#but I never experienced that so sorry if there are any inaccuracies!

[bradshawsbitch]

please don’t die pt 2 | jake seresin x reader

disclaimer: i have little to no medical training. sorry for all the inaccuracies! this isn't proof-read, I die alone. this is also my first time writing a longer piece for hangman! comments and pointers much appreciated!

warnings: PLEASE read warnings; angst, gn!reader, no use of y/n, medical terms, mentions of needles, mentions of flatlining, mentions of doctors/nurses, mentions of injuries, spoiler for type of ending.

description: part two to this blurb. based on this request with a twist.

tagging people who liked my pt 2 post; @zbeez-outlet @blue-aconite @theharddeck @missemrose @tallrock35 @bluearchersstuff @countryr0ads @vintagegirl1945 @lt-bradshaw @havaneselover08 @eringaitskill @luckyladycreator2 @avaleineandafryingpan @dreamlandcreations

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Beeping. The incessant beeping. Steady, rhythmic. Perhaps the sound equivalent to his heartbeats was supposed to bring him comfort, to soothe him. It doesn’t, at all. It’s alarming to Jake. It means the mission he was on did not go as he had hoped it would. It meant he had gone down trying to save you. Had you managed to come around on the other bandit in time to make it out? God, he hoped so. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to you.

Then he remembered, you were with him. You were there, on the ground with him. You’d reassured him that he would be fine. His heart twinged at that; you should never have had to do that for him. He was supposed to keep you safe, keep you from experiencing things like this. Of course, Jake knew he couldn’t actually prevent these things happening to you in this line of work - but he wanted to make sure it would never happen with him. Jake wanted you to feel safe flying with him. Wanted you to feel safe with him. That’s why when the two of you flew together there would be gentle ribbing, the occasional flirty comment, and sometimes words of encouragement from him. Jake wanted you to want to fly with him, wanted you to know that with him it was fun and easy, wanted you to know that flying with him was the safest you’d ever be. But of course, even Icarus couldn’t stay in the air without incident forever.

A small groan managed to tumble from his parted lips, his senses slowly returning one at a time. He could make his fingers twitch after he had counted to 7 steady beeps, and could soon after hear his own steady breathing, the pulse rushing through his ears to match the machine beside him, the hurried footsteps… the shouts and commands coming from somewhere far away. Jake’s eyebrows managed to furrow. If his beeps were steady, his breathing even, and there was no sensation of frantic nurses pushing needles into him, then that must mean that the frenzy wasn’t for him. He was okay. Which would increase the likelihood that the frenzy was for you.

Perhaps someone else had fallen out of the sky today. Someone, anyone. Anyone but you. You had been alright, you’d been by his side, you’d looked safe. You had told him you loved him. Another groan left him at the thought, he couldn’t believe he had waited until you were kneeling before his lifeless body, sobbing it into his cool skin before believing it. Jake had made sure that you were safe, he had tried his best to make sure you’d return home. He had tried so hard. 

As his ears picked up more rushed footsteps thundering down the hall, he forced his eyes to open, squinting at the glaring light blinding him. After only a moment, he could tell that he was alone in his room, something that only furthered his panic. He wasn’t hooked up to any needles, and he had no problem ripping off the chords hooking him up to the ECG machine. 

Jake subconsciously knew that he’d have to be fast. The medics here were trained to care for soldiers like himself, who’d fallen from the sky. He imagined they had had their fare share of hysterical men and women who stood up to fight long before their body was physically able to, their HPA axis working overtime to manage their fight or flight response. But he had to see, had to make sure that the rush and yelling wasn’t over you. He had to make sure you were sat waiting for him in the waiting room, lazily splayed over an uncomfortable chair as you would in the break room, a packet of twizzlers laid in your lap. You would offer him one with a teasing grin, and he would try to suppress the enamored smile that would threaten to break out on his own lips - instead settling for a well rehearsed smirk. Jake had to know you were okay.

His bare feet stumbled down the hall where all the doctors were rushing, the flurry of movements hiding him from attention. He was vaguely aware of a dull ache settling by his collarbone, but he chose to ignore that sensation as he approached a door that held a clear window. Jake briefly wondered why they were built like that. But as he watched nurses and doctors rush in and out, he briefly thought it was to prevent them from running straight into one another. His rational line of thought was interrupted by the pale form lying on the table in the center of the room, eyes closed, chest not expanding of its own accord. His own breath stuttered somewhere deep in his throat, and suddenly it felt as if he was pulling 8 G’s in his jet. It was getting so hard to breathe, and he had to gasp to make sure oxygen was rushing to his already beat up lungs. 

Your beeping wasn’t steady at all, not like Jakes’ had been. And suddenly Jake knew that this noise would never leave his head. Instead of the steady beeping he heard in his own room, yours was a constant, monotone tone that rang into infinity. Jake longed to hear the steady beeping again. He had been wrong. It was extremely soothing. This beep was horrifying. He would probably hear it until he took his dying breath, along with the shouts of doctors and nurses surrounding your lifeless body. There was a flurry of movements, and he could hear one nurse shouting loud to keep away from ‘the body’, yelling ‘clear’ before applying the defibrillator to your chest, shocking your body to kickstart your heart. Jake sucked in another harsh gasp as your body convulsed slightly, and he couldn’t look away. He wanted to leave, he wanted to scream, cry and sob - he wanted to look away and pretend he had never seen anything of what he had today. He wanted to go back. He wanted to be Hangman again, Hangman without a care in the world and a cocky pep in his step. 

Nothing. The beep was still a haunting monotone. Jake saw one of the doctors glance towards the big clock on the wall. No. A sensation like an animal clawing at his insides appeared as the thought of what that one look implied. Time of death. No. They had to try again. Try more. He could have tried more. Tried harder to make sure you were safe before he passed out. He had been so sure you were safe. Jake was pressed hard against the wall opposite now, his palms sweaty and grasping at nothing, trying to keep upright as his body shook from the need to get more oxygen, his ragged gasps not supplying him with enough without making him dizzy. His shoulder ached worse now, but he felt that he might deserve this type of pain. He’d endure any of it, if only you were there to hold him when it all subsided. 

“Lieutenant Seresin?” 

Jake watched with horror as they applied the defibrillator once again to your chest, could hear the doctor say they would ‘try one more’. They needed to try several more. Any number of mores to make sure you were alive. 

“Lieutenant Seresin!”

That panicked voice grated him. What did it want? Who was it talking to? He didn’t want to be Lieutenant Seresin anymore. He didn’t want to be Hangman. He hardly wanted to be Jake if there wasn’t any you. Suddenly, there was a frenzy surrounding him too. A couple of nurses held onto him as he collapsed on the floor, and there were screams filling the hall. Jake wasn’t all that sure where the noise was coming from, but as he’d later notice his raw throat, he could only guess that he had been the one to let them out. Jake feebly tried to fight the hold of the nurses, his panicked voice telling them that they needed to let him help you - he needed to go in there and help! Why weren’t they letting him help? He’d make sure you were okay. He would always make sure you were okay. Please, he begged them, let him go to you.

 From the very first time he’d offered up his cocky smirk to you, from the way you had looked slightly confused at his flirty comment, your eyes slightly glazed over - but still with a smile on your face, you soft exclamation of ‘Sorry, come again?’. A smile that looked so innocent and genuine that Jake didn’t want to continue using his regular repertoire to keep your interest. It had astounded him, but he found that he drew the most satisfying reactions from you when he was at the core just Jake.

When he bantered and flirted, you’d only have that knowing smile on your face as you ribbed him back, as if you knew that it was mostly just for show. Your real reactions you saved for when he was real. The first time you’d drawn a genuine smile from him, he cherished the memory of your heated cheeks and bashful look for weeks on end. He’d tried to replicate that moment endlessly, but nothing ever worked as well as just being Jake. Which he’d found to be rare. Most people enjoyed Hangman more. From those moments, he had made sure to fly with you as often as he could. He wouldn’t entrust you to just anyone. It wasn’t that you weren’t an excellent pilot - he just didn’t trust anyone else to have your back. 

Of course Jake knew from the very start that you were dangerous territory. The overwhelming feelings of protectiveness and awe he felt anytime you were near warned him that he was beginning to fall in love with you. He figured maybe you could feel the same for him, but at the time he didn’t know if he deserved you. Didn’t know if he deserved those bashful looks, the small smile, the look you sometimes gave him as if he had just hung the moon and all the stars in the sky.

He figured he would have more time to convince you that he could be good enough for you. Jake also reasoned that, if he were in love with you - he could no longer fly with you. And that just wasn’t something he wanted to give up. Couldn’t give up, really. But that was before. Now, he regretted almost every single moment where he could have told you how much you meant to him. How it was you who hung the sun in the sky and warmed up his entire being, how you made the world blossom with your rays and warmth. 

When Jake woke up a second time, Maverick was sat by his bedside. It wasn’t the easy awakening he had hoped for, as his heart plummeted and his breath hitched again.

“No, please,” he moaned, closing his eyes again as tears burned treacherously behind the lids. He didn’t want to open his eyes to see the pitying look of the older man, didn’t want to hear that he would have to explain to your parents at your funeral why you had died. Oh, god, he might throw up. 

“Hangman… Jake,” Maverick began softly, and Jake could only chant the word ‘no’ over and over as immense grief settled in his body. He felt a large, warm palm settle on his arm, squeezing it before the older man spoke again.

“They made it,” Jake's green eyes shot open, his sharp inhale of air making him cough slightly as he stared at Mav. “No?” this ‘no’ was airy, hanging in the air, thick with hope, longing, needing to be reassured that this wasn’t a fever dream. 

“They’re alright, Jake. You did good. They’ve been awake for the past 30 minutes, and they have not shut up about making sure you were alright. It’s driving Doctor Johansson insane,” Maverick chuckled, his eyes crinkling softly at the sides as he smiled at Jake. 

“Take me to them?” Jake was sure Maverick would help him. Maverick understood. Understood the need to see them. And sure enough, Maverick nodded, asking him if he thought he was strong enough. Gritting his teeth, Jake nodded as the older man helped him stand. Sure, Jake felt a rush of dizziness, a sharp pain in his shoulder, and a general ache in every single muscle he had, but it didn’t matter. He needed to see you. 

Maverick helped him into the room next to his, and the moment he laid eyes on your tear streaked face, he couldn’t help the tears that fell from his too as your name slipped from his lips like a thankful prayer. He didn’t need Maverick’s help to hurry the rest of the way, and he swore he saw the older man smile before he slipped out of the room. 

“Jake!” your voice, hoarse and small but filled with so much relief, hit him like a freight train as he collapsed on your bed, sitting next to you as your arms wound carefully around his neck. Sobbing into his good shoulder. You were real. You were warm, and you were breathing. His fingers snuck up to your throat, and the feeling of your pulse thrumming steadfastly beneath them made more tears leak out of his eyes. Your sobs were interrupted by your soft babbling, and Jake only picked up stray words like ‘was so scared’ ‘thought I lost you’ and ‘I tried to keep you warm’. He could hardly take it. Could hardly believe his luck that he got to embrace you like this. 

Pulling away, he gingerly cradled your face in between his hands, searching and memorizing every small detail about it. Your soft smile almost knocked the wind out of him, and he offered you the most genuine of smiles he could muster. It worked, and your beautiful breathless laughter had his heart skipping a few beats.

“I love you,” he rushed out, his voice strained and weak. But all the same, he knew he had to say it. He was rewarded with another breathtaking smile, a small noise of surprise from you, and to his ego’s great content - a stutter from the heart monitor that was beeping steadfastly up until that point. 

“Oh, that will be embarrassing,” you whispered bashfully, and Jake couldn’t help the incredulous laughter that spilled onto your face. His thumbs were stroking your tear streaked cheeks, and he licked his lips as he once again took in your beautiful features. 

“I’m sorry, sweets - I’m sorry I wasn’t better prepared, I never–” he choked up “I never wanted anything like this to happen,” your frown confused him, before you reached for him, pulling him down so that he was laying beside you. He could hear your small intake of air of discomfort, and he nearly shot up out of the bed - but he was selfish. He wanted to be as close as possible to you. Feel your warmth, see your chest rise and fall of its own accord, make sure you were still with him. 

“I love you, too, Jake,” you mumbled into the skin of his cheek, where your lips ghosted over the slightly cut up skin. He smiled, and his eyes fluttered close as he let the sensation of your words fill his chest with warmth and happiness. He shifted slightly, grunting a little as he turned his head ever so slightly. Your nose caressed his softly, and your breaths mingled so naturally with his. Your lips were ghosting against his, and he almost felt another onslew of tears building in his eyes at the sensation. 

“Can I please kiss you, Jake?” you murmured, the words echoing across his lips. Jake took that as his okay, and he gently tilted his head towards you, finally feeling your warm, plush lips against his own. One of your hands had found his hair, gently holding on to the un-styled strands, as if you needed something to ground you. He would be that for you. He would be anything you needed from now on. 

“Thanks for saving me,” Jake rasped as the two of you broke away. Your fingertips gently caressed the side of his face, and a small smile played on your lips. 

“I would do it all again in a heartbeat,” you replied, but Jake sincerely hoped that you would never have to make sure that he was safe ever again.

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please, please let me know what you think! i'm so out of practice with writing hangman, and I would genuinely love honest feedback on what you thought of this part two. good? bad? too little angst? too little fluff? THANKS for reading!!

[outerspacebisexual]

Acceptance - Eddie Munson

Requested: Yes, based on this request

Summary: When your acceptance letter to college finally arrives, you're beyond excited to tell everyone. But your brother Steve and your boyfriend Eddie don't have the reactions you were expecting.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Harrington!Reader

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, mr. and mrs. harrington being shit parents

a/n: i simply do not care for the inaccuracies in this. i don't care bc it's just pretend and we can pretend that this is how getting into college works :)

also! i love hearing what you guys liked about my fics, so thanks for all the love on my other stuff! <3

Masterlist

The letter sitting on the end of your kitchen counter was taunting you.

Unopened, still in pristine condition even after travelling all the way from New York, and The Juilliard School logo in the top right-hand corner.

You couldn’t take your eyes off it, despite the fear and trepidation that rose up at its mere presence.

This one letter would decide your fate. It would decide the whole trajectory of your life, for better or for worse.

Your application had been a secret. The guidance counsellor at school had made you apply when you applied for your other colleges. You had made her promise not to tell anyone about it when she helped you apply. If you didn’t get in, you didn’t want Steve or Eddie feeling sorry for you.

Music was your whole life. You had been a talented musician from birth, from everything from singing, writing, or composing music.

You weren’t even sure where your love for it had come from. Your parents didn’t care for it. They had enrolled you in a few lessons as kid, but as you grew older, their acceptance had dissipated, and it turned into a hobby that you did without their knowledge. As far as they knew, you could barely manage to play one song on the piano. So, you had enrolled yourself in classes, and taken music at school seriously, with the help of Steve.

Your twin brother had been a major part of your success. While you parents had never come to recitals or eisteddfods—either because they were away or because they just didn’t want to—Steve had always been there in the front row, cheering you on.

Being twins, you and Steve had always been attached at the hip. Not only because you had no other siblings, but because you barely had any parents either. They were never home, and you and Steve had experienced the majority of your life without them there.

It had only been you and Steve at your middle school play. It had only been you and Steve at the DMV on your sixteenth birthday. It had only been you and Steve at prom. It had only been you and Steve at your graduation.

You two were inseparable, and you owed everything to Steve.

Most especially because without him forcing you to go to the music store for another sheet book two years ago, you would have never gotten to know Eddie.

The two of you had nearly bowled each other over as you pushed the door just as he flung it open. He had only just managed to grab your arm to avoid you hitting the ground, even as he balanced his guitar case. You knew of Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson from school, but you had never really known him. Hardly anyone did.

So, when you two began to run into each other more and more at the music store, you had strung up a friendship that quickly evolved into a relationship. That was yet another bullet point to add to the list of things that your parents didn’t approve of. Not that you gave a single flying fuck what they thought of your relationship.

And now, over two years later, you were in love with the Hawkins’ resident metalhead freak, more than you could even express.

That was why this ominous letter was so threatening.

Because it held the answer to whether all of your hard work was worth it—whether it was enough, and whether you would be leaving Hawkins.

You glanced at the clock on the wall of the kitchen.

Your parents would be home from work any minute. It was one of the weeks where they graced you with their presence at their own home. Steve would be home from work in less than 30 minutes, too.

Hesitantly, you reached out and took the letter into your hands. Your eyes ran over your name and address. You breathed in, readying yourself for whatever it said inside. Whatever the response was, it would be fine. You would be able to live with not getting in.

You swallowed, flipping it over and tearing it open without another thought.

You stood still as your eyes ran over the words printed across the page. You read it multiple times, and every time you did, the words didn’t change.

We are happy to write of your acceptance into The Juilliard School.

You got in.

You couldn’t breathe. “Oh my god,” you said to yourself.

The door opened behind you, and you spun around as your parents stepped into the house.

“Y/N,” your mother said, frowning. “What’s the matter?”

“I…I got in,” you managed, barely able to form words.

Your father rolled his eyes. “Speak up, Y/N. Don’t mumble.”

You shook your head. “I got into Juilliard.”

Both your parents stopped. You could see the shock and disbelief on their faces.

“What?” your mother said, rushing forward to rip the letter from your hands. Her eyes went over the letter, eyes widening when she found the same answer as you did. “Juilliard, honey,” she said to your father. “Our child is going to Juilliard.”

Your father huffed a laugh. “A Harrington at Juilliard. Christ, wait until the guys at work hear about this.”

As every second passed, your smile fell more and more. As your mother was immediately on the phone to your aunt who lived across the country, bragging to her about the fact that her child was going to Juilliard.

Of course they only cared about themselves.

It didn’t matter that you had gotten in without any help from them. It didn’t matter they hadn’t supported you in your pursuits. It didn’t matter that you got in.

The only thing that mattered to them was that their child got into Juilliard.

In the midst of your parents talking to different family members on the phone, the door opened again, and your smile found its way to your face again.

Steve looked around confused at your parents who were smiling and laughing on the phone. It was rare to see them smiling at all, let alone in their own house.

“What’s going on?” he said to no one in particular.

You father turned to him. “What happened, son, is that one of my children has managed to make something of their life.”

