," you admitted, taking off the jacket of your suit. "Not Central Park, but not bad at all."

"Central Park?" Patrick asked, hiding in the kitchen, which was perfectly connected to the living room, but you couldn't see him behind the wall as he examined the large number of different kitchen knives.

"Yeah, you know, Paul Allen's apartment faces Central Park, looks really fancy," you didn't mean to hurt Bateman's feelings, but the moment you turned around and saw him, it was obvious that your words had reached him. "But, I really prefer your place...it's more modern for my taste."

Puzzled, Patrick didn't hurry to join you in the living room, his thin fingers never ceasing to slide up and down the sharp blade in his hand, but at the very last moment, the man put the knife back in its place. With deliberate steps, he walked out of the kitchen and approached his stereo system.

"Really?" He asked in disbelief, as if his life depended on your answer.

Such a reaction from him was oddly appealing, the vulnerability, the desperation in his brown eyes. This was a level of satisfaction that no drug could ever match. Meanwhile, Bateman turned on the music, the charming voice of Phil Collins filling the room as "Invisible Touch" began to play.

The man was examining the tape in his hands when you slowly approached and gently cupped his face, inducing him to look at you. "Yes, I do," you confirmed your previous words, and when Patrick didn't flinch from your touch, you decided to go on, tracing your finger along his sensual lips, fighting the urge to kiss them here and now. "Speaking of preferences," you removed your hand only to place it on the lapel of his suit. "Would you be a good boy and give me a full tour of your apartment, including the bedroom?"

In any other situation, you would probably die from shame at saying something like that, but not now. Not with him, because no sooner had your question escaped your lips than you noticed that his hands were shaking, and the CD was about to fall out of them, so you had to gently grab it and pull it out of his hands. Bateman reminded you of a man struggling with addiction, every twitch of his plump lips, every furrow of his perfect eyebrows spoke volumes about the undeniable affection between the two of you, an affection you were both too exhausted to fight and hide.

Without further ado, you placed the CD on top of the stereo and pressed Patrick against the nearest wall, holding the lapels of his Valentino suit and sealing his hot mouth with yours, opening it wider with your tongue, so eager to taste him again after such a long wait.

"Mmhm," he purred into the kiss, his hands desperately wrapped around your waist, then going lower to cradle your hips, groping and squeezing a little too hard so that you had to bite his lip to make him stop, but the man just growled and pushed you closer, your groins rubbing against each other in the most lewd way possible. "Bedroom...go to the bedroom...and wait for me there."

Bateman's words right after the kiss sounded like nonsense, which you found oddly arousing. With a foxy smile, you licked his cheek, then his neck, almost biting the artery and sucking on the reading mark. "No, no, no, Bateman," you shook your head, grabbing his neck slightly to kiss him again, but he did it first. Even now Patrick was trying to take the lead, your tongues fighting for control like two snakes entwining around each other. "I'm in no mood for games or waiting."

The moment you said it, Bateman lifted you with practiced ease as if you weighed nothing, and you didn't even have a chance to protest as he began to move toward the closed room behind his white couch. In his arms, you finally felt complete, even if you let him take the lead for a while. Noticing the pair of panties on the glass coffee table, you wrapped your legs around him and buried your fingers in his silky hair, ruffling them and letting them fall on his forehead, making him look even hotter.

Jesus, you were on the verge of an explosion just from the foreplay alone.

Bateman's bedroom greeted you with stark white walls, the brightness of which was almost painful to look at as he turned on the light holding you with one arm, and the king-size bed on which he carefully placed you, but you didn't let him pull away, tugging at his tie and forcing him to lay on top of you.

"Fuck, look at you," Patrick grazed your earlobe before massaging your chest through your shirt and hovering over you. "So insatiable, aren't you? Running in circles like a trapped kitten."

Growling, you pulled him closer again to suck on his lower lip, letting your body rub against his so you could feel how hard he was, so painfully hard, considering the sound he made when you snaked your hand between his legs to cradle his bulge. "Are you gonna cum in your pants if I don't stop?"

With a determined persistence, you continued to massage his hard cock through the layers of his expensive clothes as you removed his jacket and then his suspenders, one by one. Bateman didn't interfere as he was also busy getting rid of your clothes without actually tearing them apart.

"Let me," you insisted as soon as you noticed him struggling to unbutton your shirt. "This is my favorite shirt, you know," you gasped, your own fingers trembling, making it difficult even for you to finally remove your shirt. "I don't want it to get torn."

When you finally got rid of the top part of your clothes, the sight of your exposed skin made Patrick grunt in hunger, and the next second the man was already sucking on your nipple, his muscular frame shaking on top of you from your teasing ministrations on his twitching dick and hard balls. Damn, you wanted to suck him dry as much as you wanted to ruin him until he forgot his own name.

"Don't like it anyway," Bateman muttered suddenly, holding your hands above your head. "You need to go to some... fashion shows... maybe you will have more free time in Chicago, considering Paul Allen offered you this job. I'm sure it would be some boring shit."

‘Good Lord, he mentioned him again…’ You rolled your eyes and turned away from his face, eliciting a low rumble from Patrick's massive chest. "What the fuck is wrong with Paul... are you... jealous of him or something?"

"Me?" he asked, confused and you took the opportunity to release your hands and roll over so that you were now on top of him. "I'm not the one bragging about having dinner with him in fucking Dorsia!"

Bateman sounded like a little boy who was upset that no one wanted to play with him, which made you giggle, but then you straddled him and opened his white shirt and removed his tie.

"The more you talk," you murmured as you ran your hands along the smooth skin of his torso, paying special attention to his toned pecs and abs. "The more you make me think you two had a history," you leaned down to teasingly lick his lips, your sneaky hands already working on the zipper of his pants. "But still, I don't care." In one swift motion, you pulled down his pants along with his boxers, watching his thick cock pop out, yearning for your attention. "Mhmm, the last time we were alone you worked me up really good, I wanna return the favor," your hands wrapped around the base of his beefy shaft, the small droplets of his pre-cum already covering its tip, forcing you to lick your lips in hunger. "If you have nothing else on your mind?"

Did you really care about his feelings since you asked him that question?

The man beneath you was definitely growing impatient, his hands gripping your hips as if he was about to imprint his fingerprints on your skin if you were not wearing your pants.

"Lie on your side," Bateman suggested suddenly. "Take off all your clothes and lie down here," he tapped the spot next to him and you stood up quickly, as if he had cast a spell on you. Never in your life did you get rid of your clothes faster than now. "Uh, what a cute ass you have, (y/n)."

You frowned at his words, giving him your dead stare as you slipped out of your underwear, giving him the full view—the glint in his hazel eyes was too much to ignore—so you turned around and presented yourself to him; Bateman couldn't help but lazily stroked himself, putting a hand under his head.

"Tell me, Bateman," you began, your hands slowly sliding down your bare skin. "Have you been thinking about me all this time?" You cupped your ass, bending over a little so he could see the spot right between your legs. "Or have you found a way to forget things you don't want to remember?"

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a second. "I wish there was a way to forget." Patrick murmured and watched as you lay on your side in the 69 position, then he did the same, his hot breath scorching the soft flesh between your thighs.

You wrapped your hands around his hips and eagerly took his drooling dick in your mouth, while he was lapping at your crotch. "Mm-fuck," you jerked against his face, your fingers digging deeper into his skin as Bateman feasted on you like the most delicious meal. "Me too, Bateman, m-me too."

Having said that, you swirled your tongue around the swollen tip of his veiny cock, causing a muffled moan to erupt from his mouth, its vibration sending shivers down the base of your spine, only spurring you on to go further, pushing his dick deeper into your mouth. Soon the room was filled with the soft, wet sounds of your shared oral pleasure, punctuated by soft but powerful moans and groans as you both teetered on the edge of ecstasy. Gripping your ass, Bateman responded to your actions with the same passion, devouring every drop of your flavor and giving you no chance to escape, his strong arms like ropes around your body. After giving his cock the attention it deserved, you decided to tease his heavy balls with light lapping on them, before slipping a finger inside his tight ass, you expected him to protest but instead you heard him moan and the next moment his hips began to move towards your penetrating movements.

"Good boy," you praised him, rolling your eyes at the way the man was sucking on your most sensitive spot. "Taking my finger so well..."

The coil in your lower abdomen was about to snap at any moment, but you still wanted more, you wanted to feel that cock inside you, even if it was going to rip you a apart. Breathlessly, you didn't even remember asking him about condoms, and how you managed to get out of bed and go to the closet, where you found a little box Bateman was talking about—its contents almost made you gasp in awe, so you decided to take it with you.

"Well, well," you crooned as you stepped back into the bedroom. "Should I ask you what this is or are you going to tell me?"

With a wide grin, you held out a large purple dildo, Patrick's eyes twitched and he gulped, leaning on his elbows. "I... I use it with hookers," the man confessed, licking his glistening lips covered with your juices. "Why?"

"Hmmm, you like watching women play with it?" You asked as you reached the bed. "How about actually using it and not just watching?"

Damn, you could swear you saw his breath catch in his throat, his muscles tense and his dick throbbing just at the mention of using that sex toy on him. 'So he likes that idea, what a naughty boy,' you chuckled to yourself and took your place on the bed next to him. "This is going to feel so good, baby," you brought the dildo to his lips, suggesting that he lick it for lubrication, and when he did, you could barely keep yourself from cumming, just from the sight of his tongue flicking around the tip of the silicone sex toy. "Get on your knees and let me take care of you."

"Fuck," Bateman cursed, but it was too late to turn back. Embarrassed but extremely aroused, the man got down on all fours and gave you full access to his firm ass, which you immediately fondled, spreading his buttocks and biting them one by one. "Mmh-hmm, (y/n)."

"Relax," you stroked his hips, kissing the lower part of his back just above the dimples that were too sexy to ignore. "God, you have such a beautiful body," you decided to praise him, knowing the effect it would have on him. "I would worship it forever if I could," which was only half true, or maybe...it was not. Leisurely, you showered his soft skin with little peaks here and there, dotting it with your marks of love, not even realizing that you were giving all of yourself to the process.

As you pressed the tip of the dildo against his puckered muscle ring, Patrick tensed at your touch, gripping the sheets and closing his eyes, so overwhelmed and confused at the same time, but your reassuring hand on his trembling one encouraged him to look back at you as you hovered over him to kiss his lips, his neck, his shoulder.

"(Y/n)," Bateman suddenly huffed through his clenched teeth. "I want you to..." he gasped as you flickered your wet finger around his tight asshole. "...fuck."

"You want me to feast on that delicious ass of yours?" You finished the sentence for him, grinning in pure gratification at his complete submission. "Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, y-yes," he grasped the sheets and positioned himself more comfortably on all fours— a clear sign that he was not used to this position and you couldn't miss it. "I want to feel your tongue... all over me."

"Shit, Bateman, you're a real sweet talker." With that you put the dildo on the bed next to you and before you knew it you were spreading his ass cheeks wide open to make a flat lick along his tight hole. "I wanna hear you," you gently but insistently probed his ass with your warm tongue, giving him several slaps on the buttocks that drove the man wild as you felt his velvet walls tighten around your tongue. "Good boy, c'mon, spread it out for me."

Blushing, Patrick used both hands to spread himself for your eager ministrations as you fucked him with your tongue while your hands traveled all around his hips before you wrapped one of them around his pulsating cock, fuck, he was so close, you could tell by the way his balls tensed when you gave them a slight squeeze.

"Don't cum until I let you," you commented and the next moment you were already pushing the sleek sex toy into his ass and this time he accepted it gradually, taking it in with ease—the sight made you gasp but you focused on giving him pleasure. "Tell me, Bateman, how does it feel?"

The question remained unanswered for a brief moment as you began to slid the dildo in and out, stimulating his prostate and causing him to shake and whimper in pure bliss, but when you decided to add fuel to the fire by jerking him off and sucking on his strained sac, Patrick could barely contain himself, his legs about to give way at any moment.

"F-fuck, a-aahhh, mmhhmm," he murmured into the pillow, his hands finding their way to your messy hair, gripping them almost to the point of pain. "I...c-can't...hold...it any longer," Bateman's wailing bounced off the walls of his luxurious bedroom, which had never seen anything like it before. "I..."

Though you wanted him to last longer, you were too overwhelmed yourself, feeling the string in your belly ready to burst. "Let it go," your words were like a balm to his ears as, just a moment later, his cock pulsed in your grasp, spraying loads of his thick cum across the Chinese sheets that Patrick had always been so fond of. "That's it…" You didn't stop fucking him with a dildo, nor did you stop pumping his throbbing dick, milking it until the last drop of his seed. "Good boy, you're such a good boy."

Panting, you pulled out the sex toy, covered in his slick, and brought it to his trembling lips, inducing him to suck it before taking it into your mouth, feeling the mixture of tastes on the tip of your tongue. Then, Bateman rolled onto his back, desperately gasping for air, his cock still hard. That was fucking phenomenal, but you didn't comment, thinking about your own orgasm at last. Locking your eyes with Patrick's hazel ones, you touched yourself the moment he beckoned you over, and without words, you mounted his flushed, sweaty face, riding it as desperately as you could, using his tongue and lips without shame. Tilting your head back, you grabbed his head and almost clawed at his scalp, feeling your insides about to fucking explode from the tension. So when you peaked, your scream could be heard all over Bateman's apartment. The orgasms you had before were nothing compared to this. It took everything from you, it made you die and rise again.

The final chord of the parade of shameless lust was when you let him fuck you in a way you didn't even expect. Spooning you from behind after he put the condom on, the man lifted your leg and sheathed himself inside of you till the hilt, making you feel so full you had to wrinkle the fabric underneath, but that was just the beginning as Bateman pulled you closer, trapping you in his arms like a cocoon, his tongue sliding around your ear shell with undisguised affection,

"Mmhmm, fuck, you're...so perfect," the man whispered into your ear, setting up the pace and resting his hand between your legs for extra stimulation. "Holy fuck! I'm cumming again, omh-shit..."

"Fuck m-me, yeah, just...l-like that...a-ahhh," you coaxed him to fuck you harder as you suddenly found yourself on the verge of climaxing again. "Gimme everything, baby, a-awww...goshhhhhhhh," you were the first to fall over the principle of pleasure, twitching along his body as if you were hit by the electric shock, all your nerves were on fire. "Bateman, mmhm-fuck-fuck! Your dick feels s-so good.."

Your vivid orgasm became the last straw for his second release as you felt him bite at your neck, his buffed frame shaking in spasms of pure rapture, you even had to hold back a scream from how painfully Patrick's hands squeezed your hips, but it was pleasurable pain of being ruined, of being fucked into a wet mess. Barely breathing, you didn't even remember how you passed out from exhaustion and for the first time in the last few days you fell asleep completely satisfied and happy.

When the first rays of sunlight crept through the blinds into Bateman's bedroom, you were already awake, as was he, but since you were lying with your back to his face, you didn't notice until the man kissed your shoulder, snuggled up against your neck, and made you roll over to face him.

As you did so, you dared to look directly into the brown eyes still clouded by the aftermath of your shared pleasure. "Hey." He muttered in a husky voice.

"Hey," you murmured back, hugging the pillow. "Did you sleep well?"

“Surprisingly—yes," the man stretched his arms, flexing his muscles and checking himself in the mirror on the other side of the room, which you hadn't even noticed. "(Y/n), I want you to go to the office and tell everyone that you're not going anywhere."

Shocked, you blinked several times, not knowing what to say as you hadn't expected anything like this.

With a nervous chuckle that turned into a hearty laugh, you rolled onto your back before sitting up on the bed. "Oh God, you're such a little Delulu, it's even funny," you looked at him—his face was nothing but a blank space without any visible emotions. "Did you really think that random sex would change my mind about changing jobs?" You chuckled again, louder this time. "I mean, the sex was really good, but... it's not like I'm going to give everything for this, you know?" With that, you got up from the bed and wrapped a blanket around yourself. "Can I take a shower?”

Trapped in the thought that only he could know, Patrick rolled onto his back, his eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the ceiling above him. "Yes," he murmured, barely audible. "Do whatever you want."

Walking towards the bathroom, you suddenly stopped and turned half around. "You better forget it," you said, savoring every word and finally returning the favor. "Maybe ask Paul Allen for advice," you grinned as you watched Bateman close his eyes in a feeble attempt to distance himself from everything that had happened. "Maybe he knows something about memory reboot machines that can help."

Without waiting for his answer, you continued on your way to the bathroom. Even though you were pleased with yourself, your revenge didn't taste sweet, but bitter, and its bitterness would remain on the tip of your tongue even after you washed yourself clean under the hot streams of water.

But the game was worth the candle, as they said.

Was it?

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x male reader #gn reader

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themisplaceddemigod · 3 months

Note

Submissive Percy with mommy kink pls 😩😩

im so sorry this took so long! i hope you like it :)

baby boy

Percy Jackson x F!Reader

summary - Percy is the subbiest sub to ever exist. and he has a very interesting kink, one you come to enjoy.

warnings - SMUT SMUT SMUT, minors DNI!!!!, p in v sex, sexual intercourse, sexual themes, all that

a/n - this is the book version of Percy, in case any of you haven't read my rules, i DO NOT write for the crappy (IMO, dont come at me) Disney+ show.

Percy was hardly ever the dom. He tried, he really did, but it usually always ended up with you on top of him, fucking him into the mattress while spewing the filthiest words you could think of.

"Come on baby, just like that."

You moaned as the son of Poseidon came inside of you for the second time that night, reducing him to a whimpering, whining mess. He was shaking and overstimulated, but you didn't care as you started rocking your hips again moments after he spilled his load.

"Mommy please!" He panted, hands reaching for your hips to try and guide them, even though he knew he was the one holding on for dear life while you pleasured him.

"Yes baby?" You cooed, "Tell mommy what you want."

"More," he choked out, voice thick with lust as he bucked his hips upwards violently, trying to match your rough pace but ultimately failing. His thrusts were sloppy and uncoordinated, so he gave up after a few tries and just settled back into his submissive role.

"Yeah? You want more my sweet baby boy?" You smirked, grinding yourself up and down on his pelvis, making him whine loudly in pleasure at the blissful friction.

"Y-Yes, mommy, please!"

You grinned and rocked against him faster, harder, fucking him deep into the mattress. You threw your head back and moaned loudly, not containing your noises since no one else was home. His mom and Paul were away on a trip, hence why he'd asked you to stay with him for a few days. You didn't do much sleeping though.

"Feels so good," he whined, his hands gripping the fat of your waist so tightly you knew there would be handprints. But you didn't care, in fact it only spurred you on.

"YOU feel so good baby," you moaned, looking down at him and biting your lip as you continued to bounce on his cock at a fast, relentless pace. "Dick fucking me so good, like always."

You bounced harder, quickening the pace of your thrusts as you moved your hands up his bare, toned chest to toy with his nipples. He whined at the sensation, muttering "please please please" over and over, begging you for more as you guided him towards his third orgasm. The great thing about being a demigod was the superhuman endurance and stamina, meaning the two of you could go for hours without getting tired.

And it seemed he didn't want to stop.

"Fuck!" He swore when he started ramming against your spot again, your walls tightening around his cock so much he thought he would cum right then and there. "Fuck fuck fuck! Oh gods..."

You decided to change things up a little then, slowly sliding yourself off his dick and turning to face the other way. He was about to conplain, until you sunk back down on his eager cock and engulfed him in your warm, gummy walls once again.

"Oh gods..."

He threw his head back at the new position, sitting up against the headboard as he watched you start bouncing yourself on his dick again, faster and harder than before.

"This feel good baby?" You asked smugly, knowing the answer already from his desperate whines and moans and pleas to go faster and rougher. "Come on, use your words..."

"Yes!" He rasped, gripping your hips again, "Yes mommy! Feels so fucking good!" He threw his head back and let out hottest moan-whimper you'd ever heard. "M-Mommy..."

"Hmm?" You hummed, leisurely riding his dick with your hands behind you settled on his chest to keep yourself upright. "Something wrong, baby?"

"No!" He quickly choked out, "Just-I just-"

You moved yourself up and down on his cock faster, making the words die on his throat. He felt too good, this felt too good, you couldn't help yourself. You couldn't stop. He was so nice and big, he filled you up so perfectly and even when you dominated his cock always hit the right spots inside you, making you see stars.

"Can't give you what you want if you don't tell me," you teased, gyrating your hips now as you once again grinded on his pelvis, eliciting the sweetest moans and whimpers from the sea god's son.

"W-want you to suck-suck my dick," he finally managed, swallowing thickly. "Wanna cum in your mouth, please please please!"

"Want to cum in WHOSE mouth, baby?"

"Yours! I-I mean, mommy's! Want to have mommy suck my dick so I can cum down her pretty throat!"

You moaned at his dirty words, lifting yourself up and off his dick. He hissed at the loss off your warmth, but he quickly regained his excitement when you swivelled around to face him again, settling yourself between his thighs.

"Aww, look at my pretty baby boy," you cooed, running your hands along his thighs, "Cock covered in both our cum, still hard and eager to fuck my throat. You're so pretty like this, Percy."

He didn't have time to respond, because then you were taking his length into your mouth and running your wet, warm tongue along his shaft. He threw his head back and cried out in pleasure as you began to suck him off, swallowing the cum left on his dick as you cleaned it and licked it sensually.

"Grab mommy's hair baby, come on," you pulled away to urge him, before diving right back in.

He groaned loudly as he felt your wet, hot cavern engulfing his dick, your tongue working wonders and bringing him to the edge of yet another orgasm. One swipe of your tongue over his slit, and he was cumming harder than he ever had. His warm seed gushed down your throat, and you moaned as you swallowed it all. A little dribbled down your chin, but that was an even hotter sight that had Percy feeling as if he would orgasm again even quicker. His hands made their way into your hair, and he grasped a bunch in each hand and tugged, earning a whine from you as you took his cock deep, gagging and moaning as you sucked. You pulled away to spit on it, making him cry out "mommy!" before whining again as you went straight back to sucking the soul out of his cock.

"So good, mommy! So fucking good!" He groaned, bucking his hips up into your face and thrusting his cock down your throat. "Gonna cum again! Fuck, mommy!!!"

He screamed as he came once more, hot cum shooting down your throat again. It was so much that your chin was painted white as some of it spilled from your lips and onto your body, but you simply pulled away and swiped it up with your fingers before sticking them in your mouth. Then you collapsed next to him, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

"You're going tocbe the death of me, baby," he murmured, burying his face in your neck.

"Don't you mean mommy?" You teased, smirking.

His cheeks burned, turning the brightest shade of red.

#percy jackson #pjo #pjo hoo #hoo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #book percy jackson #book percy x reader #book percy x you

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sethsclearwater · 9 months

Text

synopsis: reader can’t stand her imprinter, paul, but is desperate for a hookup. she quickly realizes paul is her best option and soon discovers her feelings for him

warnings: smut, dom-ish!paul, sub-ish!reader

word count: 5.24k

…

“i don’t get why you keep hooking up with that guy,” emily rolled her eyes, laughing as she took another sip of the beer she’d been sipping on for the past hour.

you huffed, looking up from your phone to shoot her a playful glare, “listen,” you started, coming to sit down on the blanket next to her, making sure to rest your bare feet over the edge so you didn’t drag all the sand onto the blanket, “he’s good when i want a quick hookup. he doesn’t talk to me, lets me ride him for like 20 minutes and get off, and then lets me go without any weird questions or anything. it’s an amazing setup we have,” you explained before adding, “except when he bails on me like tonight,” with a groan, earning a round of laughs from emily, kim, and embry who were all sitting on blankets around the bonfire with you.

“jesus christ,” embry laughed, “i think you just need a male sex doll or something because that is ridiculous,” he teased, everyone laughing when you huffed and rolled your eyes at him, laying back down on the blanket to glare up at the sky while you tried to figure out how you were going to satiate the heavy discomfort between your thighs.

shortly after you laid down, you could feel none other than paul lahote’s eyes burning holes into the side of your head. this was nothing new for you, you knew he had imprinted on you and you weren’t particularly interested in getting into a relationship with the local fuckboy, figuring he’d just have his way with you once or twice and then be done with you.

you rolled onto your side, looking over at him while the rest of your group seemed to get into a new conversation. before you could call him out, your phone lit up with a text from the man of the hour. you shot him a look before looking down at your phone, come over here.

you looked up at him to see him standing up and walking toward his car. you were confused, to say the least, but obliged nonetheless, getting up and following him to his car. once he got to the car, he turned around to face you, “i don’t like you fucking that guy,” he started, cutting you off with a quiet tut before you could argue with him about how he had no say in who you did or didn’t hook up with, “and i think if you want to fuck someone you should at least be doing it with someone who knows what they’re doing.” he finished, crossing his arms as he leaned against the car door, raising an eyebrow at you as he waited for you to respond.

you scrunched your nose up at the thought of what he was insinuating, “and i’m guessing you’d be the ideal candidate for someone who knows what they’re doing?” you asked sarcastically, rolling your eyes with a laugh when he nodded.

“okay listen-” he started when he realized you weren’t even remotely close to agreeing to his proposal, “i won’t even say anything. i’ll just lay there all nice and pretty for you and you can fuck yourself on me. promise i won’t bother you.” he offered, his tone becoming a tad bit desperate which had your features softening. you didn’t ever in a million years think that the paul lahote would ever come remotely close to being desperate to have sex with you.

you let out a sigh, peeking up at him as you contemplated his offer, “you promise you wouldn’t make it weird?” you asked, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he shook his head and you thought about the pros and cons of his offer.

the man was pretty hopelessly in love with you anyways so it’s not like it could get much worse than the situation you were currently in. if anything you’d end up catching feelings for him which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. or would it? you couldn’t decide but ended up figuring there were more pros than cons as the ache between your thighs increased in intensity as you realized just how desperate you were.

“promise i won’t,” he reassured, scanning your face for any signs of what your decision would be.

he didn’t have to wait for long before you let out another heavy sigh, “okay.” you murmured, “but if you start getting annoying then i will not hesitate to leave you with the world’s worst case of blue balls,” you threatened, not giving him a moment to respond before you were heading around to the passenger side of the truck, quickly hopping into the seat.

paul rolled his eyes but was smiling to himself as he got into the car, making quick work of turning the ignition on and pulling out of the parking lot so he could make the short drive back to his apartment. the ride back was silent, seeing as you glared him into silence anytime he looked like he was about to say anything to you.

it wasn’t until you got back to his apartment and into his room that you finally broke the silence, “okay so can you just- i don’t know-” you started, letting out a sigh before continuing, “can you just lay there?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you suddenly got a whole lot more self-conscious about fucking yourself on paul lahote’s cock.

“yea,” he said as he walked over to his bed, turning around to lean against his dresser when he asked, “are you gonna be mad at me if i strip in front of you?” he asked teasingly, chuckling when you let out a loud huff.

“just… take it off so i can see what i’m working with,” you started, vaguely gesturing towards him with your hands so he’d get the point.

paul let out a laugh, shaking his head, “this is so fucking transactional,” he teased as he pulled his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the side before he was hooking his fingers around his sweatpants.

you rolled your eyes before taking in his chest, letting out a sigh as you finally let yourself realize just how attracted you were to him, “it is transactional,” you explained, letting your gaze trail up to his face as he tugged his sweatpants and boxers down and kicked them to the side, leaving him completely nude in front of you, “i need to cum and you have what i need to get that done,” you added, sucking in a deep breath when you looked down at his hardened cock, realizing just how large he was compared to anyone else you’d slept with.

paul let out a breathy chuckle when he saw your reaction, “i really think you oughtta invest in a vibrator if you need to cum that often princess,” he teased as he moved to lay down on his bed as you instructed him to, resting one hand on behind his head while the other reached down to languidly stroke at his cock.

you glared at him, “not that this is any of your business but i much prefer to cum on a real cock than some silicone toy.” you grumbled as you hooked your fingers under your shirt, pulling it up and over your head before tossing it into the pile of clothes paul had started a few moments prior.

“it kinda is my business seeing as i’ve got the real cock you’re about to cum on,” he teased, chuckling when you curled your hands into tight fists, taking a deep breath before you were reaching behind yourself to unhook your bra.

“whatever,” you grumbled, tossing your bra to the side before you were unzipping your jean shorts and kicking them and your panties off, both you and paul now totally naked in front of each other.

“so pretty,” paul murmured as he took you in, his gaze slowly trailing from your feet all the way up to your face, “now are you gonna come over here and fuck yourself on me princess?” he asked teasingly, chuckling again when you rolled your eyes but got onto his bed, making quick work of straddling his waist.

“so am i allowed to touch you? or is that off limits?” he asked, the same teasing tone still lacing his tone though you knew he was being serious with you. he didn’t want to fuck this up by doing something you weren’t comfortable with.

“yes, you can touch me lahote,” you said dryly, watching as he reached over to his bedside table to grab a bottle of lube, “oh you don’t need to-” you started but he cut you off with a quiet tut.

“i’m not letting you fuck me without any lube princess, gonna hurt yourself doing that,” he explained, not bothering to look up at you as he spoke, instead focusing on squirting a generous amount of lube onto his hand before he was stroking his hand up and down his cock to spread it.

you bit your lip at his comment, mentally cursing yourself for agreeing to this whole situation. at the rate you were going, you were going to be in love with the boy by the end of the night.

“alright so can i finger you?” he asked, peeking up at you as he rested one hand on your thigh, patiently waiting for your response before doing anything else.

you shook your head, “don’t need you to do that,” you explained, huffing when he shook his head, looking up at you incredulously.

“princess there’s no chance in hell i’m letting you on my cock without knowing you’re stretched out,” he explained and you rolled your eyes, letting out another heavy sigh as you dropped your head back and took a deep breath.

although it looked like you were beyond irritated with paul at this point, you were continuing to mentally curse yourself out for falling for this man so quickly. none of your previous hookups had ever been concerned with taking care of you like he had, all always focused on their own pleasure which is what ultimately led to you developing your “transactional” attitude towards sex.

though, the way paul was taking care of you had you questioning everything, “i swear i’m fine,” you reassured, lifting your head to offer him a reassuring smile for the first time all night.

paul watched you for a moment before conceding, “okay,” he said softly, watching you wearily, “if it hurts tell me and you can go finger yourself in the bathroom or something i guess,” he grumbled and you let out a soft giggle at his words causing him to look up at you, a confused look on his face at you giggle.

“what?” he asked softly, figuring at this point you were just going to make fun of him for his concern for you.

“you’re just…” you started, a small smile on your face, “nicer than i thought you were,” you finished, “but i promise i’ll tell you if it hurts.” you reassured, sliding your hand down your thigh to give his hand a soft squeeze.

he let out a sigh of relief, nodding, “okay c’mere,” he murmured, sliding his other hand up to grip your hip, helping you lift your hips up while you grabbed his cock and lined the spongey tip up with your entrance.

you sank down a bit on his length, letting out a soft whimper when you felt just how much he was stretching you out, your grip on his hand subconsciously tightening. with any previous hookups, you were able to easily take them without any stretching but paul was proving to be a much different story, much to your dismay.