“Dad,” you said, affronted. You looked between him and Steve. You knew that would hurt Steve. Your father was never one to pull his verbal punches when it came to making sure Steve knew that he was a failure. He was a grade-a asshole.

You saw the hurt flash across Steve’s face, even as he said, “What does that mean?”

Cutting your father off, you told him, “I got into Juilliard.” You couldn’t stop the smile as you got ready for his congratulations. This was what he had been helping you for. All of his time spent walking with you to and from lessons and sitting through your eisteddfods, all of it had led to this moment.

You hadn’t been expecting Steve to jump around with excitement at the news, but you had expected some kind of joy and happiness for you, maybe even a hug as he congratulated you.

You really hadn’t expected him to take a step back, frown turning into a look of disbelief. “What? Since when did you apply to Juilliard?” he asked. There was something about his tone. Something that sounded a lot like disgust.

You were suddenly unsure of yourself. “I—I applied back before we finished high school. They had a really long waitlist to get in, so I didn’t get my acceptance until now,” you explained, reciting what the letter had said.

“But Juilliard is in New York?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m starting in a month, but I have to leave in a week to get ready—”

“—A week?” Steve shouted, throwing his hands up. “You’re leaving in a week? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. I wanted to wait until—”

“—Until what? Until you could just leave straight away?”

You took a step back at the ferocity in his voice. “What the fuck, Steve? It’s Juilliard. I can’t just negotiate when I get there.”

Steve scoffed. “So, you’re just up and leaving?”

Your bottom lip trembled, and you bit it to try and avoid the tears you could feel threatening to escape. “It’s not that far, Steve. I can come back and visit—”

“Not far? It’s, like, twelve hours one way. When are you going to visit, huh?”

You couldn’t see your brother in the man who stood there in front of you. Your brother had been the one to support you through all of your musical dreams, even when your parents didn’t. It had always just been you and Steve.

And now, for some reason, Steve was suddenly against it.

Snatching the letter from the counter, you brushed past Steve, grabbing your keys from the table beside the door. You stopped, just before leaving. “You know, Steve. I thought you’d at least be happy for me.”

He didn’t even look at you before you slammed the door shut.

Your tears were racing down your face thick and fast as you drove to the trailer park. You weren’t sure how you managed to get there without causing an accident as you struggled to see through your bleary eyes.

You just needed to get to Eddie.

Eddie, being a musician, had always understood your dreams. He understood more than anyone else just what had to be sacrificed in order to get there. He had skipped out on school many times in order to write songs all day or practice his guitar.

It was one of the reasons why he was a three-time senior at Hawkins High School. But you had a good feeling about this year. He would graduate, and you would finally be able to see him cross that stage.

You rapped on the door of his trailer hard, grateful that Wayne was at work tonight. As much as you loved Eddie’s uncle, he didn’t need to see you sobbing on his couch.

Eddie opened the door, and his initial confusion as to who was assaulting his door morphed into concern at your tears. He didn’t say anything as he pulled you inside, shutting the door behind you.

His hands were instantly on your shoulders, eyes raking over your figure to check for anything amiss. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Your face crumpled, and he pulled you straight into him. His arms came around you, pulling you tight against him as he hushed you. You gripped his shirt in your fists, anchoring yourself.

“What’s the matter?” he asked again, pulling away from you just enough to look at you.

“Steve…” you answered, wiping at your face. “Steve and I had a fight.”

That made Eddie raise a brow.

The Harrington twins fighting wasn’t all that uncommon, but never once had he heard of a fight between you and Steve leaving you in tears. You two always managed to sort things out, going from shouting at each other one second, to laughing the next. It must have been something big.

“Hey, it’s OK,” Eddie replied, gently guiding you to the couch. “You don’t have to talk about it.” He sat down, pulling you down beside him so that you leaned against him, your back to his chest. It was one of you favourite ways to sit with him. You loved feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath he took, you matching your own.

Eddie ran his fingers up and down your arm as he held you, and your breathing slowly returned to normal. The two of you sat in silence apart from the soft lull from the TV, some show you had never seen playing.

Sitting with Eddie like this, it took your mind off all your problems. It always made everything seem so far away, like you and Eddie existed in a little bubble, immune from the outside world.

“Babe,” Eddie said softly, placing a kiss to your head. His chest vibrated behind you as he spoke. “How are you feeling?”

You sighed, eyes not leaving the TV. “I’m just tired.” Your crying had left you catatonic, tired all the way to your bones.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You didn’t. You didn’t want to break this soft bubble. You should have been excited to tell Eddie about your acceptance to college.

The two of you had talked about your future together on so many occasions.

Eddie’s thumb traced patterns on the back of your hand as he held it while the two of you laid on the roof of his van.

You couldn’t pull your eyes away from the night sky, where the stars were shining so brightly without the moon.

You shuffled closer to him, and he looked away from the sky to you. “Cold?”

You half nodded. “A little,” you admitted. The mid-autumn air had started to get a chill, warning of a cold winter to come.

“Do you want to go?” Eddie asked, and your eyes immediately shot to his.

“No, I don’t. I want to stay here. With you.”

Even in the dark, you could see the smile that adorned his face at your words. The smile that you were absolutely, hopelessly in love with.

You both returned your gazes to the sky, your eyes searching the vastness for shooting stars. They were one of Eddie’s favourite things to see.

Aside from the occasional car in the distance, the lookout was quiet, peaceful.

“Do you ever think about us?” Eddie said, breaking the silence.

“All the time,” you replied.

“No. I mean, about us…in the future?” He seemed shy about the question, and you looked back at him, but his gaze remained on the stars.

Your eyes traced over this side profile. “Sometimes,” you said, eyes back on the sky. “I think about what we’re going to do when you graduate. If we stay in Hawkins.”

Having had your fair share of supernatural experiences, you had thought about the option of starting over somewhere without monsters. You didn’t know how to bring it up with Eddie without raising suspicion about why you wanted to leave. But the thought of leaving your hometown—leaving Steve—you weren’t sure if you would be able to.

You turned the question on Eddie. “Do you?”

Eddie was silent for a long moment. “I think about us all the time,” he admitted, and he went quiet again, for so long that you thought he wasn’t going to say anything else. “I think about us getting married. I think about us travelling the world.”

Your heart skipped, and you kept your eyes trained on the sky. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think about me and the band getting signed and then going on tour. And you’re there. But you’re writing music and performing, too. I don’t know how we do both, but we do.”

“What about college?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe we go to college. Or maybe we don’t.”

You hadn’t told him about your application to Juilliard. In your mind, it was a far-off dream that would never come true. It wasn’t a reality. It just wasn’t something that would ever happen.

“Either way,” he continued, squeezing your hand, “We do it together.”

You both looked at each other, and he had that dopey smile on his face, one that you kissed with all the promises of the future.

Eddie squeezed your hand tighter, and if you thought about it long enough, those patterns he traced felt a lot like his name.

Sitting in front of Eddie now, you wished that you were more excited.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the letter that had been the cause of this whole situation. It was crinkled, both from being in your pocket and from when your mother had snatched it from you; it was a stark contrast to how it had been just an hour ago.

You fiddled with it before handing it to Eddie over your shoulder without comment. The letter would speak for itself.

You heard him unfold it, paper rustling as he flattened it.

You felt the way his chest caught as he read it. He pushed you forward with his forearm, and you turned to look at him as he sat up straight. From where you were sitting beside him, you could see the way his face dropped.

“What?” he said, not looking up at you. His kept his eyes trained on the letter, still reading. “What—Juilliard? You—You applied to Juilliard?”

You nodded. “Back before I graduated. They…They have a long waitlist to get in.”

Eddie leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, gaze still on the letter.

You had been with Eddie long enough to know that his silence meant that he was thinking hard. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to make sense of this new information.

“I—I leave soon,” you said.

“How soon is soon?”

You swallowed. “A week.”

Eddie’s head shot in your direction at that. “A week?”

He had that same tone as Steve, and you chewed your lip. “I have to be there in a week, but I don’t start my classes for a few weeks.”

Eddie stood, and you watched as he paced around, his hand running down his face. “I haven’t graduated,” he said finally.

You furrowed your eyebrows. Of all the things that you had thought he would say, that hadn’t been on the list. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He stared at you. “What does that—What does that have to do with anything? It means that you’re going to be leaving Hawkins and I can’t come with you.”

“Eddie, I know that—”

“—You know that? Then why the fuck did you apply?”

You stood up at that. “Because I want to go to Juilliard? Because I want to make music—”

“—We talked about this. We promised that we’d do it together.”

You shook your head. “I know we did, but I didn’t expect you to fail senior year again.”

Eddie scoffed. “So, what? This is my fault now?”

“I didn’t say that, Eddie. Don’t put words into my mouth.” You rubbed at your eyes, trying to understand where this had gone wrong.

“It sure as shit sounds like you’re saying it’s my fault.”

You huffed, and said, “Well, maybe it is! Maybe if you had of graduated the first time—or the second time—I wouldn’t have to be worried about it.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes and ran his tongue across his lip. “Sorry that our promise to wait for each other is so inconvenient,” he spat, the venom in his voice so potent that it brought tears to your eyes.

You shook your head. “I did wait, Eddie! For two fucking years! And I can’t keep putting my dreams on hold to wait for you! I applied in secret because I didn’t want to deal with the pity from you or Steve if I didn’t get in. But I did!” you laughed. “I got into Juilliard! And no one seems to care about that fact that I got in. No one cares about me.”

A sob tore through you, and you put a hand to your mouth to stifle it. No one in your life cared about the fact that you had gotten in. They only cared about how it had affected them. Your parents, Steve, and now Eddie.

Your voice cracked as you continued, “No one cares about what I want. No one is happy for me.”

Your knees gave out from beneath you, and you fully expected your knees to hit the carpet, but Eddie’s arms caught you before they did. He lowered you to the ground, and his arms circled your neck.

But you pushed him away. “Don’t. I—I don’t want—”

“—Sweetheart, hey, listen to me.” Eddie grabbed your wrists as you tried to put distance between the two of you. You refused to look at him, and Eddie gently squeezed your wrists. “Look at me.”

“No,” you said, barely more than a whisper.

“I am happy for you, Y/N. So fucking happy for you.”

You glanced up at him through your lashes, his figure blurry from your tears.

He gave you a weak smile, one that was full of guilt and regret. “I’m sorry,” he continued. “I’m sorry for shouting at you. I’m sorry for acting like that. I am happy for you, and I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You choked out another sob. That was the first time someone had said that in a long time.

Eddie released your wrists, raising his hands to rest on either side of your face. “I’m so proud of you.” He wiped your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded gingerly, and Eddie smiled at you. He stood up, helping you to your feet as he guided you to his room and got into his bed beside you. He held you to his chest, just like you wanted.

After laying there for a few minutes, you said, “I’m sorry for not telling you. And I’m sorry for saying those things to you.”

You felt Eddie shake his head. “Don’t apologise, babe. I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have expected you to put everything on hold for me. You have your own dreams, too. I was just…scared of you leaving—leaving Hawkins and leaving me.”

After a second, you rolled over in his arms. Even in the dark, you could see the silver that lined his eyes. “I would never leave you, Eddie.”

He gave you a watery smile and brushed his hand over the side of your face. “I know.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “I’m scared of being on my own. In New York. I’m scared of being there without you.”

“It won’t be for long,” he replied, and at your confusion, he elaborated. “I’ll move to New York at soon as I graduate.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I promise,” he confirmed, and he kissed you, as if to seal the deal.

+

It turned out that you had more stuff than you thought.

As you packed the last of your boxes into your car, you struggled to shut the boot.

It turned out that while your parents bragged about you going to Juilliard and were more than happy to pay rent for a small one-bedroom apartment in New York to ensure you stayed, they didn’t care enough to see you off.

You hadn’t seen Steve in the last five days. You didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, but you had tried not to dwell on it as Eddie helped you pack your life into your car.

“Is that the last box?” you said to Eddie as he shoved it onto the backseat and slammed the door shut to avoid anything spilling out.

He was driving with you to New York, then catching a bus back. When you had brought up how you were driving by yourself, he had promptly informed you that hell would freeze over before he let you drive to New York by yourself.

“That’s it. You’re all packed.” He came to stand in front of you, and you placed your hands on his chest as his rested on your waist. “Are you ready to get going?”

You chewed on your bottom lip. You didn’t know. You didn’t know if you were ready to leave Hawkins. You turned your head to look at the house behind you.

You had grown up in this house. You and Steve had made so many memories there, both with and without your parents.

You blinked away tears at the thought of leaving without at least seeing your brother.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Eddie asked.

“Nothing,” you said, trying to push the hurt down.

Eddie glanced quickly at something over your shoulder, and he seemed relieved. You spun around as a familiar car pulled up, and Steve got out.

You looked over at Eddie, and he just rolled his eyes and pushed you towards your brother.

“Hey,” Steve said when you stood before him.

“Hey,” you replied, giving him a once over. “You look terrible.”

He chuckled at that. “Yeah, that’ll happen when you spend days realising that you’re a shit brother.”

You frowned. “Steve—”

He held up his hand, cutting you off, “Please, let me finish.” You silently nodded. “I’m sorry for getting mad at you. I—I know how excited you are, and it’s what you want to do. I was just upset that you were leaving. I can deal with mum and dad leaving because they always have, but you’ve never left, and I don’t want you to. But…but I know that you want to—that you need to. You’ve always been there for me, and now it’s time for me to be there for you.”

You were already crying by the time Steve finished his little speech. You knew that he had been practicing that all morning. “Thank you, Steve,” you managed, and threw your arms around him. He hugged you back just as tightly.

When you both finally let go, Steve had tears of his own. “Good luck,” he said.

You took the few steps to the driver’s side door of your car. “Thanks. I’ll visit in a few weeks,” you promised.

Steve smiled big and nodded as you got into your car, Eddie plopping into the passenger seat.

You wound the window down to say one more goodbye to Steve, before peeling out of your driveway for the last time. After this, it was no longer your driveway. It was your parent’s house now.

Eddie took your hand in his, and you glanced from the road to him as he placed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. “Ready?”

You squeezed his hand and smiled. “As I’ll ever be.”

[eating-plastic]

Headcanons: Maison Talo Punishing his Fem!S/O for ignoring him (SMUT)

Warnings: nsfw (duh), smut (minors and ageless blogs do not touch please and thanks), AFAB!reader, vaginal sex, oral sex (fem receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex, Maison becomes pussy drunk (yes, I am making that a tag), masturbation, voyeurism, any other warnings that come with fucking a man eating house creature lol, lots of inaccuracies about Maison's anatomy, established relationship, probably some grammatical errors

A/N: Wow, this took me way too long to write, but it's finally done. First things first, I would like to thank @oliviathatgirl for giving me the idea for this as I was starved of ideas for a Maison Talo x reader thingy (pun not intended btw). Secondly, I get it. I took the easy way out when making this. But let's be real here, I don't think anyone knows what trying to have sex with Maison would be like. So yeah, I don't wanna hear it, I know. Let's all just have a little bit of fun and enjoy fiction, got it? Also this is long too, sorry about that. I could've shortened it, but I had already had everything almost written out so I just said "fuck it" lol. I blame the fact that I'm in a fic writing mood. Still, I hope someone out there enjoys this. Cheers!

--------------------

🏠-Let's be very clear, you weren't trying to ignore Maison, things just happened

🏠-You were busy. VERY busy

🏠-Be it work, or college, or a combination of the two, on top of maintaining your social life, you just would be too tired for any of his romantic gestures

🏠-You felt bad about it, really you did, but Maison would always tell you that it was alright and you believed him. After all, he had his own busy days himself trying to keep himself fed and it wasn't like he was a clingy or needy lover

🏠-This would've been an accurate statement had it been made before you managed to work your way into his life. And that is all because you had managed to introduce him to a new need that wasn't hunger

🏠-And that was love. A sweet, gentle affection that was so foreign to him. Something that he doesn't know if he had experienced it before or even at all, but he does know one thing:

🏠-He revels in it. Both getting and giving it from you and you alone (after getting used to it of course). He just can't get enough of your love and loving you

🏠-It gave him a new purpose that wasn't just keeping himself fed and maintaining his reputation as number 1 realtor in the Uncanny Valley

🏠-As such, the lack of affection was starting to make Maison a bit antsy. A bit on edge, though he didn't blame you about it

🏠-And then one day *poof* you finally had time to yourself. You were so excited you went to tell him the good news...and of course it had to be on a day where he left to scout for a meal

🏠-No matter, you would make yourself comfortable while you waited for him to come back to his house form or a little text telling you to get out as he was coming by with a "potential buyer"

🏠-Meanwhile at a bus station on the edge of the Uncanny Valley, Maison was waiting just out of view to spot an unfamiliar face

🏠-He could sense everything you were doing within him. If he closed his eyes, he could see you putzing around as if you were just in a normal home. If he strained his ears, he could hear you talking to yourself, or singing along to your favorite song, or laughing at a joke said in your favorite TV show

🏠-It never failed to calm him and put him in a good mood. He always worried about your well being due to the many dangers within the Uncanny Valley, so it was nice to know where you were and that you were safe and sound

🏠-It was cute too, watching you. It showed just how much you trusted him. He could just eat you so easily right then and there, not that he ever would. He'd truly rather starve than have it come to that

🏠-You on the other hand, were completely unaware of this ability of his. A fact that was evident by you heading up to the master bedroom for a different way to destress after the long week

🏠-'What harm could it do?' you thought, while shucking off your shorts and panties. Sure, it could be seen as a little odd to touch yourself in a home that was a living thing, therefore you technically couldn't call it yours despite staying. This house would always be Maison's, because it was him. Still, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him

🏠-While you laid on the bed, stroking your clit, you mind drifted to your beloved realtor. You wondered what it would be like to be so intimate with him. Yes, "would be like". You were too embarrassed to initiate it or even bring it up. Hell, from how he ate, you wondered if it was even possible. Of course that never stopped you from fantasizing about it.

🏠-If it was possible, what would having sex with Maison be like? What would he look like under that fancy blazer of his? What would he be like in bed? What would he be into?