“hurts?” paul asked, voice tight as he watched your pussy work at engulfing his cock. he didn’t want to show it for fear of you putting up with the pain for his benefit, but the way you were clenching around him had him nearly blacking out from the pleasure.

you shook your head, “just a stretch,” you murmured, letting out a heavy sigh as you went to sink further but quickly lifted your hips up at the painful sensation.

“okay, yea, no,” paul started, tightening his grip on your hip as he lifted you up and off his cock, “lay down,” he ordered as you watched him, shock written all over your features at his actions and words.

half of your brain wanted to argue with him, but the other, more curious half of your brain won out and you slowly got off paul’s lap and laid down next to him, “spread your legs for me,” he added as he reached over to grab the bottle of lube again, “gonna finger you, okay? promise i won’t make it weird,” he reassured as he squirted some lube onto his fingers before tossing the bottle back to the side.

you slowly nodded, spreading your legs so he could get his hand between them, “c’mere,” he murmured, hooking his free arm around your side so you could rest your head on his bicep, allowing you to curl into his side as he settled his other hand between your thighs, “you tell me if it hurts, okay?” he asked softly, waiting for you to respond before he was swirling one finger around your tight entrance. once he was confident that he had lubricated your entrance enough, he slowly dipped one finger inside of you, gently curling and uncurling his finger as he stretched you out.

you let out a soft sigh at his movement, eyes fluttering shut with a soft moan as his finger grazed across a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “there you go princess,” paul murmured, reaching his thumb out to slowly press down on your clit, waiting to see if you were going to tell him to stop before he was rubbing slow, tight circles on the sensitive bud with his finger.

the soft whimper you let out at his movements encouraged him to keep going so he added a second finger to your heat, allowing you a moment to stretch around his fingers before he was gently scissoring them inside you, “such a good job,” he praised, pressing down a bit harder on your clit which had you whining underneath him again.

while he continued curling his fingers inside you and rubbing slow, tight circles against your clit, you started to feel your first orgasm of the night quickly building, “paul-” you whimpered, not able to get much else out to explain yourself as he started to roll your clit between his fingers, leaving you a moaning mess again.

“you gonna cum on my fingers princess?” he asked softly, not pausing his movements as he waited for your response. when you only nodded and let out a soft hum of approval, he chuckled, continuing his actions till he had you teetering right on the edge of an orgasm, “you can cum princess,” he encouraged, his praise and approval sending you right over the edge to your first orgasm of the night.

you didn’t know what was so different about paul but that orgasm had you struggling to come down from your high for the next few minutes. you were too focused on riding out your high to notice, but paul had the most satisfied look on his face at how hard you came, barely able to contain his own orgasm at the sight of you coming undone on his fingers.

“there you go princess,” he murmured, slowly pulling his fingers out of your heat while his other hand ran up and down your side soothingly. by the time you came back to your senses, you found yourself curled into paul’s chest, taking some deep breaths while he murmured soft praises to you, “good stuff?” he asked softly, a teasing tone in his voice that had you rolling your eyes at him, a small smile on your face that gave away you weren’t actually mad at him.

“so now that you know i wasn’t kidding when i said i know what i was doing,” he started, chuckling when you huffed, peeking up at him to see a cocky smile on his face, “are you gonna let me be on top? or are you still insisting i be your human sex doll for the night?” he asked teasingly and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought about his proposition for a moment.

you never really let any man be on top, always insisting you were in charge so you could at least try and get yourself to cum before they finished. but with paul, it was different. he seemed so much more concerned with your pleasure than any of your previous hookups and that had you questioning everything you’d previously believed about sex.

“you can go on top,” you whispered after a moment, pausing before adding, “but if i don’t like it we have to switch,” you said, raising your eyebrows at him when you finished, waiting to see what his response would be.

paul nodded, “promise,” he reassured, “you let me know if you don’t like it and we’ll switch,” he added, smiling down at you which had you mentally cursing at yourself for all the butterflies in your belly at his words.

he pressed his lips to the crown of your head for a gentle kiss before he was helping you lay back down on the bed, making quick work of settling himself between your thighs, “alright you let me know if anything hurts, okay?” he asked softly as he reached out to grab the bottle of lube again, squirting some more into his hand so he could be absolutely positive the friction wouldn’t be hurting you as he pushed himself inside.

you nodded, “cross my heart,” you murmured, a hint of teasing in your voice that had paul letting out a breathy chuckle as he rubbed the lube onto his cock.

“so am i allowed to cum? or are you gonna be mad at me?” he asked teasingly and you rolled your eyes, huffing at his proposition.

“you can cum, you better clean me up afterward though if you’re doing it inside me,” you explained, letting out a breathy laugh when he smiled down at you, apparently not expecting you to allow him to cum during your rendezvous.

“obviously i’ll clean you up,” he reassured before adding, “do you want it rough? or do you want me to go slower?” he asked as he lined the tip of his cock up with your entrance, looking up at you when he realized you were taking a moment too long to respond to him.

you thought about it for a moment, because you had never let anyone be on top before you didn’t really know what felt good or bad for you. “it’s okay if you don’t know,” he said softly after a moment, offering you a small smile when you anxiously peeked up at him, nodding.

“alright so let’s start slow and if you want me to pick it up then we can go faster, yea?” he asked softly, knowing you’d need to know everything he was about to do to you so you could feel as in control as possible while he got you to try something new with him.

you nodded, “that sounds good,” you whispered, offering him a small smile when he nodded and leaned down to press another soft kiss to your forehead. if someone had told yourself 2 hours prior that the one and only paul lahote would be giving you forehead kisses you would’ve laughed in their face, but alas here you found yourself, absolutely loving every second of it.

“okay i’m gonna push in,” he said softly, waiting for you to nod before he was slowly pushing into your walls, both of you letting out soft moans as he sheathed himself inside you, “such a good girl,” he praised, not stopping until he was completely buried inside you.

he allowed you a few moments to stretch around him, leaning down to press soft, gentle kisses to your collarbone and neck while he waited for you to give him the go-ahead. as you worked at accommodating him, you realized just how grateful you were for his insistence on the lube and fingering beforehand, it would’ve been a nightmare if not for his care.

“you can move,” you whispered, peeking up at him from your spot underneath him, offering him a small smile that he gladly returned, happy to know you were getting more and more comfortable with the idea of him being on top.

“okay you let me know if you don’t like it, okay?” he asked softly, waiting until you nodded before he was pulling his hips back, setting a gentle, slow pace while he thrust himself in and out of your tight walls.

you let out a soft gasp at the first thrust, this new position allowing paul to hit spots inside you that none of your previous partners could have dreamed of hitting, “that’s my good girl,” paul murmured teasingly, loving seeing how quickly he had you dizzy from all the pleasure.

“oh my god-” you whimpered, voice catching as he brought his freehand down to press down on your clit, quickly moving to rub slow, tight circles against the sensitive nub, “go faster,” you added, suddenly desperate to see the man between your thighs let himself go and cum with you.

paul was nothing if not compliant, quickly picking up the pace until he was roughly snapping his hips against yours, both of you now completely overcome with the pleasure that came with your connection, “that’s my girl,” he gritted out when you let out a particularly loud moan, whining as he pinched at your clit before rolling the nub between his fingers, knowing you’d be on the brink of your second orgasm of the night if he kept that up.

sure enough, you felt your second orgasm building as he continued snapping his hips against yours, “paul i’m gonna-” you whimpered, unable to finish your sentence as his cock brushed up against a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, sending your brain into a tizzy as you processed everything you were feeling.

“cum on my cock princess,” paul encouraged, “wanna see you make a mess on my cock,” he gritted out, dangerously close to his own orgasm that had him even more desperate to feel you come undone on him. luckily for him, all you needed to hear was his approval before you were meeting your second orgasm of the night, quickly dropping your head back against the pillows as you fell back into your own world of pleasure and rode out your high.

feeling how tight your walls throbbed around him as you came had paul exploding inside of you shortly after, his thrusts losing rhythm as he coated your velvet walls with his release, not pulling out until he was sure he had emptied every last bit inside of you.

he knew you’d probably blow his head off if he tried anything too sentimental as you came down from your own high, so he was quick to reach over and grab the hand towel he had in his bedside table, “hey princess,” he murmured as you slowly started coming back down from your high, setting the towel down next to you so he could gently run his hand up and down your side as he brought you back down to earth.

“look so pretty when you cum,” he murmured, a teasing tone under his voice that had you letting out a soft giggle as you focused your attention on him, still hazy from the 2 orgasms he had given you.

“you okay if i clean you up?” he asked softly, sitting up so he could sit back on his heels while he waited for your response. once you nodded, he grabbed the hand towel again, gently running it over your thighs to clean the excess lube that had run down there, helping you adjust to the sensation before he was running the towel over your sensitive folds.

“you’re okay,” he reassured when you let out a whine at the overstimulation, moving to close your thighs but paul held them open with his free hand, making quick work of cleaning up the excess semen that had begun dripping out of you.

once he was satisfied with his clean up job, he got out from between your thighs, “do you wanna borrow a shirt?” he asked as he pulled a fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants on.

you thought about it for a moment before shaking your head, “don’t wanna bother you,” you murmured before adding, “i can just get changed when i get home,” you explained as you sat up, looking around for where you had discarded your clothes.

paul shook his head, “you’re not going anywhere princess,” he said as he grabbed your panties, helping you into them before grabbing one of his shirts from his dresser. you watched him incredulously, though you didn’t argue when he tapped your shoulder, prompting you to lift your arms up so he could help you into one of his t-shirts, “if you don’t want to sleep with me that’s fine, i can take the couch. but you’re not going home at 11 at night right after we had sex,” he stated and, although you knew you could easily go home if you wanted to, you didn’t really want to anymore. something in you wanted to stay the night with him and continue learning more about your new feelings for him.

“you can sleep in here with me,” you said softly, looking up at him and offering him a small smile.

he nodded, smiling back as he seemed to be content with you decision, “now what do you want to eat? we can order something if you’re hungry,” he said softly, squatting down in front of you and taking your hands into his while he gave you a moment to think about it.

you gnawed at your lower lip, not sure what to say to him as you tried to process why he was being so nice to you. you were his imprint but you couldn’t wrap your head around why he even liked you. you never gave him any time of day, and if anything were quite rude to him most of the time for fear of getting attached to him. but after tonight all your annoyance towards him seemed to go out the window and get replaced by a newfound adoration for him.

“why don’t we do chinese? you like that fried rice from the place over by emily’s right?” he suggested thoughtfully, offering your hands a soft squeeze when you nodded before getting up to go grab his phone and a water bottle from his dresser.

when he came back over to you, he handed you the water bottle, “drink, yea? you’re gonna get a headache,” he said and you didn’t even bother arguing with him, just smiling to yourself as you took a sip from the bottle while he pulled back the covers.

“c’mere,” he murmured, helping you lay down under the covers before getting in on the other side, sitting down and chuckling when you hesitantly rolled over to face him, “you really are something else,” he teased, letting out a breathy laugh when you rolled your eyes at him.

“you quite literally have a ridiculous amount of my cum in you right now and you’re nervous about cuddling with me?” he asked, chuckling again when you huffed and glared up at him.

“i’m not nervous about cuddling with you,” you grumbled, expressing your disapproval with his teasing by crossing your arms as you continued to glare up at him.

he gave you his all too familiar cocky smirk, “c’mere then,” he teased, opening his arm for you. you sighed dramatically though you were mentally screaming on the inside at the prospect of cuddling with him, slowly moving so you could rest your head in his lap as he curled his arm around you, resting his palm lazily on your hip while he ordered takeout on his phone with his other hand.

you sighed, running your hand up to rest on his thigh, rubbing slow circles against the fabric of his sweatpants, prompting him to do the same thing against your hip, “you wanna watch a movie? the food should be here within the hour,” he suggested, offering your hip a soft squeeze, prompting you to respond to him.

you nodded, “mhm,” you hummed as he grabbed the remote to get netflix on, “can we watch that new movie emily was talking about earlier?” you asked softly, rolling over just enough so you could peek up at him, smiling and rolling back over to face the screen when he nodded.

“c’mere,” he murmured once he got the movie on, tossing the remote to the side before he was laying down next to you and tugging you up to his level so he could spoon you from behind. he ran his hand up your side while allowing you to rest your head against his other bicep, holding you close to him.

“so are you gonna cut that guy off now?” he asked after a moment, a hint of teasing in his voice but you could tell he was being genuine in his question. you hummed, thinking about it for a moment before you were rolling over to face him, running your hands up his bare chest while you thought about your response.

you looked up at him after a moment, taking a deep breath, “i can,” you said softly, contemplating telling him your true feelings for a moment before it finally spilled out of your lips, “but i don’t think i want you to just be a hookup for me,” you whispered, almost afraid he’d reject you right there but paul was quick to soothe your worries with his response.

“i think i can do that,” he murmured, voice almost as hushed as yours as he slid his hand down to your hip, gently squeezing the fatty flesh there while he waited for your next words.

“and i don’t want you going out with anyone else either,” you added, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth after you admission, anxiously awaiting his response.

he offered you a small smile, “i can do that too princess,” he reassured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, holding you close for a moment before he pulled his lips away, “so no more weird transactional hookups?” he asked teasingly after a moment, chuckling when you rolled your eyes, playfully swatting at his chest before rolling back over so he could spoon you from behind again.

“you’re something else,” he murmured, pulling you close as you two cuddled under the covers, both content now that your feelings were out in the open and validated by each other.

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bettyfrommars · 4 months

Text

I'm on Fire

chapter 18: the ties that bind

masterlist playlist

18+ MDNI

If you've come this far in the series, you know what to expect. No physical violence in this final chapter, but there might be some jealousy, protective/jealous Eddie, and threats. Steve with an OC character, parental Stobin, unprotected sex, oral, and meeting the extended family. Can't say goodby without a glimpse of Charlene. Reader is an artist and a vegetarian, but I try hard to keep away from any physical description.

word count: 15k

official author's note will be at the end of this chapter. I cherish you, my I'm on Fire fam, I'm so grateful for the ride, and I hope you enjoy this one.

"It's a long dark highway and a thin white line Connecting baby, your heart to mine."

-- the ties that bind, Bruce Springsteen

The next morning, a new Henderson opened her eyes to the world.

Steve was the next one to hold her after her parents, and he hadn’t expected to cry, to have his throat close up around his emotions and choke him when he was told they named her Stevie. He held her so close but so gentle and he barely noticed how wet his cheeks were until Robin came close and rubbed her palm in circles on his back.

“She kinda looks like me. That’s weird right?” Steve hushed, voice catching in a tearful hiccup. He was already thinking of the tattoo he would get with her name, inside his arm, close to his heart.

“Yeah, that is weird and impossible, Dingus,” Robin smiled into his shoulder, stroking a loving arc over Stevie’s little infant forehead with her finger. “But she kinda does.”

The labor had been long, the sun was up, and everyone was exhausted. Astrid was at the house making breakfast while you and Eddie looked after Oliver. He insisted on watching Pee-Wee Herman's Big Adventure again, and that was when you learned it was one of Eddie’s favorites as well; he knew every line by heart. He mimicked Ollie with the chant, “I know you are but what am I, I know you are but what am I?”

And it was only then that you realized why Eddie had made a joke once about violently cutting off your mattress tag, the one that specifically said DO NOT REMOVE. Also, it explained why Steve so ardently wanted to start his own biker gang called Satan’s Helpers.

After breakfast, Eddie took you back to the Hammer to get your car, and even though you didn’t want to socialize, you were also in no mood to be stranded at your place without wheels. Jackie reminded you that you looked like shit on your way through the smoky haze from the late morning drinkers. You simply nodded in silent agreement, and it wasn’t so much a nod as your head lazily bobbing on a spring. Your internal clock was out of whack, and you desperately needed a shower. A shower and a soak in the healing waters of some type of magical pond that could heal you from the inside out.

Maybe a month on a beach somewhere.

And then you pictured Eddie in a pair of loud, tropical swim trunks and giggled to yourself.

You were just about to leave the locker room with your paycheck and a few of your things, when tall, blonde Erika pushed in with a concerned look on her face, making you back up. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, covering the “Safety in the Workplace” poster.

“Hey, so, that guy is here looking for you again,” her whisper was urgent.

Your heart sank for a second as the memory of Craig gripped you. You had to remind yourself that he was long gone.

But you wondered if a part of him would always be lurking somewhere near, haunting you from beyond the grave.

Your next guess was Chief Hopper, maybe he had more questions for you.

“What guy?” You were hoping she had a clue, or asked a name, so that you could prepare yourself, doing your best to smooth out the front of your shirt.

She only shrugged. “He’s older, Paul Newman type. Smells like he’s made of money. This is the third time he’s been here asking about you.”

It still didn’t ring any bells, but you’d only slept a half hour on the couch curled up next to Eddie while Pee-Wee stormed the Alamo looking for his bike.

You took a slow peek around the corner of the bar from the hallway and saw John Gregson sitting there with a drink in his hand. Full head of salt n’ pepper hair slicked back off his face, wearing one of his signature gray suits.

Was he by himself? The way Charlene had been popping up like a bad rash lately, you almost expected to see her there, playing the dutiful wife.

You hid yourself in the hallway again, wondering if you had it in you to have a conversation with anyone, let alone him.

To say his face “lit up” when he saw you would be an understatement; He looked as if you’d been pulled from the rubble of a burning building, and he thought he would never see you again.

You found it hard to match the enthusiasm, even though he’d turned out to be a decent guy.

He stood up from his stool and Shana gave you both a curious look from behind the bar as she poured a shaken martini into a glass. She was wearing one of her long, black wigs that day with Bettie Page bangs.

“It’s good to see you,” he gestured to the seat next to him, his icy blue eyes shone like the Mediterranean Sea. “It’s been a while.”

You sank one hip onto the padded stool so that one foot was still on the ground. You didn’t want him to think you were staying for too long.

“I’m sorry I’m so behind on your painting, life has been—”

He put his hand up, palm out to you. It was his left hand and you noticed that he was not wearing his wedding ring.

“Please, don’t worry about the painting. Take all the time you need, that’s not why I’m here. Can I buy you lunch?”

“I-I…” you fumbled. “I was just on my way out.”

“A drink then?” He cleared his throat and shifted closer casually so that his knee was touching yours. He swirled his drink in his hand. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about and I didn’t feel it was appropriate to do it over the phone.”

Your anxiety spiked a bit, and it wasn’t as if he was a serial killer or anything, but his sudden shift in proximity gave you pause. You asked Shana for an iced tea and gestured for him to follow you to one of the more isolated tables against the dark red wall, underneath a framed Led Zeppelin poster. He pulled your chair out for you before getting settled with his gin and tonic, making sure to use one of the black cocktail napkins as a coaster.

“I know you’re busy,” he cleared his throat. “So, permit me to get right to the point.” He removed the two stir straws from his drink and put them on the napkin.

“First of all, I’d like to apologize for my wife. I believe she’s caused you quite a bit of trouble.”

You had not expected that one

His stare was too intense, you had to shift your attention and take a gulp of your drink.

“You see,” he settled back, keeping his forearms on the table. “I met Charlene when I was barely out of high school, we were together before I made my money, and I always felt like I owed her my blind devotion. Lately it’s obvious that we only make each other miserable.”

He continued. “I’m not a stupid man. I always knew about the other boyfriends, not that she made much of an effort to hide it,” he smiled wryly to himself. “Not to bore you with the details of my failed marriage, but I know that Charlene’s the reason you lost your job at the gallery, and I’d like to rectify that, if I can.”

Realization dawned at his words. Why hadn’t you put those pieces together earlier? Of course Charlene was the reason you lost your job, she probably threatened to remove her funding and ruin Judith.

You could barely catch up to what he was saying before he started again. “I’m opening a gallery in Chicago, and I’d like you to come out and run it.”

You choked and had to cover your mouth with the back of your hand. “Excuse me?”

John smiled so genuinely at your reaction that the skin around his eyes crinkled. He undid a button on his suit jacket to get more comfortable. “You’d have full creative license, you’d be able to hire your team, do with it what you wish. I trust your vision.”

It was that opportunity you’d been dreaming about for years, the one you’d been working toward for almost a decade.

So easy, just like that.

Here, take it, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

…but was it?

Your head swam, vision tunneling slightly as you glanced around the Velvet Hammer. You imagined Steve on his stool at the door and Eddie pulling you aside in the hallway to kiss you. The song Everlong by The Foo Fighters was on, and you thought about how Chicago was over three hours away. You’d have to move; it was much too far for a commute.

“That’s such a generous offer, I…I don’t know what to say?”

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” and before you knew what was happening, his hand slid across the table and was on top of your fingers.

Your eyes flashed to his hand over yours and you sat there shocked while your need to be polite overrode your core instincts.

“I know there’s a lot to think about,” he continued, removing his hand to cup it around his drink again. “Of course, I’d pay for all of your moving expenses. I own a building downtown with an artist loft I think you might be interested in. You’d have plenty of room to live and paint, start fresh, if you wanted to.”

Start fresh.

You felt like Shana had slipped a psychedelic into your tea, like you were melting into your chair. Your brain was having a hard time keeping up with the reality of what was being offered.

He tossed back another sip and wiped the corners of his mouth, looking almost unsure if he should say the next part. “Charlene and I—” he licked his perfectly straight teeth in contemplation. “---we’ve decided to go our separate ways. We’re selling the lake house, a few other properties, and she’s planning to move to Hawaii to be near her sister.”

A thought zipped through your mind then. How long had Charlene known she was leaving? Why would she become a partner in The Velvet Hammer and then move to Hawaii?

“That means I’ll be at my condo in Chicago most of the time, unless I’m traveling for business,” he gave you a pointed look again. “There are so many places I’d love to take you to in the city. If you are interested, that is.”

“Well,” you laughed nervously. “I’d need to talk to my boyfriend about it. About the job, I mean. Moving to Chicago. His whole life is here.”

“Certainly,” John nodded, not missing a beat. “You talk to him and when you’re ready, you have my number. The gallery space I’m buying needs work, so I’d like to fly you out there in a week to take a look at it, once you decide.”

You were still staring glassy eyed at the edge of the table after John stood and left the Hammer. You hadn’t remembered to breathe in god knew how long, so you tried that, letting out a hard exhale that made a cocktail napkin go flying off the table.

Would Eddie move with you? Visit you on the weekends? The latter seemed more likely but also not, considering how demanding his work schedule was. Katie told you that Robin had asked her to move in, and you were overjoyed for her. She’d be paying her share of the rent and utilities for the next month, but after that you’d either need to find a smaller place or a new roommate because you couldn’t afford your duplex on a Velvet Hammer salary.

One week was all you had.

Did you even need a week? Surely you knew your answer.

—-------

The tires on the tow truck screeched to a stuttering halt out on a Hawkins back road lined with cornfields.

Behind the wheel, Eddie idled there, right in front of that familiar white picket fence around the big yard and the farmhouse with a porch swing and a red barn in back.

Eddie knew the details of the old Ferguson place by heart, it had been his dream house ever since he was in high school and used to take long rides on his bike to clear his head. The couple that had spent their life raising a family there were in their 80’s now, and he’d heard through the grapevine that they were relocating to a retirement community. To a smaller place that was easier to care for. All of their children were grown and lived far away.

The newest addition to the house was where his eyes fell.

His attention fixed on the sign at the end of the driveway for a long while, heart thudding in his chest.

The old Ferguson Farmhouse was for sale.

—---

The next day was the Welcome Home Baby Stevie barbeque at Steve’s and he had a blue “Kiss the Cook” apron on and a spatula in his bandaged hand when you and Eddie arrived. He wore an elastic bracelet made of colorful plastic beads around his wrist that you assumed was a new gift from Oliver. The sky was bright blue, almost blinding, and the air was crisp.

“You sure you’re okay?” Eddie asked on the way up the driveway to Robin and Steve’s backyard where the lawn had been neatly mowed and edged. “Anything you want to talk about?”

You hated keeping things from him, but you had no idea how to bring up John’s offer, or if you even wanted to mention it. Eddie had invited you over to his place the night before, but you’d told him you needed some time alone to get to bed early. Turns out that being alone with your thoughts only made it worse.

“No, I’m fine my love, I promise,” you leaned into him. “I’m just tired.”

He put his arm around your shoulders to scoop you closer and kiss your ear. “I’m gonna take care of you tonight. Make you a bath, pour you some wine, kiss you all over. How does that sound?”

“It sounds—” you felt emotions water your eyes suddenly and you blinked it away as quickly as you could. “That sounds perfect.”

You felt guilty that you were even considering John’s offer, but how could you not? A very hopeful part of you said that both were a possibility, that you could keep Eddie and have your dream job in the city. But how? You couldn’t take Eddie away from Wayne and Oliver and his business, you would never ask that of him.

“Is Wayne coming?” You asked, noticing you did not see his truck. Also, your thoughts were racing again and you needed a distraction.

“He’ll be here later,” Eddie assured you. “Astrid is picking him up on her way over. Max and Lucas stopped by the garage for a visit and I didn’t want to disrupt the reunion.”

You felt a bit embarrassed at the mention of his longtime friend Max, only because you’d been made to believe that she was a mysterious redhead that Eddie was having an affair with not too long ago.

Thanks to Charlene.

You imagined that Hawkins would be a much better place without her lurking around every corner. Was there a chance that Judith would take you back on at Moon River Gallery? No, you had no desire to go crawling back to that place. Unless a new gallery opened, or your art took off to celebrity status, you’d be waitressing at the Hammer and squirreling away your tips for the foreseeable future.

But, you’d have Eddie.

You’d been spacing out so hard, you barely realized that Robin was standing in front of you, offering to take the sack with a Tupperware full of homemade potato salad and hamburger buns. Eddie was carrying your veggie burger patties that he bought especially for the occasion, and the fixings to make tofu skewers. You told him you were a vegetarian once, and you never had to remind him again.

“You good?” Robin asked, noting the way you shook your head a few times to come back to reality. Katie came up behind Robin to place her hands on her girlfriend’s hips before she moved over to your side.

“Have a beer with me?” Katie asked softly, reading the weariness in your slightly hunched shoulders.

It was officially fall, but the weather was warm for Indiana in late September. Eddie had on his Iron Maiden concert tee under his jacket from their 1985 World Slavery tour and black converse with his worn jeans, and he took his leather off and threw it on a lawn chair as he walked over to the grill.

“You better leave the hard stuff to me,” he said to Steve, shifting his gaze accusatory to grill. The last time he let Steve grill your veggie burger, he’d charred it within an inch of its life.

“Have at it,” Steve dusted his hands together. “I have to go check on my pie in the oven.”

“You baked a pie?” Eddie gawked at him like he had hornets crawling out of his ears.

“Well, Astrid made it,” he pinched a few sunflower seeds out of the front pocket of his apron and popped them in his mouth, chewing as he spoke. “It’s cherry,” he bobbed his eyebrows up and down a few times suggestively, and Eddie scoffed, elbowing him out of the way so that he could put his skewers down on the folding table.

You were just about to take the first sip of your beer when a man’s voice that was not familiar called over from the driveway.

“There’s that long-haired freak I’ve been looking for.”

The skin on your arms prickled with gooseflesh and you spun around, thinking there was about to be some sort of trouble.

Slightly unrealistic to think the worst, but you were understandably alert.

There at the edge of the lawn stood a tall, handsome guy you’d never laid eyes on before, maybe in his late 20’s, and he had a Coffin Kings cut on that was very similar to the one’s Eddie and Steve wore. At his side, holding his hand was an adorable redhead. Her long hair was pulled through the back of a baseball cap, but you noted that the bright candy color was deeply familiar.

You turned to see Eddie’s reaction like you were watching a tennis match.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he beamed. “Look what the cat dragged in, "and he stopped what he was doing to make his way over with his arms out and the two hugged, giving each other hearty pats on the back.

“Max!” Robin squealed, practically doing a cartwheel in that direction. You and Katie fell back and stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the group reconnect in a way that was very familial.

Lucas and Max had been together since high school, you learned, and Lucas was a member of the Coffin Kings Indianapolis chapter. The song Love Spreads by The Stone Roses played from Robin's portable boombox on the steps as the new arrivals meandered in to be with the rest of the gang and assimilated with ease.

Eddie rested his hand on your lower back to introduce you, and instead of a handshake, Max went in for a hearty hug, and in your ear, she said, “Eddie loves you so much, I’ve been dying to meet you.”

When she pulled back to meet your eyes, you nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ve heard so much about you,” you told her, and then Max shot a look at Eddie and made a crack about how she hoped it was all good things that you’d heard.

They were even more interested to meet Katie, being that Robin had not been serious about anyone since before Oliver was born. Just then, the Oliver in question came bursting out of the house flying his hot dog bun through the air like a plane, making engine noises.

By the time Dustin and Suzie came by with their new baby, the smell of burgers charring on the grill filled the air and you helped Steve bring some more chairs out to the lawn. Eddie was taking much care to keep your vegetarian stuff away from the meat, and you couldn’t help but notice with deep adoration.

Astrid had a lot on her mind. So much so that she didn’t have it in her to make the usual banter with Wayne that she enjoyed when they were together.

“You okay, darlin’?” Wayne turned to her in the truck on the way over.

“Oh,” she tucked a thick swatch of dark hair behind her ear. “You know, just thinking about how excited Steve must be about the new baby.”

There was a distinct melancholy in her voice. One of the reasons the relationship between her and Steve had never gone any further than besties who make love was her refusal to take away his chance at a big family. She was barely 21 when a doctor told her she’d never be able to conceive. Well, technically he said there was a small chance—a hairline percentage—but that it “would take an actual miracle”---those were his words.

She loved Steve too much to not let him be a dad. He was made for that life. Ever since he was a teenager, he’d known he wanted to be a father, and once he had Oliver, she knew she’d done the right thing. She’d tried to keep their relationship platonic time and time again, but in the end, the chemistry between them always proved to be too strong.

She’d decided that she would love him until he found someone else, and then she would continue to love him from the shadows. She’d given her heart long ago, and with him it would stay.

“Hell, look at the head of hair on that kid,” Wayne said when Suzie introduced him to her daughter. He gave a crooked grin and stroked a finger along the back of her tiny, exposed hand.

At that, Dustin took his cap off and swiped a hand through his unruly mane. “Thank god the rest of her looks take after her mother.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Lucas grumbled, thumping his friend in the arm.

Steve had his back to the crowd when they came in and Astrid spanked him on the bum on her way up the stairs to the kitchen.

He spun on his heel and was quick to cage his arms around her so she could only squirm. His face was flushed and glowing. “You meet the kid?”

“I did,” normally, she would’ve kissed him, but instead she pulled back a bit, tilting her chin away. “She’s so beautiful, Steve.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I—” she knew she was a fool to think he wouldn’t be able to read her face, a fool to think he couldn’t read her like a book after all of those years.

Steve frowned, examining her face for a clue to her distress.

Astrid’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed a lead weight.

She hadn’t decided if she should tell him or not.

About the secret she’d been carrying with her for a few days.

15 years, that’s how long she’d been in love with him.

Back when he was 19 and she was 23.

They’d known each other since they were little kids.

“I need to talk to you later,” she told him.

Steve dropped his arms from around her but held her hand. “You can’t tell me now?”

She’d be 38 in December.

“Later, okay?” She winked at him to ease his suffering, and then made her way into the house, knowing that he stood there the whole time and watched her go.

But later that day never came.

Wayne wanted to get back and rest before his chemo treatment, and Dustin and his family only stayed for about an hour as they were all understandably still exhausted and wanting to recover at home.

Astrid waved goodbye to Steve on her way out, and Steve stood up from his chair thinking he’d get a kiss, or at least a hug—but then she was gone.

He tried not to think too much of it. If he’d done something to upset her, she was never shy about letting him know. Maybe she was tired of socializing, maybe she needed a break from him.

Lord knows he wished he could take a break from himself.

Eddie looked over at where you stood talking with Max and Robin, and he recalled the conversation he’d had with Wayne a few days earlier.

“I don’t have to tell you you found a good one,” Wayne said from the couch in his trailer while Eddie sat next to him. “I think you know they don’t come around very often.”

“Oh believe me, I know,” Eddie raked a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs off his forehead one, two, three times. “I keep thinking one day she’s going to wake up and realize she could do a lot better.”

“You’ve done better than you give yourself credit for,” his uncle returned in a low, steady voice.

When the next words came, Eddie felt a tightness in his throat:

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Wayne had a hard time leaving the house the day after his treatments, so Eddie always came by to bring him lunch and make sure he had everything he needed. One day he came by to check on Wayne and found that you were already there, doing his dishes for him.

He’d never been with anyone who cared about the people in his life like that.

Back at the barbeque, you slipped up next to him and planted your lips on his bicep, breathing in the sandalwood and leather of his scent. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Since you asked,” he smirked. “I was thinking how I wish I’d met you a lot sooner.”

“How much sooner?” You batted eyes at him once he turned to face you. “In high school?”

Eddie made a yuck face. “No, you would not have given me a chance in high school. I would’ve been a lovesick puppy, but you probably wouldn’t have even known I existed.”

“Are you kidding?” You stuck the tip of your tongue out between your teeth, examining him. “I would’ve jumped your bones so fast.”

“So fast, huh?” He chuckled, taking you by the hips. “What about now?”

He pulled you in and you hummed against his lips, trying not to get too horny right there in front of the guests.

Lucas and Max would be in town for a couple days, so you and Eddie made plans to meet up at the Velvet Hammer when you were off work on Tuesday. By the time the sun went down, all of the visitors were gone, and you were happy to head home as well after helping with some cleanup.

“Robin and I can take care of it,” Katie nudged you away from trying to wash out a casserole dish at the sink. “You get out of here and go rest. Make Eddie rub your feet or something.”

You both stopped what you were doing to look at each other.

The way you were searching your friend’s face made her turn to give you her full attention. In the background, you could hear Steve trying to convince Oliver to get his pajamas on and brush his teeth in a sing-song voice.

“I can’t believe how much has happened in these past few months,” you still had soap bubbles popping on your wet hands and you slid them absently along the thighs of your jeans.

Katie gave a thoughtful sniff. “I think about it a lot,” she mused. “About that night on the couch at our place when you first told me about the guy who picked you up in the tow truck, and then meeting the boys at The Hideout and then—”

She cringed and covered her face with a dish towel, remembering her “date” with Steve. “---it feels so surreal that Steve and I actually…well…I don’t want to think about it. It’s too weird.”

“But then you and Robin found each other again,” you offered, thinking back to that first barbecue at their house when Eddie had to take off suddenly for secretive Coffin Kings business.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell your friend about the offer from John Gregson. Katie knew you better than most people and you could always trust her advice to be on the mark.

For some reason, you wanted to cry, just drop to your knees and start bawling right there on the kitchen floor. For no one reason just

Everything

Katie caught the way your jaw moved like you were just about to say something, but then Eddie’s hands were snaking around to hold your back flush to his chest. Your hair caught on his beard stubble when he leaned in, warm breath at your ear. “You ladies need any help in here?”

You closed your eyes; you were glad to have him there. Glad to be in his arms, glad to know, in your heart, that he would always try his best for you.

But you were the one keeping a secret.

Robin joined Katie at the sink and told you both to take a hike, lovingly.

Steve came into the kitchen after you were both gone and the engine of Eddie’s Chevelle could be heard thundering down the road.

The first thing he did was pick up the beige, wall-mounted phone and call Astrid. He stood there for a while with the receiver pressed to his ear and his other arm folded over his chest before he held the mouthpiece out in front of him and stared at it.

“She’s not answering,” he mumbled loud enough that the girls could hear.

“Maybe she’s at Wayne’s? Did you check there?” Robin offered; her hair worn up in a haphazard ponytail.

Steve checked the clock first to make sure he wasn’t bothering Uncle too late, but it was barely 8:30 and he was probably up in his recliner watching M*A*S*H reruns.

Wayne answered and they exchanged a few words, but then when Steve hung up again, he was quiet, contemplatively so.

“What did he say?” Robin asked impatiently, drying some silverware with a checkered towel.

Steve frowned. “He said she dropped him off almost two hours ago and told him she was going home.”

He tried her house one more time and, again, no answer. He let it ring five times but disconnected once her answering machine clicked on.

“Maybe she went to bed early,” Katie shrugged. “And turned the ringer off.”

Steve knew better; Astrid barely slept. Normally, not being able to get a hold of her would not phase him, but something about the way she’d been acting that night set an alarm off in his gut.

Outside, there was the sound like a firecracker bomb going off that shook the house. Robin yelped and Steve bolted to the window to yank the yellow curtain back to see where it had come from.

He got there just in time to see a streak of lightning crack the dark sky and a drizzle of rain hit the glass. “Oh shit, good thing Eddie came in the Chevelle,” the droplets turned into a downpour as he stood there.

“Looks like a hell of a storm is brewing.”

—----

Earlier that day, Charlene Gregson marched out of Murray Bauman’s office with her lawyer in tow. She wore her oversized sunglasses and no expression on her face as they went down in the elevator and exited into the austere lobby. She looked like a million bucks, which was probably the cost of all of the gold and diamond jewelry she had on.

Outside on the busy street, her personal chauffeur was waiting by the Towncar to open the door for her while her lawyer, a pit-bull of a man named Saul, got in on the other side to slide in next to her. Billy was out there waiting on his bike, to make sure no one bothered her on their way out. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and revved the engine, angling to fall in line behind the Towncar.

“You sure this is what you want?” Saul posed the question to her as he slammed his door shut. They’d just thrown a lot of money at Murray and had him sign official documents.

Charlene sounded annoyed. “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? The deal is done.”

He continued. “I suppose I’m still trying to wrap my head around why you would—”

“I don’t pay you to ask personal questions,” she sniffed. “Just make sure there’s a smooth transition. I don’t want to be having a cocktail on the beach and find out that you fumbled something, and I’m forced to fly back out here.”

The town car sailed into traffic and the two sat in silence for a few minutes until Charlene stared out the window at the passing buildings on their way back to the lake house.

“Have you ever been in love, Saul?”

He was confused by the question and tapped his foot a few times. “I can’t really say I have.”

After recent events, and everything that he’d been tasked to do in her name for the benefit of someone else made him wonder. “What about you?”

“Only once,” she pressed her red lips together, eyes unblinking behind her sunglasses. “And once will have to be enough.”

Saul assumed she meant her soon to be ex husband John, and so he left it at that.

—-------

In a matter of seconds, the rain was coming down in sheets and the windshield wipers on the Chevelle were flapping back and forth at supernova speed.

“We could go back to my apartment if you want,” Eddie turned the Faith No More song down on the radio so that he could be heard over the rain. “But your place is cozier, and I know both are fairly small but I’ve been wanting to talk to you about—”

“I think I want to stay at my place tonight,” you blurted it out, keeping your attention fixed on the dash, staring at nothing. “Alone, if that’s alright.”

You could see in your peripheral vision that he turned to look at you, and you offered a reflexive smile, shoulders hunched a bit as if you were trying to fold in on yourself.

He smoothed his palm around the steering wheel and tried not to let the sensitive side of him that had been abandoned his whole life jump to conclusions. Not everyone needed to sleep next to the person they loved every night; you wanting space was totally reasonable and had nothing to do with your feelings for him.

Right?

Just in case, he decided to make sure. “Was it something I said or? Cause if there’s an issue between us, you know you can talk to me.”

For some reason, his insistence to have healthy communication irritated you. Possibly because you knew he was right and you should put it all out on the table and talk to him, but you didn’t know how. Your brain had barely been able to process the offer from John, let alone put the whole thing into words.

“It’s nothing you did,” you said softly. “I just need time to think.”

Something about your tone and choice of words made his heart rate increase. “Think about what?”

“Just stuff Eddie, okay? I don’t want to talk about it right now!” You snapped at him, for the first time ever.

After everything with Erika and Charlene and Melanie and thinking he’d been cheating on you, you’d never lost your temper with him, and the two of you had never had a fight. As much as you knew that arguments and disagreements were a very normal part of intimate relationships, you still felt like shit the second the words came out with such vitriol.

There it was, Eddie’s biggest fear: you were pulling away from him.

He’d suffocated you just like he was prone to do. He was “too much”, and now you were getting sick of him.

For the next few minutes of the drive to your place, neither of you said a word.

You because you didn’t want to take your confusion and anxiety out on Eddie, and Eddie because he didn’t want to sound like a whiny, needy bitch and make things worse.

He parked up in your driveway to get you close to the door, but he kept the engine running to let you know he was honoring your wish to drop you off and let you be.

You took a deep breath and flipped the manual lock up with two fingers.

“Wait, let me—” he was about to get out and come around to hold his coat out for you so that you wouldn’t get wet, but you were too quick for him.

“I’ll be fine, goodnight.” you were soaked the second you stepped out, fumbling in the pocket of your bag to find your keys.

“I love you,” Eddie’s voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the weather.

“Love you too,” you said quickly, and then you were bolting for the house, wishing you’d left the porch light on.

Once you were inside, you clicked the deadbolt shut and watched the beam of Eddie’s headlights retreat.

This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous.

There’s a beautiful man out there who treats you better than you’ve ever been treated in your whole life.

You threw your bag on the floor and undid the lock to jerk open the door again.

You stumbled out into the rain. “Eddie wait!”

But all you could see were his taillights as he pulled onto the main street and drifted away.

—------

Back at her house, Astrid let the phone ring.

At one point, she had her hand on it, ready to pick up, but then decided against it.

It was impossible for her to be fake with Steve, but she also wasn’t ready to be as forthcoming as she needed to be.

She stood at the table and looked at the paperwork from the doctor's office one more time before she made her way over to the couch and hugged a pillow to her chest to let the tears fall hot and heavy.

She had her eyes closed, so she didn’t notice the lights approaching in the driveway or hear Steve shouting her name from the sidewalk as he stood out in the rain.

He’d borrowed Robin’s car to ease his mind and make sure Astrid was okay. What if she had slipped and hit her head or something? What if she was there with another dude? Also, a possibility under their “don’t ask, don’t tell” relationship agreement.

The white t-shirt he had on was soaked through, making the tattoos underneath look like they were a design imprinted on the material that hugged his muscles.

He banged on the door with the side of his fist and shouted her name again.

By then, Astrid could hear him, but she stayed curled on the couch and waited in vain for him to give up and leave.

—--

Eddie scowled to himself as he parked the Chevelle in one of the garages and made his way across the parking lot and up the steps to his apartment, shaking his wet hair like a dog. He could hear a few of the guys partying in the clubhouse, and he thought about joining them, but realized his spirits were too low to be social. There was a punching bag in the back office where he normally did his workouts to burn off steam, but he wasn’t in the mood for that either.

He told himself he would check on you first thing in the morning, but then it occurred to him that you might not want to hear from him right away. He wanted to respect your wishes, your boundaries.

He didn’t want to smother you.

On the nightstand next to his phone was the card for the real estate agent he’d visited the day before. There was a room on the second floor of the Ferguson farmhouse with a view of the big backyard and he imagined setting some easels up to make it a place for you to paint. It had a big living room with a fireplace and a workshed in the barn. He wanted to talk to you about it, to ask if maybe you could see yourself living there. With him.

But now he wondered if things were moving too fast.

He crossed his arms over his body and took his shirt off in the bathroom mirror. He rubbed a hand down his stomach, noting the areas of skin that were not covered in inked designs. The fanged bat with wings spread wide on his chest, the dragon design on his bicep, the grim reaper on his forearm. A crude dagger made to look like it pierced his skin just under his rib cage that said, “true friends stab you in the front”. There were other bits of traditional biker flash scattered around that Steve had doodled on him over the past decade. On his other forearm was a memorial tattoo for his mother with her name, the year she died, and an angel statue with eyes that dripped blood, surrounded in roses and thorns, and the thorns came down over the back of his hand. It was done in a way so that the bats that had been inked there earlier were still visible.

He was barely 15 when another friend inked HELLFIRE on his knuckles. It was done with a homemade tattooing gun like the ones used in prison, and the letters had to be redone later because they were basically chicken scratches. One of the other earliest ones was the skull with a snake through it on his opposite bicep with his nickname “War Machine” underneath.

Some days, he wanted to get them all removed and start over.

Other days, he wanted to go balls to the wall like Steve and be inked from ear to foot.

He threw his soaked shirt in the hamper and was just about to grab a beer out of the small fridge near his desk to take into the shower with him—

but then there was a knock at the door.

At first, he thought it was one of the other Coffin Kings, trying to drag him down to get plastered with them, but then he noticed that the rapping of knuckles was soft, cautious even.

“Eddie?”

His head snapped around at the sound of the voice.

It was you.

—------

Steve held his finger on the doorbell, relentlessly. “Astrid, if you don’t answer the goddamn door, I’m gonna break it down! You know I will!”

Astrid wiped her face, flapping her hand to dry her eyes and cheeks to the best of her ability. She still had on the flowy, floral, maxi dress with an empire waist that she’d worn at the barbeque, and she wrapped a black shawl around her shoulders as she stomped begrudgingly to the door.

Just as she was about to reach up to unlock the safety chain, there was a loud thud from Steve’s foot slamming into the wood, vibrating the hinges.

“Steve stop!” She yelled, fussing with the second lock on the doorknob.

She yanked the door back and there he was: soaked to the bone.

There was only a short awning over her front steps, and so he was standing as close to the frame as possible while more thunder rumbled in the distance. His wet hair had flopped into his eyes, and he swiped it back with a twist of his head, spitting to the sidewalk as he did so.

His expression was one of anger at first, but then it melted into confusion when he could tell right away that she had been crying. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

“This is a bad time,” she stayed blocking the entrance, although the yearning in his eyes was actively testing her resolve.

“The hell it is?” He pushed. He shifted to see behind her, as if there was someone or something she was hiding. “You’re upset, I can tell. Let me in.”

“No.” That was her answer, but Steve wasn’t having it.

He stomped up onto the threshold, wet hair dripping onto her face as he closed in, bracing his hand on the door so that she couldn’t shut it. “Why don’t you want to see me?”

She tried to look everywhere but his face, but then his hand caught her chin and guided her eyes up to meet his.

“Talk to me,” he whispered from lips dotted in water droplets.

There was a tug of war going on in her heart, and in the end, Steve won. He always did.

She didn’t invite him in properly, she just turned on her heel and left the door open, knowing he would follow her into the living room.

His boots squeaked from all the moisture on her hardwood floors. He always liked to take his shoes off when he came to see her, but it was too late for that. He found her sitting on the couch in the dark, but he could only see the outline of her curly hair.

“Why are you sitting here without any lights on?” He reached down and flicked on a tiny wicker lamp that was on the nearby bookshelf.

“You ask a lot of questions,” she mumbled.

He pinched the front of his shirt to peel it from his body and flapped it a few times as if that would dry it out. “What did you want to talk to me about at the barbeque?”

“You’re soaking wet,” she got a good look at him in the light and suddenly felt bad that she’d made him wait out there.

“No kidding?” He snorted sarcastically.

“You left some of your clothes here last time. I folded them in the third drawer,” she hugged the pillow. “Get into something dry and then we can talk.”

He stripped down to his underwear right there in front of her, staring at her the entire time, as if he was worried she would bolt and try to hide from him. His patchwork of colorful tattoos was a jumble of loud expressions of his aggression and passion. In honor of his nickname Taz, he had several Tasmanian devils doing various things including riding a motorcycle and one on the back of his arm giving onlookers the middle finger. The ones on the front of his thighs were all self-done when he was just a kid, practicing his craft. When he was a teenager, he used to tease her and call her “Asteroid” and just above his knee was an asteroid with a fire tail crashing toward a heart-shaped earth. Besides the Seek and Destroy tattoo on the side of his throat, his skin was full of phrases, including the big “FTW” letters in an arc under his ribcage that stood for “Fuck the World”.

He went into her bedroom and brought out a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt with “Gary’s Plumbing” advertised on the front pocket. He dressed in front of her as well, keeping a relentless eye.

“You really are ridiculous, you know that?” She put her chin in her palm and waited patiently for the show to be over.

He flapped his arms out to his sides like a little kid waiting for approval on his outfit. “Okay, beautiful. I’m dry. Time to spill the beans.”

“Can you sit down, please?” Her heart flopped in her chest as she considered the words that were about to come out of her mouth and the effect, they would have on him.

In Steve’s experience, when someone asked you to sit down before they told you something, it was always their attempt to soften the blow of bad news. “Why can’t you just tell me now? You’re freaking me out, babe.”

“Steve,” She pleaded sternly. “Trust me, I need you to sit down for this.”

—------

Eddie barely had time to greet you before you were pushing by him to get into the studio apartment. You were hugging yourself, and anxiety had your stomach in knots.

“I need to talk to you about something,” you gushed.

Eddie stood at the door, keeping his back to you while he locked it. He was shirtless, dark hair dripping down the pale muscles that flexed under his flesh.

You looked around, trying to decide if you should sit or stand when your gaze landed on the painting you’d done for him after that first time you met. He had it displayed front and center, right above his desk on the main navy-blue wall, as if it were the most important piece in the room.

You were pacing when he turned toward you, the wheels in your mind spinning.

When he got closer, you stepped further away, but he caught your wrist. “Hey, why can’t you look at me? What’s going on?” His voice was sterner than he’d intended it to be.

“I can look at you,” you made yourself meet his stare to prove his point, but it was difficult. You felt like he could see right through you; all of your doubts, all of your fears and insecurities.

“Sit,” he directed you over to the end of the bed, facing the small sitting area with where there was a couch and a coffee table in front of an old Zenith tv.

Next to you, the mattress sank under his weight, but in your mind, you were somewhere else.

“So, is this it?” He released a heavy breath and started to play with one of the rings on his hand, pulling it up the finger and then pushing it back down to the knuckle.

“What do you mean?”

It was he who couldn’t look at you now. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” You blurted it, eyebrows pinching together in frustration with the way you couldn’t get the words out. “That’s not…I didn’t mean…I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

A rush of endorphins filled him with temporary relief while he waited for your next words.

You stretched your neck from side to side, swallowed hard, and then you told him.

You told him about John’s offer to run your own gallery in Chicago, the opportunity to have the artists loft you’d always dreamed of. You picked at a piece of skin on the side of your thumb as you talked.

“But I said I needed to talk to you about it first,” you added.

Eddie got to his feet and went over to look out the window over the garage parking lot. “Sounds like a pretty sweet deal,” he mumbled.

You weren’t breaking up with him, but you were, in fact, leaving him, which was much the same thing.

“Well, it’s complicated,” you said, watching as he went over to snatch his pack of smokes and lighter off of the coffee table.

“Doesn’t sound complicated to me,” the cigarette bobbed between his pinched lips as he talked, cupping his hand to light the end. “Sounds like you already know what your answer is.”

“I wouldn’t be talking to you about it if I’d already made my decision,” you countered. “I want to know what you think.”

“Well,” he scoffed, exhaling a sharp plume of smoke down his chin. His eyes were much darker now, almost black. “No one in their right mind would choose to stay in Hawkins, not with an opportunity like that on the table.”

He almost added, “no loser biker boyfriend is worth it,” but decided it was not the right time to be self-deprecating.

“But I like it here,” you mused. “More than I ever thought I would.”

“We’ll always be here, trust me,” he was trying to remain cool, but his exterior was cracking. “So, this John guy has been stalking you or something? Getting you to do this painting for him was one thing, but now he’s waiting for you at your job to get you to what? ----Move to Chicago to be closer to him?”.

The smoke came out his nose that time and the muscles in his throat tensed. He had a bad feeling about that guy before, but he wanted to respect your business ventures and give you space.

The change in Eddie’s demeanor made you wonder if that was the time for full transparency. In the end, you’d made a promise not to have any secrets from each other and you wanted to keep your word.

“There was mention of that, yes,” you said cautiously, nibbling at your lip.

“Mention of what, exactly?” Eddie scowled, cocking his head to the side.

“He said there were lots of places he wanted to take me to in the city,” you recited the words cautiously.

Eddie laughed and threw his head back; it was much more of a crazy, maniacal cackle. “Oh shit, maybe I should pay him a little visit? See if pretty boy wants to show me the city too.”

“Eddie.”

“What did you tell him?” He was fuming now, grinding his jaw as he stabbed the half-smoked cig into the ashtray.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” you repeated, but in a much louder voice. “I said I needed to talk to you, my boyfriend.”

“He knows you have a boyfriend, and he still pulled that shit?” Eddie bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth with a grimace. “That fucker needs to get rolled.”

“Eddie!”

“No, I’m serious,” he was yelling now, but more about the situation than at you. “I gave him a chance to be cool, to be a gentleman, and he fucked it up. I told you babe, dudes like that, with money, think they can take whatever they want. Well, he can’t have you, unless it’s over my dead fucking body.”

“Well, it’s my fucking choice, and I don’t want to be with him, I want to be with you, asshole,” You shot to your feet.

You’d realized something on your way over to his place and it was that you really did not want to leave Hawkins.

Every rational bone in your body told you to take the offer and run, but the other bones in your body, the not so rational ones, told you that you’d finally found your family and a place you belonged.

“Listen to me,” you grabbed him by the arm and made him turn, his hair flying over his shoulder. “I don’t want to take the job, okay? I want to stay here. With you.”

Eddie nostrils flared. It was taking all of his strength not to go out looking for that pencil pushing dweeb Gregson. But if he actually got his hands on him in the heat of the moment, he was afraid of what he would do.

“I’ll move with you,” Eddie wet his lips, a new idea flashing behind his eyes.

“With me? To Chicago?”

“Yeah, no, I could make it work. Hire another manager here, another tow truck driver. Come back and check in a couple times a month,” he walked by you as he talked, plucking at his lower lip with thumb and forefinger. “I could get a job at a garage in Chicago, easy. There’s even a King’s chapter there. I could get Bones to patch me in.”

“What about Wayne? And Oliver?”

“We’ll come back to visit,” Eddie nodded at the plan that was forming in his head. “Steve and Robin and the kid love Chicago. Maybe we can get a place with a spare bedroom for when they come up.”

“But what about—”

“I know this means a lot to you, this opportunity,” he cut you off. “I know I’m a dirty, biker asshole, but I’m not going to be the reason you give up on a dream.” He went over to the dresser drawers and pulled out a Pabst Blue Ribbon shirt to pull on over his head. The armholes were cut wide, and the collar was frayed.

“But what if I don’t want to live in Chicago?”

Eddie squinted like he hadn’t heard you correctly. “What now?”

You bit the inside of your cheek in contemplation. “I’ve been thinking that I don’t really care about that world anymore, the art world I mean.”

“You don’t want to paint anymore?” He appeared hurt by this notion.

“No, I do, I will always paint,” you corrected with a wave of your hand. “But the retail side of it, the snobby clientele, the stress, I’m not sure it makes me happy anymore. Not sure if it ever did.”

It was Eddie who took a seat that time, perching on the back of the sofa. You could tell he was trying to understand, but the information was coming at him a bit too fast.

“I don’t want to work at the Hammer for the rest of my life, either, but it’s okay for now,” you were working through the revelations as you spoke them aloud. “I have a friend who is starting her own greeting card company, and she wants me to do some artwork for her. Little by little, I can make a living while still doing what I love.”

Eddie’s thoughts drifted back to the farmhouse, and how much he felt like it fit the both of you.

“Are you telling me you chose Hawkins? Really?”

You went over to situate your hips between his knees and brushed his bangs off his forehead. “No, I’m saying I choose you, asshole,” a smile tugged the side of your mouth up. “Hawkins is a bonus, yes, but I will always choose you.”

Foreheads met then, and Eddie forced out a long-held breath from between tight lips. “I don’t want you to wake up one day and realize you made a mistake.”

“The only thing I regret is that I didn’t get to jump your bones in high school.”

He chuckled, repeating what he’d asked at the barbeque earlier. “Well, what about now?”

In the back of his mind he was thinking, “that John Gregson is still a dead man,” but he kept it to himself.

—----

Steve flopped down next to Astrid on the fluffy, tan sofa so violently it was as if he’d been thrown there by a force of nature. He scooted closer and pawed at her hand so that she would intertwine her fingers with his. He was reminded of all of those times as a teenager when he would get hurt on purpose just so she would patch him up. She was a couple years older and wanted nothing to do with him back then, but nevertheless he melted under the tender touch of her attention every time.

“I’m all ears,” he prodded eagerly when she did not speak right away.

Keeping Steve’s hand with hers, Astrid turned to face him and tucked her bare feet underneath her, adjusting the stretch length of her dress.

Steve watched the way her long hair fell across her neck and ample cleavage.

“Okay,” she cleared her throat. “What I need to tell you is—”

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, perpetually distracted.

“Steve?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

Another big inhale and then: “These past few weeks, I could tell something was…off. I thought it was early menopause because I missed my period.”

Steve stared blankly, trying not to get turned on watching her lips move.

She let her gaze fall to their hands clasped on Steve’s knee, wondering if any of it was real, or if she was still dreaming.

“Is it cancer?” He dared to ask, squeezing her hand. “Because I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’ll find the best doctor at gunpoint if I have to.”

“Steve!”

“What? You’re making me crazy! Tell me everything's okay?”

“I’m not dying, Steve.”

“Well then what is it? I’ve been going out of my mind and here you are—”

“I’m pregnant.”

His body had been moving, vibrating even, but it all came to a complete halt at that.

As if he’d been flash-frozen on the spot.

A mannequin of himself; mouth open, one eyebrow up.

He shook his head, confused. “Hold on, what? But I thought you said that you—”

She played with the hem of her shawl. “I was told it was impossible. I was told it would take a miracle.”

“Wait a minute, so—” he gulped and then leaned forward to search her face, one arm scooping behind her. Her eyes were glossy again, on the verge of another wellspring.

“Is it m-my…is it my baby?” He stammered.

She could only nod, chin quivering as more tears gathered at her lash line only to race down her cheeks once she blinked.

Steve lost it then too, sucking in air before he choked on his own emotions. He brought her hand to his chest and held it there. “My baby,” he gasped, eyes flooding. “You’re having my baby. We’re having a baby.”

“Yeah,” she hiccuped and sniffed. “You’re not upset?”

“Upset? Why would I be upset? How could you even think that?” He was deeply offended that she would question his reaction to something he’d wanted his whole life with her, specifically.

He was wiping her tears away with his thumbs as she spoke. “This is far from convenient, Steve. The way we both live our lives, we never planned for this. We barely have two pennies to rub together between us and—”

“Shhhh,” he kissed her nose and her eyelids and her mouth. “Money comes and goes, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter, nothing matters, but you and this baby. Our baby.”

Our baby. He couldn’t stop saying it.

He hadn’t known about Oliver until a few days before he was born, and he always felt robbed of all that time in the womb when he could’ve bonded with his son. Tina had been a three-day fling at a music festival, and he never had any intention of seeing her again. He’d been prepared to do the right thing though, to be a family even if it killed him, but then Tina just handed him a baby boy a week old and drove away, as if he knew what the fuck he was doing.

Robin had been in the car waiting for him when it happened. She saw him standing there in the street holding that screaming baby in a blanket and right then and there, a mother was born.

He put his hand on Astrid’s stomach, gently. “Can I feel it move yet? The baby?”

She laughed into her hand as she wiped her nose. “I’m barely seven weeks along, silly.”

He curled down like he always did when he put his head in her lap, but instead he placed his ear on her stomach, massaging her thigh with his hand. “I don’t think you can hear me, little one, but daddy has loved your mother his whole life and I love you very much.”

His next words were to Astrid; a murmur into the meat of her. “Will you let me love you now? The way I’ve always wanted to? Will you stay with me?”

She scratched her fingers through his hair, and then held his head there when his arms went around her waist. They stayed like that for a long while.

A bit later, in bed with her head on his chest, he was half asleep when she whispered: “You know that twins run in my family, right?”

—------

“A geriatric pregnancy,” Steve told you from across the bar when you were both back at work the next evening to the tune of Connection by Elastica.

You made a face while you put some limes and shots of tequila on your tray.

“That’s what they call it, I guess, when a woman is over 35,” he shrugged. “A geriatric pregnancy. So, I’m forcing her to take it easy.”

He was letting you and Shana in on the good news, and he’d been grinning from ear to ear for so long, his cheeks hurt. His gold incisor caught the red lights like it had a ruby in it. He’d even been smiling in his sleep, somehow, as Astrid noticed when she got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.

“I’m so happy for you,” you mirrored his enthusiasm. “Does Eddie know? Wayne?”

“Not yet,” he made a loose fist and cracked his knuckles. “We wanted to tell Uncle together. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but I couldn’t wait,” he added sheepishly. “She knows I can’t keep a secret like that.”

“I’ll wait and let you give Eddie the news,” you told him. “I think he’d rather hear it from you.”

“Where is that War Machine?” Steve looked around, adjusting his sunglasses on his head. “I owe him a drink.”

“That’s a good question,” you glanced at the clock that was up by the wall-mounted tv. “He said he was going to stop by, but that was almost two hours ago.” It didn’t concern you too much because your boyfriend was a busy guy, and last-minute things were always popping up at the shop.

It was on your to-do list to call John on your break and let him know you were turning down his offer. The more you thought about it, the more you wondered if he’d planned to hire you on merit, or if he just wanted to get into your pants. When you thought about the possibility of the latter, it made your blood pressure spike.

You delivered a round of drinks to a table, and on your way back to the bar, there was a man in a suit coming through the door, holding a briefcase.