🏠-Soft moans filled the room while you continue to imagine the most filthiest scenarios with him

🏠-All the while, Maison was going through his normal routine of reeling in some food for himself. The poor soul, though just as suspicious as they always are with his "offer", he could just see it in this person's eyes that they wouldn't be a difficult meal

🏠-After giving them his card, it would just be another boring waiting game once more. At least that's what he thought, until he suddenly tasted something sweet

🏠-It startled him a bit, tasting something out of nowhere. Perhaps you had accidently dropped a snack for yourself. Yes, that was probably it, poor you. Might as well check on you, he figured

🏠-And that's just what he did, getting quite the surprise when he got a view of you. Pretty, little you moaning so sweetly while your hand played with your soaked pussy, slick dripping onto the bed underneath. So that's what that sweet taste was

🏠-Similarly with love, lust was also foreign to Maison, and yet he was quickly receptive to it. After all, what was lust, if not a different form of hunger?

🏠-Oh how his mind was almost instantly filled with thoughts of what he could do to you. What he wanted to do to you

🏠-The moment his name left your lips while lost in your pleasure, the thoughts of his new meal vanished. He needed to relieve this new hunger he felt

🏠-He needed you

🏠-To say that he hurried back to his house form, would be an understatement. With the mess you were making, each one of his strides grew faster. He would've loudly slammed the front door behind him, had he not have a sliver of self control tell him it would be better to catch you off guard

🏠-After all, didn't you deserve a little bit of a startle for what you've done to him? You had gotten him so unbelievably worked up, and after being denied giving and getting your affection too

🏠-While Maison quietly made his way his way up to the master bedroom, you were slowly reaching your peak. Your moans grew in volume as rubbed away at your clit. Just a few more strokes would tip you over the edge. Just a few more-

🏠-"My my, what's this?"

🏠-Your eyes shot open and you ripped your hand away from your dripping cunt. You scramble into a sitting position with your legs crossed, but there was no hiding what you were doing. The longer Maison stared at you, waiting for you to explain yourself, the hotter your face got

🏠-"M-Maison! W-what I was-! I-I mean I was...just um...," you let out an ashamed, defeated sigh and cover your face with your hands. "I'm sorry."

🏠-Your eyes glance around at everything but the tall realtor in the room. This allows him to prowl his way closer to the bed, gently dragging his fingertips up your leg when he got close enough. His eyes trail down your body, trying to get a better look at that sweet, little treat in-between your legs

🏠-You let out a confused squeak and will up the courage to look back up at Maison, only to have all thoughts freeze as he slowly brings his face closer to yours. So close in fact, that the tip of his nose touches yours

🏠-"This is quite the interesting surprise to...return to," his voice comes out as a low purr. Maybe one day he'd tell you about his ability to spy on you, but if he could have more moments to see you playing with yourself and completely unaware of him watching you, he'll be keeping that to himself for a while

🏠-"I-I'm sorry...I d-didn't mean for you...," you whimper, which causes him to darkly chuckle. Perhaps it was the fact that you were so close to cumming that made you do this, but the sound does cause you to clench around nothing

🏠-"Ah yes, you wanted this to be a little secret. Do it while I was away searching for a little bite to eat, hm," suddenly, his hand grabs your face and holds it firmly, forcing you to look up at him. "I never realized how cruel you could be, my little tenant. How long has it been since I was able to cherish you, hm? Or that you were able to extend me that same grace?"

🏠-You really don't know how to feel. You were still mortified, sure, and yet this whole situation wasn't helping the slick leaking out of your pussy. After realizing that Maison was waiting for you to respond, you breath out the answer

🏠-"That's right. And this is what you do while I'm still missing you? You cry out about how much you need me while I'm gone? You make such a delicious little mess that you know I can taste?"

🏠-Your eyes widen at that. God, how did that slip your mind? If he can taste the food you drop and the drinks you spill...then of course he could taste...

🏠-"Would you like to know just what I think about all of this, my dear?" he asks, reveling in the cute, little expressions you were making

🏠-You hesitantly nod your head. With that, Maison leans his head towards your ear and takes one of your hands into his own, slowly dragging it down his torso. Once your hand crosses below his waist, you gasp, a noise that causes him to chuckle once more. Not even your fantasies could've predicted that he was that well endowed

🏠-"I think I liked the little show you put on," he purred while rubbing your hand against himself. "But I think I'd like it more if I could indulge in it as well."

🏠-With that, you are pushed back down onto the bed with your hands pinned by your head. Maison moves to hover over you, smirking at your wide eyed expression. Despite the suddenness of it all, you've never been more turned on in your life

🏠-Slowly, he dragged his hands down from your wrists, to your arms, to the curves of your body, until they landed on your thighs. Moving underneath them, he lifts them up, almost pushing your knees against your chest. There was no hiding your sex from him now

🏠-He takes in the sight off it, the sensation of his stare making you squirm in his hold. He then moves one of your legs up onto his shoulder so he could free one of his hands. He wasted no time to swipe his fingers through your wet folds

🏠-You gasp and continue to writhe underneath Maison while he toyed with your cunt, settling on having his thumb stroke your clit and his index and middle finger slipping in and out of you. He found that to be most efficient with coaxing your sweet slick out of you

🏠-It was like a drug with how that little puddle underneath you had him addicted. With every passing moment that it grew, the more insatiable he got. It made his pants even tighter too

🏠-You were completely blissed out with his ministrations to your body, and as soon as you knew it, you were right at the cusp of your peak again. You mewl and whine about your impending release, throwing your arms above your head to grip the pillow. With just a few more strokes to that sensitive, little bundle of nerves in-between your legs, your vision goes white and you cry out Maison's name

🏠-While you get lost in your orgasm, Maison finally pulls away a bit to take you in. Oh how he revels in your pleasure just as much as you are. Not just because of how good it tasted, but because it was his darling, little tenant getting lost in an extasy he administrated

🏠-And he wanted more of it

🏠-Not understanding that your poor body was hypersensitive now, he decides to try something new. If his lure form could experience senses like touch, sight, and sound, then why not try tasting your juices at the source?

🏠-He wasted no time leaning down and hoisting your hips upwards. He then slowly drags his tongue through your puffy lips in an experimental lick, letting out a pleasant hum once he picks up your taste

🏠-A wail leaves your lips as he begins lapping at your pussy, each drag of his togue making your body jerk in his grasp. You try to wiggle out of it, but your squirming just causes his grip to tighten

🏠-"A-ah-! Too much! P-please, Maison, too much!" you sob, tugging at his rough, gray hair to push him away. At the same time though, you felt the conflicting feeling of wanted him to keep going

🏠-"Aww, you poor thing," he coos once he pulled away from you. "I thought this was what you wanted. That's certainly what it sounded like."

🏠-He moves up your body so that his face is hovering above yours. He then raises a hand to caress your cheek and gently swipes his thumb across your bottom lip. The feeling causes you to nuzzle your face into his palm. Oh how you missed it

🏠-"You can handle a little bit more, can't you my dear?" his voice is as soft as his gesture, coaxing you to agree. And of course you do, from how gentle he was being and the bit of pleading in his eyes

🏠-"Y-yeah, I think I can," you breath, causing Maison's smile to widen. He then leans down and places a kiss to your lips. You eagerly return it, realizing just how long it really was since you got to enjoy his affection. You also moan slightly as you also get a taste of yourself. He then pulls away, and leaves a final kiss to your forehead

🏠-"Good girl," he purrs, before returning himself back to the position he had in-between your legs. There you were once again treated to that conflicting feeling of wanting him to continue and stop all at once

🏠-You continue to whine and keen once you feel his tongue back on you. Despite agreeing that you could handle it, you still writhe in his grasp. You fingers find his hair again, in which you both tug on as a brace and to pull his head closer. You even start grinding yourself against his face as you feel your second orgasm churn within you, your voice spinking in pitch each time his nose brushes your clit

🏠-Maison lets out an amused hum at your action, both from your taste and your desperation to cum again. In fact, in anticipation to feel your release on his tongue, he begins to grind himself against the bed. The small rushes of pleasure causes him to let out low groans, the floorboards creaking with each one that escapes him

🏠-Of course the vibrations from that cause you to tip over the edge and cum all over his face. Due to it being your second release of the day, the pleasure was intense. Tears seep from the corners of your eyes, an overwhelming bliss flows through your veins, and your body feels like it's floating

🏠-Unfortunately, Maison was unable to see you in such a state, too busy indulging himself on your juices once more. He only pulls away from you once he realizes just how worked up he got from simply grinding against the bed. If he continued, he would've spilt himself in his pants, and what a waste that would've been

🏠-While you slowly come down from your high, he finally undoes his pants, allowing his length to spring free. He lets out a sigh from the relieved tension, before taking a moment to actually get a good look at it

🏠-'How interesting,' he thinks, while investigating his cock. It was the same tannish color as his lure form's skin tone, yet the tip was a bit darker. What has him the most curious however, is the whiteish clear fluid beaded from it. He carefully swipes his thumb across it, causing him to hiss and for the house to shift a bit

🏠-He then moves his hand to wrap it around the shaft, feeling how oddly heavy it was against him palm. After getting a feel for the weight, he decides to slowly move his hand up and down, letting out another low groan and another creak. What an interesting kind of pleasure this was

🏠-Your soft gasp pulls him away from his investigation. As his dark eyes lock with yours, he instantly remembers all the things he can do with the length in his hand. Your brain on the other hand was still fuzzy from your intense release, as well as actually seeing Maison's dick. While he wasn't too girthy, he definitely was long, and it was making you actually consider going another round

🏠-Smirking at your wide-eyed expression, he lets himself go and moves back on top of you, hand gently stroking your cheek once more

🏠-"Oh my poor, little tenant. I know it's cruel of me to ask this of you, again," his voice drips in sweetness, yet you can still hear that bit of sleaze that makes your brain tilt in favor of overstimulating yourself again. "May I take you? Indulge in you in a way unlike ever before? Bathe you in extasy one more time? Please, my dear?"

🏠-It's a repeat of the same charade he did when his tongue was against your pussy, and you fall for it again. You didn't know how long he could perform it over and over until you finally denied him, but it certainly wasn't now. Carefully, you move to sit up, Maison shifting off of you to give you a bit of space. His face holds the same, soft expression, yet there's a hint of curiosity there as he wonders what you are doing, as well as your answer

🏠-And you give it to him in the form of you removing your shirt and bra, leaving you completely bare in front of him. If your were going to let him take you, why not let him have all of you. Besides, you were getting all sweaty and hot anyways

🏠-Amusement takes over his eyes and smile, hand returning to your cheek. You melt into it and back into your position underneath him. Of course, you should've known he wasn't going to do anything until he heard your response

🏠-"Yes," you decide, despite knowing your body was more hypersensitive than ever before. "Please...take me."

🏠-And that's just what he does. After shifting into position and wrapping your legs around his waist, Maison slips himself inside of you. With every inch pushed into your tight, weeping core, you softly whimper and throw your arms around him to hold him close. The moment his cock is completely sheathed within your warm, velvety walls, your mind goes numb from how deep inside you he was

🏠-To be perfectly honest, he wasn't faring that much better. Just the feeling of you wrapped around him alone was enough for his eyes to close with bliss. It causes him to take a moment to both get used to and savor the sensation. It truly made him wish you both would've tried this out sooner

🏠-After his little break, he finally start to move in small, shallow thrusts. All the while, he enjoys the cute, little look on your face. Your eyebrows knitted together and eyes closed from overstimulation. Your soft lips parted, with the only sound dripping from them being whines and whimpers

🏠-"Such a pretty, little thing," he muses, fondly, adoration in his eyes. He raises his hand to hold your face, before leaning down to kiss you. It doesn't take long for his tongue to find itself in your mouth, and eagerly greet your own

🏠-Suddenly, as if his hips had gotten a mind of their own, he harshly bucks himself inside of you. You moan in surprise from the tip of his cock slamming right into your g-spot, and tighten your grip around him in more ways than one

🏠-Liking the new, rougher pace, in tandem with your pussy constricting his dick, Maison grasps your hips and begins to rut away into your cunt. That poor little, sweet spot inside of you wouldn't be able to the escape the abuse he had in store for it

🏠-To say that your brain is now mush at this point would be an understatement. You can hardly form a coherent thought, and all you can say when he finally broke that delicious kiss is sobs of pleasure. Even as you feel your body building up your third orgasm of the day, you can't get out anymore than stuttered words broken by cries

🏠-Fortunately, Maison can decipher your pleasant sounds and responds to them by quickening the pace. He is going to make sure you cum right on his length at least once today. He needed to feel it

🏠-"That's it," he breathes, another loud creak following. "Just one more, my dear. Just one more for me."

🏠-It only takes a few harsh thrusts for you to become completely spent. Your velvety walls clench around him like a vice and your body jolts in his grasp as your release crashes over you

🏠-From the intense sensation, Maison follows closely behind. With a loud groan, he fills your core with ropes of his cum and the house shakes as if a small earthquake had sprouted

🏠-Eventually, the shaking goes from violent, to a vibration, to a complete still. By that time, you had both come down from your highs and decide to revel in the afterglow. That was truly better than either of you could've imagined it would be

🏠-"Well...that was certainly...something," Maison muses, smiling down at you. You tiredly laugh at his remark. Honestly you couldn't think of any other way to describe what the two of you did

🏠-"Yeah...just...wow," you return his fond smile, before realizing how sticky with sweat your skin was. "Augh, I think I need a bath."

🏠-"Of course. Please, allow me, my dear," he purrs, before puling out of you and fixing himself back in his pants. "You deserve a little rest after being so good for me."

🏠-With a gentle kiss to your forehead, Maison leaves to head to the bathroom. On his way there however, a soft buzzing catches his attention. Ah yes, his phone. That must be the "potential buyer" he was talking with earlier. He answers, but tells them that they would have to check out the house tomorrow

🏠-He had much more important matters to take care of right now

[nothums-from-tj]

Hi I’ve had this PPG Foster Care AU running in my head and I’m finally putting it out

(just notes/refs/background until I actually have the time/energy to go further)

I’d like to note first and foremost that I’m doing everything I can to research while making these details and I know I can always use more—I’ll come back and edit with any inaccuracies or plot holes another day! I’ve been inspired to just put the idea out even if it’s not a perfectly well-done fic or comic or whatever

Trigger/content warnings (no graphic details, all mentioned): domestic violence, incarceration, unstable parent, severe depression, suicidal ideation, mental hospital (ever so slight mention), family separation, parental death, child neglect, food instability

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to write this in past or present tense and I’m at work as I’m finishing this so. I’m sorry

Ok so the whole point of this is to say the girls are not biological sisters—they’re all foster sisters with varying different bio families (with no powers) and backgrounds (they’re all in the same grade/age group), and so different reasons they’re in the system. Professor looks into fostering for similar reasons to making them in canon: to give some kids a home where they might not have anywhere else, to provide some kind of safe space where it’s needed and he wants to do what he can to make the world a little better in that sense. Besides, he’s got 3 spare rooms he’s not using anyhow. For convenience’s sake, I’m gonna say he starts fostering in 2005, where his first foster kid also happens to be one of his only 3 “long term” kids

Blossom:

- age 5 when she meets Professor and is brought into his home

- comes from a home with domestic abuse, taught that there are extreme consequences if something is not done “perfectly”

- she herself has never been hit, she’s just seen it happen to her mom few too many times

- that said she develops a habit of doing everything “perfectly” especially under the mindset of “I haven’t been hit bc I’ve done everything right” and carries a small part of that with her throughout her life

- I want to say it’s OCD but is it really an intrusive thought when you’ve known it to happen

- maybe develops DID too which is to be explored at a later date

- even still, every time Professor would raise a hand a little too close or too quickly it’d send her into a fit of tears and he learned to be much slower and more cautious around her in the time being

- unfortunately for Blossom, she got some of the worst of his inexperience and got to witness and go through all of his mistakes given she was literally his first foster and he does everything he can to make up for it after he’s learned/been experienced enough

- she entered the system when her father was finally incarcerated, which also meant her mother wasn’t financially able to support the two of them as a housewife

- she’s also incredibly depressed and keeps having bouts of suicidality and they just can’t keep a child around that too much, not with the risk of her waking up to having no guardian

- as much as she loves and misses her mom, she’s incredibly grateful that someone was willing to take her in and take care of her before visits

- she bonds with Professor almost instantly when she gets curious about his science experiments and he shows her some child-safe ones and they end up doing that together, at least once a week

- after he learned about her interests in reading and when she really started getting interested in science with him he does what he can to introduce new reading suggestions for her age level and things of the sort

- after Blossom there was a few months period of kids only needing a place for a few nights to about 2 weeks before getting sent back home or with another family member, so she tried not to get attached to any other foster siblings until the second long-term kid

- she still wanted a playmate for the few times that she would pick up dolls or whatever, just didn’t really ask for the fear of being “needy” (issues with trauma) or rely on since it’s out of her control

- by the time she’s 12 her mother has been kind of in and out of a mental hospital, so visitation days are wary and sometimes it’s literally just sitting in the room(???? gotta look into how mental hospital visitations work) with her for a few hours

- the second long-term kid is introduced to her about 9 months after being taken in, around 3 months after her 6th birthday

Bubbles:

- had only just recently turned 6 when Professor takes her in

- cried more than any of the other kids Professor had worked with by that time and didn’t really know how to take it

- her parents died suddenly, horrifically, and only had her 16-year-old brother left to take care of her

- since he’s also a minor, he went into the system too, and they got separated along the way (he was placed first)

- she misses him every day, and Professor would often try to get in contact with her brother’s foster home/family to get him to reunite with her

- unfortunately, her brother isn’t as well off as Bubbles is, and there’d be either strict rules from the home or his foster family would refuse to meet

- the last time he tried calling, they had his number blocked, and Bubbles cried for 3 days straight

- she still absolutely adores Blossom, and was always more than happy to color/draw or play with her

- they’re an amazing support system for one another, especially during school

- Bubbles is later adopted providing there’s not much of anywhere else for her to go

- about a year after is when her brother is on his own and is finally able to make contact with Professor again, and he’s not financially able to support Bubbles and himself so he just stops by whenever he can or will babysit or bring the kids to/from school whenever possible

- he’s a good boy

- the period of kids still kinda coming in and out lessens significantly with one room now being filled

- she misses it, a little bit, since it meant she got to make a new friend

- she misses the way her life used to be, her parents and her brother, although she’s still incredibly happy to have Blossom and Professor and to still see her brother every so often

- a year or two after she’s adopted comes a third placed with them, and it takes them a little while to readapt and even longer with someone they don’t have a near-immediate connection with

Buttercup:

- introduced to the Utonium fam about a month after her 10th birthday

- expected to be like a mini adult by the age of like 6

- she’s sheltered and clothed so it took forever for the right people to find out she’s been neglected

- eventually her parents would kinda forget to bathe her or sometimes provide meals so that’s how she got removed from them (I guess like a less drastic/severe “Opal” situation???) (linked: short film by Jack Stauber)

- her mother’s voice is sweet like honey, somehow even more so when asking her to stop screaming for a need to be met (“The whole neighborhood’s going to think I’m a bad mother.”) (0:16) (linked: clip from “Moral Orel”)

- her father’s voice is stern and reflective, he could be a great speaker or narrator so long as no one listens to a word he says (“It’s your problem. I trust you know how to deal with it.” “I’m only 9!” “That’s no excuse.”) (0:43) (linked: same “Moral Orel” clip)

- poor volume control also gets her in a bit of trouble with Professor just of course not nearly as bad/much, even less so when he realizes she can’t control it

- some behavioral issues as well which kinda come with being neglected

- absolutely hates visitations, always comes back in a horrid mood and usually slams the door and won’t leave/allow anyone in for a day and a half if she can allow it

- it gets even worse after she starts getting used to/comfortable with the treatment she gets with Professor vs at home

- it takes a while for the other two to warm up to her, mostly with Bubbles pushing hardest to find ways they can all hang out together

- plus when her brother met her when picking them up from from school one day they got along almost instantly so she wanted to see that charm of her more often

- near constant arguments with Blossom bc negative attention is still attention

- especially when Blossom has to do everything “the right way” and Buttercup likes getting that blow-up reaction (again: negative attention is still attention) when she doesn’t follow her rules/patterns

- anyway after a few months she was looking for a volleyball opponent and so taught her how to play and ended up really liking it so their relationship started improving

- she’d also have some dance parties with Bubbles so their relationship improved too

- otherwise she’d draw/color with them once in a while and played some pretend games on the rare occasion so things started getting easier

- especially when Professor got them (1 to share) an Xbox or PlayStation or something for Buttercup’s first Christmas with them and they all started playing video games together

- her parents have also taught her that she’s just dumb since she struggles to read and quite literally gave up once she started kindergarten and her teachers have had very little say other than that they hope whatever is happening improves (gotta love the educational neglect /s)

- her grades/participation goes up while with rest and Professor actually gets her tested with dyslexia so she can get the help she needs

- it takes a while to learn that she can ask nicely for a need to be met, positive attention can be acquired, she’s not stupid, she can ask for help, and she’s allowed to feel her feelings

I’ve yet to decide if their names are as they are in canon or I might go with the names in the ep “Oops, I Did It Again!” (Bubbles as Bertha, Buttercup as Betty, I don’t remember Blossom’s) or if Blossom and Buttercup get adopted as well. I’ll have to look more into reunification and qualifications for that, and even then develop more of a storyline with each of their families to really get a good idea. Hope it’s ok so far though!! I’ll come back another day to edit/update with any other research or ideas to fill in any gaps

[princess-prentiss]

All Too Well - Chapter 4

Pairing: Natasha “Phoenix” Trace / Jake “Hangman” Seresin

A/N: ugh ur all the best honestly thank u for everything. ok so defo moved away from the fluff for this one. I hope this answers some of the questions! Also I have no idea about the inner workings of the US Navy so sorry for any inaccuracies!

The next morning they received a special briefing from Admiral Bates. A nagging feeling entered the back of his head the moment he saw Cyclone follow Warlock, he supposed it could have been fear, but then again it was not an emotion he was used to experiencing.

Perhaps his subconscious had been right, as the news that the mission had been moved forward a week broke, an aura of uncertainty clouded the room, they had one week less to prepare for a task that already seemed to be testing the bounds of possibility.

Everyone seemed to be hesitantly looking round at one another as Warlock and Cyclone moved to take their seats, Maverick making his way to stand in front of them, explaining the day’s exercises.

First, they would fly as a team of six, two single seaters, two double, and for the first run, it would be Fanboy, Payback, and him and Rooster, Phoenix, and Bob. He would be the one leading them, at learning this information pride flooded through him, and his chest puffed out as he looked around at the others reveling in the knowledge that it was him the had the power. He pretended not to notice Phoenix roll her eyes as his gaze fell upon her.

-

Neither he nor Rooster managed to hit the target, and the pride he had felt before had long since dissipated into the empty air. Neither did Fritz or Coyote when the other team had their turn. So Maverick split them, they would be running the course as teams of three, a single seater and a double seater.

His turn came and went, with him missing the target to the annoyed sounds of Omaha and Halo’s cursing from where they flew behind him.

He had just made it back to the rec room where the others were all gathered, Harvard and Yale playing pool, Rooster standing in the space between the table and the bar, Fritz lying back on one of the couches, as he heard Coyote start the course through the radio that stood where they had put it on the counter at the beginning of the week. He moved to sit on the sofa opposite Fritz, stretching his legs out as the leather sunk underneath his weight.

A part of him was glad to hear Bob’s shout that their laser wasn’t working, a smug grin slipping on his face, there was no way Coyote would be able to hit the target blind. So she wouldn’t one-up him, he still had a chance at being the first one to complete the course successfully, his grin only grew as he heard Maverick get missile lock on her plane, he tried to hide it behind his hand as he rested his elbow on the arm of the chair.

The look on his face immediately slid off as he heard Maverick’s desperate commands to get Javy to “level wings.” This was his best friend they were talking about, it never occurred to him that he might die in something like a training exercise.

Sure he had heard the tales about pilots from the 80’s not making it back from hops, even recently when he learned about Rooster’s father, but that was decades ago, and none of those were the man he had met in flight school. The one that had drawn him away from his pathetic moping over a woman he met at the academy, the woman that was now shouting in the air as she watched his plane draw closer and closer to the mountains they had just flown over.

Jake heard the shrill tone of missile lock among the warnings telling him to “pull up” as Maverick moved into position behind Coyote’s plane, hoping to get him to regain consciousness in enough time.

Jake didn’t realize that he had stopped breathing until he let out the volume of his lungs when he heard Javy finally respond.

He let go of his tight grip on the brown leather of the armrest he hadn’t known that he was holding. Glancing around the room to see the expression of relief on his face mirrored across the rest of the detachment.

He didn’t register Maverick’s call of “bird strike”, as he was too busy trying to shake off the fear that had gripped his muscles, causing the cramp in his hand. It wasn’t until he heard the words repeated in her voice that he began to realize something was wrong.

Before he liked to think he knew her. He knew what she was feeling and how she would respond to each emotion, at the start of this detachment he wasn’t sure if that was true anymore, but sure enough, he could hear the fear in her voice as she began to go through the procedures they had all been taught in flight school.

He knew that if it came down to it, she would do everything to save Bob before herself. And at that moment in time, he hated that he knew her that well.

He found himself unconsciously springing from his seat, moving to tower over the radio where it sat on the bar, Rooster to the side of him, looking exactly how he felt.

“Oh my god.”

It might have been distorted among the blaring warning sirens but he still heard Maverick’s shock at whatever was going on in the air. He felt his legs begin to give way underneath him, half-falling to the bar stool below him that she had occupied not hours ago.

“Damn it.”

She was running out of things to do and he knew it, she was going to have to eject or go down with that plane.

Sure enough, her shout to eject came not ten seconds after, his ears seemed to stop working after that.

He could barely register the others moving around him or Bradley collapsing onto the stool next to his, all he could think was that she might be dead.

He wasn’t aware how long he sat there, only that at some point his legs had gone dead, looking up something felt missing. Until he realized Bradley was no longer in the chair he once occupied.

Everything was silent, everything was numb.

He couldn’t tell if minutes or hours had passed, only that some part of him knew he was alone now. The silence of the room was no longer just his ears playing tricks on him, but the lack of any other human life in the room.

Through the silence ringing in his ears, he thought he could hear someone calling his name, looking up to see Bradley standing by the door, clearly having just entered, running a hand through the messy curls on his head.

“Jake, cmon man.”

His voice was exasperated like all the fight had been knocked out of him just as he had threatened to do to him mere days before.

He looked up with glassy eyes at the other man, unable to move or comprehend what he was saying.

“They’ve taken them to the hospital, they’re gonna be held overnight but they should be fine.”

He still couldn’t relax, he doubted he would be able to until he saw her. He tried to push himself off his stool, his legs still unsteady, fumbling beneath him as he made his way to the door where Bradley waited for him.

-

He wasn’t aware how he made it through the base and out into the passenger seat of Rooster’s bronco, he couldn’t remember if he had said where he was taking him, he could only hope that it was the hospital. And soon, he would be able to see with his own eyes that she was ok.

He vaguely remembered Bradley handing both of their military IDs over to the nurse at the reception, he wasn’t sure how he had gotten a hold of his wallet that normally held the card, but he didn’t care.

Weaving his way through the corridors behind the taller man, his head still spinning not fully taking in his surroundings.

Everything stopped as they reached the open doorway of a room, Bradley not waiting before walking in, but he had to stop and take a breath before following after him.

There she was. Sat upright, rummaging her way through a bag of stuff Bradley had brought for her that Jake hadn’t even noticed him carrying. Her hair was down, out of its regulation bun, or the plait she sometimes wore with her helmet. It fell just past her shoulders, touching the rough fabric of the grey hospital gown.

She didn’t look up as he moved to stand at the end of her bed next to Bradley, finally pulling what she had been looking for out of the black bag. Grasping her phone desperately, fumbling for the power button on the side.

“I called your Mom already,” Bradley said trying to comfort her.

“What has she told Mia?” Phoenix replied frantically, still trying to get the phone to turn on.

Jake wasn’t sure who Mia was, but he could tell that she was important to Natasha, whoever she was. He felt like an invader in the situation, Bradley clearly knew something he didn’t. And the woman he’d almost had a heart attack over still hadn’t acknowledged his presence, he felt almost ghostly, as though he was observing their interaction on a different plane.

Her phone finally seemed to turn on and Phoenix wasted no time quickly typing on the device, waiting for a response before calming, her shoulders dropped as some of the stress she was carrying seemed to disappear. It was only then that she seemed to realize he was there, looking up at the pair that stood at the end of her bed.

Shock didn’t really describe the look on her face, it was more mild surprise crossed with an element of exasperation as she decided how to handle the situation at hand.

“Bradley,” she turned her head slightly to gaze at the other man, “can you go and check on Bob, please? He’s in the room two doors down, I haven’t seen him since we got admitted.”

He nodded, moving to take his leave, clapping Jake on the back as he passed, a monumental difference from when they had been at each other’s throats not days ago.

He closed the door behind him and Jake realized that they were alone, he continued to stand there awkwardly, waiting for something to happen.

“Sit.”

He moved his way around the end of the bed to sit in the chair beside her she had motioned to.

He didn’t know what happened, one minute he was sitting back on the uncomfortable cushion of the wooden hospital chair, the next he was letting out a deep sob, leaning forward so that his head brushed the edge of her bed, grasping for her hand. When he found it he pulled it close to his chest, as though keeping her as close to his heart as possible would keep her safe. Despite his strained breathing he managed to keep the tears that sprang to his eyes in place.

-

Natasha didn’t know what was happening. One moment he had been standing at the end of her bed, a dazed expression on his face, then he walked to sit in the chair beside her as she directed, hoping to diffuse some of the awkwardness of the situation. Then he was bowing his head towards her bed, letting out what sounded like a choked sob. She found her left hand being taken by him and pulled towards his chest, one of his hands grasping it tightly.

She got over her initial shock quickly, moving her other hand to tangle in the locks of golden hair that just rested on her sheets, tangling her fingers in the strands in a way she hoped was soothing. It always seemed to work for her daughter when she was upset so she hoped that translated to her father as well.

It seemed to work as his breaths became more even as the minutes passed, she could feel his body begin to relax as the grip on her hand loosened softly.

It was at that point that they were interrupted by the door opening, Jake didn’t move, instead, he remained slouched over her bed, his hand holding hers. Natasha, however, looked up at the door to see Bradley, who looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

Her first thought was Bob, she had sent him to check on him and now he looked like he’d been petrified. What had happened to her WSO?

Bradley seemed to recognize what she was thinking, even in his dazed state.

“Bob’s fine,” some of the panic left her eyes at his reassurance, “it’s, um, my uncle. He’s dead.”

Natasha’s heart broke for Bradley, over the years of their friendship he hadn’t spoken much about his family, meaning the times he did were all the more impactful. She remembered, with great clarity, the tales she told of his uncles back when they were young aviators, how he'd wanted to be like them.

“I need to go see my aunt,” he looked at her regretfully but the only thing he was met by was her gaze of sympathy. A particular type of sympathy he knew all too well.

“Go, be with them. We’ll be fine.”

He moved towards her, wrapping his arm around her for a one-armed hug before he left the room, trying to hold back the tears that had been wanting to fall from his eyes from the moment he heard his best friend was in trouble.

-

Natasha didn’t know what to think, the day had been exhausting and it wasn’t even over yet. She mulled over her thoughts as her other hand returned to stroke gently over Jake’s hair. He seemed quite content to just sit there, close to her.

-

She wasn’t aware how long they sat there like that, only that she was only drawn out of the revelry of it all by her phone buzzing. Picking it up with her right hand, she quickly read the message that flashed on the screen.

“Jake.” She said softly, dropping her phone back onto the bedsheet, moving her free hand to rest on the side of his face before bringing it under his chin, gently lifting it so she could make eye contact with him.

He looked terrible, there was no sugarcoating it. A part of her wanted to drag him up onto the bed with her and into her arms, but she was more preoccupied with solving the error in her plans that Bradley had created by leaving. She didn’t have any alternatives, and as much as she didn’t want to, she wanted to be able to hug her daughter more.

“Jake, I need you to go get my mom and Mia,” she said before rummaging in the bag she had placed on the floor on the other side of her when she found her phone, “they’re at the reception.”

She handed him his ID, which he took hesitantly, not fully understanding what she was saying, but he nodded slowly, all the same, pushing himself off the chair and to his feet.

-

He made his way back through the corridors, using the signs more than anything, the trip he had made following Bradley to her room was a blur. He made an effort to tidy himself up a bit, pulling down the black t-shirt he wore so that some of the wrinkles disappeared and sweeping his hair back to resolve any residual spikes in the golden strands.

He reached the reception area, the bright light that filled the entirety of the hospital continued here. There were more of the purple-cushioned wooden chairs here too, in rows to the side of a curved grey desk. He looked around to the seating area, and sat on the end of the first row of chairs was sat her mother.

It may have been years since he had seen her, but he still recognized the formidable woman, it was hard not to considering that her daughter was a near carbon copy of her.

What he failed to comprehend was the young girl sitting on the chair next to her, gripping her arm tightly. She had the same dark hair, tied back in a ponytail where it curled down to just past her shoulders. She looked concerned, looking at the woman next to her as though she controlled the universe. Which, Jake had to admit, he almost believed too.

He made his way over to them, stopping in front of them, causing the older of the two to look up before moving to stand, pulling the girl up with her.

“Jake.”

It was clear to him that Nat had told her mom that he would be the one to meet them. He wasn’t sure about how she had taken it after they had ended it, but he would have expected a more extreme reaction if he was to just show up out of the blue.

“Mrs. Trace.” He said, trying to keep some of the respect his mother had taught him.

He glanced down at the girl, who was looking at him curiously.

-

Noticing the interaction between her granddaughter and her father, who didn’t seem to recognize who he was looking at, she decided to break the silence.

“Jake this is Mia.”

[savagewildnerness]

Thought I’d post the conclusion of your “end of IWTV”/Moss house poll results as I doubt there will be more votes now.

- 69.3% of people think Louis did meet with Lestat, even if not fully as he describes.

- 30.7% think the meeting never happened.

- 0 people say they have no idea.

As I see it, it doesn’t matter in the overall story of Lestat & Louis whether it happened or not, BUT it does make things more poignant & heartbreaking (I personally perceive!) if it happened AND perhaps most interestingly of all - the fact that it is ambiguous & book readers absolutely do not all agree (& we won’t agree as the text simply is NOT definite about it, so it is open to our personal interpretation!) means we don’t know what Rolin thinks about what really happened, so it’ll be a true surprise to discover what the show portrays! And it being the literal end of IWTV, we will see a version! Or perhaps multiple versions!!?! It could also be presented ambiguously on TV… though it will definitely be more powerful if it isn’t ambiguous there in my opinion. Kind of exciting, no?!

I would like to talk about TRUTH here though! In discussing this moment, I have heard a lot of people talk along the lines of “Louis is canon an unreliable narrator & Lestat in canon speaks truth” on the one hand & on the other hand people saying “Why is Louis’ IWTV novel truth any less true than Lestat’s? Everyone is just speaking their own truth!”

I feel it needs clearing up: whatever the truth of the moment I speak of here, I am NOT calling anyone a liar! Let’s look at Louis! Interview with the Vampire is not an accurate portrayal of Lestat (Sorry! It’s just very obviously NOT!), BUT - LOUIS DOES NOT INTENTIONALLY LIE!

The majority (I think: all!?!) of Louis’ mistruths stem from:

- Louis’ shame & that he hasn’t accepted his feelings towards Lestat yet

- Louis often tends towards assuming people’s motivations & emotions & presenting them as facts when in fact he doesn’t know what’s in other people’s minds & hearts. Louis is a beautifully sensitive creature, but he doesn’t instinctively understand what other beings are feeling or experiencing easily (likely as he’s so deeply in his own experience!)

- Lestat had to withold a lot of information from young-Louis as Marius threatened Lestat & any fledglings that he’d destroy them otherwise, so of course Louis felt Lestat was either withholding or knew less than he actually did so there’s a lot about Lestat that Louis literally could never understand until he reads TVL

- Louis was surviving off the blood of animals in the first amount of IWTV that he recounts & as such was in an extra-depressive place that colours his perception & interpretation of Lestat

- It must be remembered that even during this interview in the 1970’s, Louis is only just able to begin to hint at the true depth of his feelings towards Lestat. We can presume that in the last 50 years, since the last thing Louis describes in his story, as he alludes to, Louis has been through his own new levels of loneliness & despair that are only-just now beginning to lead Louis to deeper understandings

- Louis does not invent events that didn’t happen. He doesn’t *choose* to lie! There are emotional & practical reasons behind the inaccuracies in what he tells us in IWTV

On the exact same note!