Steve gave him a nod when they made eye contact, but he didn’t ask to check his ID because the man had a graying hairline and was possibly mid-fifties at the least. He was fit though, and had a very confident demeanor about him. He looked like he was there to do business.

“My name is Saul,” he introduced himself to Steve with a handshake and Steve stood up from his stool to be eye level with him. “I’m looking for Steve Harrington.”

“You found him,” Steve rolled his neck, wondering what he could possibly want from him.

Saul gave a stiff smile that did not reach his eyes.

By then you were at the bar, acting like you were busy so that you could eavesdrop.

“What’s this about?” Steve pushed the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows, exposing his tattoos.

“Well, it would behoove you to give me a moment of your time,” he moved one side of his suit jacket back to shove his hand in his pocket, rocking back on his heels.

“I have some business to discuss with you on behalf of Charlene Gregson.”

—------

John Gregson had no idea he was being followed.

He vaguely registered the sound of the loud pipes from the motorcycles rolling up to Margie’s diner, but he was having a late lunch with a business associate and didn’t pay much attention to it. He preferred white tablecloth lunch meetings, but in Hawkins there weren’t many choices. Their BLT was unbeatable though, as was the chocolate cream pie. He’d have to calculate them both into his low-carb diet and spend extra time at the gym in the morning.

He had his back to the door, making notes in his date book as the man across from him spoke over the sound of clattering dishes and silverware.

He felt the shadows pass over the table, but he figured it was a group on the way to sit at a booth further down.

But they came to a halt and loomed there, smelling of leather and tobacco.

John glanced over the top of his reading glasses at his companion first and saw that the color had drained from his face.

There were four members of the Coffin Kings glaring down at them.

Eddie frowned at the man with John and jerked his thumb to the side. “Get up,” he said. “Find somewhere else to be, I need to talk to your friend here.”

Devlin sank into the booth behind John while Van stood across the aisle flipping his butterfly knife, and Lucas stayed next to Eddie.

“Now, hold on just a—” John began to protest, about to get to his feet, but Lucas clapped a hand onto his shoulder and pushed him back down with calm, steady force.

His companion’s eyes darted from Eddie to John a few times before he gathered his things in a rush, tucking all of his papers under his arm, and shimmied past Van while holding his breath. It was clear he had no intention of going to wait at another table, he was down the row of booths and out the front door in a flash.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie sank into the seat across from John, wallet chain dragging on the vinyl as he settled in, stretching his arms wide along the back of the bench.

Lucas turned his back on the two but stood in the same spot, feet planted wide, hands in his pockets, blocking John from leaving.

With a resolute nod, John put his pen down. “Have we met? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure—”

“Cut the crap, man,” Eddie huffed with a lazy grin and hooded eyes. “You know exactly who I am.”

John took his glasses off and tucked them inside his jacket pocket. “Fair enough. How can I help you?”

Eddie plucked a pack of smokes out of the front pocket of his cut and motioned for Devlin to toss him a lighter.

“This is a no smoking section,” John reminded him, pointing to the sign on the wall with a red line through a cigarette.

Eddie stared at him as he lit the end and sucked in his cheeks until the cherry glowed orange.

He waited until after a generous exhale to speak, directing the smoke into John’s leftover pie.

“You see, John—can I call you John? I’ve been really…patient when it comes to this infatuation you have with my girl. More patient than you deserve, I think.”

John clicked his tongue. “Now, you misunderstand me, I—”

“I haven’t misunderstood shit,” Eddie scoffed a laugh.

The waitress came over, and John was sure she was going to tell him to put his cigarette out, but instead she just gave him the most flirtatious smile. “You want some coffee, hun? You hungry?”

Eddie finished taking another drag and winked at her. “Just coffee for me, darlin’,” and then he gestured to the other Coffin Kings. “Get these boys whatever they want and wrap it up to go. It’s on John’s tab.”

Once she was gone, Eddie continued. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, slick,” he reached over to tap the ash out on John’s plate. “Once she finishes this painting, you’re gonna to pay her more than what you initially offered, and then you’re never going to see her or talk to her ever again. Comprendo?”

John used the back of his fingers to push the plate a few inches away, dabbing the sides of his mouth with his napkin. “My offer for her to run my gallery in Chicago had no devious intentions, I assure you. I genuinely believe she is that talented.”

Eddie ground his teeth, jaw muscles bulging. “She’s beyond talented, you got that right, but she doesn’t want to work for you. You’re a creep. Throwing money and big promises around to get what you want. I know your type.”

“My type?”

“Has your wife ever mentioned me?” Eddie inquired, exhaling into John’s face.

He watched John visibly go rigid.

Rhonda set Eddie’s coffee cup on a saucer down in front of him with extra creamer and poured him a steaming cup.

John cleared his throat. “I think it would be in her best interest—”

“You don’t know what’s best for her,” Eddie bit. “Who are you, her fucking dad?”

He’d said it a bit too loud and a few people from other tables craned their necks to follow the sound.

Eddie leaned forward, whispering tensely. “I don’t think I have to tell you that I have friends in low places. People who will do what I say at the drop of a hat. You think you can hide behind your money? You’re wrong. The people who pump your gas and make your food and clean your bathroom? They’re all with me. You’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life. If you fuck with me on this, if you seek my girl out after I’ve told you not to? Well, then, I hope you like dentures sweetheart because I’m gonna pull your perfect, pearly teeth out one by one.”

By the time he was done, his hand had curled into a fist on the table. He spread the ringed fingers out wide and then made the fist again, making John look at it.

Eddie snubbed out his smoke in John’s pie with a sizzle and then settled back in his seat, relaxing his shoulders. He cocked an eyebrow up. “Are we good?”

John sat back as well. “We’re good,” he acknowledged stiffly, adjusting his suit jacket.

Eddie slapped the table and gave John a wink. “Well, this was fun,” he chuckled. “We should catch up more often.”

He took a quick gulp of his coffee and slid out of the booth.

He stopped to bend over and whisper, “don’t forget to tip well, slick,” in John’s ear on his way out.

—-------

By the time Eddie showed up at the Velvet Hammer, swatting away plumes of second-hand smoke as he went, everyone knew that Steve was going to be a dad again. Even the new customers who’d barely just walked in the door that evening.

Astrid had prepared for this.

One of the many complicated reasons she’d waited more than a week to tell him was because she’d known that, if he knew, he’d be announcing it to everyone he passed by on the street.

Steve jumped from his stool and hugged Eddie. “I’ve got great news, man,” he clapped Eddie a few times on the arm, over the thick leather jacket he had on.

Eddie had been on his way across the room to you when his friend stopped him, so the sudden affection took him off guard. “I like good news,” he caught your eye over Steve’s shoulder and smirked.

Steve let him know that he was going to be a dad again, which Eddie assumed would happen sooner than later, but he was surprised and delighted to know that Astrid was the mom. They both knew that she’d been told it would be nearly impossible for her to conceive.

Steve leaned in. “This proves it, man, I have a magic dick.”

“Sure you do,” Eddie scoffed, patting Steve on the cheek a few times. “Only took you 15 years.”

Before you could greet him, Eddie was already in front of you, pulling you flush to his body. He started to walk and you took backwards steps to stay with him. “Can you take your break right now?”

“I wasn’t going to for another hour but—”

“I need to talk to you,” he hushed.

“Um, okay, well,” you glanced over at Shana and she waved you off.

His mouth found yours the second you were obscured in the dark hallway. You figured he’d be escorting you out to the alley where you usually took your breaks with him so he could smoke, but this time, he pulled you into one of the two unisex bathrooms and locked it behind him. The bulbs inside were red, and it set an eerie, bloodwashed glow.

“This place sees a lot of action,” you mumbled into his kiss as he worked your skirt up so that he could take a handful of the meat of your ass. “I like to call it Steve’s Office.”

Before you knew what was happening, he was hoisting you up onto the sink counter with a grunt. Your thighs and bum were fully exposed now, covered in fishnet stockings, and one of his hands held your face while the other rubbed a knuckle over the heat between your legs. Your panties and stockings were preventing him from going further, but not for long.

You were about to protest, to say you had to get back to work, or to remind him how many women Steve had probably railed in that very spot, but

Fuck

And just when you softened with a shaky moan, he kissed a trail down your jaw and throat, with a few nibbles in between.

You whimpered, spreading your legs further apart, Doc Marten booted feet locking onto his thighs to keep him close.

“I have something..” smooch “...that I need…” smooch “...to ask you…” smooch

“Right now?” You palmed his hard length over his denim and then went to work at undoing his belt buckle. “We only have 10 minutes.”

He leaned back, letting his cherry bitten lips hover there at eye level. His bangs were getting too long, he needed a trim, and you brushed them to the side, off of his eyebrows.

“Do you want to move in with me?”

You blinked a few times. “Into your apartment?”

“No, no,” eager lips found your mouth again and his thumb rubbed circles over the taut nub of your nipple through your shirt. “The big farmhouse down on Marigold Road. I pointed it out once when we drove by.”

You stopped. “The old Ferguson place? Aren’t there people already living there?”

“Not anymore,” he could feel your arousal soaking through your underwear and he hissed, grinding his erection against your thigh. “I want to buy it. For us.”

In your desperation, you reached down and clawed at the section of black fishnet that was keeping him from you, ripping a little further down your thigh than you’d intended to.

Eddie kissed down the front of you on the way to his knees, and then your underwear was pulled to one side and his tongue was on your swollen clit, rolling in circles there.

You dug your fingers into his hair with one hand and supported yourself on the ledge with the other. He sucked a few times, and then his tongue went inside of you, and you bit your lip, squirming to try and repress a scream.

“That is a big step,” you gasped. “Moving in together.”

For the longest time, you couldn’t see yourself living with anyone other than a roommate ever again.

He hummed on your now soaked cunt and then kitten licked it a few times. “I’m ready. Are you?”

You didn’t respond at first because your eyes were rolling back in your head, so he popped off to get to his feet, his chin glistening. He spread your thighs further apart to make room for his hips and undid his zipper.

His pupils bloomed wide as he searched your lustful eyes, insecurities making his heart rate quicken. “Are you not ready? I mean, do you not want that? Is it too soo—”

But then you silenced him with your mouth, lapping up your juices from his chin, moving away a strand of his hair that had stuck there. “I want to see the inside. Could we go look at it together?”

“Yeah we can,” he pushed his boxers down and rubbed the tip of his leaking cock along your slit. “I’ll call the real estate dude in the morning.”

You clung to his neck, jaw going slack as he sank in. “I’ll have to check with Charlie.”

He chucked into the kiss at you mentioning your cat, and then he was stretching you out, easing his way in, aching to be one with you.

“Deeper…more,” you whimpered, and then you each let out a muffled cry when he filled you to the hilt, flush inside of your pulsing heat.

He rested his forehead on yours and began to work his hips, thrusting deep and retreating with a curl of his hips so that you could feel every vein, every ridge, but then you were clenching around him, and he sped up with a curse, a thumb working at your clit.

“This…fuck, I’m going to cum so hard inside of you,” he admitted with a huff. His belt buckle clinked against his zipper with every thrust. “You want that? You want all of me?”

“Fuck, Eddie, yes,” You whined, clinging to him as stars exploded behind your eyes.

His strong fingers dug into your flesh to hold your legs in place, and after a few more shaking pumps, he was spilling inside of you, each of you a moaning mess of “I love yous”, clawing at the other to be closer.

Someone banged on the door just as the two of you were catching your breath and Eddie was still inside of you.

“Get lost!” Eddie yelled, not caring if it was a customer.

“Are you two having a tea party in there? Cabbage Patch meeting perhaps?”

It was Steve, and then you could hear his ruckus laughter as he banged another few times just to be cheeky.

You adjusted your underwear back into place, and Eddie fastened his jeans before he helped you down off the counter. You pulled your skirt down and checked yourself in the mirror.

Yikes.

The rip down your inner thigh was painfully obvious. You wondered if shredding them in a few more places would make it more of “a look”, but then realized that the lighting in the Hammer was not great, and it wasn’t unheard of for someone to accidentally rip their stockings at work.

But what about when Eddie’s seed started to drip down your leg?

“You go,” you shooed him away as he stood there adjusting the collar of his jacket, waiting for you. “I need to pee.”

He was looking at himself in the mirror, rubbing lipstick off his cheek, but then he turned just before grabbing for the door. “If you don’t want to, you know, live together right away, I get it. But with Katie moving in with Robin and all, I figured—”

“You figured we could be roommates?”

He smirked, giving a bashful shrug. “A little more than that, maybe. Roommates with benefits.”

“Yeah?” You sank against his chest, forever helpless to his gravitational pull. “What kind of benefits?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he rubbed the sides of your arms with his calloused hands. “I’ll make you pancakes.”

“You think you can make pancakes?”

“Baby, I've told you before, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

—-------

“WAYNE!”

Uncle entered the Hammer and everyone screamed his name like he was Norm in an episode of Cheers.

It had been a while since he dropped by unannounced, and he looked better than ever.

Still much thinner than he had been the year before, and it was hard for him to catch his breath sometimes, but his eyes were bright, and he wore a soft smile more often than not.

Maybe the chemo was working? Maybe there was hope?

Devlin had been sitting on the stool at the bar next to Eddie, but Eddie was quick to tell him to take a hike when Wayne showed up.

“What did the doctor say?” He asked as his uncle straddled the stool and got comfortable. He was in a green and white plaid work shirt and had decided to leave his Coffin Kings leather at home.

Wayne gave a single nod and patted around for his smokes out of habit, even though he’d given it up when he started treatment. “Just heard Steve's gonna be a dad again. He better treat her right, that's all I can say." It was obvious he was damn near giddy at the thought, Eddie could see it in the way a smile kept tugging at the sides of his mouth. "I’m sick of talking about doctors and my goddamn condition. Want to forget about it for a night.”

Eddie respected that, and tapped the bar to order him one of those non-alcoholic beers that they kept cold specifically for Wayne and one other regular patron.

You barely had a chance to give Wayne a shoulder squeeze when Robin burst in through the door, frantically scanning the crowd. There was a dancer on the backstage, working her way down the poll, and Steve had gone over to remind a few rowdy customers to behave themselves. Robin rushed over and met him halfway, in front of the glowing jukebox.

He found no comfort in the way she looked like she’d been crying.

“What’s going on?” Felt like his heart literally stopped beating in his chest. “Are you okay?”

“The spare key,” she held her palm out. “You used it last time and now I’m locked out of the house.”

He felt around in his back pocket. “Where are your regular keys?”

She rolled her eyes, bouncing in frustration. “I lost them somewhere, okay? At work maybe, I’m not sure, but Oliver just threw a fit, I’m on my period, and we’re all just in a really bad mood and want to go home.”

“Alright, alright, here take my key,” he wrestled it off the metal ring to hand it to her. “Just remember to leave the back door unlocked for me. Is Oliver in the car?”

“No, he’s at Katie’s place with her, I needed to take a drive alone so that I could scream,” she snatched the key from him.

“Shit, you had me worried for a second.”

“Sorry,” admittedly, she felt like she was overreacting to something so small and fixable, but more likely her tears were from an accumulation of things. Once the panic spike subsided, her eyes landed on half of a white envelope peeking out of the pocket of his Coffin Kings leather, right above his TAZ insignia. She always teased him and said his official nickname should’ve been Dingus.

“What’s this?” It looked like it had some official lettering in the corner, and she plucked it out to look closer.

They made their way back to the front so he could keep an eye on the door, and she frowned at the name of a law office in the corner.

“I don’t know, I haven’t opened it yet,” he shrugged. “Some douchey lawyer brought it by, said it was from Charlene. It was busy when he came in, so he gave me that to read and told me to call him in the morning.”

“Fucking Charlene?” She balked. “What, is she suing you for not wanting to be her boyfriend?”

“I haven’t had time to open in, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

A group of people came in, and two looked like they were 16, so Steve carded them.

Robin ripped the top of the envelope open. You stepped in front of her on your way to a table, and the two of you collided.

You said a quick apology and were about to ask if she wanted a drink, when Shana shouted across the bar to tell Robin the phone was for her.

“It’s your boss from the motel,” Shana continued, holding her hand over the bottom half of the receiver.

Robin gave a heavy, exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “She’s going to ask me to work a double shift tomorrow, I just know it.”

She shoved the paperwork at you that she’d just unfolded, but not yet read. “Hold this for me? Be right back.”

“Oh—okay,” you had the paperwork pressed flat to your chest as you made your way over to stand at Eddie’s shoulder. He was talking to Wayne, but he reached back and squeezed your thigh in greeting.

You hadn’t meant to look, to eavesdrop on their private business.

But once glance was all it took

For you to be fully invested

Charlene’s name was the first thing to catch your eye

And then, The Velvet Hammer

You took a few long blinks, unsure if what you were looking at was real.

You mouthed a few of the words quietly just to make sure you were reading them correctly.

The way you froze made Eddie curious, and he turned his head to see what you were doing.

“What’s up babe? What is that?”

“It’s, uh—” you stammered. “It’s Steve’s. You’re never going to believe this, but um—”

“Can I see it?”

He tried to meet your eyes as he took it from you, but you couldn’t seem to look away from the words on the paper. Your mind was reeling.

Robin returned just as Eddie held the papers out in front of him, and she steadied herself with a hand on his back to read over his shoulder.

Steve meandered over; his curiosity officially piqued at what you were all huddled together about.

“What’s it say?” He had a smoke bobbing between his lips and his hands in his pockets. “Did I win the lottery or somethin’?”

He chuckled, but then you all turned to him in unison, unblinking, mouths agape.

“Yeah man,” a smile curled on Eddie’s lips. “Actually, you kinda did.”

—------

Charlene was on the plane to Hawaii when she read the newspaper article.

A glass of first-class champagne and a window to her right, an empty aisle seat to her left.

There he was, right on the front page of The Hawkins Post:

Steve.

In a bigger city, a business changing hands could fly under the radar, but in a small town, it was newsworthy when a local biker and bouncer becomes a business owner overnight.

A Cinderella story, the reporter called it.

The cover photo was of him out on the sidewalk, standing next to the red door entrance to the Velvet Hammer. Shana was in the photo with him, as were Robin, Jackie, Erika, and you.

Not pictured was Eddie Munson, whom the article mentioned Steve had chosen to take on as a partner.

The article talked about their plans for the Hammer, including bringing in a tattoo studio to the vacant storage space next door.

She ran her finger over his face on the newsprint.

It wasn’t until the end of the article that she got the wind knocked out of her:

“Steve and his longtime partner, Astrid Bautista, are expecting their first child together in the spring.”

She hadn’t expected that.

She had to look away and take a generous gulp of champagne.

Her eyes got a little wet and her vision blurred, but she read it again.

“Did you miss me?” Billy sank into the seat next to her with his sunglasses on and a white shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist of his jeans. He smiled around the pink gum he was chewing and craned his neck to see what she was reading, but she folded the paper hastily and turned it over.

She didn’t answer him, she just stared out the window over the clouds and tried to forget she ever felt a thing.

------

authors note: wow, we did it. This is my first fic series to finish ever 😭 If you've made it this far, you know how much this story and the characters have evolved since those first couple chapters. If this were an actual novel, I'd go back and make it all sync up, give it more continuity, and reveal nicknames like War Machine and Taz earlier in the game. But the cool thing about posting this way for a fandom is that you, the reader, are able to see in real time how the characters develop a mind of their own and take over the story in a way not even the writer can predict. In this case specifically, you can also see how I went from having no idea how to write a reader insert fic to becoming more and more comfortable with it.

I never had any intention of making Charlene a villain. She was literally based off of the wealthy woman in the Bruce Springsteen video for his song I'm on Fire. Just a gal who had a crush on her mechanic. Some of you voiced that you wished Charlene could get killed, or hurt somehow, and for those of you, you can trust that she is hurting. Knowing that Steve will be having a family with someone else is a deep wound.

I've had several requests for a separate biker Steve story with a new reader, and until two chapters ago, I fully intended to follow through on that. But the more I wrote him with Astrid, the more I felt it was wrong to keep them apart. If you are a fan of their love story, I highly recommend visiting THIS masterlist from @texasblues who created Astrid's character. But I do plan to bring a slightly different biker Steve back in a new au, stay tuned 🥰

This of course, is not the end. I plan to drop an epilogue on you all when you least expect it, and it will take place a year or two after the events here. If you are a friend of mine, you will laugh at this because whenever I say I'm going to write an epilogue, I never do. But this time I mean it.

I can't express in words how much your comments, asks, and messages about this story have meant, and will always mean to me. I was living through one of the darkest years of my life when I joined tumblr back in April and started writing this fic, and you all have held me together, whether you realize it or not. I love you and am deeply grateful for you all.

Taglist: @notsobubblybaby @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer@manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare@chaoticgood-munson @emxcast @rhirojo @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @falling-solar-system@secretdryrose

@whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @kurdtbean@dandelionnfluff @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @eddiemunson95 @sidthedollface2 @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues@emilyslutface@mmunson86@onegirlmanytales@laylaloves-ed@dashingdeb16@eddiiiieeee @ick90 @dashingdeb16 @polyestermonster @trixyvixx @atomickaratel8dy @kiyastrf94 @allthingsjoeq @eddiesxangel @razzieth @corrodeddeadlydoll @erinekc @angietherose @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @moonbeamsandmayhem @brianamunson92 @joannamuns9n @bellalillyrose @alba8688 @chevelle724

#Eddie Munson #biker!eddie #biker!steve #I'm on Fire #final chapter #the ties that bind #Eddie Munson series #Eddie Munson fic #Spotify

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 4 days

Note

Could you do one where the whole band is in the studio and reader is so desperate that she rides axl in front of everyone. Preferably the original line up in the current era please I love you❤🌷

A/n: I may have gone a little crazy with this but that's ok because who doesn't love the whole pretty boy band <3

Warnings: Smut, gang bang, riding, fingering(f receiving), hand jobs, breeding kink, if you think I missed anything please let me know otherwise enjoy :3

Guns N’ Roses was finally back from tour and you couldn’t have been happier to get to be with Axl again. You called everyday while he was away, with the calls often ending in phone sex, but it wasn’t enough.

You knew from the get go with him that you wouldn’t be able to be with him as much as you might have liked to be, it was just part of being with someone in a band. Didn’t mean you didn’t miss him, in more ways than one.

You’d spent the first few days together, as per usual, but one morning you woke up to find him getting ready to leave.

“Hey, babe, where’re you going?” You asked as you walked into the bathroom where he was.

“Going to the studio today.” He answered through a mouthful of toothpaste. You glanced at his reflection in the mirror then back to him.

“Why? You guys just got back from tour.” He spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth.

“Yeah, where I had a lot of time to think of new songs.” He explained. He planted a kiss on your forehead before heading out of the bathroom and to the walk-in closet. “We’re going to a studio to work on the instrumentals of some of them for our next album.” You watched as he sorted through clothes.

“What about me?” You asked, looking up at him with a small pout.

“What about you?” He asked with a chuckle.

“You expect me to just sit here all day?”

“Don’t you do that a lot anyway?” You glared at him, arms crossed over your chest and he gave you a kiss instead of apologising. “It’s only a few hours and then I’ll be home again.” You scoffed. He started changing in front of you, you watched him shamelessly.

“I’m coming with you.” You stated and started picking out your own outfit.

“No you’re not.” He looked at you with a confused expression. ��What would you even do?” You shrugged.

“Nothing.” You said as you found an outfit for yourself. “But I want to be with you, so I’m coming.” He stared at you for a moment before deciding that he’s not going to be able to change your mind.

“Fine, be ready in ten minutes or I’m leaving without you.

You finished getting ready, it took longer than ten minutes but you knew he wouldn’t leave without you, and of course he didn’t. He was still waiting in the kitchen on his phone, completely having lost sense of time.

Upon entering the studio you were met with familiar faces all around. Slash was looking down at his Les Paul, Izzy was watching him and strumming along a rhythm to it. Steven and Duff were talking about dogs. At least you assumed so since they were showing each other pictures of dogs.

They all greeted you and Axl when you came in. Axl guided you to the couch and sat next to you, throwing an arm around you and holding you close to his side.

They were all talking about one thing or another, the tour, home life, stuff like that before actually diving into what they came there for which was the next album.

You were bored out of your mind. No one cared when you went on your phone, you didn’t really have much reason to be there anyway other than them asking your opinion on some things, which lyric fit better, whether or not they should add more solos. You enjoyed helping when you could but you were so fucking bored you were losing your mind.

You started reading about Axl, finding smutty fics about him to pass the time. It did help, to a point. After a few minutes of reading all you wanted was to act it out.

You knew he had his phone in his pocket so you texted him, saying how needy you were. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and looked at it, glancing back at you before responding. He told you to go deal with it in the bathroom. You huffed and stayed seated on the couch.

As they kept talking you decided ‘fuck it’ and started pushing the joint in your thumb against your clit through your thin, summer shorts. It wasn’t much but it was some form of friction, friction you were craving.

You kept your eyes on your phone for the most part but when you heard Slash’s low chuckle you had to look up. His glasses covered his eyes so you couldn’t see exactly where he was looking but you could tell he was looking at you, watching you touch yourself. His hand covered his mouth but he was smiling, you could see it in his cheeks. That much was a motivator to keep going.

You spread your legs and reached your hand into your shorts, continuing to touch yourself but this time with a viewer. Slash kept watching, smiling, chuckling to himself.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Slash?” Axl finally asked. His tone wasn’t angry, even though you couldn’t see his face you could hear the way the corners of his mouth were pulled into a smile.

The guitarist shook his head and gestured to you. You quickly closed your legs and hid what you had been doing so when Axl turned to look at you there was nothing to see. Sure enough he asked Slash what you’d been doing.

“Go deal with your girlfriend.” He mumbled, aiming his gaze to the ground. Axl turned around again and took a closer look at you. Your cheeks were flushed, sweat was starting to collect at your hairline and your breathing was heavy.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He came over to you, getting your pants and panties off. You started squirming and reaching for your clothes, not expecting him to undress you in front of his band. “I told you to stay home but no you just had come along, now look at you.” He gestured to your now half-naked body. You still tried to cover yourself but he wouldn’t let you, holding your legs apart as his bandmates gathered around behind him to gawk at your glistening folds.

Axl slapped your thigh. “Get up.” You did as he asked, though still wanting to cover yourself. Axl got his half-hard dick out of his pants and sat down behind you before pulling you down on him, slipping into you with ease given how hot you made yourself prior.

He got your legs onto the couch so you were straddling him, backwards cowgirl style. He wanted you to do all the work, since this was what you wanted in the first place. He also wanted this position so that his friends could see everything, from your pretty little cunt to the faces you made when you came.

“Go on, give us a show.” Duff said, already palming himself through his jeans. Axl patted the space beside him for Duff to come sit. He did and pulled out his hard member for you to jerk. You let out a soft whine and reached for him, starting to bounce yourself on Axl’s cock while stroking Duff’s.

Steven came over as well, standing to the side of you so as to not abstract Slash and Izzy’s view of you. He dropped his own pants and waited expectantly for you to let him in on the fun. You glanced back to Axl. “Can’t keep him waiting.” He said with a grin. You looked back to Steven and started pumping his shaft as well.

You thought this was a lot but you knew it wasn’t the end of it either. Izzy and Slash were both standing farther back working themselves. It seemed that you watching them acted as confirmation and they came over.

They didn’t make you take them into your mouth like you thought they would, much to your delight. Instead, they started jerking themselves off in your face and all you could do was wait for them to cum on you.

Your body was getting tired, arms wanted to fall to your sides and your legs began to shake under you as you kept bouncing on Axl. Seeing this the ginger started fucking up into you, making it a little easier.

Of course he knew your body better than anyone and knew exactly which spots to hit to make your eyes roll back. You had five men around you, all with their dicks out for you. It made everything feel better, especially when Duff reached over to rub your clit.

He has long, talented fingers that quickened everything you were feeling. “Fuck! ‘M-’m gonna cum, gonna cum!” You whined, hands clenching and unclenching around Duff and Steven’s cocks which seemed to get Steven over the edge, white liquid spurting onto your lap.

You looked down at it with stars in your eyes. It was then that you realised how badly you wanted all of them to cum on you. You kept jerking Steven off, his voice getting higher now. You could feel Axl twitching inside of you so you looked back at him.

“Please cum inside, want it so bad, please.” You whined. Axl had always wanted kids so you learned early on in your relationship that he had a breeding kink and asking him to cum inside your tight cunt was a sure fire way to make him cum.

Sure enough he grabbed your hips and held you down on him while his cum filled you up. That feeling alone almost made you cum but what really did it was Slash toying with your nipple.

You hadn’t been looking at him so his warm hand was already a surprise but the way he fondled you made your eyes roll back into your head. Your body shook and the couch under you, along with Axl’s lap, was now drenched.

You heard Duff groaning beside you and looked over just in time to catch his dick leaking, thick liquid coating your hand. His hand didn’t stop working on your clit, rubbing it, pinching and flicking. Seeing what made you moan the loudest and sweetest.

Izzy turned your head and thick ropes spurted onto your face. You stared up at him, lips parted as his seed slipped into your mouth. You were in such a trance for a moment you almost missed the feeling of Slash cumming on your chest.

More than once you’d caught him staring at your chest, really anyone’s chest. You smiled up at him and moved up and down Axl a few more times so he could watch your tits bounce while he came.

You were all breathing heavy, panting on one another as you came down from your highs.

“Get up.” Axl said with a heavy breath, patting your thigh. You got up and then started questioning what he wanted, your mind still in a haze. Sweat and jizz mixed together on your body and dripped down.

“Why..?” You asked out of breath and legs shaking beneath you.

“You wanted to get fucked so bad,” the ginger started, “why not give everyone a turn?” You stared up at him with wide eyes as you felt Slash’s big, warm hands wrap around your waist.

#guns n roses #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses smut #gnr fanfiction #gnr #izzy gnr #duff gnr #slash gnr #axl gnr #axl rose x reader #axl rose smut #axl rose fanfiction #axl rose #axl rose gnr #axl rose imagine

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justanamesstuff · 1 year

Text

All I Need

Chapter 7

Matty Healy!dad x f!reader

A/N: what was promised is debt! I'm uploading it hours earlier than I was planning...I really hope you enjoy it, guys. It's a BIG ONE! I'm so nervous about it! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ♥ Thank u for reading and supporting!!

Warnings: explicit +18 scenes MINORS DO NOT INTERNACT!; swearing; angst; crying; typos.

Word count: 12.5 K (sorry not sorry haha)

MASTERLIST

2 weeks later…at home.

Y/n felt pathetic checking her phone like a teenager waiting for her crush to reply and keep the conversation going. She left the device on the kitchen table as if it burned her hand; returning to the list of emails waiting for her. No matter how hard she tried to focus on her tasks, her attention was else where.

Since her phone call with Grace – after the horrible second date —, she tried to give Paul a real chance. It was the only reasonable option. ‘Matty doesn’t want to be with me, Paul does, right?’, Y/n repeated like a mantra.