If Louis *did* meet Lestat & Lestat hates that Louis wrote about it & wants to deny it happening (I mean, he denies it during arguments let’s remember! NOT with any conviction in his own book about the same events!!) that also doesn’t make Lestat a liar!

- Lestat doesn’t deny the meeting in TVL. He doesn’t mention ever seeing Louis, but does say Armand has told him Louis saw him, through a window (which wouldn’t alter things hugely if that was the extent of the “meeting” only it would mean Lestat didn’t beg Louis.)

- Lestat’s recollection of these events is muddled & reflective of the awful mind-place he was genuinely in at this time. Lestat himself makes reference to being unsure how much is real or imagined & how memory plays tricks. Armand appearing to him is always dreamlike & confused.

- If Lestat wishes to years later deny the meeting happened when it actually did happen, it reflects only Lestat’s pain & shame & hurt. It doesn’t make Lestat a liar.

So, let’s look at it!

If the meeting didn't happen, it expresses something about Louis. But there's a lot less emotion in it in my opinion if it didn't happen. I think Louis must have at least seen Lestat to be able to describe Lestat how he does, before Lestat ever spoke of it. No? Also, it makes Louis unimaginably cruel & seems impossibly odd if Louis spends a good amount of time in New Orleans & doesn’t even try to glimpse Lestat! AND Armand suggests Louis should go there, so there’s no logical reason Armand would now try to keep Louis away from Lestat, after suggesting going to New Orleans! And there are a lot of odd implications too. If the meeting never happened, the whole emotional resolution & purpose of Louis’ story is removed. It had big implications of Louis’ experience of the next 50 years if that was just invented!! To me, it just makes no sense. Why would Louis make it up!?! How would he make it up, while giving an accurate description of Lestat’s state of mind & body at the time.

So, if the meeting didn't happen, then Louis still saw Lestat through a window, but never spoke to him. In that case, it would still be accurate as to what Louis presumably would have wanted to say/how he'd have wanted to act and how he did act as he still left Lestat alone there. Louis still would have got an accurate feeling about Lestat’s state of mind. The only difference would be no begging Lestat. The only negative could be if Louis intentionally mentions where Lestat lies in order to send people there. That could have negative connotations (sending people to kill Lestat), or positive (sending people to awaken Lestat.) But I don’t see Louis as that manipulative myself…? OR, that Louis unwittingly sends people to Lestat’s lair without even thinking about it could be Lestat’s true issue with it all!

It adds a heartbreaking moment in time if the meeting did happen. And it says something poignant about Lestat's pain around the moment. Louis saw & spoke to Lestat when Lestat was in his deepest despair, Lestat begged Louis to stay & Lestat can’t deal that in this moment, Louis instead abandoned him & left, thinking Lestat was indeed close to death, dying a slow, mortal-esque death & Louis says he thinks Lestat may never go outside again.

Maybe that's partially why I believe it happened. I'll always seek the answer of greatest emotional poignancy if I can, teehee!!! And that is the most emotionally poignant & heartbreaking scenario, no doubt! Give me all of the melodrama please, thank you! And some more melodrama on top of that! Drown me in heartbreak!

But yeah, it doesn't alter anything in the greater scheme of things.

To add: I think there is some logic in Louis abandoning Lestat. Of course Armand also asks Louis if he wanted revenge, for Claudia. And Louis is not yet fully in a place of loving Lestat. He is only just starting to begin to articulate a tiny amount of his feelings towards Lestat to Daniel around 50 years after this! Even now, he implies the depth of his feelings often rather than directly verbalising them. And this is half a century on! And we know Lestat wasn't coherent enough to explain himself to Louis in any way that he had earlier wanted to (as Louis tells it, but he's definitely not coherent enough as he describes himself with Armand in this era either.) so Louis has no way to understand Lestat (though Armand is worried he might… or maybe Armand realises he & Louis are soon to part ways & actually, kindly hoped to bring Louis & Lestat together now - a sort of gift. It just failed in that moment….?)

Also, given Louis' depressive worldview, I genuinely think he might have seen it as a kindness to leave Lestat. Louis talks about how Lestat is like an elderly mortal, close to death. Louis definitely perceives that Lestat will die soon and I think Louis could think he ought to let him have the death he is yearning for. Louis says several times that Lestat is dying. His story ends in despair and the despair is Lestat's despair... mirroring what will become his own despair. It's sort of only when Louis presumably goes through his own despair in these next 50 years that he can now begin to fully acknowledge what his feelings for Lestat are, as I see it.

I think it makes sense Louis doesn't tell Armand he saw Lestat for a month too. After all, Armand had let Louis believe Lestat was dead for literal years. And Louis knows too (if the meeting happened) that Lestat had thought he was dead, so he could easily presume (as is true) Armand told Lestat that. And it's already clear that Armand and Louis are soon to part ways. And Louis doesn't want Armand to know how he feels towards Lestat. There are many layers of complicated feelings.

It’ll remain up for debate as it is ambiguous. But I believe Louis' account (not 100%, but certainly the general gist of the feeling Louis had, what Louis did & Lestat’s despair) here. I just don't think this is the way in which Louis lies in the books. He paints a different picture of Lestat than we grow to know Lestat is. But the only TRUE lies Louis tells all stem from hiding his own feelings or from how he has misunderstood something, or where he had a lack of knowledge so filled in with what he presumed. And he sometimes might misinterpret things. But he doesn't tend to invent events that didn't happen. That's not Louis' style. He isn't directly, obtusely telling lies. He imagines what people's motivations and feelings are and can fully believe a wrong thing he says in that way. But he doesn't just make up events that didn't happen.

And then - Louis's account matches what Lestat says about himself at the time too closely and Louis couldn't know that unless he was there. And I just don't believe that Louis would be in New Orleans and either not see Lestat at all or only look at him through a window.

I'm very interested how they'll interpret it on the TV show though as obviously I understand not everyone thinks it happened at all. They'll probably play with Armand's mind powers here in some way... I mean, in the books, Armand does use such powers, putting visions in Lestat's head. They could have Armand use some kind of mind control to keep Louis away from Lestat I suppose. Although it doesn't make any sense to me as it's really Armand who suggests Louis should return to New Orleans...!?!?

I obviously personally think it did happen similarly to how Louis describes, so I think that we will see it that way and that will be truth. But who knows!

I hope I’m not annoying anyone who believes the opposite to me in discussing this! I find it so fascinating that we can have read the same books & believe opposite things! And I think there’s something very human in *needing* to know what you personally believe… hence why not a single person responded that they had no idea what the truth was! All of us instead decide on one side or the other what we feel was truth!

[lonelyreputation]

The List

A/N: Happy afternoon/evening/morning to wherever you find yourself on this planet! I had planned on posting this ~next week, but I’m trying to be better at posting fics sooner instead of having them sit in my docs for like 2 weeks after I finish sdljfk so here’s this one! I also can’t find the original request or else I would link it, but below is a summary! And it’s allllll fluff ! 

Thanks a million for all your support!! 💖💫 I really appreciate every reader, every like, every reblog, and every reply that I’ve ever received 🥺 It really makes my heart melt lsdjflk

Also, as I’m sure most of you are aware, there was a devastating   explosion in Beirut, Lebanon on Tuesday that killed hundreds and injured thousands. Here’s a really informational text post explaining the explosion with additional resources to help. And if you have the means, here is the link to donate to the Lebanese Red Cross.

REQUEST: Going grocery shopping with your husband Shawn during corona and running into fans 

Let’s Chat!! | MASTERLIST

Warnings: Coronavirus (please remember to wear your masks!!!)

Word Count: 2.3K

“Do you have the list?” You mumbled through your mask.

Shawn shut the driver’s side door close as he slipped the elastic strings of his mask around his ears, “I thought you had it?”

You looked at him in disbelief as the two of you walked toward the front of the grocery store, “You said and I quote,”  you cleared your throat to lower your voice, “Of course, I have the list Y/n, I’m not irresponsible.”

He rolled his eyes at the glare you sent him as he took out a clorox wipe from a ziplock bag to wipe down the handle of the shopping cart before he put his hands on it, “Tomato tomahto.”

“Shawn, we’re in the middle of a pandemic,” you glared at him again as the two of you entered through the automatic doors, “We need specific things and can’t keep running back and forth to the store.”

“I––Yeah, you’re right, sorry.”

For a second you forgot you were wearing a mask, so you just smiled at him as a response. But when you realized that all he could see were the crinkles at the corner of your eyes, you patted his bicep, “It’s alright, let’s just get what we need and then leave.”

Shawn nodded as he pushed the cart over toward the produce section.  You picked out some lettuce, peppers, apples, and other assortments of fruits and vegetables.  As you were tying a knot around a plastic bag you had put asparagus in, Shawn’s voice caused your head to turn his way.

“How do you pick out an avocado?”

“How do you––What?”

Shawn stared down at the avocados, eyebrows pulled together as he scratched his chin, “Like, I know there’s something about the color and feel of it, but I don’t wanna touch them and then put them back.”

He had a point, you thought.  There was a fear factor about touching a piece of fruit––of touching anything in the grocery store––and putting it back on the shelf that could potentially put someone at risk of getting sick.  

“I guess just grab a few?” You pulled down another plastic bag from the dispenser, wiggling your hands inside to fully open it and holding it out to Shawn, “We’ll eat the softer one’s first and just keep an eye on the rest of them.”

Shawn nodded as he picked up a few avocados and placed them in the bag you held open for him.  Once Shawn had put six avocados in the bag you gave him a look silently asking him if he really needed all of the avocados.

“I like avocado toast,” he gave you a cheeky wink, “And it’s not like we can put them back.”  

You let out an exasperated sigh, knowing full well he was grinning under his mask, as he pushed the cart forward, “What else do we need?”

“I would know if we had a list.”

“I said I was sorry!”

You tilted your head and gave him a deliberate look that showed you didn’t believe him.  You heard him let out a faux disgruntled sigh as he looked at you with nothing but love in his eyes.  Shawn continued to push the cart forward and you told him to jokingly get whatever he wanted since the list was long forgotten.

And he took your lighthearted joke to heart as the two of you went up and down the aisles.  Shawn grabbed various cereal boxes you didn’t even know he liked to eat, seven different kinds of pasta noodles––They’re on sale, Y/n––snacks ranging from potato chips to dried kale flakes, and spent more than enough time in the baking aisle.

You stood next to the cart that Shawn abandoned as you watched him walk up and down the aisle; front teeth biting down on his bottom lip in concentration as he leaned in close to the shelves with squinted eyes, reading the labels.

“You’re serious about this?” You warily looked at the way he was so concentrated.

“Of course,” he said unfazed as he turned his head over his shoulder to give you a duh look, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just so…” Your words trailed off as he whipped his head back around and bent his knees to squint at the labels on the bottom shelf, “Unexpected.”

Shawn let out a little triumphant ah ha as he picked up bread flour from the bottom shelf.  He shrugged his shoulders at you as he dropped the bread flour in the cart, “Everyone seems to be making sourdough bread.”

For what felt like the millionth time since you stepped foot in the grocery store, you let out a sigh, “That doesn’t mean you should.”

Shawn glared at you, “My mom said she would FaceTime me to help.”

Your eyes crinkled as you laughed out loud and pushed the cart down to the cleaning supplies aisle.  You picked up the limit of two packs of paper towels, two packs of toilet paper, but the store was unfortunately out of clorox wipes.  

After you picked up those essential supplies, you went down to pick up some bread, eggs, and then down to the milk.  You opened the fridge door, took a gallon of milk out, but before you could fully close the door, Shawn offered up his spaced-out thoughts.

“What’s the difference between one percent and two percent milk?”

“Shawn, I don’t know,” You turned around and saw his nose an inch away from the glass of the fridge, “And get your nose away––You don’t know who’s touched that surface.”

He moved his head back, but it was still too close then what you would’ve liked, “There’s so many types of milk…And like, non-milk’s…Have you ever tried pea milk?”

You now remembered why you always left Shawn at the house when you went food shopping.

“You usually like fat-free milk in your cereal–––”

“Shawn––Are you Shawn Mendes?”

Shawn pulled his head completely away from the glass and took a few steps toward you as to put some distance between the fans and him, “Uh––Yeah––Hi, how’s it going?”

Even with their masks on, you could tell that they were trying really hard to hold in their excitement.  While the three of them looked to be various ages, you could tell that they were sisters.

“We’re so good––”

“––As good as you can be in a pandemic––”

“Are you grocery shopping?”

The last question made you laugh because if being in a grocery store wasn’t obvious enough, you also had a cart full of food.  But you knew that they really admired Shawn’s music, that they were also probably nervous, and just trying to make conversation with him.

“Yeah,” Shawn smiled at them as he gestured to you, “Y/n forgot the list though––”

“You said you had it!” You cut him off and turned your attention to the fans, “He’s always so forgetful.”

“You guys are too cute––”

“––Yeah like your wedding pictures were to die for––”

“What song did you have your first dance to?”

Like how you directed your attention to the trio of girls, the youngest of the sisters directed this question at you.  

“Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis was our first dance song,” you blushed at the memory that was just a little under a year ago, as you looked up at Shawn, who was already looking down at you with idolization shining bright his eyes for you, “He stepped on my dress a few times.”

Shawn scoffed and the idolization in his eyes turned into bewilderment, “You stepped on my shoes.”

“Tomato tomahto,” you shot his words back at him.

“That is really funny––”

“––That song is so romantic––”

“Can we get a picture?”

The two older sisters apologized and silently berated the youngest sister saying how they probably didn’t want to be bothered while out; especially in a pandemic.  But Shawn reassured her that it was fine.

“Okay, so let’s…” Shawn was trying to strategize the safest way to take a picture with fans, “Let’s do this as socially distant as possible…Hmm…Okay so how about I get behind you girls and you aim the camera up so you’re able to see me in the distance?”

They all agreed with wide eyes and vigorous nods of their head, verbalizing their gratitude toward Shawn and how he was being so compromising and careful with the current situation.  You stood by the cart as you witnessed the oldest sister stretch her arm out so she was able to get her sisters and Shawn, who was standing more than six feet behind them, all into the picture.

“I really appreciate you girls being so understanding with taking the picture and not having it be…normal.  We’ve––” Shawn gestured his hand between you and him, “––been quarantining pretty intensely, but I still don’t want to risk you all––or my wife––getting infected.”

Just like the picture, the sister’s understood his concerns.

“Really, thank you so much–––”

“––This has been the highlight of my quarantine––”

“When are you releasing new music?”

You let out a laugh that your mask, thankfully, muffled as all the sisters continued to talk over each other, but were interrupted when the youngest would blurt out a question.

Shawn’s laugh was more hearty and audible to the fans, “I’ve been writing more,” Shawn gave you a side glance, “I’ve had some good inspiration lately.”

Once they all thanked Shawn again, they were trotting off to wherever they came from.  Shawn was silent for the remaining of the shopping trip, only offering his opinion every now and then when you asked him a question.  Checking out was a breeze, and soon enough you were walking outside with the bags, placing them in the back of Shawn’s car.

The two of you opened your doors, stepped into the car, but before you buckled up, you held your hand out to Shawn who was already squeezing hand sanitizer into his hand.  You thanked him as you rubbed your hands together, the alcohol smell pungent in the car.

“Alright there?” You clicked your seatbelt in place as Shawn started the car.

He placed a hand on the back of your seat as he looked through the back windshield, “Yeah, just…It was nice seeing some fans…Almost forgot I was famous for a minute.”

“You might’ve forgotten that you’re famous, but your fans will never forget you.”

He tried to contain the growing smile by biting the corner of his bottom lip as he looked over at you.  You offered him a shining smile and with a shake of his head and a small chuckle, he placed a hand on your thigh and gave you a slight squeeze.

The rest of the ride was silent and you pulled out your phone to scroll through Twitter while Shawn sang along to the radio.  You were mindlessly scrolling, not really paying attention to your timeline, but then you saw an update account retweet the picture of Shawn at the grocery store with fans.  You clicked on the profile and saw that there was a link to the full Instagram post.

You were directed from Twitter to the Instagram app and smiled at the picture’s caption.

Ran into Y/n and Shawn Mendes at the store! They were very cute, but Shawn forgot their food list!  Y/n kept teasing him. And they were both wearing masks!  And before anyone says anything about the pic, Shawn was more than 6 ft away and stood behind us.  He also said that he and Y/n had been quarantining intensely!  We love our quarantine King and Queen Y/n and Shawn Mendes ✨ 💖💫

You decided to humor yourself and read the comments.  And while almost all of them were positive, there were still some people commenting on how they thought you and Shawn weren’t actually married and it was still just for PR.

Someone did comment: What supermarket? I’m tryna meet Shawn 👀

But the fan, the oldest sister, who you met just under an hour ago at the supermarket responded: Sorry! Not going to give out their private info just in case they live in that area!

You smiled at the thoughtfulness of her response and hearted the comment.

Before you knew it, you were back at your house washing your hands, and bringing in the grocery bags.  You unpacked the groceries one by one, putting vegetables in the fridge as Shawn put the seven different kinds of pasta away in the pantry.

You walked back to where the grocery bags were on the floor, pulling out carrots and red peppers, when you saw a corner piece of white paper slightly sticking out from the top of your husband’s back pocket.

“Shawn?” You asked cautiously, not sure if your eyes were betraying you or not.

He peeked his head over his shoulder, “Yeah?”

Your eyes drifted down to his back pocket, “What’s that?”

Shawn followed your gaze and turned his head down to his backside, with a frown on his face, as he reached a hand into his pocket.  And just as you expected, he pulled out a crumpled white piece of scrap paper, the one you knew you wrote your food list on.

His eyebrows were scrunched together, reading over the list, and then his eyes widened when he realized what he was reading.  He looked up at you with an apologetic look, “Now also wouldn’t be the time to tell you that I forgot to buy pasta sauce?”

Your shoulders fell, just as fast as your mouth, as you looked at him with wild eyes, “You bought seven different kinds of pasta and didn’t buy any sauce?!”

taglist: @fallinallincurls @alina--jpeg @adelaidestreets @5-seconds-of-mendes @particularnarry @now-that-i-saw-u @turtoix​ @shawnsmutal @vinylmendes @mendesficsxbombay @lights-on-mendes

[kaziee2]

Keep me warm

A/N: Never ever experienced snow since i live in a tropical country but i did go to korea one time in december and the weather was freezing me like hell. Never been to New York , so I'm sorry for any inaccuracy. not proof read. This took too long to complete honestly :’)

Pairing: Natasha x reader

Warnings: sex joke?

Masterlist

Living in New York city was good the weathers was nice each year and there was so many places to go but there was always that one time of month where I absolutely hate and that was when it was winter. The freezing cold always got to me in the worst ways red nose, freezing lips, and cold freezing body, no amounts of clothing or sweaters was ever enough.

“I do not understand how you have not gotten used to the New York winter? Have you not live here for years now?” I looked over to Yelena who was sitting down on the couch of the living room of the compound wearing her casual clothes. 

“Before I moved here, I lived in a country where it was always hot, the times it was cold was when it either rained or sometime during a month.” You were freezing like no other even the fire place that was in the room was not enough to keep the cold out.

“I find it hilarious really.” Yelena snickers. 

“Just because your Russian doesn’t mean your susceptible to the cold Yelena.” You scoffed at her, trying to burry yourself more into the blanket to keep warm. 

“Where is Natasha anyway? She should be here by now.” You groaned, you had asked Nat to buy you food from the store since there wasn’t much to eat at the compound. 

“Calm down, she only left like 20 minutes ago and what can she even do to warm you up? I have given you all the thick blankets and you are wearing probably like three sets of sweaters and jackets.” Yelena remarks. 

“I can think of another way she can warm me up.” You smirk at her direction. she looked at you confused but then gags at the realization, Yelena glares at you “You are disgusting, I did not need to know of that.” You laugh at her at seeing her reaction.

It has almost been 30-minutes when Natasha finally came back and she was carrying bags of food from the store and with her was Kate Bishop who was following behind her. They walk over to the kitchen area and place down the bags of grocery. Natasha grabs a vodka bottle from the shelf and walks over to you and Yelena.

“Hello detka(babe).” She gives you a warm smile and sets down the vodka on the table and sits next to you. 

“Natty come here and keep me warm, I am very cold right now and could use my personal heater.” Nat laughs at you but obliged at your request but was having a hard time trying to hug you because of the thick layering of the blankets and sweaters that was over you.

“Maybe you should remove some of these clothing? Is it not hot being under all that clothing and blankets?” She tries to remove the blanket that was wrapped around you like a burrito but you just backed away from her and looked at her disapprovingly.

“No...Its cold.” You pouted at her. 

“Good luck sestra(sister), They can barely stand the cold and I still do not understand why.” 

“If I had a shoe right now, I would have thrown it at you right now.” You glared at her direction. 

At the mention of a shoe being thrown, Kate looks at your direction with a scared look. “Do not take that threat lightly, they can throw a shoe from a mile away and it would still hit you!” Kate informed. 

“You are the protégé of Hawkeye and you are scared of a shoe being thrown at you?” Yelena raises one eyebrow looking at her with a deadpan look.

“IT HURT OK?! I AM NEVER MAKING FUN OF THEM FOR THAT!” Kate then leaves the room going who knows where. 

“Good to know she learned her lesson.” You smirked. 

“kakogo khrena(what the fuck).” Yelena looks at you with a confused look.

You just shrugged under the blanket and scooted closer to Nat, in which she wrapped her arms around you despite it being hard with the blanket over you. 

“I am leaving. I do not need to see you both being lovey to each other before things gets bad.” Yelena stood up grabbing the vodka bottle from the table and left the room leaving you and Nat alone together. 

Natasha looks at Yelena’s retreating form with a confused looked. “It’s probably what I said earlier to her.” You chuckle.

“Hmm, and what exactly did you say to her, Moya lyubov'(My love)?” Nat asked. She probably already knew what I meant. 

“Nothing that concerns you that’s for sure.” You blushed before laying down on the couch still wrapped in your blanket. Nat let’s it go for now and ‘hums’ in agreement. 

You both just laid down on the couch leaning against each other in sweet content. 

“I love you Nat.” You whisper to her before closing your eyes.

“I love you too.” She replies before dozing off with you.

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

Only For You - h.s.

Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick. 

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally

A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!

Masterlist  ///  Send me an ask!

Harry is never sick.

He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.

It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.

He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.

He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.

Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.

“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.

“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.

“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”

You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.

“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.

In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.

“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.

“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.

“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.

“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.

“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.

He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.

He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.

His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.

He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.

By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.

“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.

When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.

“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.

“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.

“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.

Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.

And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.

All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.

Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.

Harry: Don’t come upstairs.

You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.

“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.

You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.

This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.

“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.

“Baby-“

“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).

“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.

“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.

“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”

“But-“

“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.

With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.

“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”

“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”

“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.

“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.

“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.

On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.

“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”

He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.

“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”

You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.

“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.

“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.

You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.

As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.

“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.

“Thank you for that, my love.”

Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.

“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.

“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.

“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.

You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.

“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.

“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”

At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.

So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.

You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.

“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.

Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.

“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.

He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.

“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.

By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.

“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.

He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.

“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.

“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.

As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.

You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).

“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.

Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).

He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.

You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.

“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.

“Only for you,” you say softly.

He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”

“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.

“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.

“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”

“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.

“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.

He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.

Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.

You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.

“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.

“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”

“Hmm?” he questioned.

“In your book, where were you up to?”

“Why?”

“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”

“Is that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.

“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.

“I want to,” you promised.

“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”

So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.

Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”

[early20sfailingplenty]

@tired-turbulance - It/its pronouns used predominantly (I did my best!) but if I couldn't figure out wording, then the pronouns they/he were used (edit: I think I used "you" more than anything; the second set of pronouns I was given weren't really used). Personalised with FULL permission!

TW; discussions of death of a young child/sibling (dialogue & narrative), grief & everything that entails, crying, emotional heaviness, mourning, swearing in the narrative & dialogue.

I have never experienced the loss of a sibling specifically but I have experienced the loss of a loved one, so please note that some inaccuracies in the portrayal of such a trauma may occur. I've done my best to be respectful and courteous within the narrative and I hope you're able to relate to this piece.

I’m so sorry for your loss, Tex.💔 I hope that this piece comforts you by even the smallest measure. All my love.💗

I listened to this while writing.

Word count: 2, 596.

It was no secret to anyone in Ambrose that Bo was a family man. It was how things were in the South; family was everything and there was nothing better than good food and good company. Bo absolutely adored his brothers, his dog and you, his truck, the mean food that his littlest brother Lester could cook up, and the town and the beautiful work which Vincent was doing to continue and finish their momma's legacy. Bo had everything and everyone he needed in Ambrose, which was one of the many reasons why he had never bothered to leave. So long as Bo had his family solidly intact, happy and healthy, that was all that mattered to him.

It was also no secret to anyone in Ambrose that Bo was an asshole. He was riddled in red flags after a lifetime of trauma which was so deep-set that it resided within his very bones and commanded so much of who he was. He was angry, manipulative, cold, ruthless, calculative, and once he got set on a certain path, there was no stopping him. He was also so full of love and he would go to the ends of the earth to keep his loved ones happy; he let Vincent play opera on Bo's radio when they left Ambrose together (and never alone!), he let Lester take Jonesy home with him sometimes when he was lonely and wanted some company but didn't want to stay the night in Ambrose. In short, Bo was a law unto himself, this every Sinclair knew well, but no matter how much time you spent with him, no matter how deeply or completely you loved him, he still on occasion managed to pull your perception of him out from under your feet. So much so did he surprise you during these times that you were always left to wonder if you would ever really know him at all.

One thing you absolutely knew for sure about him was that Bo was most definitely a family man. Meal times were regimented only to the extent that everyone had to be present (he cared not for when meals were made, only that when they were, everyone was there), and nights spent sprawled on the sofa all together watching shitty cable were frequent. Bo got the family together often and he couldn't think of a deeper pit of hell than one in which he would have to learn to live without even one of his siblings, most especially his twin. It had torn him in two on the day he had learned that you had experienced such a loss two years ago this day, and the depths to which it continued to haunt you every day. Healing wasn't linear and some days were better than others, but the grief was always there.

Your one constant companion; the ghost of your sibling.

Today was your brother's birthday, and you had been dreading it to say the least. Life had handed you complication after complication, tragedy after tragedy, and you had nothing left to give the world despite the fact that it wasn't going to stop taking from you any time soon. Oh, how tired you were. Bo could see your exhaustion written all over you; in the way you hadn't had a shower for a day longer than you probably should have left it, your dark hair starting to resemble Vincent's in the way it hung there. The purple shadows under your eyes and the wrinkling of bags from hours sacrificed to your thoughts with no rest for your exhausted body. The way you picked at your meals and the way you seemed to want to shrink inside of yourself, wanting most of all to hide from the world and everything it was doing to you. Oh, but you missed your brother, and though you felt like healing was within reach, you were wise enough to know that the anniversary of your brother's birthday was like the first one all over again.

It fucking hurt, but you knew not how to get through the day. You had so much to do; class work, you had to help around the house, help Lester cook dinner later on (if only so you could make sure no one got poisoned by him using a dirty towel again), you had to take care of your body's physical needs, you had to remember your brother and do those special things for him which no one knew you did... you had to carry on even with the depth of grief, pain, love, loss, sorrow and everything else within you, so complex are humans and so wide are their emotional ranges, but you couldn't. You had nothing left within you.

Bo was lucky enough to have never experienced the loss of a sibling, but he had such a fierce and sometimes toxic love for his brothers that he was able to empathise with you and put himself in your shoes. He wasn't a monster, contrary to popular belief - he was devastatingly, heartbreakingly human. Bo would rather die than be without his brothers, most especially Vincent, and you possessed such a raw strength in being able to survive after what you had witnessed your brother go through before he had succumbed to the cancer that Bo didn't know how else to help you. You lived every day with your grief, you lived every day as best as you could, knowing at too young an age what happened to humans, and Bo tried so hard to show you how proud he was of you for being able to face the world even with everything it had put you through and everything it was putting you through.

Today, he was almost at a loss on that.

"Awh, Tex," Bo sighed to himself as he caught you curled up on the sofa. Dishes were piled high in the kitchen, the washing bowl full of soapy water with tendrils of steam gently curling around each other in the air before they dissipated, and the television playing some shitty film which you obviously weren't paying attention to, if the glaze in your light eyes was any indication. "M'sorry, darlin'."

You looked over your shoulder at Bo but you were barely registering anything more than the cadence of his voice, that accent you knew and loved so well that sometimes your inner voice sounded like him. "For what?" A frown creased your brows and Bo sighed; he was never good with words, even when it counted the most, and if he wanted to dig himself a hole, he would do just as well with a shovel. he had seen enough of the world and its cruelties, so tortured and tormented was he, to know that sometimes words just couldn't and wouldn't cut it. You didn't need pretty words and Bo was sure that you had heard them all before.

Instead, he changed tactic and came to sit down beside you on the sofa. "How y'holdin' up?"

"I'm okay," You shrugged with one shoulder, letting your shoulder touch Bo's tentatively. "Surviving."

Bo nodded knowingly as he slung an arm over your shoulder and tugged you firmly against your side. He wouldn't deny you anything this day. He couldn't imagine the pain you were going through and the back of his nose and his icy blues stung when he tried, but you had enough tears of your own and he wouldn't add to anything you were already going through. You didn't need that. You just needed him to stay beside you, to tell you in his own way that you weren't alone. You never had to do things alone when you had Bo and he was more than capable of being strong enough for two, to alleviate some of the existential burden on your too young shoulders for just a time so that you could catch your breath before the world told you that it was taking something else from you. "I get it."

You wondered if he did, or if he was just saying it for its own sake, an empty platitude which in the long run meant nothing at all, but then you realised that he and his brothers were orphans. How his parents had died was a mystery to everyone except the brothers. You had never asked and they never told, but that didn't take away the loss of their parents. Just as nothing he could say to you would take away the loss of your brother. Bo could only stay with you and that was what he resolved to do.

"I just... can't think of why."

Bo's fingers, for once clean of car grease and oils, stroked along your shoulder in slow but fluid motions which told unspoken truths of his physical strength. His silence was the only thing he could offer to you - a place to vent, a place to scream and cry, a place to be wholly yourself and to know that you and your emotions were safe.

"He was only two." Your voice cracked on the third word and those tears, those fucking tears which hurt you more than they did anything else because once they started, they didn't stop until your face was blotchy and your eyes were red-rimmed and sore, began to pour down your cheeks, hot and heavy.

"That ain't no life," Bo mused, his arms sliding around your waist. He picked you up effortlessly and twisted you in his grasp with a small grunt of concentration as he set you down on his lap side on, so that you could tuck your legs up into your chest, your feet resting in the grove between the sofa cushions and the sofa arm, and get cosy in Bo's hold. It meant that if you fell asleep, he could carry you easily without jostling you too much, but it also meant that he could hug all of you to him and completely surround your body with his own.

You shook your head, to agree or disagree you knew not, but what could you say? You nuzzled your face into Bo's neck. Tears fell like rain and crashed down around you and Bo only shushed you. It wasn't the mocking 'tch-tch-tch' you had heard him use on his victims, but it was a slow, low and continuous noise which made the world fall away until you could see, feel, touch, was Bo himself. The tidal waves of grief were coming up around you but Bo wouldn't let you fall under; he had a hand stretched out into the proverbial waters to help you to remain afloat and he'd be damned if you drowned alone.

"I've got'cha, Tex, shush, it's okay." Bo held you tightly, one hand splayed in your dark hair, fingers flexing like you were Jonesy and he was scratching her behind the ears, and the other firmly holding you to him. He continued to murmur sweet nothings to you, though he did nothing to indicate that he wanted you to be quiet. He only stayed with you, held you and pressed kisses to the top of your head, your forehead, and anywhere else he could reach was soothed with the touch of his hand. Oh, but he longed to reach a hand within you and soothe you from the inside, but this was the best he could do.

Bo kept you cradled against him for so long that Vincent came looking for his eldest brother and saw the two of you together on the sofa. The shitty film you hadn't been watching, only staring at, was ended now and something else was playing, but no one in the room was paying any attention to it. Vincent's head tilted, his dark hair falling over his wax mask, and Bo shook his head just once at Vincent in warning to not push you. Vincent pointed at you, the top of his wax encrusted finger barely visible underneath his black hoodie sleeve, and then he pointed to his own heart - where is it hurt?

Bo looked at you in consideration. He didn't want to speak for you, but you were beginning to calm down, your sniffles quieter and your tears slower, and he didn't want to upset you all over again, so he said both in reference to you and to the situation at hand, "It's okay, Vincent." Then, he said after another brief pause, "Tex ain't goin' nowhere today; it's gonna stay wit' me."

Vincent approached you and you turned to look at him, feeling more than hearing his movements because of how quiet he always was. He bent down at the waist; you just looked so small curled into his twin like that, and his heart ached for you. Just like Bo, he would die without his brothers, so he couldn't imagine what you were going through and he didn't want to try, either. The only one who knew the full extent of what you were going through was you, such was the burden of a conscious mind. His hand came up and rested on the top of your head, his hand so large that his fingers curled over your head and into your hair on either side, and Vincent ducked down further so that he could rest his forehead against yours. A purely platonic gesture of solidarity and to mean, 'you're not alone.' It was one you didn't need conveyed to you by Bo - Vincent was shouting his support out to you in the best way he knew how, which was very similar to the way Bo did. The brother's love languages were strange, unconventional, but once you learned to read them and what they meant, you realised just how loud and intense they were in how they expressed themselves.

"S'real nice, Vincent." Bo murmured appreciatively. It occurred to him that he and his twin were probably coddling you and he wondered how you felt about it, but if you didn't like it, you would have moved and so he saw no issues in stopping. He didn't know what else to do or how else to be, and so he would take his cues from you and do his best to fulfil them. Bo loved you so much that it hurt him in the best way, and though he knew that you weren't okay and you wouldn't be for quite some time, he also knew that you were so strong that you had survived every day in the past that you thought you wouldn't. Your brother's birthday was no different; you would survive this too, you simply had to, and Bo wouldn't let you think you were alone for a single moment of it. He was there to love and to support you.

As Vincent backed away from you with a departing nod at you and a shift of his mask to denote a smile towards Bo, the eldest Sinclair pulled you back into his embrace and settled himself in for a proper cuddle. The dishes could wait. Chores could wait. Class work could wait. But you, oh... you couldn't. You were of the utmost importance to Bo, especially today on your brother's birthday, when everything hit you harder than it usually did, and nothing was more vital to him than making sure that you and your emotional and physical needs this day were met. Whatever you wanted this day, you would get, the brothers would make sure of that, because you were a Sinclair and that was how things worked in Ambrose.

[princecharmingwinks]

heres another fail date, emphasis on FAIL. he took me horse riding. i have a healthy respect towards horses as they are sentient beings, sherlock holmes said it best with 'Why would I want anything with a mind of its own bobbing about between my legs?' anyway i'll spare you the set up and hit you with the punch line. the horse galloped straight for the fence, suddenly stopped short, threw me off directly into said fence, and my helmet got stuck in the wire. the worst part? fence was electrified.

Firstly, I am soooo sorry for how long this took me. Life happened and apparently my studies think they are important? Ridiculous really haha. Anyway! Thank you for gifting me another fail date prompt. Had lots of fun with this one. Hope you like it too <3

Setting the scene: established sterek, alive hale family, hales have a farm in their extended family somewhere and Derek spends most holiday breaks there while growing up...enjoy!

---

"Remind me again how you convinced me to do this?"

Derek snorted as he continued bridling the horses, "I believe it was around the time I was making breakfast."

"Naked, Derek. You were making me breakfast naked. How am I to be held liable for what I agree to when I've got your glorious ass bending over to find cinnamon for my waffles?"