Therefore, Paul and Y/n had been texting none stop, like –literally– teenagers. Everything went smoothly, until it didn’t. A few days before, Paul stopped answering suddenly; making Y/n felt awful. She didn’t talk about it with Grace, not even with Matty. Y/n felt childish; she tried to think that Paul was probably busy with work, and she was being irrational about everything.

Y/n was sulking, when her phone started ringing. It took seconds for her to reach for it. Paul was calling.

“Hello?” She answered, trying to keep her feelings at bay.

Paul started talking at the other end of the line. “Hi, darling.”

“Hi…” ‘What should I say?’, she wondered.

“Are you at home? Are you busy?” He asked quickly, almost, desperate.

Y/n felt uncomfortable with Paul’s approach. “I’m home and…depends. Why?” She inquired him.

His hot and cold attitude surprised her, at the same time, it made her wonder. Made her worried, to the point of pondered multiple scenarios about what was really going on with Paul.

“What about if I pick you up in…” He started saying. Y/n waited him to finish his phrase, hanging from each word. “Let’s say, one hour?”

Y/n bit her lower lip. “For what?”

“I have an evening event, work thing…it won’t last long, and then we can go to a nice restaurant…or to my house, if you like…” Paul suggested lowering his voice.

Y/n felt the impulse to say no, but remembered Grace’s words. “Okay. Should I dress up or something?” She consulted, feeling her pulse going wild.

“No, no…it’s a little bit formal, not too much though.” He explained, at the same time, Y/n could hear a second voice speaking at the other end. Maybe an assistant, maybe not. Y/n shocked her head, she was looking too much into this.

“Okay, fine.” Y/n finally agreed to it.

“Perfect, you’re a saint!! See you in an hour!” He hung up without giving Y/n the chance to say her goodbyes.

Y/n stared at her black screen, her mind razing with thoughts. She needed to ask Matty or Grace to look after Amelia for the evening, possibly for the entire night. She decided asking Grace was the best decision.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Le grand salon,

Center of London.

Y/n felt like a fish out of the water around those people. Paul left her as soon as they arrived, promising her to be right back after talking with a few important CEOs or whatever. Y/n sipped from the champagne they were serving. It tasted awful, but she was past the mood stage of having enough anger to complain.

She tried to wait patently for Paul to return, for someone to be remotely nice. Although, after an hour and a half of walking around the salon, gaining sketched looks from Paul’s co-workers or people there –she thought worked with/for him–, Y/n was done with standing like part of the decoration. Y/n decided to actually search for the man.

Y/n looked around before leaving the safety of the corner that hosted her. He wasn’t at any part of the salon, she looked around multiple times, expecting to find him. Nothing.

Defeated and ready to leave, Y/n approached a man she saw Paul greeting with a friendly hug after they arrived together. Maybe he knew where Paul was.

She touched him on his shoulder, “Excuse me.” Y/n cleaned her throat. The man in questions turned around after pausing his conversation, looking at her as if he was ten feet above Y/n. She felt tiny.

“What do you want?” The man spat at her.

Y/n tried not to feel interpellated by his poisonous words. “Do you know where Paul is?” She queried, arranging her form to look bigger and stronger than she felt inside.

“No, haven’t seen him in a few minutes.” He replied, starting to turned back around. Y/n stopped him. “What now?” He almost shouted at her.

“Have you seen where he went?”

“No. Fucking hell, search the patio… at the back… or, the bathroom. I don’t know, I don’t care. Bye.” He ended the conversation all at once.

The idea of leaving without Paul crossed Y/n’s mind, although she quickly brushed it off. Where was he?

The wonder made her walk to try the places the man mentioned. It was the last chance, if he wasn’t there she was going to leave without caring.

Y/n felt pathetic walking down the long alley between the grand salon and the patio. She felt bad to even care about this people’s treatment, they were all horrible. Y/n was mad at Paul again; because he left her alone, yes, but also because he wasn’t in fact the Prince Charming she expected. Y/n felt like her own error to pretend him to be that.

Her heels stopped making a rhythmic sound on the tiled floor when she stood at the opening door connecting with the back patio. A couple of little groups of people were smoking, even though Paul wasn’t there.

“Sorry,” She interrupted the closest group’s conversation. “Do you know Paul?”

“Yeah.” A woman said shortly.

“Great! By chance, have you seen him?” Y/n asked innocently, gaining a sceptical look from the woman.

“Um, yeah, he’s…” She looked around the group, as if she was expecting some kind of help. She continued. “He’s in the bathroom-”

“Perfect, thank you!” Y/n felt relief washing over her, turning around to finally found the person she had been looking for.

The woman spoke from behind Y/n, “If I were you, I won’t go there.” She was clearly trying to warn her, Y/n feared the worst.

Her feet moved as if they had life of its own; Y/n crossed the hall, reaching for the bathroom area. The sounds coming from the lady’s bathroom confirmed her fears.

Y/n pushed the door open. The picture in front of her broke her heart. Paul was between a pretty girl’s legs, with his pants all the way down, clearly pushing inside her. Both of them repeating the sounds she had been hearing from outside. Paul was fucking another girl.

“Oh my god!” Y/n could only say, making them stopped immediately.

The girl looked at her in shock, poking her face from behind Paul’s neck. “Fuck…” She breathed out.

Y/n stood there, with her head foggy, just staring at them. The girl looked back at Y/n, she looked familiar. Y/n shook her head, she didn’t care up to that point.

The girl was seated on the bathroom counter and Paul was still in front of her, not moving away. They had been fucking while she waited like a moron.

“Y/n!” Paul exclaimed, tugging his trousers up – or trying to —, failing miserable. His voice took her out of her hypnotic trance.

“Fuck no.” Y/n told her. “I’m leaving!” She pointed at Paul, feeling her eyes burning with tears. “Don’t call me, don’t text me…nothing, I don’t want to know anything about you, arsehole!” Y/n let her anger took over.

She stumbled through the venue as fast as she could. Y/n wanted the refuge of her house, of her home. She needed Grace and to hug Amelia.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Living room, home.

Grace felt worried immediately as she saw Y/n appeared on the living room. Her makeup was all mushed and running all over her face, the pair of heels on one hand and her hair all messed up.

“What happened to you?” She approached her friend, leaving Amelia on the floor playing.

Y/n tried to form a sentence, but nothing came out of her mouth. She was still too stunned to speak. Grace didn’t think twice, embracing her in a big hug.

“It’s okay, I’m here…we’re here.” She rocked Y/n from side to side.

After a few minutes, Amelia noticed her playing partner wasn’t beside her and looked for Grace. Noticing her mother was there too. “Mommy!” She greeted her.

Grace let her go, shielding her from the child’s view until Y/n ran her hands under her eyes, trying to get rid of the makeup as best as she could.

“Hi, baby.” She kneeled down, opening her arms. Amelia ran to her.

Y/n started to crying in silence when she felt the soft weight of Amelia pushing on her chest. She gave her mother a comfort she wasn’t aware of. Amelia grew bored after a little time, returning to her toys. Y/n stayed down on her knees, looking at her daughter.

Grace kept a close eye on her friend’s form during the whole interaction. “Y/n, go and get change, clean your face…whatever you need. I’ll make a cup of tea, and then we can talk, okay?” Grace commanded Y/n.

“Yes. Thank you.” Y/n agreed.

******************************************************************************************

After she did everything as Grace told her – because Y/n hadn't had the strength to do anything apart from that – she returned downstairs.

Graces awaited for her in the living room, watching Amelia live inside her own bubble of imagination and games. Y/n sited besides Grace on the big couch, looking at the toddler as well.

The mugs were steaming in the coffee table. “Come on, take a big sip.”

The tea was strong, very sweet for her liking, but it was a consolation at the same time. “He was with another girl.” Y/n told Grace, her sight still on her daughter, while she held the cup closer to her face.

“What?”

“He left me for an hour and a half, almost two hours…alone. I went searching, he was…you know…with another girl, on the bathroom counter. Not any other girl, the one from the park…”

“I’m going to kill him!” Grace stood up as if she was going to do it right there.

“Sit back down!” Y/n instructed her best friend. She desperately needed her close, not far away – committing a crime, metaphorically or not.

Grace couldn’t contain her surprised, while she sited back. “I can’t believe it. My cousin Paul?”

“Yes, your Prince Charming cousin Paul…” Y/n forced herself to take another sip of her infusion.

“He’s such an arse-”

“Language!”

“She needs to know men are horrible.” Grace justified herself, pointing towards Amelia. “And what did you do?”

Y/n recalled the situation on her head. Her hands shock a little around the tea cup. “Scream at him, told him not to reach out, and stormed out.”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” Grace apologized genuinely. If it wasn’t for her, Y/n would never have known Paul. If she had never let Y/n’s get away with her way, asking for Paul’s number, she would never be in that situation; trying to hold the tears back because she didn’t want Amelia to suffer seeing her upset.

“It’s not your fault, Grace.” Y/n took Grace’s on her own, she squeezed it.

“I feel like it is. He’s my cousin-” Grace insisted.

“You’re not responsible for your cousin’s actions.”

“Still.”

Y/n knew Grace enough to keep insisting. Instead, she decided to leave it be for now. She was convinced Grace wasn’t guilty of his sorrows. The only one in the wrong was Paul, and her too.

She felt the tears coming back.

Y/n self-reproached herself while she asked Grace, “Can you take Amelia to your house? I don’t want her to see me like this. I can ask Matty, but he’s working on the last album…” Y/n started to ramble.

“Yeah, yeah. We can have a pyjama party.” Y/n’s friend tried to erase the guilt. Y/n was in her right to take some time-off from parenting.

“Thank you.” Y/n said while her voice broke.

Grace felt a wave of worry. “Oh, no…you sure you want to be alone?”

“Mhm…” Y/n reply through her bitten lips.

“You call me if you need me, okay? I’ll be here in a heartbeat, yes?” Grace insisted, making Y/n to turned her head to the side. She searched on Y/n’s eyes for some sort of reassurance that she was indeed going to be okay staying on her own.

“I know, Grace. Thank you.”

“Stop that…I love you…I’m so sorry.”

Grace pushed Y/n on a new hug, rubbing her back. Y/n let some tears drop in silence, while hugging her friend back.

“I love you too.” Y/n mumbled on her shoulder.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the couch…

Y/n dried the tears from her eyes. Her whole face was hurting. Her eyes were moisturized but by all the wrong reasons; her head was pounding loud, making here wince with pain. She felt so pathetic, crying for a man. She never learned to pick the right ones, apparently.

‘It was my fault or the guys I chose? What was wrong?’, Y/n recriminated herself.

She wasn’t asking for a fairytale. Y/n wanted a true man, someone who can be there for her, someone wanting to share life with her. Apparently, it was a lot to ask.

Y/n let her body fall into the couch, closing her eyes. Wishing, praying, this was a bad joke, a dream; whatever instead of this stupid situation. Paul was an asshole, why was she crying about an idiot who didn’t deserve her sorrow?

Y/n groaned loud and turned around, screaming into the cushion; trying to get reed of part of the angsty feeling. She wasn’t aware someone else was hearing her download.

“Y/n?” Matty asked out of the blue, scaring her.

“Jesus, Matty! You scared the shit out of me!” She prompted herself enough to turned around and saw his face, without leaving the couch. Y/n returned to her previous position, laying down.

“Sorry.” He apologized. Y/n heard him walk closer to her. “Are you okay? Where’s Amelia?” He was crunched down at her right side.

“Grace took Amelia to her flat…I needed a minute alone, and you-” Y/n dodged his first question purposely.

He interrupted her, worried. “Why?”

“Don’t ask, Matty.” Y/n massaged her temples roughly, the headache persisted.

“Should I worry?” Matty moved her hair to uncover her face; he wanted to find answers on her factions at least.

“Yes…no. I don’t know-” She turned to the side, looking directly into his eyes. The soft blue glow of the TV was illuminating her face, meanwhile the orange light coming from the hall reflected on Matty's factions.

He went, without thinking, to caressed her cheek. “Y/n, please.” She closed her eyes before his plead.

Keeping her ground, she muttered. “Prince Charming wasn’t so charming after all.” Y/n tried to hold a whimper, against of the idea of sounding like a fool.

“Paul?” Matty inquired.

“Yes, him…” Y/n spoken as if she was naming the devil himself.

Matty started to fear the worst. If that fucker did something to her, he wouldn’t respond of his actions. His heart was pounding hard on his chest when he asked, “What did he do? Did he-”

“No, no.” Y/n lift her head, resting her weight on her elbows. “Nothing like that- He was seeing another girl…a co-worker, or maybe she wasn’t a- I don’t even know. Maybe he was going out with other girls too. Fucking with them. Heck-The possibilities are infinite…”

Matty stayed on his place, beside the couch, clenched down, battling with his head. He didn’t know what to say or do too, he didn't want to make her feel worse. Matty stated his case before about not liking Paul, even though this was about Y/n, not him or his opinions.

“How did you find out?” His words were careful, Y/n noticed.

Y/n let her body fall again on the comfort of the couch. “I saw him fucking a girl…a girl we bumped into before.. In a bathroom at his work event, after he left me for hours alone-”

Her sight was on the ceiling, she couldn’t look at Matty and saw the pity on his eyes. Not from him.

“Y/n…”

“I think she wasn’t the only one he was with…” She continued to ramble about her thoughts she went through after Grace left with Amelia. Y/n was conscious she was spiralling, but her mind couldn’t help it. The repeating conspiracy theory making her feel sink even deeper on a hole of sadness and self-pity was on.

“Baby…” Matty tried.

“Don’t pity me, Matty. Not you.” Y/n tried to hide her face behind her hands. Her voice came muffled from behind them.

“Do you want me to go and kick him down from his white horse?” Matty tried to get rid of some of the tension. He kicked himself for trying to joke when things get complex, although he didn’t know what else to do. Matty wanted – needed – to make Y/n feel good again.

Y/n’s body shook with laughter. Matty smiled at her. “Not worth it.” Y/n finally admitted.

“It’s if it makes you feel better, baby, it is.” Matty said, his words dripping with sincerity and full of his own emotions.

Y/n spoke again after a short silence, “Why I didn’t see it sooner?”

“No, no…” Matty started, pushing her a little further into the couch, making space beside Y/n’s form. He let his left arm served as a pillow for her head, simultaneously, his right hand touched her owns, uncovering her face. “This is not your fault, at all!” Matty held her face, so she was looking at him.

Y/n diverted her eyes, further. She felt something, she couldn’t quite place, looking at Matty’s soft eyes. “I should-”

“Nothing. You should nothing. He’s the wanker here, not you…you did nothing wrong.” Matty insisted.

“Matty?”

“Yes?”

“Since you’re a guy-”

“Up to discussion-”

“Why they don’t like me? There’s something wrong with me?”

Matty stopped breathing for a second, his body started to felt hot, and he was too aware of his heartbeat. ‘How could he tell her without actually telling her?’, he debated with himself.

“Love-” Matty tried to gain some time.

Y/n had other plans, she insisted, “Seriously, tell me.”

“Y/n there is nothing, absolutely nothing, wrong with you…” Matty told her without lying.

She continued spoken up her wonders, “Am I ugly? I think I look okay…No, don’t answer! This is so dumb. Fuck-” Y/n started to lift her body from the couch, she wanted to hide in the safety of her bed.

Matty was quicker and pushed her –without too much force– back down again. He was almost on top of Y/n, making her blush strongly like a teen.

“Stay here and listen to me….listen to me.” Matty accentuated every word.

Y/n tried to protest, failing. “Matty.”

He took a minute to think what to say. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Far from that. You’re the prettiest girl walking this town, this earth-”

“No.” Y/n interrupted.

“Yes. You’re so gorgeous, baby. From all perspectives. You’re one of a kind. There’s no one like you…I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, Y/n.” Matty’s words brought tears to her eyes. There was something unspoken under his words, something she wanted from him but was scared to acknowledge it at the same time.

Y/n rounded him with her arms, running her hands through the curls on the nape of his neck. “Matty?” She asked.

“Yeah?” Matty replied, feeling weak from the proximity and Y/n’s touch.

A force was pulling him down, closer to her face, until their noses touched. Matty breathe deeply, surrounded by her essence.

“Please.” Y/n begged.

“What?” He asked, brushing her nose with his own.

“I need you.” Y/n implored through half open eyelids.

Matty tried to reason with her, “Y/n, you’re upset.”

He was against taking advantage of her. Y/n was still very perturbed about the evening events. No matter how much Matty wanted her to ask him to be with her, to love her, to take care of her, he had to hold his ground.

“Yes, I’m fucking pissed…and I want you, please.” Y/n pushed her body up, coming in contact with his front.

“Baby-” Matty placed a comforting hand on her left hip. His mind started to fogged, he needed to stay composed. This was about Y/n, not him.

“Fine.” Y/n spat, angry, moving from under Matty. “I’ll find someone…at least-” Y/n started to say when she finally was again on her feet.

Little she could let out before Matty took her by the arm, crushing his lips to hers. Y/n didn’t reciprocate at first, although her whole body woke up after a long slumber. Every single part of her was on fire, asking to be touched. To be touched by Matty, him and only him.

Matty grabbed her face with both of his hands, keeping her in place, letting Y/n go wasn’t an option now. No after so many years apart. Y/n kissed him back, holding her own self from his neck, feeling weak on the knees.

Matty noticed her body trying to sink down and held her by her waist. He noticed, because he always noticed every one of her needs.

Kissing Matty again was like coming home after a long trip, to your own house and the comfort of your stuff. Kissing Matty once again felt like returning home.

He broke the kiss to take some air. Y/n opened her eyes, looking up at him. He’s searching for any sign of doubt. Still with the pounding feeling of not taking advantage of Y/n.

“Are you sure about this, baby?” Matty spoke, low, brushing their lips together.

“Mhm.” Y/n confirm her desire, tightening her grip on his neck, meanwhile she approached her body to his.

“Words. I need words.” Matty persisted on.

Y/n arched her back, “Please, I can’t wait any longer.”

Matty looked at her eyes; his deepening by lust. “You don’t have to…” He finished it, gifting her a smile.

Y/n pushed him back down again, crushing their lips together once more. She remembered how addicting it could be kissing him. Matty explored every corner of her mouth like an expert explorer, he hadn't forgotten her weak spots. Y/n moaned without caring.

The sweet sound coming from her, made Matty push back and asked her in a hurry, “Your room or mine?”

“Yours.” Y/n sentenced.

************************************************************************************************

When Matty shut his bedroom door close, all the rush was gone. Y/n waited at the end of his bed, looking around. She hadn’t been there except from a few times. The bed was newer from the one he had back on his flat, and the decoration changed as well. Multiple guitars, a lot of pictures of Amelia and them adoring the walls. Even the mess of clothes wasn’t there, he was strangely more organized now, more mature Y/n supposed.

Matty’s arms rounding her took Y/n out of her scrutiny; he brushed her hair out of her neck, leaving kissing here and there. Nibbling on the exposed skin, bringing goosebumps into it. Matty smiled to himself. Y/n closed her eyes, placing her hands on top of his on her stomach. The memories of him caressing Y/n’s belly when she was pregnant came to her, every touch is full of their history.

Matty's hands sneak under her shirt, coming in touch with her bare skin. He pushed Y/n’s body back towards his body, making his clothes dick came in contact with her bum. Matty groaned on her neck. Y/n kept rocking her hips back, searching for friction.

“Can I take it off?” He asked slowly, tugging on the shirt.

“Yeah.” She said breathlessly.

Y/n turned around inside his embrace, Matty reached for the bottom of her t-shirt and pulled it up. Y/n couldn’t help to feel self-conscious in front of Matty without her top on, only in a black bra and her pyjama pants. Even though, he’s focusing on her face and nothing else. Matty still worried she didn’t want to go further. Y/n connected her eyes with his, smiling shy.

“Beautiful.” He stated, holding the left side of her neck.

“Stop-” Y/n blushed.

“Never. Come here.”

Matty pressed their chests against each other, savouring her mouth once more. Matty felt complete; having Y/n on her embrace was what he had been wishing for years. He noticed a little wave of panic, what if I’m not enough for her?

Although, Y/n was very pleased already by everything, even when she was merely touching the skin hiding under his shirt. Y/n’s touch reached first the hairy skin of his abdomen, and made a trail until she felt his back. He was bulkier now than she remembered, there were a lot of muscles to held onto now. Without her asking, Matty went to take off his t-shirt. Both of them longing for the skin to skin contact.

Once his chest was fully visible, Y/n detached her lips from Matty’s. Inspecting the expanse of it. She kneeled down, kissing the centre of his chest. Matty couldn’t help to reach for the back of her head, feeling like his dreams were coming true. Y/n diverted her attention to his nipples, feeling encouraged by the moans he was letting out.

She tried to kneel down all the way to her knees, starting to unbutton his trousers, but Matty tried to stop her, “Y/n.”

Y/n ignored his weak protest, going for his boxers, although Matty paused all of her actions; he brought her back up by her chin. “No.” He said, sternly.

“But I want-” Y/n whined.

“Later. Now it’s about you, darlin’.” Matty let Y/n know his intentions for the night.

Matty started to pull her trousers off, after she signal him to go on with it. Y/n wiggled out of them, and the self-consciousness came back running. She wasn’t expecting to end the night like this when she changed after the fatidic event. Her bra and undies were far from sexy or even matching.

“Sorry about this.” She tried to apologize.

Matty chuckled, brushing the embarrassment off, or trying to. “Don’t. I have the solution for that.” He said instead cheekily.

“What?”

“Here.”

In a few instants, Y/n was fully naked, standing in front of Matty. The singer feeling ecstatic with his simple work, resulting on having her entirely naked in front of his eyes. She was too aware –for her liking– about the changes that happened to her body between the last time they had sex and now years after the birth of their child. Her body showed the permanent marks of her pregnancy. Sometimes she felt okay with them, but other times –like that moment– she despised them.

Y/n went to shield her breasts, facing opposition from Matty, who took her arms sweetly. “Don’t-” He said, looking at her eyes only. “Can you lay down for me?” He said instead.

“Okay.” She agreed, moving from the end of the bed where they had been standing. Y/n felt his sight on her, watching every move. She tried not to think at the moment she fell back on the mattress, in the middle of it, resting her head against the pillows.

Matty got rid of his boxers slowly, but with decision. He watched Y/n leaned back awkwardly. What if she was regretting this?

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, without emotions.

Y/n looked at him worried, she didn’t want to stop. The idea of Matty not wanting to have sex with her would completely end up destroying her after the horrible day. “Do you?” She fought back.

Matty noticed her face turned into a sad expression. He clarified, “Hell no…but I’ll if-”

Y/n let the air she didn’t notice she was holding, begging for him to come closer, “Please, come here.” She lifted her hand up in the air.

Matty quickly obeyed her. Her wishes were truly his command. Specially during that night. He positioned himself, naked as the day he was born, on top of her. Without an exchange of words, Matty plopped down himself, kissing Y/n.

She rounded him once more, feeling the hardness of his dick on her belly. Y/n could feel her body responding to the contact.

Matty kissed all the way from her lips to the space connecting her face and neck. Y/n let the loudest whimper of the night when he sucked on there. She scratched his back, pushing him inevitably closer. Her nipples hard as sharp diamonds pressing on his chest.

“Fucking hell, you’re so hot, baby.” Matty told her, leaving a trail of smooth pecks until his mouth came in contact with her right boob. Sucking with intention, as if he was starved and she was his nourishment.

“Matty.” Y/n moaned at his acts, he remembered very well how sensitive were her nipples. How could he forget details about the love of his life?

“Yes, baby?”

“Please. I need you.”

“Where?”

“Please…” Y/n’s mind couldn’t come up with a better word, or even formulate a phrase.

“Where, sweet cheeks? Tell me…” He continued playing with her breasts, changing his focus to the left one. Matty let his right hand hold his weight, meantime his free hand held the fullness of her breasts.

“Ugh, Matty…” She breathed out. “Touch me…down. I need you.” Y/n’s words came out all messy, and mispronounced.

He returned to be face to face with her, while he let his hand get wet by his own saliva and returned –when he thought it what moisturized enough– to draw circles on her boob. “Can I eat you out, love? I’ve been missing your taste for ages.” Matty bluntly expressed.

Her walls closing around nothing, making her hips lift to meet his. “Please.” Y/n agreed. The thought of him making her come with only his mouth sounded like heaven.

“Greedy girl.” Matty called her out, drawing a path with his fingers from the underside of her breasts, stopping at the top of her mound. He paused to admire her get lost under his touch.

Before Y/n went to protest, Matty felt her slit from top to bottom with the digits of his fingers, slowly, testing her. “You are so wet.” It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. “All for me, baby?”

Y/n shake her head as a yes. She couldn’t keep her hips still, trying to make his fingers come in contact with her pulsing clit. “Stop teasing, Matty.” Y/n begged.

“Shush, you have to be patient, baby.” He knew very well the effect of his nicknames on her. “I’ve been waiting for this to happen again…”

“Really?”

“Yes, so many times…” He said, trusting one finger inside her slit, making of her a whimpering mess. She wanted to ask him more about it, but all of her thoughts went out of the window. Y/n took the sheet at both sides on her fists, arching her back trusting forwards, so Matty’s finger touches her soft spot.

“Fuck, Matty!” Y/n breath out.

“You’re so tight, baby. I need to prepare you for me.” His hot breath coming in contact with her entrance, making her entire body shiver.

“Please, more.”

“Another finger?”

“Yes.”

“That’s my girl, taking my fingers so well”

“Matty-”

“I know, I know…don’t come before I say it, okay?”

“I don’t know if I can…I’m going-”

Matty stopped all of a sudden. “What the-” but before Y/n could complete the sentences, his mouth was on her, his tongue trusting inside her hole, making her head spin. The knot in her belly growing, making her dizzy, sensing her release closer again.

Y/n came undone under Matty, merely seconds after he tasted her. He helped her surfed the orgasm, taking every drop of it.

Once she came back to reality, her sight fell on Matty’s smugly expression, still closer to her pussy.

“Good?” Matty asked, kissing her right thigh.

“So good, babe.” She let out, closing her eyes.

Matty went to kiss her, “Do you want to stop?” He asked once again. Y/n moaned, tasting herself on his mouth. She shook her head against the idea. Matty chuckled.

He looked at her enamoured, admiring her cheeks all blushed and her messy hair on his pillows. She was back, she was his again.

“What?” Y/n asked, without understanding his pause, his staring.

“Nothing.” He touched her slightly on her hip, drawing imaginary forms.

“Tell me..” She encouraged him.

“I missed you.” He admitted one more time, feeling pathetic as a teenager screaming ‘I love you’ to his first sex partner.

Y/n force him to look at her, keeping the eye contact, smiling wide. “I missed you so much.”

Matty scrunched his face, preventing himself to look completely warmed by her words. “Liar!”

“Excuse me?” She pushed his shoulder, protesting.

“You went out with a wanker…” He regretted bringing Paul between them at that moment.

Y/n didn’t take it, choosing to say, “Let’s not name the devil, please?”

“I’m not-”

“Besides, you fucked with pretty models-” She counter-attack, smiling wide. ‘Everything was okay, she was joking’, Matty reassured himself.

“Are you jealous, Y/l/n?” He asked, cheekily.

Y/n was quick to answer. “As much as you, Healy.”

“No one compares to you, Y/n.” His sight dancing around her eyes.

She threw her head back, whining in protest. “You can’t say that!”

In fact, her heart was growing a couple of sizes with every sweet word he was drooping.

“Why? It’s the truth!” Matty fought back, burring his face on her neck.

“Because- Nothing, not fair!”

“No, what?” Matty murmured, without leaving his position, crushing against her. Y/n let her hands roamed through his curls. How much she had missed doing it.

Y/n was against telling Matty how she was feeling, risking the moment to end. She chose to divert his attention.

“Are we going to fuck or…?”

Matty bursted into a fit of laughter, coming back to be face to face again. He could let her get out of that conversation for a little longer. Specially when his dick was hurtfully hard.

“Are you begging, darling?” Matty said, brushing his lips with Y/n’s. She parted her mouth open.

“I’ll make you beg.” She declared.

“A warning or a promise?”

“Both.”

Matty took her lips in a heated kiss, rocking his hips forward. Y/n felt bereaved enough to reached for his dick, stroking him slowly.

“Fuck, baby.” Matty moaned on her mouth.

“You like that?”

“Aha-” He confirmed, losing his senses under her attentions.

“Words, babe.” Y/n teased him back.

“Please-” Matty begged, trusting into her hand without control.

“I’m not on the pill, Matty.” Y/n tried to inform him.

Matty snapped out, taking her words into account. “Okay, let me get a condom really quick.”

“Okay.”

Y/n watched him moved around his room. Opening drawers, bags and lastly his wallet finding one. She crooked an eyebrow, wondering in silence.

Matty acknowledge her silent question. “It’s not like I’ve had sex in the last few months…” he said without looking at Y/n, feeling a little embarrassed, while he put the condom on.

“Sure… Or you used all of them…” Y/n felt light and happy, between passion and happiness.

Matty shook his head. “Stop it-”

“Nah, I like messing with you…” She let him know.

“Yeah, I can see.”

Matty returned to be on top of Y/n, she rounded him with her legs as a way to let Matty know she was more than ready. Matty went to obey her but stopped, kissing her sweetly. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, please, Matty.” She was starting to get desperate without him inside.

“If it’s too much-”

“Matty!”

“Fuck- Sorry, I’m a tad nervous…” Matty admitted for himself first, and for her too.

“Really?”

“Mhm…”

Y/n felt her chest get warm with his demeanour. Not many people knew how sensitive and fragile can Matty be in moments of intimacy. Y/n felt special when he communicated his emotions.

“Come here.” Y/n instructed him, resting her forehead on his and placing her arms –as well as her legs– around his body. “I want you. I want to feel you inside me…again.” She reassured Matty, holding the eye contact. Matty nodded with his head.

He sank down without second thoughts. “Fucking hell!” Matty groaned while her walls took him in.

“Matty!”

“Y/n…”

Matty threw his head back, detaching his chest centimetres away from Y/n. She couldn’t help to admire –through half open eyes– his face turning by the pleasure. He was so pretty.

Matty whipped his head forward, cheeking on Y/n. “Are you okay? Tell me when I can move, baby. There’s no rush…” He reassured her, even when his words came all over together.

Y/n nodded as best as she could in her position, getting used to him. Matty studied her breath deeply, having some difficulty to adapt to his dick.

After a few minutes, she signalled for him. “Matt-”

He didn’t wait for her verbal command. Matty trusted forward, and retracted all the way out. The tip of his cook coming to tease her clit. Y/n bit down on her lower lip hard. Matty wasn’t going to have it, he wanted to hear all of her sweet sounds.

“Don’t hold it back, Y/n. I want to hear you.” He stated, releasing her lip with his finger.