This time Derek really did laugh. He finished up with the horses and made his way over to Stiles, placing a kiss on his lips.

"It will be fun. And besides, it's the best way to show you everything. Wasn't it you who wanted to see where I grew up?"

"Fine." Stiles huffed. "But only because imagining baby Derek herding cattle is adorable."

Derek smirked, "Imagine what current me looks like."

Images of a shirtless Derek swinging around a rope while on horseback flickered across Stiles' mind. He made a bee-line for the smaller horse without further comment.

~~

While Stiles didn't love the idea of horseriding, the scenery was making up for it. Both the acres that the Hales had owned and worked for several generations as well as seeing his boyfriend so at peace. Derek was a natural, even with being away from the farm for months. Stiles on the other hand was a city-boy through and through so while he might respect horses, riding one was another story.

He held the reins tightly in his grip and tried to pretend he wasn't freaked out.

"Hey, deep breaths. Horses can smell fear." Derek teased. "I thought you said you liked all animals?"

"I have an appropriate level of respect for horses. But why would I want anything with a mind of its own bobbing about between my legs?"

Derek rolled his eyes, "Come on, Holmes, we're almost back at the house. Dad promised to keep mum as far away from the kitchen as possible so I'm actually looking forward to dinner."

As they neared the homestead, Stiles saw some mini silhouettes crowding onto the front patio. He couldn't make out faces but could already guess who the spectators were.

"Introducing you to the twins was a terrible idea." Derek mused. "I'm starting to think they might like you more than me."

Stiles grinned. Of course he would hit it off with the twins. They were the offspring of Laura, who was practically his partner in crime when teasing Derek.

"That's because they like that I can do this!" Stiles let go on the reins and twirled his fingers in the air.

"Stiles, don't-"

It was too late for Derek's warning. The moment his spark shot out in bursts of mini fireworks from his fingers, the horse bolted.

Stiles yelped and clung on for dear life. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed this wouldn't kill him.

"Pull on the reins, Stiles!" He heard Derek yell somewhere off in the distance.

Right. Stiles wasn't a damsel in distress. He was a human who ran with wolves. He could stop a runaway horse, right?

Without acknowledging his surroundings, Stiles pulled the reins with all his might. In her mercy, the mare did stop. Except the abrupt halt forced Stiles forwards and over the horse. For a moment, he experienced what it was like to fly...and then fall.

Stiles' helmeted head wedged into the wired fence that the horse had suddenly stopped in front of.

Stiles remembered muttering, "Well least things can't get worse." Just before a bolt of electricity shot up his spine.

~~

When Stiles came to, it was to a ceiling of eyes. Derek's he recognised instantly, before his brain registered the others belonged to the twins. He was lying on the soft grass, thankfully away from the evil fence line.

"That was awesome! Do it again, Stiles!" Nate cheered.

"Yeah, do it again!" Ruby joined in.

"Give it a rest you two troublemakers. Stiles just got himself electrocuted." Derek huffed, shooing them away towards the house before returning his focus to Stiles. "You ok, baby?"

Derek had removed Stiles' helmet and out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw the blank ink lines tracing up the wolf's arm. So that's why he wasn't in agony. Yay for supernatural boyfriends and their ability to take away pain!

"Told you horseriding was a bad idea." Stiles smiled at his boyfriend's frown, "I'm fine, sourwolf. Just got a bruised pride and possibly tailbone."

Derek kissed his forehead and rubbed his stubbled against Stiles' cheek in a scent-mark.

"Next time no Spark Shows while on a horse, alright?" He said, helping Stiles slowing to his feet.

"There won't be a next time on a horse. Sherlock was on to something." Stiles dusted the grass off his shirt and jeans.

"You sure there's nothing you want bobbing between your legs?" Derek whispered against his earlobe.

A ripple of arousal slithered down Stiles' spine.

"Maybe just one exception."

"Aunty M said if you two don't come inside now, she's gonna eat all your roast beef!" Nate yelled from the patio.

"Ok, pocket that thought for later because there is no way I'm letting Malia eat my hard earned dinner." Stiles grinned, "You'll have to carry me babe to make it in time."

Derek rolled his eyes but understood the seriousness of the situation. His cousin never bluffed about food. He scooped Stiles up and they took off towards the house

---

Ta da! Ok so I picked Ruby as a nod of recognition to my favourite headcanon / casting of Laura (Ruby in Once Upon a Time). I know Malia is a cousin but I'm going with the theory that all the next generation call her Aunty M because...why not haha. I have never been electrocuted so please forgive any inaccuracy on that. Hope you weren't too badly injured in the real situation, concussed dragon! As always, thanks for popping in!! <3

[theowhy]

pray for the wicked

1.2k, theo-centric, implied thiam, rated T

warnings: outsider POV, non-graphic violence, (probably inaccurate) religious references

last night, my gf inadvertently inspired an idea of theo in a confessional booth, and the concept of an outsider POV fic about that wouldn’t leave me alone until i banged this little thing out. i’m not very religious and am a terrible catholic, so pls bear with any (undoubtedly numerous) inaccuracies lmao.

-

-

Elias jolts in his seat at the sound of the confessor’s side door slamming shut.

There’s a clamor on the other side of the wall separating the two chambers of the confessional booth. He can’t see anything, of course, with the screen on the confessor's side covering the grated window, so he merely frowns and furrows his brow, sets down the book he was reading. These nights tend to be long, you see.

But Elias must be present and ready at all times, so despite the clamor and the banging and the disconcerting sound of panting on the other side, he says calmly, “Welcome.”

The panting continues on for a moment. Elias waits patiently.

Then, a boy’s voice, rough and low: “Shit, how does this go again?”

Elias raises his brows.

“Uh. Bless me Father, for I have sinned?” the boy tries again. “My last confession was… never? Nineteen years, if that’s how this works.”

Nineteen. It isn’t so long ago that Elias has forgotten what being nineteen was like, making his way through seminary school. Though he suspects his background may be different from whoever it is on the other side of the wall, who hisses and murmurs, “Never gonna get this bloodstain out. Great.”

Now that Elias thinks of it, he can smell the metallic tang of it, the scent quickly filling the booth.

Alarmed, he says, “Are you bleeding? Do you need an ambulance?”

“Nah.” A sigh, the sound of the cushioned chair on the other side creaking. “I’ll be good in a few minutes. Just need some time to hide—uh, I mean, confess.” A pained grunt. “This wolfsbane is doing nothing for me.”

The more words he speaks, the more confusion Elias feels. But… he is here to serve a purpose. And he will stick to it.

He says, “And what have you come to share tonight?”

Silence. Even his breathing is imperceptible. Elias begins to wonder if he managed to slip out of the booth entirely when, finally, the boy snorts. “Where do I start?”

“Well, what weighs on your heart the heaviest?” Elias asks.

That earns him a laugh. Elias doesn’t have the faintest idea why, but he’s beginning to realize he can’t expect anything to go the way he imagines.

The boy says, “Say, Father. What if this heart isn’t mine?”

Elias blinks. “Can I ask what it is you mean?”

The confessor’s chair creaks, and the boy’s voice is closer this time to the window between them.

“What if this heart doesn’t belong to me? What if I took it from someone else?”

Elias takes a moment to consider it. A metaphor, surely—one that he’s too frazzled and too confused to fully unravel at this time, but he ventures a guess, anyway. “Do you think the feelings you experience do not belong to you as well?”

“I’m not sure how much of myself does belong to me.”

The words are glib, lilting through the shallow space between them. Elias tilts his head, and while this boy has no reverence at all for the booth, he thinks he can understand what he’s getting at.

“Then you feel you have little control over yourself,” Elias says.

A hum. “Think you’re getting somewhere, Father,” the boy says.

“And that troubles you?”

There’s a clack, clack, clack against wood, fingernails tapping a rhythm. “Control isn’t the problem. I’m good at that.”

“Then… experiencing those impulses in the first place.”

The tapping stops for a beat, then continues. “Hey, you’re pretty good at this stuff.”

“What impulses are you experiencing?”

“Man, all business, huh?” The boy makes a pained hiss, followed by the sound of something metallic pattering to the ground. “Finally. Dumb bullet.”

“You’re certain you don’t need an ambulance?” Elias says again, allowing some desperation to come through.

“I said I’m fine. Anyway.” A breath blown, like being wounded is a minor inconvenience. “Impulses. Well, some of the worst ones don’t bother me anymore. I’ve apologized to Scott for that one time. Though, uh, it’s an ongoing apology. I’m working on it.”

Elias nods. “Penance is a crucial step in the path of forgiveness.”

“Right. Hence me coming to save their sorry asses all the time.” The words are a little more slurred. There’s a thump on the other side of the wall, a hand slamming against it. “Shit, this hurts. Sorry.”

Elias rises from his seat. “I really think you need medical attention.”

“No! Christ, you can’t make me go back to a hospital if you dragged me there blind and gagged.” Elias blanches. The boy continues, “Just—keep talking, okay? I’m almost done. I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise.”

Not exactly convincing. But something compels Elias to sit down, anyway. Clearly this one is… troubled. If he can help somehow, then perhaps the medical attention can come after.

So Elias swallows and says, “You said you’re always saving someone. Who?”

Another sigh, the heaviest one so far. “That idiot. That ridiculous, headstrong, beautiful dumbass. His eyes are blue. Like, real blue. You know?”

Elias can’t say he does, but. “What makes you feel you need to save him?”

“Because—” A pause. Then a breath, shaky. “You were talking about impulses? His middle name is Impulse. He just rushes in without thinking about the danger, the numbers, a way out. Someone needs help so he goes. Period. I have my work cut out for me.”

“You want to protect him,” Elias says. He doesn’t need to phrase it as a question.

A laugh again, smaller, more fragile. “God knows why.”

“There is a path for us all; one that He knows. Being here now, confessing, is the first step. And it sounds to me like you’re already trying to do penance.”

“Good to know there’s a twelve step program to this whole thing.” He sounds distracted, and there’s that smell of blood again, making Elias feel sick. Another patter of metal. A sigh of relief. “Finally. Just the wolfsbane, now.”

“Wolfsbane is poisonous,” Elias says.

“You’re telling me.” A clicking sound, followed by the smell of gas. It can’t be—

“Bless me Father for one more thing,” the boy says. “Is this what they call a venial sin versus a mortal one?”

“Fire is strictly forbidden in the booth.” Elias shoots up from his seat. If he calls 911, he can get paramedics and the fire department both.

“It’ll just take a second.” The boy takes a few quick breaths, as if bracing himself. Then there’s the sound of something igniting, the smell of burning.

The boy chokes down a shout. Wood splinters on the other side.

Elias is bolting halfway out the door when the boy says, “Stop! No, no, I’m good.”

He sounds exhausted. Elias is feeling so, himself.

“What on Earth is happening?” he pleads, more to God than anyone else.

“Relax. It’s over now.” The boy still sounds pained, his breathing labored, but he isn’t slurring his words anymore. An acrid smell fills the booth now, something singed and herbal, on top of all the blood.

Elias squeezes his eyes shut.

“That’s better,” the boy says. “And by this time, hopefully the hunters have lost my trail.” The chair creaks again.

Elias jolts when the screen over the window rises.

Smoke trails through the grate. The boy’s face appears on the other side: dark hair falling over his forehead, framing his eyes that glow a bright, lurid yellow.

“Thanks,” he says, with a small grin. Elias swears his teeth are pointed. “And by the way, I’d be careful tonight, Father. Full moon’s out.”

He’s gone with one quick movement, the confessor’s side door slamming shut. The smoke and blood stay.

[harryhandstan]

gotta get better

gif credit

This concept has been in my head for a while now and it took me like a month to write and edit and just get it all out! I had surgery two years ago today and it was one of the most emotional, stressful experiences of my life simply bc I’m just a big baby lol. This is just something to celebrate that day and the fact that I’m still so happy it’s all over! Fluffy af as usual cause that’s all I know how to write. :)

Thankful to @bfharry​ and @bopbopstyles​ for not only inspiring me with their amazing writing but pushing me towards finishing this and reaching (even going over) my personal 5k goal! I appreciate you both so much!!

I recently saw a post about tagging triggers properly so I’m gonna do it that way but if I do it wrong or it doesn’t work PLEASE let me know and I will fix it immediately (just want to be sure all my bases are covered)

// needles tw, pills tw (prescription), anxiety tw // (if I missed anything I should’ve tagged please please let me know!!) and I’m sure there are some medical inaccuracies bc that whole day is kind of a blur for me haha 

as always likes/rbs/comments are welcome but absolutely not necessary :) 

final word count: 7.1k

//

"Y'nervous, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Bout to chew your finger off. I know there can't be much of a nail left."

Your hand drops back to your lap. You hadn't even realized you were doing it. A bad habit of the nervous child you thought you'd long forgotten. He offers his left hand and you accept it, thumb swiping over the cross painted across his skin. He knows it's one of your favorites and you're thankful for the comfort. You don't know how many times he'd teased you about how you would eventually rub it off one day and he'd have to get it redone.

"S'a routine surgery, I bet they do them all day. You're gonna be fine."

You'd been over all this a thousand times before. Harry had to ban you from looking up the procedure online at one point. You became obsessive with worry. What if you're still awake when they cut into you and you can't talk? What if you feel everything and can't tell anyone? What if you don't wake up? He had shot down every one of your horrifying theories.

"How much longer before they take me back?"

"Nurse said it would be about 10 minutes when we checked in. Shouldn't be too much longer. Want me to check the board again?"

Checking in had only consisted of a nurse taking your name and giving you your bracelet for the day with an ID number. The number would help Harry stay updated on where you were throughout the whole process. The "board" was simply a tv mounted to the wall that frequently cycled through each patient's last name and ID number.

"No, no," You cling to his sleeve like a desperate child, "Don't leave again. She said they wouldn't update anything until I went back anyway."

Harry had left you only briefly when you first arrived. Hands in his pockets, wandering around like a lost child around the big, open expanse of the waiting room. He stayed where you could see him and the whole time you had anxiously chewed your bottom lip until he returned. You hated it, but you knew he was just as nervous as you. So you let him have that moment. To check his surroundings and release some of the nerves so he could come back to you, calm and cool as always.

When the nurse does call your name, you almost jump out of your skin. You freeze, unable to move. Harry stands and flashes the nurse a quick smile before turning back to you and offering his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't do this, H. I feel like I'm gonna throw up if I move."

"You're not, promise. Remember those breathing exercises we practiced? Do those. C'mon..deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out. Do it while we walk."

Slow deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out.

You remember how silly you felt the first time you did it. How it made you giggle at first. This is never going to work. But eventually it did. Anytime you got upset or started to overthink about this day, Harry made you stop whatever you were doing and sit down. Breathe.

It was a little difficult to do while walking. Your body wanted to pause your steps when your breath paused, but Harry tugged you along, you almost hiding behind him until you made it through a set of heavy wooden doors to a small space with a hospital bed and a curtain drawn in front of it.

//

The IV had had been your biggest dread, the fear overriding any logic that it was something you needed, instead of something the nurses decided to do simply to torture you.

Your face twists into a wince of pain when the needle goes into your vein, Harry standing over you, his face a mirror of your own as you squeeze his hand. When the nurse pulls away with a triumphant "all done!" you flash a look of surprise between your arm and Harry.

"Not that bad, eh? Think ya overreacted a bit about how bad that was gonna be?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to shoot him a nasty look for teasing you.

"Maybe a little." You pinch your index finger and thumb together, indicating a minimal amount.

"Tiny bit more, babe," Another nurse appears from around the curtain and he laughs before speaking to her, "it's all she's worried about all morning."

"Honestly that's everyone's least favorite part. The rest of the day should be aces if you can handle that!"

Harry settles himself into a chair while the nurse goes through a myriad of questions. Any other surgeries? Allergies to medications you know of? Do you smoke? Drink?

Harry snorts when you say no to drinking, but quickly clasps his hand over his mouth when the nurse's head snaps to look between you and him.

"The occasional drink is fine, no worries. Nothing this morning though, right?"

"No, ma'am."

Your eyes meet his, a mischievous grin still plastered across his face. He mumbles a quick "sorry" while you try to pull your concentration back towards the nurse and the remainder of her questions.

"Alright, time for the good stuff," she passes you a small clear cup with two white pills, "First one is just something to keep you calm and relaxed, second one is to prevent any pain after the procedure. They'll give you something to make you sleepy when you get to the OR, but this might make you a bit loopy for now."

"This should be fun." Harry claps his hand in front of him, rubbing them together quickly. He leans forward in his chair, as if ready for a show.

"Yeah? Is she a happy drunk?"

Harry had only ever experienced you high on any sort of prescription medication once, almost a year ago when you went on a girl's trip with your best friend and twisted your ankle in an attempt to make it back to her car after dinner out one night. You calling him from an unknown ER in the middle of the night had terrified him enough to start packing a bag to fly to you before your best friend could grab your phone and assure him you were fine and she would put you on a plane home to him in two days as planned. He had teased you endlessly when he picked you up from the airport and for the next few days afterwards as you limped around on a bruised, ACE bandage wrapped foot.

But after too many wine drunk nights to count, he had enough stories to humiliate you with and the thought of any one of them being told now had you sinking further into the hospital bed.

"You could say that. Last time she.." His voice trails off at the sight of your eyes, wide as saucers, begging him to stop.

The nurse grins, her face kind and sympathetic to your silent cry for help.

"We're a little behind schedule this morning so it may be about 20 minutes before they come transport you, okay?" You nod, the effects of the sedative already working its way through your system, "Keep an eye on her? Make sure she behaves?"

"Yeah, I got her. We'll be fine, thank you so much." He's closer now, standing next to you again, a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your shoulder. You manage a thumbs up and a sleepy "thank you" as an affirmation that you appreciate all she's done for you.

"You're more than welcome. You'll have a different set of nurses in recovery but if you need anything until they come get you, just let me know, alright?"

"We will, thanks." His thumb ghosts across the front of your collarbone, the lightest of touches to soothe you, his eyes still focused on the nurse.

"Good luck! You're gonna do just fine, I promise."

The second she's around the curtain, Harry nudges you lightly, "Scoot."

"Huh? What do you mean..Harry, there's not enough room for you in this bed." Your head feels too light to deal with his nonsense now.