Matty’s dick disappeared inside Y/n’s pussy under his watchful eyes. They fall quickly into a rhythm that worked for both of them.

Shortly after, Y/n felt incredible close to the edge. “Matty, I’m going to-”

“I know, baby. Let it go for me” He allowed her. “You’re doing so well for me…taking me so, so well…” His words stumbled, while his trusts got rapid and sloppy.

Y/n moaned, scratching his back, chasing the sweet twisted feeling inside her lower stomach. Even with her eyes close, everything went black when her orgasm finally hit her fully.

Matty felt Y/n’s pussy clench around him fastening his movements until he was coming as well, screaming without caring, “Y/n!”

He kept it going until their bodies relaxed again, letting his entire weight fall on top of Y/n. She welcomed him happily.

****************************************************************

“Matt…” Y/n spoke after a few minutes.

Matty shivered on top of her, burring his face further into Y/n’s neck. “Mhm…”

“I need you to pull out.” Y/n let a nervous chuckled out.

“Don’t wanna.”

“Well, I see…but I need to use the bathroom, baby.” She insisted.

“Fine.”

Matty pulled out and moved to the side, letting her move freely. He wasn’t happy to let Y/n go so soon, even though he understood her request.

Y/n left a kiss on the top of his head, before going to the bathroom. Leaving Matty alone with his thoughts.

Matty was thorned between the euphoric feeling of his orgasm, his feelings, and the memory of Y/n crying on the couch when he came home after an exhausting day in the studio. He tried not to think about Prince Charming and his wishes to put him in his place. Instead, he let his right arm serve as a pillow for his head while he admired the ceiling.

Y/n and him had sex again. Y/n and him together. Those were the thoughts he chose to dive into. His hands ache for her skin, he wanted her close again. Matty tried to calm himself, Y/n was only meters away, and she was coming back. Y/n was coming back to his room, to him.

The idea only threatened when Y/n walk back inside the room and started to pick up her clothes that adored the floor of Matty’s room.

“Are you leaving?” Matty desperately asked.

Y/n stood in the middle of Matty’s room, with half of her clothes, looking at him. “Shouldn’t I?”

“If you’re going to your room…I’m going there too-” Matty let her know, standing up from his side of the bed, getting the sheets out of the way dramatically.

“Cute.” Y/n laughed at his actions.

Matty, frozen beside the bed, exclaimed, “Please…” Offering his hand to Y/n.

“Look who’s begging now.” Y/n said amused.

She didn’t take his hand, roaming around the other side of the bed. Y/n stared at his eyes, with the place where they had sex minutes ago in the middle, almost challenging Matty. She broke the eye contact to get under Matty’s sheet with grace. He couldn’t only admire.

Y/n pat on his side a few times, instructing him to get in. Matty followed shortly after, gaining a few laughs from her.

“Fuck, I’m not lying when I say I missed this…” Matty let her know, after her head fall into his chest.

The amount of times he thought about Y/n doing it again or the occasions she did years ago crossed his mind, and now were happening. He kissed her head repeatedly as a silent thanks.

“Fucking or cuddling?” Y/n bantered.

“Both?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you feeling better?” Matty asked, still worried about Y/n’s feelings.

She looked up towards his face. “So much better…thank you, Matty!”

“My pleasure.” He winked suggestively.

Y/n protested hitting him as a joke on his shoulder.

Matty let his arms rounded her, swallowing her in a big hug that lulled them to a deep sleep.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day.

Matty woke up very early after a heated night. They woke each other up a few times in the middle of the night, not being able to be fully satisfied. So, he decided to let Y/n sleep for a bit longer until he had breakfast ready for her.

The singer was in the middle of meal prepping when the doorbell rang. He swore under his breath, he was hopping Y/n didn’t hear it and woke up. Matty ran as fast as he could towards the front door, opening it with all his force.

“Fuck no, go away, mate.” He spat when his eyes fell on the man at the other side.

“I want to talk with Y/n, not you.” Paul tried to stay calm.

Matty let a belly laugh out. “Well, she does not want to see you or speak to you.” He uttered his reasons to deny Paul the entrance to his house.

Matty went to close the door, even though Paul was quick and put his foot to prevent that. The lead man moved the wooden door agape once more.

“She can tell me that…what are you trying to do? Pretend to be the nice guy? You’re the asshole fucking around and leaving her alone-” Paul provoked Matty.

Matty tried with all his strength to not engaged on Paul’s game. He wanted to return to Y/n, that was kept him motivated against taking further actions. “I’m going to destroy your prince charming face if you don’t go the fuck away.” He threatened him.

“Such a man, ha? You can’t keep her, but you don’t want anyone to have her..” Paul was good at this, Matty bit his tongue.

“You’re pushing your chances, Paul. Leave my house!”

“It’s Y/n’s house as well.” Paul replied smugly. “I want to see her.” The man demanded.

“You would’ve thought about it when you were fucking another chick.” Matty exposed Paul’s actions, which took the aforementioned by surprise.

“She told you?”

Matty wasn’t going to exchange more words with Paul. “Go…away.”

“No.”

He felt his fuse run out, decided this time to punch Paul once and for all. “Fine, you asked for it.” Matty tried to move forward, but a hand on his arm coming from behind prevent him from fulfil his wishes.

Y/n stood beside Matty, looking without believing who was in front of them.

“Paul?”

“Hi, darlin’.” He said, like nothing had happened the night before.

“He was leaving.” Matty touched Y/n’s hand as a reassurance, as a way to tell her he was there.

Paul looked at their hands intertwined. “No, I want to talk with you.” Paul kept pushing.

“I told him you don’t want that-”

“Matty, please go inside. I’ll be there in a minute.” Y/n looked him in the eyes, squeezing his hand.

“Baby-” Matty protested, titling his head.

“I’ll be short, okay?”

Something inside her eyes communicated to him that she can manage with the douchebag. “Fine. Shout if you need me.” Matty finally gave in; looking at Paul, who looked back with a big winning smile.

“I will.” Y/n simply kissed his cheek, and let him returned inside.

Y/n waited for Paul to start talking, in reality she has nothing else to say. She didn’t understand how he had the face to appear on her house.

Paul went straight to the part that hurt his ego the most. “You told Matty about last night, Y/n?”

“I’m going to be brief, Paul.” She cut his speech. “I don’t have anything more to say apart from what I told you last night…in that bathroom. You left me alone for- I don’t even know for how long-”

“I’m sorry, Y/n. It’s all a misunderstanding.” He pulled a face as a cute, innocent puppy. She was not buying his facade any more. Paul showed his true colours the night before.

“What about Meredith? It’s a misunderstanding having your dick shoved down her, huh?” Y/n spat roughly. “Don’t take me for a fool, Paul.”

“Meredith? She wasn’t- The girl was…her name was-” He genuinely asked, making Y/n laugh sarcastically. He was truly an arsehole.

“Fucking hell, you don’t remember the names of the girls you shag.” Y/n stated.

Paul couldn’t fight against her accusations. “Y/n-”

“No, I don’t want to hear anything. I don’t care. You lost your chance.”

“So, what? You’re going back to the arsehole now?” Paul mentioned Matty with anger.

“That’s not your business, Paul. But for your information, that arsehole help me bring our daughter to this world and held me through the most horrible moments since I know him. Included last night. You don’t know him, you don’t know me, us…so stop talking shit! Bye, Paul.” Y/n stated her case and turned around without giving Paul time to react.

Y/n closed the door. Keeping her eyes shut, resting her forehead on the door, until she heard the scratching sound of his car wheels announcing Paul’s depart. Y/n turned around on her spot, adamant to walk towards the kitchen but stopped dead on her tracks. Matty was staring at her with a big smile.

“You think that highly of me?” He asked her, which made her rolled her eyes. “Y/n?” Matty tried again, smiling at her.

“Maybe…” Y/n blushed visibly.

“Oh, you do!” He affirmed, catching her when she tried to pass by him. “You’re so cute!” He kissed her all around her cute blushing face.

Y/n felt the embarrassment all over her body. “Stop it.” She demanded, still inside Matty’s embrace.

“You defended my honour…” He chanted too content.

Y/n looked up at him, crooking her eyebrow, “I don’t think he was a real threat to your honour, Matty.”

“No, but still.”

“Can we go and make breakfast, please?” Y/n tried to end the conversation, finally going to the kitchen.

Matty trailed behind her, saying, “Yes, my swordsman-Sorry, woman.”

“Idiot.” She faked to be annoyed.

“Are you okay?” Matty asked all of a sudden, returning to a more serious tone.

Y/n brushed him off, inspecting what Matty cooked for breakfast. “Yes, he’s an arsehole.” Y/n exclaimed.

“He definitely is. You deserve so much better.” The singer rounded her waist lovingly from behind.

“I don’t know…” Y/n couldn’t help to blush again. “Okay, breakfast, I’m starving!”

“Long night, huh?” Y/n laughed out loud at Matty’s seductive tone.

It was time for them to enjoy –finally– the morning together before Amelia returned home. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later…

An old episode of Brooklyn 99 was playing in the background, they paid attention to it from time to time when they weren’t making out on the couch. Jake was interviewing a victim, making her choose between suspects making them sing.

Matty’s left arm was around her shoulders. He threw his head back, screaming –not singing– the lyrics of the Backstreet Boys’ song. Making Y/n laughed loud. They were waiting for Grace to drop Amelia back home.

After the scene finished, Grace came through the living room door holding her goddaughter. The little girl wiggled out of her embrace when she saw her parents. They screamed and cheered for her, making space between their bodies.

“Hi, mel-mel!”

“Did you have fun with Grace?”

Matty and Y/n spoke at the same time, Amelia felt good with all the attention of her parents on her. The little girl moved her focus from one to the other. Exclaiming, a cheerful, “Yes!”

They cheered back. Grace looked at them sceptical, trying to understand what was going on. The fresh memory of Y/n’s state last night was a big contrast with this happy girl sitting on the couch. Grace wanted only the best for her, even though she couldn’t connect the both versions -the day before, and the one in front of her.

Grace opened her mouth to ask, but doing that implied breaking the happy bubble. A bubble that included Amelia. She wasn’t mean. So, she waited.

“How was she?” Y/n asked her best friend.

Y/n couldn’t help to feel a bit guilty about leaving Grace to take care of her daughter, even when she well knew it was for the girl’s and her own good.

Grace stared at her for a second. “Good, good…we ate dinosaur nuggets and chips, we saw Mulan…again. And then she slept like an angel, she’s truly the best.” She explained to Amelia’s parents, forgetting her doubts for a moment, just focusing on the little girl who smiled wide at her from the couch.

“Thanks for that, Grace.” Matty told her.

“It’s nothing…” Grace felt like a cat, paranoid, waiting for the moment to jump. “I love to help Y/n and spend time with Amelia”

Matty looked at Y/n, keeping his eyes on her, while Grace watched his point of attention. Weird, she thought. Y/n turned to look back at him, smiling when she noticed his eyes on her. Very peculiar, Grace sentenced inside her head.

“So, what did you do last night?” Grace interrupted their moment.

Y/n felt a hot feeling creeping from her chest towards her neck. Matty held a laughter and proceed to make an offer, “Do you want tea?” He asked suggestively, still looking at Y/n.

“Shut it.” Y/n tried to stop him.

“What?” Grace felt like she didn’t get the joke.

“I’m going to leave you ladies alone” Matty stated, kissing Amelia’s cheek and proceed to do the same with Y/n. “Bye, Grace!” He wiggled his eyebrows, moving from the couch.

“Daddy!” Amelia called for him.

“Yes, my dove?” He turned around.

“Daddy, daddy-” She slid from the couch, approaching his legs running.

“You want to come with me?” Matty asked down to her. Amelia said yes. “Okay, we’re going to start your training to be the biggest rock star…”

“Over my body, Healy.” Y/n joked.

“Nice name for her first song.” Matty winked at her, taking Amelia’s hand and leaving the room.

Y/n turned to gaze at Grace, who was still seated a few meters from the couch, on a puff couch, analysing her friend.

“Yes, Grace?”

“What the fuck?” Grace screamed without being able to hold it.

Y/n tried to play it cool. She knew she was going to tell her all the truth, but Y/n feared her best friend reaction. “What do you mean?”

“No!” She stood up. “You can’t play that card with me!”

“Which-”

“The dumb one. I repeat Y/n, what the actual fuck?”

“Grace-”

“No, nothing of ‘Grace’” She quoted on the air. “I took Amelia to my flat because you were a fucking mess-”

Y/n patently agreed with Grace. “Yes.”

“And now, I came back to this different you…” She continued explaining her point of view, moving her hands around Y/n’s form. “Cuddling Matty on the couch, laughing with Amelia…”

“Aha…”

Grace stared at Y/n. “So, explain, please!” She screamed again.

Y/n breath in deeply. That was the moment to tell her everything. “Are you done?” Grace shook her head as a signal for her to continue. “I’ve slept with Matty.” Y/n finally admitted.

Grace moved messily from the puff couch.“I’m leaving-” She in fact moved towards the living room door.

Y/n stopped her. “Grace!” Couldn’t help to laugh about her antics.

“You what?” Grace turned around asking.

“And Paul came this morning trying to apologize…” Y/n felt a rather strange calm washing over her.

“Did he? He dared to face you…in your house?” Grace wasn’t expecting this amount of information when she asked.

“Yes, Matty tried to make him go away…I heard, and then I told him my final thoughts, asked him to leave, closed the door on his face”

“Oh my god!” Grace screamed. “But, but- How did you go from crying to fucking your ex?” Grace rounded back to the main information.

Y/n shrugged her shoulders, smiling content, “It just happened, Grace.”

“But- what about…everything?” Grace was desperate to understand.

“I don’t know. I haven't thought about it…yet. I’m just enjoying it from the time being.”

“What if everything goes wrong?”

“I don’t know, Grace. I just know that I felt bad and Matty helped with it.” Y/n admitted.

Grace scoffed. “Yeah, I get that.”

Y/n laughed. “He was really sweet. He tried to stop it, but I insisted-”

“Whore!”

“Hey!”

“And?”

“What?”

“How was he?” Grace inquired her.

“So good…excellent…I-” Y/n threw her head back, remembering her orgasms.

“Are you delusional or is he that good?”

“He’s good, Grace.” Y/n kept her voice low, scared that Matty appear and hear her say it.

“Why I asked? I don’t want to know!” Grace shield her ears, crushing her body on the couch beside Y/n.

Y/n chuckled. “He said he missed me…”

“He’s good with words!”

“He sounded sincere.” Y/n stated. She had been thinking about it on and off during the entire day. Matty’s words and actions matched.

“I bet.” Grace was getting cynical.

“Don’t be an ass.” Y/n tried to warn her friend because she got pissed.

“Fine, fine. I’m just worried.” Grace admitted.

“I’m okay, Grace.”

“Yes, now but what if…”

“We’ll see.”

“So, how this continues…are you guys back?” Y/n shrugged her shoulders. “Are you just fucking around?”

“I don’t know…we can just call Matty back and…” Y/n started to get up, playfully suggesting it.

“Please, no…god!” Grace took her hand, bringing her close again.

“I really don’t have the answers.” Y/n shared with Grace. She didn’t and it was alright for now. All happened the day before, the night before, it was too soon to know yet.

“Aren’t you scared? After last night…”

“Matty is not Paul. I know Matty, I really know him…” Y/n was very sure of her words.

“Exactly, Y/n.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know his doings-”

“Don’t start with that. The time we saw each other -before having Amelia- he never.” Because Matty and her were in fact faithful to the other, even when they weren’t a formal couple.

“I just want you to be happy.” Grace said, exposing her wishes.

“I’m really content now…” Y/n tried to reassure her friend. It was cute from Grace to concerned about her.

“Yeah, I’d be too after a good round of orgasms!” Grace mocked Y/n.

“Grace!”

“You can’t deny it…”

Y/n laughed. “No, I can’t”

“Oh my god!” Grace hide her face behind her hands.

“Stop acting like a child!” Y/n accused her.

“Disgusting.”

“Idiot.”

“I guess- I want you and Amelia to be okay…” Grace stated, looking at the palm of her hands.

“I know, I appreciated that.” Y/n took one of Grace’s hands on hers.

“I still haven’t had the chance to talk with my own cousin…and I don’t plan to be nice. If the rat does something to you two-” Grace felt the temperature of her body raise.

“You’ll be here to support us, nothing more.”

“Yes, but I also will kick-”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, fine. Promise me to be careful!” Grace pleaded.

“When I wasn’t?”

“Don’t get me started on that…”

“Shut up.”

Grace decided to let the topic of Matty and Y/n go for now, she was still interested to know about his idiotic relative.

“Go back to the ding-dong of my cousin coming to apologize, please!”

Y/n continued to tell her the story without leaving details out.

✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻

One month after, at the studio.

“Play it back” Matty instructed George to press play to the track they had been working on.

George – without turning his attention from the computer– obeyed Matty’s order. The frontman turned around, looking at Ross swing Amelia from side to side. Her daughter was a big distraction during one of the busiest days for them, but Matty didn’t really care. Amelia could mess all the process and he would smile.

Y/n had some errants to run through and asked Matty to take her with him, which he agreed happily. All the boys cheered for Amelia when they entered the studio.

Matty looked at his phone once more, checking the hour and his messages. Nothing from Y/n. He felt like his young self waiting for his crush to answer. She promised to drop by and spend some time at the studio with them after she finished with everything. Matty was waiting –impatiently– for her arrival.

Ross let his hair fall, hiding his face and falling all over Amelia’s little one. The girl laughed at Matty’s friend antics.

“You’re not paying attention….” George scolded him from his chair, still not looking at Matty.

“I am, I am..”

“Yeah, sure.” Gorge sarcastically said.

Matty rolled his eyes to the back of his head. “I’m paying attention, George.”

“So, tell me what you think about the change I just did…” He challenged the frontman.

Matty opened his eyes wide, looking up at George. They got themselves inside an eye battle. Matty looked down, defeated.

“Fuck-” He mumbled.

“Right.” George smugly said.

“Keep it…and play it back.”

When George let his digits direct the mouse around the complicated program in front of his eyes, Adam and Y/n made their appearance thought the studio door.

“Look how I found at the front door…” Adam said, suggestively, distracting the rest of his band and the little girl.

“Hey!” Matty cheered up, standing to come closer.

He knew he couldn’t kiss Y/n there, with his child and bandmates around. Y/n and Matty agreed to not tell anyone about this new state of theirs relationship. Just trying to keep Amelia’s sanity as the top priority.

The drummer groaned loud, clearly annoyed. “This is getting impossible.” He muttered.

“I can’t leave if you want, G.” Y/n offered him, signalling with her hand the door behind her.

“No, it’s not you, Y/n/n.” George let her know, scratching his eyes. He loved to have Amelia and Y/n around, he considered both of them part of the ‘the 1975 family’; although, he wanted to finish this song. They had a tight schedule for those few weeks before the big show. “Hi…” G saluted her, engulfing Y/n in a big hug.

“He’s stressing you?” Y/n questioned George barely loud, even when she knew everyone around could hear. She liked to tease Matty with his bandmates, it was a way to bond with them. A harmless way.

“Yes!” George protested.

Matty complained, joining the joke, “Oi!”

“He has his head else where…” George let her go, wiggling his eyebrows, “I’m going to take a piss.” G informed the room.

Y/n moved to the side, letting George exit the room. Y/n’s attention fall in Amelia playing with Ross and Adam. The cutest sight her eyes witnessed that day. She felt another pair of eyes looking at her. Y/n blushed, returning Matty’s look of fondness.

She allowed herself to lift her arm –without the guys noticing– to press quickly Matty’s hand; he returned the gesture.

“Hi, baby.” Matty whispered, kissing her cheek.

“Y/n, watch out…a bug is sucking your face!” Adam teased Matty. Knowing that Adam had his attention on them made the couple step a few feet apart.

Matty went to continue the bickering, “You are…?”

Y/n swiftly cut them, acknowledging the last member of the band she hadn’t had the chance to say hello to. “Hi, Ross!”

“Hello! Look who’s here, Ames!” The cute man lift Amelia on his lap, making her dance holding both of Ross’s hands. She cackled happy, which was contagious to everyone around.

“Hi, baby.” Y/n went to hold Amelia.

“Mommy!”

“Are you distracting all this fine boys?” Y/n dare to look around, at the same time George returned from his break.

“Yes!” Amelia answered without fully understanding the question. The whole band joined into a group laugh. The little girl wiggled out of her embrace, returning to be close to Ross.

Y/n’s sight fall on the computer, showing complicated patters. She felt guilty for distracting them and weighed the idea of bringing Amelia home. “I think we better get home…” She said out loud.

“No!” Matty protested. “Stay a little bit…you promised!” He insisted, making puppy eyes.

Adam supported the idea. “Yeah, stay, Y/n…we barely see you now days. Does this one…” He lifted his hand, pointing at Matty’s face. “...have you trapped in a big tower or what?”

“Piss off, Hann.” Matty shot back.

Y/n chew her lower lip, anxiously. “Are you sure? I don’t want to delay you-”

“Believe me, Y/n. We need you here.” Ross said sweetly. It was probably the biggest lie, because she wasn’t going to help with any of the production, but he was too nice to say the contrary.

“See?” Matty said to her.

“Come on, I’ll tell you all the surprises for the show…” Adam offered.

That piqued her interest. Matty hadn’t told her anything. “Will you?”

“Course not!” The frontman protested against.

Adam smiled. “Off course…yes, only for you, Y/n!” He let her know, only to mess with Matty.

“You’re going to spoil it for her…” Matty continued with his objection.

Y/n looked at Matty, sternly. “I mean- You haven’t invited me…” Y/n folded her arms.

“I did!” Matty exclaimed, not overly convinced.

He remembered talking about the show and all the hard work for it. Maybe he took for granted that she was going to be there. Matty feared the opposite, most of the surprises and new bits were thinking about Y/n’s likings.

“You did not, Healy!” Y/n stated.

“I think I did…but, anyway- Will you come to show, Y/n?”

Y/n stayed in silence for an instance, playing with his patience. “I have to see if I can manage to squeeze it on my agenda-” She finally said, winking at Adam.

“Y/n…” Matty warned her.

“Since you notified me on such a short notice…. I’ll think about it!” Y/n explained as if it was the reasonable response.

“I don’t like you.” Matty told her, returning to sit beside George. Giving her his back, which made Y/n laugh. Amelia did the same when she got angry.

“I really like her…” George spoke, still on his designated place in front of the big screen.

“Same!” Ross and Adam shout from the couch in unison.

“Oh my god!” Matty breathed out, Y/n laugh softly, massaging his shoulders sweetly.

*******************************************************************************

((Kitchen area))

“Fancy seeing you here…” Matty pestered Y/n, coming from behind her, rounding her form with his arms.

Y/n took a break from the madness of the studio after hours of hearing them bicker about the song. She excused herself, even though no one heard her. Matty noticed, instantly screaming he needed a bathroom break. He followed her like a lost puppy.

Since the new situation between them started, he grew enormously attached to her. He wanted to be on her presence almost every time. Matty was still scared she would come asking to be friends again. He tried to keep the thought buried.

“Matty, someone might see us.” Y/n protested, leaving the glass of water on the counter.

Matty didn’t care at the moment. He selfishly wanted her. “Mhm.” He breathed in her perfume, hiding his face on the back of her neck.

Y/n caressed his hands, trying to sound collected. “I’m serious.”

“I just need a kiss…” He sweetly asked for it, she chuckled. Sometimes he unarmed her with simple words or requests.

She turned around on his embrace, feeling at ease with him. Y/n let her hands go to his head. It was addictive to run his hands through the mope of curls he had on the top of it. So alike as Amelia’s, still different.

Matty moaned way too loud for being still at the studio.

“Shh!” Y/n shut him up.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, bringing his face closer to hers.

Brushing their lips together, feeling a strange force bringing her into his body, Y/n whispered, “We shouldn’t-”

“We definitely should.” Matty stated, pecking her lips shortly. “Couldn’t wait till we get home… I need you.” He said, biting her lower lip softly tugging it from its place. It was Y/n’s turn to moan.

Y/n didn’t wait anymore, bringing him closer by his head, kissing Matty. Her body pulsing, screaming for him to do more, to touch her more, where she needed him. “Matty-” She said on his lips.

“Tell me, baby.” He replied, sneaking his hands under her clothes.

“Please-” She groaned when his hands stopped under her bra.

Matty smiled, full of himself, enjoying having an effect on her. “What do you need, Y/n?”

“Touch me.” She begged.

Matty cheekily uttered, “I am touching you.”

“No-”

“No?”

“Under…”

“So needy and perfect…” Matty went to suck on her beck, while his hands found the fullness of his breasts.

“Yeah, yeah!”

Matty’s hands grew impatient. He wanted to feel her completely. With the idea imprinted on his head, one of his hands started the path towards her jeans. He unbuttoned them without a protest from Y/n, the opposite in fact.

When his hand come in contact with her clothed cunt, he could feel the material all wet and ruined by her arousal. “You’re so wet, baby…who got you this worked up?” Matty asked, kissing her cheek. Y/n couldn’t answer, too lost. “Who, Y/n?” He insisted, he needed to hear her say it.

“You, you…Matty, please-”

He continued, tracing the clothed path of her panties. Pressing on her clit not enough for Y/n’s liking, she needed more.

“Do you like watching me work?” He teased her. Matty caught Y/n’s sight focused on his fingers when George asked him to show what he was pointing out on his guitar.

“Aha-”

“Please tell me more, baby.” Matty supplicated now.

“Matty!” She screamed on his shoulder, feeling her insides burn. “The way you were touching that- damn…red guitar-” Y/n admitted for him.

“So naughty, with the rest of the band here-” He made sounds with his mouth, showing some sort of disappointment he wasn’t feeling. Matty felt incredible without knowing she wanted him as much as he wanted her. All the time.

“I know…please, please, Matty.” Y/n was getting closer with only him touching her clit.

Matty was painfully hard inside his trousers, but he wanted Y/n to come before thinking about him.“You make the prettiest sounds, baby.” Matty admitted.

“Matty, where the fuck are you?” George started to shout from the other side of the closed kitchen door.

“Agh!” Matty groaned, taking his hand off Y/n’s body. “He’s the biggest cock block.” He spat.

“It’s okay. I should go…” Y/n said, trying to make herself presentable again.

Matty didn’t let her go. “It’s not” He pecked her neck. “I want you here.”

“I’ll be waiting at home…”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Matthew!” Now George and Adam started to scream from somewhere around the studio, close, way too close to the kitchen.

“I swear…they’re worse than Denise.” Matty rearranged her trousers to hide his hard on.

“Come on.” Y/n tried to push him off.

Matty wasn’t having it. At least, he needed a few more kiss before having to face more hours without her presence.

“Kiss me.” He deadpanned said.

“Last one.” Y/n declared, going for it.

After a few more smooches, they brook apart reluctantly, even though they had to part ways because the steps coming from outside were getting closer and closer.

The door flown opened, showing an agitated George. “Here yo- Oh!” He stopped his reprimand for Matty when he saw Y/n standing there too.

“I’m going to get Amelia.” Y/n said, leaving after touching Matty’s arm and sending George’s way a shy smile.

George kept his silence, looking at Matty blush visibly. G was ready to take the piss of Matty.

“Oh?!” He inquired Matt, still holding the handle of the door, pointing the way from Y/n left and his best friend simultaneously.

“Hold it!” Matty stopped him, passing by, exciting the room.

George followed him. “Okay!” He lifted his arms as a surrender.

“Don’t want to hear a-” Matty warned G.

“Fine.”

They continued the walking back to the studio. Matty felt incredible uncomfortable, meanwhile George was having the most fun of the situation, even when he didn’t know anything about it. He laughed during the entire short walk back.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Home sweet home.

Matty shut the door closed after his arrival. The house was in complete silence. He tried not to make a single sound, scared to wake Amelia or Y/n. He hopped the mother of her child was waiting for him, although it was unbelievable late, so he would understand.

The lead singer climbed the stairs towards his room. At the top of the steps, his sight fell inevitable on Y/n’s room door. It was closed and there wasn’t light coming from underneath. His heart sank down into his stomach.

Since the night Y/n spend on his room she hadn’t returned to her own for none a single night. She spent it with him, inside his bed. And the fact that her room door was shut was strange because since no one sleep there, she left it open. There was no reason to close it, she chose to leave it opened.

Matty couldn’t build the strength to open it just to check. ‘Was she mad with me about something? Did I do something to upset Y/n?’, Matty couldn’t recall anything.

Defeated, with the idea of her not wanting to sleep intertwined with him, he made his way to his room. Stopping in the middle to kiss Amelia goodnight.

Matty opened the door of his room, not paying attention around him. It wasn’t until he clicked the light from his bedside table on that he noticed Y/n’s form under his comforter.

He sighted relived, at the same moment, Y/n turned around to look at him. “Hello.” He whispered.

She wasn’t happy with the disturbance. Y/n turned around, mumbling, “Hi.”

Matty got rid of his clothes, just leaving his boxers on. He swiftly got into bed, pressing his front on Y/n’s back, spooning her.

“Thought you went back to your room…” He communicated to her, rounding Y/n’s body tight, as if he was scared she was going to disappear.

“Feeling needy, Healy?”

“Yes, got scared for a hot second…”

“I’m here, babe.” She tried to calm him down, drawing circles on his wrist resting on top of her belly.

“Which makes me incredibly happy.”

“Soppy.” She teased him.

“Only for you, baby.” Matty let his nose moved behind her ear, showing his affection.

“Lucky me.” Y/n stated with her sleepy voice.

“Mhm.”

Y/n let her hand reach back, towards his curls. “You need to sleep.” She caressed them as best as she can while in that position.

“Are you staying right?” Matty scared asked, kissing her lifted arm.

“Yes, Matty. I’m not going anywhere.” Y/n comforted him, getting annoyed.

“Good.”

“Come on, big baby.” Y/n turned around, letting him cuddle with his head on her chest.

Matty tried to protest against her accusations. “I’m not-”

“Whatever.”

Matty pushed his cheek into the soft pillow her boobs were for his head. He felt how his body relaxed again.

“Y/n…?”

“Mhm?”

“Are you…you and Amelia…are you coming to the first show, right?”

“If you want us there, we will, Matty.” Y/n said with the last bit of strength she had.

“I want you there.”

“Okay.”

“Just sleep, Healy.” Y/n ended the conversation as sleep took over her.

Matty stayed awake for a few more minutes, enjoying holding Y/n for the time being. He felt a wave of emotions hitting him hard. Matty almost wanted to cry because of it. He held it back, instead whispering above her heart, “I love you.”

Scared, after saying it, he waited for Y/n to wake up and storm out. She didn’t move a muscle, her breath even from sleep. Matty breathed deeply.

One day he would be able to tell her; he fell asleep repeating it like a mantra.

#matty the 1975 #matty 1975 #matty healy smut #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy imagine #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x you #matty healy #matty healy!dad #george daniel #ross macdonald #adam hann #all i need #all i need fic #matty healy fanfiction

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vaguely-concerned · 2 years

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-another layer of 'ow ah ouch' to everything pyrrha says about lyctorhood in nona the ninth is that she and g1deon may very well have been the first necro-cav duo to have done it fully mutually consensually, eyes open. it's heavily implied mercy and augustine had their hands forced by cristabel and alfred and wouldn't have done it otherwise ("I have built a myriad on the idea that I could have talked him out of it, given five minutes"), and they're the first and second saints... g1deon's the third. he and pyrrha presumably saw what it did to mercy and augustine, and they still decided to go through with it.

I WILL REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME YOU KISSED ME—YOU APOLOGISED—YOU SAID, I AM SORRY, DESTROY ME AS I AM, BUT I WANT TO KISS YOU BEFORE I AM KILLED, AND I SAID TO YOU WHY, AND YOU SAID, BECAUSE I HAVE ONLY ONCE MET SOMEONE SO UTTERLY WILLING TO BURN FOR WHAT THEY BELIEVED IN, AND I LOVED HIM ON SIGHT, AND THE FIRST TIME I DIED I ASKED OF HIM WHAT I NOW ASK OF YOU

imagine the extra weight over the years in knowing you chose this. at least augustine can cling to that desperate fantasy world where he did stop alfred in time, but pyrrha and g1deon thought they knew exactly what they were doing. they thought it was love. john let them think that was love.

-...do you think mercymorn and augustine begged john for the same thing harrow did, after? Please, undo what I've done, Lord. I will never ask anything of you ever again. (Also one of my all time favorite Harrow moments where she gets to ask the question they aren't allowed to for ten thousand years: How dare you ask me to live with it?) did he comfort them? tell them he's so incredibly sorry, but he needs them?

at least pyrrha’s understanding of how the process works does corroborate his claim that he can’t extract a cavalier’s soul from their necromancer's after the lyctorhood is complete without destroying both souls, which I guess makes for the one thing he isn’t totally lying about lol. though while referencing their own situation paul tells ianthe there's still hope for her and naberius, a duo where the soul absorption did seem to complete, which suggests another layer here john might not know about (out of lack of interest?) or doesn't want anyone else to find out about.

actually let's reexamine some things from the Gideon the Ninth epilogue now in light of Nona I'm on a roll here:

-[God] said, "I know you became a Lyctor under duress."

"Some may call it duress," said Harrow.

"You aren't the first," said the Emperor.

screaming. howling. clawing at him like a wild animal. the two people who have loved you the most, and you stood by and watched as this happened to them, as you engineered it to happen to them, you've seen up close what it did to them, and now you're repeating the process with new children a myriad later without a blush. you suck so bad john I have no words fhksajfhsa.

-"I have three teachers for you. And a whole universe for you to hold on to, for just a little while longer."

a) oh yeah just wait for those three teachers they're a real barrel of laughs they probably won't even try to repeatedly murder you or anything lmao and b) what's that supposed to mean john. 'for just a little while longer'. why does it only have to be a little while longer. as far as I can tell you're no closer to the fullness of your revenge than ever. does it have anything to do with 'good morning, annabel' and 'it gets dirty, you clean it again'?

So, the universe was ending. Good. At least if she failed here, she would no longer have to be beholden to anybody.

could this also be some kind of foreshadowing? from the dialogue on page here harrow's conclusion that the universe is, for sure, ending is not necessarily a natural conclusion (john only speaks of the empire slowly dying) so like... does pre-lobotomy harrow know something we don't? or is it just that she's the saddest person anyone's ever seen pre-nona seeing gideon? (most heartbreaking shade of drift compatability discovered :') )

-He said presently, "Most of my Lyctors have been destroyed by a war I thought best to fight slowly, through attrition. I have lost my Hands -- not just to death. The loneliness of deep space takes its toll on anyone, and the necrosaints have all put up with it for longer than anybody should ever be asked to bear anything. That's why I wanted only those who had discovered the cost, and were willing to pay it in the full knowledge of what it would entail."

so... in the same way g1deon and pyrrha decided to pay that price willingly, then. I am 100% calling bullshit on him here, though, because if any of that had been his real intentions he would have taken at least a modicum of time and energy to write ANYTHING to that effect in the invitations haha. but I think he does recognize in some way that mercy and augustine are burning out under the ten thousand years he's asked of them, like cytherea just did, and maybe mistakenly thinks g1deon is handling it better, because his and pyrrha's decision seemed more informed/less coerced? loveday always knew it was her life or cytherea's, after all, that wasn't ever a real choice either. huh.

-god, harrow literally states all her (frankly very modest and doable) goals and needs to him -- to return to the ninth at least once, to find her cavalier's body, and to figure out what happened to the other survivors of canaan house -- and once she is incapable of remembering them........ he does fucking NOTHING to remind her or help her follow up on any of them fhsdkajfhasdkj I am losing it! at least there is the delicious irony that he could have saved himself a massive headache if he had helped her with any of these, so his own fecklessness and narcissism is its own punishment in this case I suppose lmao

-another observation: harrow is not as deferential or worshipful towards God in this epilogue as she will be in HtN or beyond. she's angry with him! she's kind of sharp and a bit rude, even! she seems more to feel begrudgingly beholden to him because fair enough he is god I guess than to emotionally buy into it as sacred service. I wonder how she'll think of him after nona the ninth, now that she knows him so much better and has more of herself too -- ironically my sense from their last scene in nona the ninth is that her worship of him seems to have all but disappeared, but she loves him more, despite uh the everything of him, in all his awfulness. not in that she doesn't recognize him for what he is or that she wants his approval anymore, she's grown so far past him already, but I do think there's still love there. 'I still love you' is the real power he has, I guess

#the locked tomb #the locked tomb spoilers #nona the ninth spoilers #nona spoilers #nona the ninth #ntn spoilers #pyrrha dve #gideon the first #john gaius #harrowhark nonagesimus #mercymorn the first #augustine the first #this is just how my life works right now I'll sit around innocently and then just BAM locked tomb thoughts sparking in my brain

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gardenschedule · 2 months

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A collection of Beatles quotes about the breakup

I know I'm preaching to the choir on tumblr.com because people here examine the breakup with empathy, nuance and critical thought. BUT these quotes are convenient if you ever get caught up in frustrating arguments online with male boomer beatle fans who think John and George hated the band and couldn't wait to escape while Paul was desperate to get back together. Sorted by band member and chronological order.

Quotes from/about Ringo:

1969:

People really have tried to typecast us. They think we are still little moptops, and we are not. I don’t want to play in public again. I don’t miss being a Beatle anymore. You can’t get those days back. It’s no good living in the past.

Ringo Starr, 24 March 1969 while filming The Magic Christian in New York

1970:

Ringo? He was the peacemaker for John, George and himself to Paul and was shaken to find Paul intransigent to the point of saying some pretty blunt things. But none of the Beatles is vindictive, and pettiness is their natural enemy, and when Paul released his album, Ringo sent a telegram congratulation him on “Maybe I’m Amazed” (one of the tracks) and meant it. Ringo has a lot of heart and more soul than most and since he knows he will be a Beatles to the grave, he will cooperate should it all come together again.

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

1971:

The Beatles might yet stay together as a group. Paul is the greatest bass player in the world. He is also determined. He goes on and on to see if he can get his own way. While that may be a virtue, it did mean that musical disagreements inevitably rose from time to time. But such disagreements contributed to really great products. […] I was shocked and dismayed, after Mr. McCartney’s promises about a meeting of all four Beatles in London in January, that a writ should have been issued on December 31. I trust Paul and I know he would not lightly disregard his promise. Something serious, about which I have no knowledge, must have happened between Paul’s meeting with George in New York at the end of December. […] My own view is that all four of us together could even yet work out everything satisfactorily.

Ringo Starr’s affidavit – From “The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001” by Keith Badman

No one doubted that Starkey would go along with the majority.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

Later/unknown year:

RS: But that’s only Imagine. You know what I’m saying? Paul with his Band on the Run. We all started on a bus and small clubs and things like that, but Paul is that type of person. Paul wanted to do it all over again, and he did. And he went through hell. He went through hell. I mean, now he’s not talking to me and that’s too bad, but he started again from the bottom to do the Paul McCartney show. I don’t wanna do it anymore. I did it once.

All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

Quotes from/about George:

1969:

“Yeah, quite definitely, but I’d like to do it with the Beatles but not on the old scale, that’s the only drag. With the Ono Band and me playing with Delaney and Bonnie there’s no expectations because it’s really quite anonymous, you just go and do whatever you can do. Once the Beatles are advertised and all the crowds come along they expect too much. I’d like to do the Beatles thing, but more like Delaney and Bonnie with us augmented with a few more singers, and a few trumpets, saxes, organs, and all that"

Interview conducted by Roy Carr, NME, 20 December 1969

1970:

George was greatly disappointed that Paul should come off like he was injured by Klein (business manager) whom George believes to have greatly eased the effects of the present and insured the safety of the future. George view is “Did you have to be so nasty. You can go so far but you can never get back, and you can say things which get in the way forever. For me, I would be glad to play with all of us again.”

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

Q: “You think the Beatles will get together again, then?”

George: “Well, I don’t… I couldn’t tell, you know, if they do or not. I’ll certainly try my best to do something with them again, you know. I mean, it’s only a matter of accepting that the situation is a compromise. In a way it’s a compromise, and it’s a sacrifice, you know, because we all have to sacrifice a little in order to gain something really big. And there is a big gain by recording together – I think musically, and financially, and also spiritually. And for the rest of the world, you know, I think that Beatle music is such a big sort of scene – that I think it’s the least we could do is to sacrifice three months of the year at least, you know, just to do an album or two. I think it’s very selfish if the Beatles don’t record together.”

WABC-FM, May 1, 1970

The Harrison quote that went around the world that spring was purely optimistic: 'Everyone is trying to do his own album, and I am too. But after that I'm ready to go back with the others.'

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

1971:

The only serious row was between Paul and me. In 1968 I went to the United States and had a very easy co-operation with many leading musicians. This contrasted with the superior attitude which, for years past, Paul has shown towards me musically. In January 1969, we were making a film in a studio at Twickenham, which was dismal and cold, and we were all getting a bit fed up with our surroundings. In front of the cameras, as we were actually being filmed, Paul started to ‘get at’ me about the way I was playing. I decided I had had enough and told the others I was leaving. This was because I was musically dissatisfied. After a few days, the others asked me to return and since I did not wish to leave them in the lurch in the middle of filming and recording, and since Paul agreed that he would not try to interfere or teach me how to play, I went back. Since the row, Paul has treated me more as a musical equal. I think this whole episode shows how a disagreement could be worked out so that we all benefited. I just could not believe it when, just before Christmas, I received a letter from Paul’s lawyers. I still cannot understand why Paul acted as he did.

George Harrison’s affidavit – From “The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001” by Keith Badman

“In a “Come back Paul, all is forgiven” mood, George Harrison said this week: “I wish we could all be friends again. It’s a drag that things are as they are, because Apple is now becoming much more what we originally wanted it to be. “Personally I’d like to see Paul back at Apple and let him do what he wants to do. After all the new studio is his studio, too, and I’d like to see it all happening for us all.”

October 1971 Record Mirror

When John finally hinted that he would be willing to play with George when he appeared at Madison Square Garden. “Well, maybe I can come and help ya,” he said. “That’d be nice.” George glowered at John. Then George’s anger really burst forth. “Where were you when I needed you!” he snapped. It was the first of a series of explosions, each of them followed by moments of tense silence. “I did everything you said. But you weren’t there,” he repeated. “You always knew how to reach me,” John would reply evenly to each of these outbursts. There was no doubt in my mind, watching those two, that George’s anger with John had been accumulating for years. It was exactly the kind of situation that John usually ran from. But I could see in that moment that he loved George enough to remain calm and still as George drilled away at him. George said that repeatedly in the past he had sung what John wanted him to sing, said what John wanted him to say. Because John wanted it, George had gone along with the decision to go with Allen Klein. In the nearly four years since, John had virtually ignored him, a fact that pained George deeply. George’s voice grew even more harsh as he blasted John for his sudden appearance, as if out of nowhere, to offer an evening’s worth of help. Yet again George said furiously, I did everything you said, but you weren’t there.”

May Pang, Loving John

1973:

"George came into the office and said, 'I wanted you to know before anyone else. We're leaving Allen.' I said, 'Why?' And he said, 'We'll never get together again with Allen managing us.' And that was it. They left. George always had that distant hope."

Allan Stecker, Mojo interview 2023 (on Monday April 2 1973)

"[Allen Klein] made [John, George and Ringo] feel financially and artistically secure,” Steckler reckoned. So why did they decide that Klein had to go? Steckler believed he knew the answer. “George called me and said, ‘We’re not re-signing with Klein,’” he recalled. “I asked him why, and he said, 'The only way The Beatles can get together again is if Allen isn’t there. I’m ready to do it, so is Ringo, and I think we can persuade John to go along with it. But if we’re going to work with Paul, we need to get rid of Klein.’"

Peter Doggett, You Never Give Me Your Money

1978:

Personally, I’m not opposed to the idea, if it’s done through mutual agreement. But the pressure seems to be bigger than any of us, and when they talk of sums like $50 or $60 million, it’s almost a farce. I know Paul’s booked for the next few years, and John may have lost interest in the idea. Ringo and I are closest on it; we both feel it’s not impossible, but it’s highly unlikely, if only because of the legal and business maze that would have to be resolved before the four of us set foot on stage together.

M. George Haddad interview with George Harrison for Men Only magazine (Nov. 1978 issue)

Quotes from/about Paul:

1970:

On the eve of the release of the Beatles new movie and album “Let it Be,” Paul McCartney said, “I quit,” or “I think I quit,” which is roughly the same thing. As a publicity stunt, it’s as good or bad as any stunt they ever appeared to pull. But like every stunt they never did pull, this isn’t one either. McCartney’s declaration of independence was entirely impromptu, spontaneous and personal and so far had the group’s lines of communication become crossed that none of the Beatles really knew when the album would be out, or whether, nor did they greatly care.

...

I guess the way it stacks up now and the way it was around the time when Paul dropped the big on is that he wants right out of it all and they don’t.

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

"John's reply was that I was daft!" He then said he wanted to leave the Beatles and wanted an immediate divorce. None of us really knew what to do about the situation, but we decided to wait until our film 'Let it Be' came out in April. I got bored and made 'McCartney' instead!"

Paul McCartney, in his first magazine interview since the split, tells FLIP's Keith Altham... "THE BEATLES ARE FINISHED!"

When we had to go to the studios, Linda would make the booking and we’d take some sandwiches and a bottle of grape juice and put the baby on the floor and it was all like a a holiday. So as a natural turn of events from looking for something to do, I found that I was enjoying working alone as much as I’d enjoyed the early days of the Beatles. I haven’t really enjoyed the Beatles for the last two years.

Paul, Interview for Evening Standard • Tuesday, April 21-22, 1970

Klein tells George he will get him more money and he tells Ringo the same. He tells them all that there are four first-class Beatles, not two and John doesn’t mind being told this. Paul doesn’t like any of it, none of it. He has a father-in-law who is also from New York and his name is Lee Eastman. Lee Eastman is also a toughie, but his manners are more formal than Klein’s and some people like him. Paul would like Eastman to be the Mr Big Apple needs. John wants Mr Klein to be Mr Big. A year passes. It is 1970. Paul still doesn’t like Klein but John digs him more than ever and George digs him more than that and Ringo doesn’t mind him. Paul? He is so uptight about Klein he only leaves the Beatles, that’s all.

As Time Goes By - Derek Taylor

1971:

Klein: “If Paul McCartney doesn’t get his way, he bitches. He may have a choirboy image in the press and with fans, but I’m here to tell you its bullshit. If anybody broke up the Beatles, it was him.”

Allen Klein, Playboy: A candid conversation with the embattled manager of the Beatles. (November, 1971) (note: obviously we should not trust a word Klein says, but at this point why isn't he repeating John's party line that he wanted a divorce?)

I think John thought I was using this press release for publicity-as I suppose, in a way, it was. So it all looked very weird, and it ruffled a few feathers. The good thing about it was that we all had to finally own up to the fact that we'd broken up three or four months before. We'd been ringing each other quite constantly, sort of saying, 'Let's get it back together.' And I think me, George and Ringo did want to save things. But I think John was, at that point, too heavily into his new life-which you can't blame him.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

1972:

“We planned a big festival for one afternoon in Central Park, and ‘Imagine’ was the theme. Each retarded person from an institution would be paired with one able-bodied volunteer – twenty-five thousand people in the park. The issue arose whether the retarded should come to the matinee concert at Madison Square Garden. Obviously it would be a huge revenue loss. So Allen Klein and John just bought $50,000 worth of tickets and gave them to the retarded kids and volunteers.” Suddenly John got cold feet, after the concert had been sold out for weeks. “John said he didn’t want to do it,” Rivera recalled. “He said he hadn’t played in public for years, he hadn’t rehearsed with a band, he was just too nervous. …When they had that rush of insecurity, Yoko told me that she and John called Paul and Linda. They said, ‘Let’s bury the hatchet and appear together at the concert.’ Why Paul said ‘No’ I’ll never know.” Rivera and others managed to calm John’s fears and get him to start rehearsing with Elephant’s Memory.

Jon Wiener, Come Together: John Lennon in His Time. (1984)

“A few months ago, John asked us to do a concert with him at Madison Square Garden (note: same concert as the above quote) and it’s a pity now that we didn’t do it. I didn’t want to do it at the time but we will do things, I’m sure. I don’t see any reason why all four Beatles shouldn’t be on stage at some time all playing together and having a good time. I don’t think you’ll ever get the Beatles reforming, because that’s all gone. The Beatles were a special thing in a special era and I really couldn’t see it all coming together again. But I think it’s daft to assume that just because we had a couple of business upsets we won’t ever see each other again, or that if John has a concert some time we won’t go up and play on it.”

Paul McCartney, interview with Ray Connolly in The Evening Standard, December 2, 1972 (source: The Ray Connolly Beatles Archive)

“Don’t ever call me ex-Beatle McCartney again. That was one band I was with. Now I’m not with them. I’ve got another band. We won’t do things the same way any more. We’re not so bothered in trying to please other people all the time even though we obviously don’t try to displease them. All we want, in Wings, is to please ourselves with our music, That’s all.

“If people start fan clubs for us, do that kind of thing from the past, well, fine. But we won’t start one. I just get irritated by people constantly harping on the past, about the days when I was with that other band, the Beatles.

“The other Beatles get together and that is fine, but I’m almost always in another part of the world. The Beatles was my old job. We’re not like friends – we just know each other. But we don’t work together. so there’s no point keeping up old relationships.”

“All I know for sure is that I’ll never be conned again. I’m 30 now and, after what I’ve been through. I should know my way around. I get angry with fans, who interrupt my life, even now. I get fed up with the feeling that I was losing my identity, becoming some kind of legend, not a person. And I’m downright angry with the people who keep trying to get me back with the others again.

1976:

“The truth is very ordinary. The truth is just that since we split up, we’ve not seen much of each other. We visit occasionally, we’re still friends, but we don’t feel like getting up and playing again. You can’t tell that to people. You say that and they say, ‘How about this money, then?’ ‘Or how about this?’ And you end up having to think of reasons why you don’t feel like it. And, of course, any one of them taken on its own isn’t really true, but I was just stuck for an answer, so I said I wouldn’t do it just for the money anyway. And I saw John last time, he says, ‘I agreed with that.’ But there’s a million other points in there. A whole million angles. “I tell you, before this tour, I was tempted to ring everyone up and say, ‘Look, is it true we’re not going to get back together, ‘cause we all pretty much feel like we’re not. And as long as I could get everyone to say, ‘No, we’re definitely not,’ then I could say ‘It’s a definite no-no.’ But I know my feeling, and I think the others’ feeling, in a way, is we don’t want to close the door to anything in the future. We might like it someday.

Paul McCartney, Rolling Stone: Yesterday, Today, and Paul. (June 17th, 1976)

Later/unknown year:

“John phoned me once to try and get the Beatles back together again, after we’d broken up. And I wasn’t for it, because I thought that we’d come too far and I was too deeply hurt by it all. I thought, “Nah, what’ll happen is that we’ll get together for another three days and all hell will break loose again. Maybe we just should leave it alone.”

Paul, November 1995 Club Sandwich interview

“ELLEN: So was there ever a time when both you and John Lennon wanted to reform the Beatles? PAUL: There was a time… let’s put it this way: there was never a time when all four of us wanted to do it. And each time it was always someone different who didn’t fancy it And I’m actually glad of that now. Because the Beatles’ work is a body of work. There’s nothing to be ashamed of there. In the end we decided we should leave well enough alone. The potential disappointment of coming on and not being as good as the Beatles had been… that was a risk we shouldn’t take

Paul McCartney, interview w/ Mark Ellen for Radio Times. (October 20th-26th, 2007)

Quotes from/about John:

1969:

JOHN: The point is, if George leaves, do we want to carry on The Beatles? I do. [inaudible; drowned out by mic feedback] And I’d just get another member of the group and carry on. But if The Beatles split, well, I’ll get another group. [to Paul and Yoko?] I’m a singer not a dancer, baby! Woo-hoo!

January 10th, 1969 (Twickenham Film Studios, London)

MICHAEL: But funny enough, the other day, when we were talking, he said that he really did not want not to be a Beatle. He said he really looked forward – not, you know. Meaning he didn’t want that screwed up.

[T]he Beatles are always discussing, “Should we go on or shouldn’t we? Why are we together for now?” And what it gets down to is I like playing rock n’ roll and I like making rock n’ roll records. Now, I’ve got either the choice— if I want the whole LP to myself — is to get a few musicians together. Now, I know that— I’ve played with other musicians — just very rarely, but occasionally I’ve played with them — and it needs some work together to get anything going. I don’t like session men, so I try not to use them. I don’t like violinists or anything these days. I try not to use anybody but the Beatles. And if I wanted to make a record I’d chose the Beatles! I can say, “Give me a ‘Be Bop A Lula’”. So therefore, we’ve got that going. And even from a commercial point, when we discuss it, “What’s the biggest selling name? Beatles or John Lennon and The Fabs? Or George Harrison and The Fabs?” Which— Where’s our biggest market? It’s Beatles! Who are our closest friends? Beatles! Who do we have the most arguments with? Beatles. So Beatles is it!

John Lennon and Yoko Ono give a series of interviews at the Apple Corps building at 3 Savile Row, London (Friday, 12 September 1969).

JOHN: See they’re growing up too, you know. And uh, we all want Beatles still cause it’s, it’s a big power and it’s good power, you know. And we’ve no intention of splitting it, you know. Any of us. I can’t be specific about it, you know. But obviously, I’m deeply involved with Yoko, it has some…you know, maybe less reliant on the others but so it goes for the others too, you know. That as we’re all sort of branching out. Which we were occasionally all the time, you know. Like I did How I Won The War, I wrote In His Own Write and Paul wrote the music for Family Way, etc. and George went off to India with sitars and that. So it’s only, you know. We nip off and come back and do some work then nip off again, you know.

John and Yoko gave several interviews on September 12, 1969

[Will] The Beatles split up? It just depends how much we all want to record together. I don’t know if I want to record together again. I go off and on it. I really do.”

John Lennon, interview w/ Alan Smith for NME. (December 13th, 1969)

JOHN: I was really losing interest in just doing the Beatles’ bit – and I think we all were – but Paul did a good job in holding us together for a few years while we were sort of undecided about what to do, you know. And I found out what to do, and it didn’t really have to be with the Beatles. It could have been, if they wanted… But uh, it got that I couldn’t wait for them to make up their minds about peace or whatever. About committing themselves. It’s the same as the songs. So I’ve gone ahead – and I’d have liked them to have come along.

YORKE: Did you ever try to get them into the peace scene?

JOHN: I did a little at first, but I think it was too much like Yoko and me and what we’re doing and trying to get them to come along; and I think they reacted. I hassled them too much, so I’m really leaving them alone. Maybe they’ll come along, wagging their tails behind them, and if not, good luck to them.

John Lennon, interview w/ Ritchie Yorke. (December 23rd, 1969)

“This is why I’ve started with the Plastic Ono and working with Yoko . . . to have more outlet. There isn’t enough outlet for me in the Beatles. The Ono Band is my escape valve. And how important that gets, as compared to the Beatles for me, I’ll have to wait and see.

NEW MUSICAL EXPRESS DECEMBER 13, 1969

1970:

Why do you think he [Paul] has lost interest in Apple?

That’s what I want to ask him! We had a heavy scene last year as far as business was concerned and Paul got a bit fed-up with all the effort of business. I think that’s all it is. I hope so.

John Lennon interviewed by Roy Shipston for Disc and Music Echo (February 28, 1970)

John’s view is: “Okay. If this is it, this is it. We’ve all left the Beatles anyway.” If Paul were to approach him and say, “Let’s do it together again,” he probably would; with no more words, he probably would do it.

The Party's Over for the Beatles - written by Derek Taylor

Now even Lennon was prepared to hint at a positive outcome: 'I've no idea if the Beatles will work together again, or not. I never really have. It was always open. If somebody didn't feel like it, that's it! It could be a rebirth or a death. We'll see what it is. It'll probably be a rebirth.'

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

'Eventually,' McCartney recalled, 'I went and said, "I want to leave. You can all get on with Klein and everything, just let me out." Having not spoken to Lennon for several weeks, he sent him a letter that summer, pleading that the former partners 'let each other out of the trap'. As McCartney testified, Lennon 'replied with a photograph of himself and Yoko, with a balloon coming out of his mouth in which was written, "How and Why?" I replied by letter saying, "How by signing a paper which says we hereby dissolve our partnership. Why because there is no partnership." John replied on a card which said, "Get well soon. Get the other signatures and I will think about it.” Communication was at an end. Yet the press continued to believe, fired by hope more than evidence, that it was only a matter of days before the four men healed their wounds. The stories taunted McCartney, who fired off a letter to the prime offender, Melody Maker: 'Dear Mailbag, In order to put out of its misery the limping dog of a news story which has been dragging itself across your pages for the past year, my answer to the question, "Will the Beatles get together again?"...is no.' He had finally pronounced the verdict that was missing from his self-interview in April: the Beatles were no more.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett (note: John is stalling)

For McCartney, and maybe Harrison and Starkey as well, this signified hope. ‘For about three or four months,' he recalled years later, 'George, Ringo and I rang each other to ask, "Well, is this it, then?" It wasn't that the record company had dumped us. It was just a case of: we might get back together again. Nobody quite knew if it was one of John's little flings, and that maybe he was going to feel the pinch in a week's time and say, “I was only kidding.” I think John did kind of leave the door open. He'd said, “I'm pretty much leaving the group, but...” McCartney testified in 1971, ‘I think all of us (except possibly John) expected we would come together again one day.

You Never Give Me Your Money – Peter Doggett

John: George was on the session for Instant Karma, Ringo’s away and Paul’s – I dunno what he’s doing at the moment, I haven’t a clue.

Interviewer: When did you last see him?

John: Uh, before Toronto. I’ll see him this week actually. If you’re listening, I’m coming round. (Note: as AKOM point out, Toronto was before the divorce meeting. Why is he pretending it never happened?)

Feb 6th 1970 (audio snippet approx 1:14:00)

Interviewer: What about the Beatles all together as a group?

John: As soon as they’re ready, you know, we had half the Beatles on again at the Lyceum Ballroom. Uh it was George and me but we also had Delaney and Bonney and 17 piece band we had on, it was a great experience. Uh it should be like that you know, if we were doing that and all the Beatles wanted to come it would be great, and it would be no great thing about ‘oh the Beatles are coming back on stage’ like they expect, sorta of, Buddha and Mohammad to come on and play. I keep saying that, but that’s the fear the Beatles have, including me as a Beatle, about performing. It’s such a great – so much expected of us, you know, but you see George has been on tour with Bonnie and Delaney playing and I’ve been drifting around playing, it’s just playing isn’t the hang up. It’s going on as the Beatles that’s the problem for us.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:23:00)

Interviewer: Do you care about making another Beatles album?

John: I think Beatles is a good communication media you know, and I wouldn’t destroy it out of hand or dissolve it out of hand. So that’s what I think about Beatles.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:41:00)

Interviewer: Why do you think rumours like this start?

John: Because there was a lot of tension around the Allen Klein coming in days and the ATV thing going on, and the Beatles were under a lot of pressure and we had to be together all the time, fighting and arguing and listening to all the different business things. And so we’re taking a break from each other like we always did after a tour end. The business thing is like a heavy tour, in it we may get back in abbey road and a couple of singles and under a great strain you know, doing that business. And so now we’re just taking a break from each other.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:41:00)

You can’t pin me down because I haven’t got- there’s no- it’s completely open, whether we do it or not. Life is like that, whether I make another Plastic Ono album or Lennon album or anything is open you know, I don’t like to prejudge it. And I have no idea if the Beatles are working together again or not, I never did have, it was always open. If someone didn’t feel like it, that’s it. And maybe if one of us starts it off, the others will all come round and make an album you know.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:43:00)

In 1964 I produced a book, they were asking me that then, and why should I not write a book? The Beatles wanted me to do it, they wanted me to do these LPs, you know, they have nothing against it – I want George to produce and record any records he wants to. It doesn’t interfere with Beatle time, I use my own time to do other things and so do they. The Beatles will remain, there’s no doubt about that. And we’ve been saying it since She Loves You, we’re together and that’s it.

1970 (audio snippet approx 1:45:00)

I just uh I wanted to do it [announce the breakup] you know, should’ve done it. I think damn, shit, what a fool I was. But there were many pressures at that time, I think Northern Songs and all that was going on, it would’ve upset the whole thing. (Note: again as AKOM point out, the Northern Songs fight ended the day before the divorce meeting. Why would the pressure of Northern Songs impact John's decision not to announce the breakup?)

Lennon Remembers

1971:

INT: I asked Lee Eastman for his view of the split, and what it was that prompted Paul to file suit to dissolve the Beatles' partnership, and he said it was because John asked for a divorce.

JOHN: Because I asked for a divorce? That's a childish reason for going into court, isn't it?

John Lennon interviewed by Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld at the St. Regis Hotel, September 5, 1971

Well, there was this Japanese monk, and it happened in the last 20 years. He was in love with this big golden temple, y’know, he really dug it, like—and you know he was so in love with it, he burnt it down so that it would never deteriorate. That’s what I did with the Beatles.

John Lennon, interview w/ Alan Smith for NME: At home with the Lennons. (August 7th, 1971)

MCCABE: Let’s talk a bit about Paul’s aversion to Klein. From what we’ve read it seemed as if this wasn’t there in the beginning, even though Paul wanted the Eastmans to run things. But it came on later as things progressed. And yet despite this, we gather that Klein was still hoping that Paul would return to the group.

JOHN: Oh, he’d love it if Paul would come back. I think he was hoping he would for years and years. He thought that if he did something, to show Paul that he could do it, Paul would come around. But no chance. I mean, I want him to come out of it, too, you know. He will one day. I give him five years, I’ve said that. In five years he’ll wake up.

MCCABE: But Klein is still hoping?

JOHN: He said to me, “Would you do it, if we got your immigration thing fixed? Or if we could get rid of the drug conviction?”

YOKO: And people don’t understand, you know. There’s so many groups that constantly announce they’re going to split, they’re going to split, and they can announce it every year, and it doesn’t mean they’re going to split. But people don’t understand what an extraordinary position the Beatles are in, you know. In every way. They’re in such an extraordinary position that they’re more insecure than other people. And so Klein thinks he’ll give Paul two years Linda-wise, you know. And John said, “No, Paul treasures things like children, things like that. It will be longer.” And of course, John was right.

John Lennon and Yoko Ono, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld. (September, 1971)

It was true, that when the group was touring, their work and social relationships were close, but there had been a lot of arguing, mainly about musical and artistic matters. I suppose Paul and George were the main offenders in this respect, but from time to time we all gave displays of temperament and threatened to ‘walk out’. Of necessity, we developed a pattern for sorting out our differences, by doing what any three of us decided. It sometimes took a long time and sometimes there was deadlock and nothing was done, but generally that was the rule we followed and, until recent events, it worked quite well. Even when we stopped touring, we frequently visited each other’s houses in or near London and personally we were on terms as close as we had ever been. If anything, Paul was the most sociable of us. From our earliest days in Liverpool, George and I, on the one hand, and Paul, on the other, had different musical tastes. Paul preferred ‘pop-type’ music and we preferred what is now called ‘underground’. This may have led to arguments, particularly between Paul and George, but the contrast in our tastes, I am sure, did more good than harm, musically speaking, and contributed to our success.

If Paul is trying to break us up because of anything that happened before the Klein–Eastman power struggle, his reasoning does not make sense to me.

John Lennon’s affidavit – From “The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001” by Keith Badman

JOHN: Yeah, Gilbert and Sullivan. I always remember watching the film with Robert Morley and thinking, “We’ll never get to that.” [pause] And we did, which really upset me. But I never really thought we’d be so stupid. But we did.

WIGG: What, like splitting like they did?

JOHN: Like splitting and arguing, you know, and then they come back, and one’s in a wheelchair twenty years later—

YOKO: [laughs] Yes, yes.

JOHN: —and all that. [laughs; bleak] I never thought we’d come to that, because I didn’t think we were that stupid. But we were naive enough to let people come between us. And I think that’s what happened. [pause] But it was happening anyway. I don’t mean Yoko, I mean businessmen, you know. All of them.

October, 1971 (St Regis Hotel, New York)

Q: "Did Klein hope to get Paul back into the group?"

JOHN: (laughs) "He came up with this plan. He said, "Just ring Paul and say, 'We're recording next Friday, are you coming?' So it nearly happened. Then Paul would have forfeited his right to split by joining us again. But Paul would never, never do it, for anything, and now I would never do it."

St Regis Hotel Interview, September 5th, 1971.

John would say things like, ‘It was rubbish. The Beatles were crap.’ Also, ‘I don’t believe in The Beatles, I don’t believe in Jesus, I don’t believe in God.’ Those were quite hurtful barbs to be flinging around, and I was the person they were being flung at, and it hurt. So, I’m having to read all this stuff, and on the one hand I’m thinking, ‘Oh fuck off, you fucking idiot,’ but on the other hand I’m thinking, ‘Why would you say that? Are you annoyed at me or are you jealous or what?’ And thinking back fifty years later, I still wonder how he must have felt. He’d gone through a lot. His dad disappeared, and then he lost his Uncle George, who was a father figure; his mother; Stuart Sutcliffe; Brian Epstein, another father figure; and now his band. But John had all of those emotions wrapped up in a ball of Lennon. That’s who he was. That was the fascination.

I tried. I was sort of answering him here, asking, ‘Does it need to be this hurtful?’ I think this is a good line: ‘Are you afraid, or is it true?’ – meaning, ‘Why is this argument going on? Is it because you’re afraid of something? Are you afraid of the split-up? Are you afraid of my doing something without you? Are you afraid of the consequences of your actions?’ And the little rhyme, ‘Or is it true?’ Are all these hurtful allegations true? This song came out in that kind of mood. It could have been called ‘What the Fuck, Man?’ but I’m not sure we could have gotten away with that then.

Paul McCartney, on “Dear Friend”. In The Lyrics (2021).

Q: “If you got, I don’t know what the right phrase is… ‘back together’ now, what would be the nature of it?” JOHN: “Well, it’s like saying, if you were back in your mother’s womb… I don’t fucking know. What can I answer? It will never happen, so there’s no use contemplating it. Even if I became friends with Paul again, I’d never write with him again. There’s no point. I write with Yoko because she’s in the same room with me.” YOKO: “And we’re living together.” JOHN: “So it’s natural. I was living with Paul then, so I wrote with him. It’s whoever you’re living with. He writes with Linda. He’s living with her. It’s just natural.””

St. Regis Hotel Interview, September 5, 1971

1973:

My last question was inevitable… Any chance of us seeing the four Beatles on a stage or record together again? “There’s always a chance,” grinned John. “As far as I can gather from talking to them all, nobody would mind doing some work together again. There’s no law that says we’re not going to do something together, and no law that says we are. If we did do something I’m sure it wouldn’t be permanent. We’d do it just for that moment. I think we’re closer now than we have been for a long time. I call the split the divorce period and none of us ever thought there’d be a divorce like that. “That’s the way things turned out. We know each other well enough to talk about it.””

John Lennon, interview w/ Chris Charlesworth for Melody Maker. (November 3rd, 1973)

MINTZ: Would you want to initiate that happening?

JOHN: Uh… Well, I couldn’t say. [long pause]

MINTZ: If you could, I mean is it something you would like to see yourself doing?

JOHN: If I could… I don’t know, Elliot, because you know me, I go on instinct. And if the idea hit me tomorrow, you know, I might call them and say, “Come on, let’s do something.” And so I couldn’t really tell you. If it happens, it’ll happen.

MINTZ: So it’s not something that you would totally rule out as never taking place again?

JOHN: No, no. My memories are now all fond and the wounds are healed. And if we do it, we do it, if we record, we record. I don’t know. As long as we make music.

November 1st/10th, 1973 (Malibu, Los Angeles): For Eyewitness News on KABC TV Los Angeles, Elliot Mintz

1974:

“No, no, no,” he answered and he meant it. “I’m going to be an ex-Beatle for the rest of my life so I might as well enjoy it, and I’m just getting around to being able to stand back and see what happened. A couple of years ago I might have given everybody the impression I hate it all, but that was then. I was talking when I was straight out of therapy and I’d been mentally stripped bare and I just wanted to shoot my mouth off to clear it all away. Now it’s different.

“When I slagged off the Beatle thing in the papers, it was like divorce pangs, and me being me it was blast this and fuck that, and it was just like the old days in the Melody Maker, you know, ‘Lennon Blasts Hollies’ on the back page. You know, I’ve always had a bit of a mouth and I’ve got to live up to it. Daily Mirror: ‘Lennon beats up local DJ at Paul’s 21st birthday party’. Then we had that fight Paul and me had through the Melody Maker, but it was a period I had to go through.

John Lennon, interview w/ Ray Coleman for Melody Maker: Lennon – a night in the life. (September 14th, 1974)

John seemed to be in a very strange state of mind about the dissolution. From the hints he had dropped since we had been together, I had learned that John’s departure from the Beatles had essentially been Yoko’s idea. Without Yoko to drive him forward, he felt strangely ambivalent about officially ending the Beatles at that moment. By nature, also, he felt inclined to take a position opposite from that of Paul McCartney. Paul desperately wanted that agreement signed. Whether or not it was the best thing for him to do, John, on principle, was inclined not to want to sign it.

May Pang, Loving John. (1983)

I’ll tell you exactly why I said that. We had a business meeting to break up The Beatles, one of the famous ones that we’d been having — we’re still having them 17 years later, actually. We all flew in to New York specially. George came off his disastrous tour, Ring of flew in and we were at the Plaza for the big final settlement meeting. John was half a mile away at the Dakota and he sent a balloon over with a note that said ‘Listen to this balloon.’ I mean, you’ve got to be pretty cool to handle that kind of stuff.

George blew his cool and rang him up: ’You fucking maniac!! You take your fucking dark glasses off and come and look at us, man!!’ and gave him a whole load of that shit. Around the same time at another meeting we had it all settled, and John asked for an extra million pounds at the last minute. So of course that meeting blew up in disarray. Later, when we got a bit friendlier — and from time to time there would be these little stepping-stones of friendship in the Apple sea — I asked him why he’d actually wanted that million and he said, I just wanted cards to play with. It’s absolutely standard business practice. He wanted a couple of jacks to up your pair of nines. He was one great guy, but part of his greatness was that he wasn’t a saint.

Paul McCartney: An Innocent Man? (October, 1986) (note: John is STILL stalling)

At that moment, John was at his most unpredictable. Suddenly his fears that his money was going to be taken away from him, that he was going to be cheated, that he had to have as much money as possible, had all come into play. This was also John’s way of resisting the reality that the Beatles were officially about to come to end, and that Paul was about to prevail.

Loving John, MAY PANG (1983)

1975:

“At the time I was thinking that I didn’t want to do all that Beatles—but now I feel differently. I’ve lost all that negativity about the past and I’d be happy as Larry to do ‘Help’. I’ve just changed completely in two years. I’d do ‘Hey Jude’ and the whole damn show, and I think George will eventually see that. If he doesn’t, that’s cool. That’s the way he wants to be.”

John Lennon, interview w/ Chris Charlesworth for Melody Maker: Rock on! (March 8th, 1975)

1976:

“I’ve always felt that splitting up was a mistake in many ways” John Lennon has said, and he believes a Beatles revival “would undoubtedly produce some great music.”

Australian Woman’s Weekly, 1976

1980:

“I and the other three former Beatles have plans to stage a reunion concert…” (Part of a statement in the legal disposition brought by Apple Corps against the ‘Beatlemania’ stage musical for trademark infringement. John was referring to an event that was to be filmed for a documentary being put together by Neil Aspinall. It was abandoned/shelved after John’s death, but ultimately became the Anthology project)

John Lennon, 1980

“Just days before his brutal death, John was making plans to go to England for a triumphant Beatles reunion. His greatest dream was to recreate the musical magic of the early years with Paul, George and Ringo … (he) felt that they had traveled different paths for long enough. He felt they had grown up and were mature enough to try writing and recording new songs.”

Yoko Ono, quoted in The Beatles: The Dream Is Over - Off The Record 2 by Keith Badman

#the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #there are absolutely quotes that contradict these (ie paul not wanting the breakup and the others wanting it) but we see those constantly #mclennon #almost forgot to tag them but lbr it's all about them

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demon-of-the-ancient-world · 20 days

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So idk if this is a super surface level take, but I think the most heartbreaking part about Paul's journey in part 2 is like. how he kind of knows even from the beginning what he'll have to do in the end. And even in those moments where he thinks he's maybe in the clear and forging his own path (the "taking off the ring" scene for example), I think he knows deep down that it won' t last. That the most he can do is delay the inevitable. But he'll still try to delay it as long as possible. He knows what going south will do to him. He knows what the water of life will do to him. He just doesn't know how bad it'll be. I think up until the last possible moment he still has some desperate hope that he won't give in fully, that he'll be able to have a win-win scenario and give everyone what they want while still remaining uncorrupted.

I've compared it to LOTR before but it really is Like That --- every good person who possesses the ring at some point thinks "maybe I'll be the one to resist it though. Maybe it'll be me who's able to remain pure of heart." I think Paul is the same way - he sees himself changing drastically, but still thinks maybe he can avoid that fate while still stepping as close to it as he feels he needs to. And those steps get closer and closer until he falls off the edge, as he was doomed to from the start.

#dune #dune part 2 #paul atreides #now don't get me wrong i *also* have a different meta about how he like. isn't *as* heartless and Fucked Up as we think after taking the WO #(like. yes he is Fucked Up and Came Back Wrong but i don't think he's blinded by it entirely. he's not hyped about it. he knows he's Wrong #and does it anyway )#but yeah there's this too #i think he still believes he won't become like his mother did. that he'll somehow be able to resist it. and that's ultimately why he agrees #because he has this desperate belief that he'll still be the same in spite of everything

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ohblackdiamond · 10 days

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bite the hand that bleeds (ace/paul, pg-13)

Summary: Now all that doesn’t matter. KISS is over. The makeup sold. Paul won’t ever tour again. The big payout Ace had hoped for evaporated. All that Ace could possibly want, could possibly hope for, are the last scraps of Paul’s generosity. Paul’s mouth twitches as he thinks about it, and then he reaches for his phone again.

Paul gets an unexpected art collector at a gallery show, and ends up entertaining his old bandmate for tea.

Notes: Part of a fic swap with @elrohare (prompt: afternoon tea). Please check out her lovely Whenever You're Ready (I'm Here) for a beautiful take on the same setting.

“Come now, gentlemen Your love is all I crave You'll still be in the circus When I'm laughing, laughing in my grave” -“Memo from Turner,” Mick Jagger

Forty meet and greets, that’s the evening’s agenda, with room for maybe five or six impulse buyers at the tail end. Christian, Wentworth’s president, sends him a hard copy the morning of, with notes, though he usually only glances over it. He only really keeps an eye out for the special requests, so he can remember they’re coming up– maybe someone with cancer, or a whole family wanting a picture with him, or a video message to a kid barely out of basic training and stationed overseas– but the bulk, the very bulk of the meet and greets are simple, easy to handle. A couple signatures, a couple pictures, and a smile, and they’re mostly on their way. It takes so little to make them happy, so little. The kids never really changed– they just went from piggybanks to 401ks.

Forty meet and greets. He likes doing these much better than the ones for KISS. He likes not sharing attention with Gene. Most especially, even now, he likes the girls, not for anything carnal, but just that small, secret pleasure of still being wanted at the tender age of seventy-two.

He scans through the list, though he never remembers the names, just some of the faces. The names give their age away anyway, Generation X’s finest crop of Lisas and Erics and– hm, a Paul, too. A Paul Daniel.

It’s just coincidence. He sets his agenda down on his hotel bedside table and tries to think no more about it. He’s got four hours to kill before he needs to get down there, anyway. Maybe he’ll order something on his phone. He taps the screen, checking his messages first. One from Erin he’ll answer later. One from Gene from about a week ago he still has no intention of answering. The phone vibrates in his hand as he’s just about to set it aside– a call, not a text. Christian.

“Hello?”

“I hate to bother you, Paul, but it’s about the event,” Christian says. He sounds a little scattered. Paul resists the urge to snap back at him– of course it’s about the event– letting him go on. Sometimes it’s hard to summon up the energy to respond much. Sometimes, even four months out from his last show, it still hurts to talk. “One of the people on the guest list.”

“If you’re thinking there’ll be some trouble, then you can handle it.”

“It’s not the usual trouble.” After ten or more years of this, Christian ought to know the usual trouble well enough by now. The stalker types, the seriously unhinged ones that believe that buying a painting entitles them to his true friendship, or more. The expectant ones, the oversharing, desperate ones, the nuts that have to be escorted out. Usually the high price of admission keeps them away, and usually, Paul doesn’t get told they even tried to make an appearance. He has people for that. He should have people for that. “All I can say is that I’m sorry. We had one of our new consultants– she just started two weeks ago, and she– well, you know how it is, she’s only twenty-four, she had no idea–”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you had a buyer you may not want.”

“Please don’t tell me Eddie Trunk got his fat ass over to D.C.”

Christian actually manages a snort, but the next words make the breath catch in Paul’s throat.

“No. It’s Ace Frehley.”

–

Paul tells Christian he’ll call him back when he ought to tell him to issue Ace a refund.

He hasn’t seen Ace in six years now. Oh, he’s seen Ace– in a parade of humiliating Tiktoks and Youtube shorts, slurring interviews, horrific concerts– but he hasn’t seen Ace. He’s heard from Ace– the occasional, completely unanswered text– but the last time he listened to him on the phone was months back. Ace’s Hail Mary, his final, desperate attempt to get let onstage for MSG. Ace had fumbled it. Ace fumbled everything.

Now all that doesn’t matter. KISS is over. The makeup sold. Paul won’t ever tour again. The big payout Ace had hoped for evaporated. All that Ace could possibly want, could possibly hope for, are the last scraps of Paul’s generosity. Paul’s mouth twitches as he thinks about it, and then he reaches for his phone again.

“Have you contacted him? When did this happen?”

“Not since the purchase. That was two days ago.”

“And no one checked until now? You had Ace Frehley buy a painting and nobody noticed for two days?”

“It was on his girlfriend’s credit card.”

“That’s fucking pathetic.” Cancel it. Refund it. That’s what he should be saying. “He does that shit to people. Uses them for whatever favors he can. Uses them all up.”

“What do you want us to do?”

Paul exhales.

If it was refunded, Ace would go to the press. Ace would tell every damn news website in the world that Paul Stanley wouldn’t sell him a painting. He’d get all sorts of publicity. The avatars had gotten bad press, not that Paul gave much of a shit anymore, but if Ace capped it all off, had someone else spin it just right… fuck. It could go so well for him. Ace could play it off like a spat-upon peace offering, and he, Paul, would come off like a bitter asshole, denying him not just the band, but five minutes of his time. He couldn’t win. He wouldn’t be able to win.

“Call him up. Tell him he’s not coming to the gallery.”

“All right.”

“But tell him he can meet me in an hour in Entyse.” Paul doesn’t even question if they’ll get him on the line. Or if Ace’ll show. “There won’t be any trouble.”

“Okay. Paul, again, all I can do is apologize–”

“What for? I was headed there anyway.”

He hangs up. His phone’s buzzing within ten minutes, texts, this time, and then a call, but he doesn’t so much as glance at the screen. He knows who they’re from.

–

Paul walks into Entyse without a reservation and gets seated immediately. It’s not much of a power play; there’s not been any satisfaction on his part in things like that for, oh, forty-five years now. Especially not when Entyse is just the Ritz Carlton’s restaurant, and he only had to head downstairs from his suite.

They offer him the menus, but all he takes is a Coke and a water. He’d half-expected Ace to get there before him, half-wanted to see him wandering in, all stupid bravado, looking around for the front of house, aware that he’d cheated himself out of every rockstar perk Paul’s going to have the rest of his life. But five minutes, then ten minutes pass. Paul’s just about to get up– he can feel a couple eyes on him at this point, wondering, probably, why he’s alone, with a solid half of them not knowing who he is, probably more– and then he sees Ace out of the corner of his eye, getting led to his table like a pensioner to his nursing home bed.

That’s not fair. It’s not, unfortunately, even true. Ace is walking about as well as he ever did, which isn’t well at all, struggling against his own instinct to pigeon-toe. He looks fine. He’s lost some weight over the last couple years. He’s in jeans, a black leather jacket, and a cheap Hello Kitty button-down. And sunglasses, which he yanks off as soon as he sits down, pushing them aside on the table.

“Hey, Paul,” he says.

“Hey.”

It’s not the start he wants. The waiter’s given Ace the drink menu– Ace flips it over immediately and hands it back– and goes into the lunch options, but Ace interrupts him.

“How about tea?”

“The afternoon tea, sir?”

Ace points over to the table across from theirs, where six or seven teenage girls in puffy pastel atrocities are giggling over some tiered tea trays.

“Yeah, what they’ve got.”

The waiter seems completely unruffled. Paul narrows his eyes, looking at Ace– specifically, he’s looking for Ace’s phone– but if he’s got it on him, it must be in his pocket. The waiter pulls out the afternoon tea menus.

“We have two options for tea. The afternoon tea, and the royal tea. Your selections of sandwiches and sweets are completely customizable. The royal tea does include a glass of rose wine and–”

“Paulie, he’s trying to upsell you,” Ace says with a snort.

“I don’t remember saying I would pay.”

“You invited me. And I did buy your painting. That’s how it works, right?” Ace turns to the waiter after a quick glance at the menu. “Gimme the afternoon tea. Uh. Darjeeling. Don’t gimme any of the cream puffs or mousse, all right? Just, uh, substitute in more of the scones.”

“And you, sir?”

Paul had been about to get a salad just to spite him, just to show how little time he wants to spend entertaining him here. Afternoon tea– God, it’s comical. Ridiculous. His youngest had that at her birthday party about three years ago. What the hell is Ace doing? What’s he trying to accomplish?

He doesn’t know.

“I’ll take the upsell. And jasmine tea. No substitutes on any of the stuff on the tray.”

The waiter nods, heading off at that brisk pace. Ace pushes his hair back behind his ear, and smiles.

“You got a good crowd coming?”

“Yeah. It’s a good crowd.”

“’S good. I used to sell my art, too.” Ace is so matter-of-fact that Paul can almost feel his own blood pressure start to rise. He can’t ever outright call out arch meanings with Ace, the way he can with Gene, for all he’s sure they’re there. Ace doesn’t have those tells that Gene does. “It was all on the computer. I used to really like to tinker with it. Now all you gotta do is click and put a filter on it.”

“Not very tactile.”

“Nah. I got settings on my– on my webcam now, for when I do interviews. Barely even gotta put on any makeup with how well that filters out all the imperfections.” Ace peers at him. “I could show you sometime. I guess now that KISS is done you–”

“Cut the crap, Ace, and tell me what you want.”

“Nothing.”

“Cut the crap.”

“What’d you get the upsell for, Paul? Since when do you gotta have a drink to deal with me?”

Paul doesn’t answer, just grabs his Coke and takes a long swig. He used to be able to do Gene this way. Silent treatment him for hours and hours. This last tour– the last tour– it had gotten unbearable for both of them. Each show another nail in the coffin, a relief as much as it was an agony. Another shaving down of whatever was left of their friendship.

He hadn’t even seen Gene since the last show. It hadn’t even occurred to him until just now.

Ace takes a couple sips of his water. He’s not looking at Paul. His gaze is towards those teenage girls.

“My fiancee’s got a girl about that age,” he says quietly. “She’s got a friend that dresses kinda like that, real frilly. She brought her over to the house once. Call themselves Lolitas or something. I don’t get it.”

“It’s Japanese.” Two words more than he’d meant to give him.

“Oh.” Ace nods, glancing briefly at his own shirt. “I’d like to get back over there someday. I dunno that I will.”

Probably not. Ace can’t afford to tour outside of the States. Paul tries to swallow his next comment, but he doesn’t manage.

“I’m not touring again, Ace.”

“I know. I’m not asking you to.”

“I’m not helping you tour.”

“I’m not asking for that, either.”

“Then what are you–”

The waiter reemerges, first with their teas and then, immediately afterward, with the trays, laden with tiny sandwiches and sweets. Ace’s grin only widens, and he immediately snatches the smoked salmon sandwich from his tea tray and sticks the entire thing in his mouth. One bite.

“Fuck, that was good. Are you still on the vegetarian bit? Can I have yours?”

“No. No, I’m not.” Paul takes his own salmon sandwich from his tray just to spite him, eating it more slowly. But three bites and it’s just as gone as Ace’s. Pretty good. It occurs to him, briefly, that Ace probably thinks Olive Garden is fine dining at this point in his life. It would be sad if he hadn’t done it to himself.

Ace moves onto the quiche. This one, he cuts up into raggedy thirds, stabbing each with his fork.

“Caramelized onions on top. Y’know, my manager, he’s something of a chef, but–”

“Tell me what you want, Ace.”

Ace pulls out his phone. Paul stiffens before he realizes Ace is just checking his texts.

“You never answered me. I didn’t think you would.” He lifts his eyes from the phone, setting it down on the table, face up. Ace’s got the font set as large as he can get it. Same as him. “What I want is company, Paulie. I want your company so damn bad I’ll pay you for it.”

“Like hell. You want an in.” The salmon feels like it’s about to come back up in his throat. “You want me to endorse you.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You want a photo with me. Maybe a soundbyte for Youtube.” Paul forces himself to exhale. “Your album barely sold. KISS is gone and you’re still out there in the clubs. So you want a little more buzz. Maybe I’d help you get ten more butts in the seats at those fucking dive bars you play–”

“I’m not at fucking dive bars.”

“When was the last time you sold out an arena? I’ll wait. No. I know.”

Ace’s mouth is pinched, face just a little flushed. He eats the pieces of his quiche in rapid succession, then starts savagely on the remaining sandwiches, just grabbing them off the tray and stuffing them in his mouth. Then he starts on the tea, taking a quick swallow without the cream and sugars Paul remembers him always adding in.

“Same as the last time you didn’t sound like shit.” He grabs the tongs, dropping in three sugars, then the cream, stirring them, eyes full on Paul’s face, daring him to get up, daring him to leave. “Gene told me what happened to you, back when we toured Australia together. I know all about that.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“You ruined yourself and then you blamed him with it. And he believes it, too. That’s the funny thing.” A swallow. “He was about in tears when he told me. Gene’s a snake, but he’s better than either of us. All he hasn’t sold off yet is his conscience.”

The tea trays never looked so comical. Silver tiers, pastel sweets, bright-colored sandwiches. He’s focusing on them because there’s nothing else to focus on. Only that Ace wants him to go. Ace wants him to go so that he can feel like he’s won. But Ace hasn’t won anything. His whole life he’s given up everything he ever had like a goddamn fool, then begged the whole world for their scraps. He can’t get front row. He can’t get the Ritz Carlton. He’s lucky he got fifteen minutes of Paul’s time.

“Gene’s a liar.”

“Not about that.” Another swallow of tea. Paul expects another sharp accusation, but Ace just swaps tactics like credit cards from a billfold. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Just like it doesn’t matter what I play like when I go out there. You… you and Gene took me to see James Brown, for my birthday that time. I remember seeing that old man out there, seeing them put all the capes on him, I thought, they should put him to bed, don’t put him out there, he’s a-a fucking dinosaur, now– but they did. ’Cause he didn’t know what else to do with himself. All he could do was sing all the old songs. Put on the capes. Be a joke.”

“You’re the only joke here.”

“We both are.” Ace keeps eating. Almost all the sandwiches are gone from his tray. He’s onto the scones. “I don’t want an in, Paul. I just want someone I can talk to.”

“Talk to Gene.”

“I can’t.”

“Talk to Peter.”

“He won’t.”

“Why me?”

Ace finishes off the scone. There’s a little butter smeared across his lip.

“You know why.”

It’s the music business. The music business. I don’t owe you friendship. I don’t owe you anything. Doc’s adage, the one he’s scrawled on one of his paintings, there in the gallery, burns somewhere in his heart: quality time remaining. Like he’s a bomb about to go off. Like someone’s subtracting his last breaths down. Quality time remaining and in just a couple hours, he’ll be spending that time doing those forty meet and greets for fans that want a moment and a picture and a couple autographs. Fans that only know him from the magazines and interviews and two hours at a time in a couple hundred concerts, but think of him like a brother, like a lover, like a demigod. Ace doesn’t know him, he wants to insist, but that’s a lie. Ace knew him when he was no one.

Ace knew him when the Hotel Diplomat was the best they could manage. When they hauled their gear in a milk truck. When the KISS t-shirts were iron-ons they cut out themselves. When Bill was signing them onto Casablanca. When every show was a rush of adrenaline, instead of a slog. When it didn’t hurt, when he could bounce back from anything, just anything–

(when)

Long skinny legs spread across a cheap yellow duvet. A girl’s head between them. The room assignments had swapped; Peter was rooming with his wife, and Ace, Ace was lying there, getting head from that girl as Paul stepped out from the shower.

(you want in on this, paul? and his finger crooked, beckoning lazily)

(and he did. and he did. that was the first sidle into something new, something filthy. he had taken the girl from behind while she sucked off ace, but it was only after she left that it really mattered. it was only after that that they’d fooled around together, feigning drunk after only three beers apiece.)

(you want in on this, paul?)

Those same legs in faded jeans, close to fifteen years later. No girl this time but the hotel might as well have been the same. Ace’s fortunes had declined even worse than KISS.’ And yet he’d had enough reason to spend the night with him, after the Limelight show, without a girl there for that edge of rockstar excess.

Another ten years. Another scattered handful of moments. Ace high on pills. Paul edging on the verge of divorce. The disgust had started to fester long before then, disgust and awareness. Ace was throwing it all away again, casual and careless. Ace wasn’t what he wanted, in or out of bed, and he never had been. He was still just some crude kid from the Bronx that played guitar better than him, that crashed cars, that drank himself to stupors, only then he was nearly fifty instead of twenty-five.

He couldn’t change. Just kept making the same mistakes. Just kept playing the same old chords, the same chords anyone could play. He’d proved that afterwards, hadn’t he? He’d proved that. The fans had taken Tommy for twenty years. Ace had never been special at all.

Paul tries to think that. Tries to assure himself of that. But looking Ace in the face stops him cold. There’s defeat there, sure. But there’s a spark in those dark, hooded eyes, too. There’s a spark that no stupid tea outing and no amount of barbs from him could ever manage to completely extinguish.

It’s a spark he remembers, and for the barest sliver of time, it’s just enough to almost make him look young.

“Maybe I’m better off trying them. Gene’s not so sore at me anymore.” Ace lifts a macaron from his tray. “He’s still the one paying his old band.”

“I know.”

“Peter’ll let it all go if I visit him.”

“He would.”

“It’s just you I wanted, that’s all.” Ace gets up, having to lean against the table in order to stand. He reaches for his Gucci purse, hooking it to his shoulder. “It’s always been you.”

“Ace–”

“Don’t let them get too weird with you at the event. Pretend you can’t hear ’em.” Ace’s words are only a little dry as he crunches the macaron, then reaches for the remaining scones, wrapping them in a napkin. Paul’s stomach starts to twist. All the fight seems out of him, all the acidity, all the hope. In tearing Paul up, he tore himself up, too. Mutually-assured destruction. “Your girl that sold me the painting, she said–”

“Which one did you buy?”

He says it suddenly, barely realizing it’s out of his mouth until Ace answers.

“What?”

“Which one?”

“The, uh, one of the abstracts.”

“Which one?”

“The blue and purple. Anyway, she said–”

“Sit down.”

“Paul–”

“Finish off the food. I will, too.”

“I’m not–”

(i want)

“You’re coming with me.”

“Paul, c’mon, I know you don’t wanna, not after–”

“I do.”

A couple of old men drinking tea in the Ritz Carlton. A couple of young men under the covers of a Motel Six. Age shattering vocals, crippling fingers. Bitterness seeping in from every raw deal and every undercut and every canceled show, a lifetime of old pains without a salve. And yet, as Ace sits back down, easing into his chair, reaching for the strawberry on top of the tea tray, Paul finds himself almost ready to let it all go.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #ace frehley #ace frehley x paul stanley #stehley

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