"Yeah there is if you scoot. C'mon. Hurry before we get caught. M’supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember? Gotta make sure you don't fall outta the bed."

He's already wedged himself next to you, trying to make his tall frame fit into the limited space.

You move over as much as you can, the rail of the bed poking into your hip.

He tucks one arm behind your head, the other one thrown behind his own as a cushion.

"You feel more relaxed now, lovie?"

You scrunch down in the bed, just enough that you can tuck your head under his other arm, "A little. I don't feel sleepy enough though," Your eyes dart up, seeking the comfort of his face, "I'm scared, H."

"I know you are, baby," the hand behind your head shifts to cup around your arm, pulling you closer, "Just pretend you're home with me and we're taking a nice little nap together, yeah?"

"But you won't be there with me, not really."

"I'll be there when you wake up though. First thing you'll see when you open your eyes, promise." He runs a finger along the curve of your nose, "Close your eyes. Try to sleep, hmm?"

You shake your head, turning towards him to hide your face in his side, inhaling his scent.

"Want me to turn the light off? Would that help?"

"No," You toss the arm that isn't trapped between you two over him, holding tightly to his shirt, "Stay."

"Alright, then. We'll just wait," He tilts his head to rest closer to yours, "Have you thought about what you want to eat after?"

"Not really. M'too nervous to think about food."

"We'll think of something good. Whatever you want."

"You're gonna get us in trouble, better scoot back to your corner like a good boy." Your words come out unintentionally slurred and you weakly push yourself up and away from him as he slides off. He doesn't sit though, just stands near you, an anxious look flashing across his features.

"Hey, c'mere. Gonna be fine, routine surgery, remember?" You stretch your arms out to him, a plea to be near his warmth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. You tug lightly at the sleeve of his cardigan, a feeble attempt to pull him closer. He indulges you, his brow still creased with distress.

"Know ya gonna be fine, just hate you have to go through it at all. Wish I could take it from you without all this." He gestures to the IV he knows you despise so much.  

"You have helped take it from me. All the sleepless nights you spent up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick. All the days after when I was too drained to get out of bed. You were there for as much of it as you could be. And you pushed me to go see the surgeon in the first place. You've helped me more than you give yourself credit for."

His fingers intertwine in yours, the pad of his thumb soothing over the front of your hand.

"Make sure you keep my phone with you, my mom will probably call you every 30 minutes for updates." A yawn stretches across your face, "She has your number too, bullied me into giving it to her last week when I called to tell her about the surgery."

He nods, patting his pocket to make sure both phones are still nestled there together.

Another yawn threatens to escape and you muffle it this time, more content to fight sleep to stare at Harry; his hair a perfect mess of curls under the harsh brightness of the hospital lighting. His face is more relaxed now, his eyes still focused on your fingers tangled together. He catches you, your eyes glazed over, too heavy and threatening to close.

"Darling, please close your eyes. I can see how tired you are," His fingertips sweep delicately over your nose again, as if he was lulling a baby to sleep, "You don't have to stay awake for me."

"Closing my eyes for just a second, alright? Not because you told me to though. I want to. Wake me up in 2 hours, don't wanna sleep too long."

Your eyes are already drifting closed, the last thing you hear is a chuckle; effortless, light as air, "I will, promise."

Soft kisses pressed across your face, "Sweet dreams, love."

//

His voice is the first you hear as you wake up in the dimly lit recovery room. Well, really it was more like a big cubicle, another space with a curtain drawn in front of it. Even with the floaty, dreamy feeling flowing through your system, you can still detect the worry in his voice.

"Harry?" It takes your mind a minute to catch up and process where you are and what had happened.

Oh yeah. Surgery day. No more annoying gallbladder. No more sleepless nights. Freedom to eat what you want and not be haunted by nausea and sickness from what you ate.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Suddenly a nurse in bright blue scrubs is there, way too animated and loud at the moment, "Pain scale 1-10?"

"I don't have any pain. Zero." You're aware of how high you sound and a giggle escapes through the haze. That earns you a smile from Harry, one that lights up his whole face and makes his dimples shine through.

"Awesome! Well then as soon as you're good and awake we're gonna get this IV out and go over some paperwork for both of you to sign. I want you to drink something for me too, so what would you like?"

You request a ginger ale and as soon as the nurse leaves to retrieve it for you, Harry scoots the chair he's sitting in as close to the bed as possible.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours," He absentmindedly fixes your hair, looping various curls back around to their respective places, "Took a little longer than expected, you had a small infection so they had to make sure it hadn't spread."

"How much longer?"

"Long enough you had us all slightly worried." His hand trails down your cheek to cup your chin gently, urging you to look at him, "You sure you're not in pain? Now's not the time to do that stubbornly brave thing you do where you pretend nothing's wrong."

"I feel fine, really. Just a little tired, ready to go home."

He studies your face, trying to find any trace of dishonesty. When he's satisfied you're being truthful, he stands and extracts your phone from his pocket.

"Already talked to ya mum, but your co-workers were all texting you, asking how you were. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself, didn't know how much detail you would want to give them."

"Did you give my mother all the details? Infection and everything?"

"Um, no. I knew better than to do that. Promised her you would call when I got you settled at home."

"You promised or she demanded?"

"Okay..she politely asked that you call her when we get home."

"That sounds more like her." You roll your eyes, pushing yourself so you're sitting more upright in the bed.

"She just worries about you." He adjusts the pillow behind you, fluffing and tucking it where you direct it, against your lower back.

"I know. I'll FaceTime her when we get home to prove I'm alive."

"It's been a while since we've seen them, maybe we should plan a visit?" He plops himself back in the chair, leaning back as far as he can go; hands behind his head, eyes closed. You'd both gotten very little sleep the night before, you were too anxious and he was too gracious to let you suffer alone.

"Oh please, I'm lucky I even got time off to do this. My boss would never allow another break so soon."

"Maybe for the holidays?"

"Maybe..but only if you can go with me, you know they love you more than me by now anyway."

"They do not," He peeks one eye open at you, "They love us both equally."

You shoot a quick text to your co-workers, using the group chat between the few of you to make it easier.

I'm out! Feeling okay for now but that might change later lol

The nurse is back, apologizing for taking so long, "We've been so behind all day, it's crazy busy. I had to wait for your doctor to sign off on your release." She hands you a can of ginger ale, white bendy straw already poised and ready for you.

"Just need you to sign here," She holds a clipboard and a pen out to you and you balance the can dangerously in one hand while you scribble something that resembles your signature. Close enough. She gestures for you to pass the clipboard to Harry, "His signature goes under yours, just says he's responsible for you for the next few hours until everything wears off."

"This means I'm the boss, right?" He leans over to grab the board, a wink thrown in your direction. He's enjoying himself way too much at the thought of being in control of you for the next few hours. Smug son of a bitch.

She takes the clipboard back and pulls off a yellow sheet of paper, "This is just your copy of what you signed, and also has post op instructions for your bandages. Your prescription's been sent to the pharmacy, and there's a brief summary of pain management information on the bottom there just in case you need it."

"Thank you." You transfer it right to Harry's waiting hand, knowing he'll be the one surveying every word, making sure you follow everything to the letter.

"I know you mentioned earlier having a little bit of a drive home, so probably once you get her some food and pick up her prescriptions, it'll be time for another round of meds. Okay?" She turns to you again, "I know it sounds silly, but one of the most important things after this particular surgery is lots of walking. Otherwise you'll be miserable. Rest for a while when you get home, then get up every 10 minutes or so until bedtime. Don't let her skip that part, alright? Very important."

"I heard you weren't a big fan of this thing," She nods towards the IV in your right forearm, "So this'll probably be the best part of this whole process for you. We'll get this out and then you can get changed and we'll get someone to wheel you down and out of here, alright? Don't look and you won't even know when it's gone."

"Hey, think about what you want to eat, huh? Your first freedom meal. Yay!" He slips his hand into your left, raising your connected hands victoriously. You didn't think it was possible for you to love him anymore until this moment. The way he could so easily erase your fear was one of his many gifts you adored him for, "What are we having, babe?"

You don't even hesitate before answering, "Pizza, from Milano's. It's my favorite, other than that one place in Italy you took me to. Please? Oh and one of their salads, with the little bread knots on the side!"

He glances at the nurse, awaiting a reprimand for your meal choice.

"As your nurse, I feel I should remind you that while you can have anything you feel like eating, we usually recommend something small and light at first. Broth or soup with some toast, maybe. The salad may be fine, but the pizza might be a little heavy. Taking it slow would be best. But everyone is different."

"So..just cheese then? Maybe some mushrooms?"

You let your head fall back against the pillow, a foggy haze settling over you, "Plain cheese, no mushrooms."

"Alright, sounds good. Why don't I go call it in and pull the car around? Meet you out front?" He leans closer, a quick peck to your cheek before pulling his hand loose from yours and turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," You attempt to tug at his wrist, but fail, your brain still set to slow-motion. He takes pity on you and returns to your side, "Let's eat there. It's in the mall so we can window shop after we eat."

"You sure? You still seem a bit tipsy, honey."

You don't feel tipsy. Just tired, and hungry. Very hungry. As if on cue, your stomach makes a remarkably loud noise; an objection at not being fed for the past 12 hours.

"Alright, alright, calm down. " You let out an embarrassed groan when you realize he's talking to your stomach, "We'll eat there."

He kisses you again, closer to your mouth, "Missed."

"I did, huh?" He chuckles, close enough to your face now your noses are almost touching, "Let's try again."

This time his lips meet yours and you know he missed on purpose the first time by how amused he looks when he pulls away.

"One more for luck?" You can't resist letting the back of your hand wander over his face, before resting the palm of your hand against his cheek.

"I think I can handle that," He smiles before landing another quick peck to your lips, "Be good for the nurse while I'm gone. I'll have the getaway car ready in 10, yeah?"

//

You're certain Harry would have fed you if you would have let him, right here in the mall food court in front of everyone. But you refuse, insisting even, on carrying your own tray to the table. He chuckles when you pull your phone out of your sweater pocket to take a picture of your food, quickly uploading it to Facebook.

He watches you closely as you take the first bite, even pulling his own phone out to sneak a photo of you when you temporarily close your eyes to appreciate the indulgence of being able to eat one of your favorite foods again; free from that anxious feeling of whether or not it would settle right with your body later. You open your eyes the very moment after he captured the image.

"Harry!"

"You just looked so happy! I couldn't help it. You know I'll never post it anyway. Snagged a few of you earlier in your little blue cap they made you wear too." He flips back through to show you. You try to snatch the phone away, but he's too quick to pull his hand back and stash his phone in his pocket.

"When??"

"After you fell asleep, right before they came to take you back."

He takes a bite from his own generous slice of pizza in front of him before gesturing to your tray, "How is it?"

"Amazing. Even better than before, if possible."

His smile is bright, loving the satisfaction of seeing you actually enjoy food again.

Your plan to walk around the mall was cut short, you could barely make it through one store without yawning. You cling to Harry most of the way back to the car, his arm securely wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You doze off on the drive home, and when your eyes flutter open you find him opening the passenger door, offering a hand to help lift you out of the car and up the stairs into the house. Your foot stumbles on the first step, failing to make contact and you almost fall back.

"Easy," He giggles, an arm thrown behind your back to catch you before encouraging softly, "Try again."

When he's confident you're stable enough on your feet, he lets go to unlock the door.

You're greeted by a bouquet of flowers, a colorful arrangement of roses and lilies from Harry's band mates. You immediately recognize Sarah's handwriting on the card and make a mental note to shoot everyone a thank you text later. You don't know if it's the medication still in your system, the exhaustion of the day, or the overwhelming amount of love that makes you teary eyed.

Harry stands behind you as you admire the flowers and the card, arms curving around to hug you, careful of the large bandage on your upper abdomen and the two smaller steri-strips on your right side.

"How did they know pink roses were my favorite?"

"They love you, peach." He rests his chin on your shoulder, "Besides, you've only mentioned growing up with a pink rose bush in your Nanna's garden about a hundred times."

"I always loved it. Still do."

Your mind travels back to your earliest memories spent there; summers when you practically lived at the small house on the hill. Helping pick tomatoes and peppers from the garden, too warm afternoons spent with a book in your lap under the shade of a peach tree, your grandfather's corny jokes and loving smile. Your Nanna's too generous portions of food contributing to the few extra curves you still carried with you to this day.

You don't even notice the tears at first. They slip down your cheeks and land on his arm. Once you realize, you try to quickly wipe them away, but Harry sees.

"Hey..c'mon, I think your high's wearing off a bit, bub. Pajamas, meds, nap. Sound good?" He turns you to face him, using the sleeve of his shirt to brush away any tears that still linger at the corner of your eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 3..why?"

"No nap. I'll never sleep tonight, and you know how grumpy I get when my sleep schedule is thrown off." Even with your declaration of not wanting a nap, you can't help but rub your eyes, a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. Any resolve Harry had to try to convince you to nap melts away. A smirk on his face, he knows you'll eventually crash later, most likely on his chest or in his arms. He's content to let you be stubborn for now.

"Okay, then. New plan. Pajamas, meds, movie. Better?"

"Better. You get everything ready and pick the movie while I change?"

"You don't wanna pick the movie?"

You wave him off, already shuffling towards the bedroom, "You're the boss today, remember?"

You take your time gathering what you need to get cozy for the rest of the day, selecting an oversized, well-worn tie dye t-shirt and leggings from your dresser. You even take a moment to dip into Harry's extensive sweatshirt collection, grabbing your favorite one. It's amazingly soft and still smells of him, a faint scent of his cologne and well..just Harry. You couldn't imagine anything more comforting.

In your pursuit to feel more lucid, you venture into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face. The cool water instantly refreshes you and pushes you closer to feeling like yourself again. Wanting your hair out of your face, you pluck a scrunchy from your shared collection of hair accessories. You quickly recognize that your arms still have that too heavy feeling of unconsciousness and after a few attempts to gather your curls into some sort of up-do, you give up and loop the accessory around your wrist to try again later.

Harry senses your frustration when you find him in the kitchen, two small green pill bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. He's already filled your favorite cup with ice water, and you gratefully take it and drink from it.

"What's wrong?" His brow creases with concern and you feel guilty for making him worry over something so silly.

"Nothing..just wanted my hair up out of my face but my arms wouldn't cooperate." You try to laugh it off to put him more at ease, "It's not a big deal."

You know it's only the weariness of the day still making you feel so emotional, clear-headed you would not be upset over something so small.

"Here. Let me try." He slides the scrunchy from your wrist and pulls you closer to him, moving behind you to gently work long fingers through your hair, gathering it all in a loose ponytail on top of your head before securing it around a few times with the scrunchy.

You let your shoulders drop with a deep sigh when he's done, it was such a simple thing, but it made you feel so much lighter. He spins you around to face him, a charming gleam of pride at his handiwork adorning his face, "Too tight?"

"No. Much better. Thank you, Harry. You take such good care of me always, but today..I don't know what I would've done without you. I made such a big fuss and probably made you miserable with all of my worrying." You're suddenly very aware that you are rambling, but when you catch a glimpse of his face, his smile is wide. So bright that the skin around his eyes is crinkling.

He leans towards you, lips stopping whatever words may have come next, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer in a soft, warm embrace. When he pulls away, his eyes bore right into yours, and your heart swells with more love than you could ever imagine having for one person. But he wasn't just any person. He was your person, your whole word staring back at you.

"I'm SO proud of you. You've been so strong today, always knew you had that strength in you, but seeing you take that leap of faith..doing something you knew you should despite your fear, that's all you, love. I can't take any credit for that. You've made me anything but miserable, trust me."

His face is still close enough to yours that you nudge forward, pressing your forehead to his, a silent appreciation of his affection.

"Any pain yet?" He pulls back, a thumb across your cheek, eyes still locked on yours.

"My head kind of hurts? And I still just feel kind of..drunk."

"You have always been a bit of a lightweight, babe. And a thief too, I see. S'that my sweatshirt?"

"Have not!" You swat playfully at his arm, "Maybe. Is that my hair clip in your hair?"

"Possibly." His eyes dart up to the swoop of curls on top of his head, a black plastic clip twisting it back and away from his face.

"Guess we're even then."

"S'pose we are." He tries to keep his eyes narrowed in a mock attempt of annoyance, but it quickly fades into laughter.

You decide against FaceTiming your family, hoping that hearing your voice will be enough. It seems to satisfy them at least for the rest of the day. You assure them that Harry is taking very good care of you and that everything went as smooth as could be expected.

He raises one eyebrow at you as you hang up, "As smooth as expected, huh? You aren't going to tell them the truth?"

"What's to tell? I had an infection and now it's gone. I'm fine, there's no sense in worrying them. We can give them the full story later."

He shrugs, fingers working to open one of the green pill bottles before passing one of the white pills to you, "For your headache, lovie. There's something here for nausea too if you need it. M'worried the pizza might've been too much. Maybe you should take one of these..just in case?"

"Harry, I promise I will tell you if I feel anything other than fine." Your hand runs from his shoulder down his bicep, squeezing gently, "Besides, I cannot take a whole one of those. If you think I'm a lightweight now..I'll sleep for the whole week if I take that."

He slips the bottle in his pocket, pulling you in to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll keep it close just in case, okay?"

"Sounds good," Your hand trails back up to his neck to work fingers through his hair, "Hey, thought we were watching a movie? What'd you pick?"

"Thought we could decide together. C'mon, let's get you comfy in bed."

"Ever the gentleman, always trying to get me in your bed."

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," He chuckles, a hand coming to rest on the small of your back, "Just thought you'd be more comfortable, you can prop up and stretch your feet out."

You let him tug you along for the second time today, thankful it's the luxury of your shared bed you get to settle into this time. He tucks you in softly, propping pillows behind your back and head.

"Comfy? Need anything else?"

"No, just need you to quit babying me so much and relax with me for a bit."

"Since when am I not allowed to baby you?"

You roll your eyes, "Never said you weren't allowed. Just want you to stop worrying so much, that's all."

"Good. Cause y'are my baby," No matter how many times you'd heard him say it before, it never failed to make you blush, "Do anything for you, y'know that, right?"

"I know," You look down at your hands, trying to slow your racing heart, "You never let me forget."

"Hey," He pokes your cheek, pulling your gaze back up to him, "I love you."

"I love you more, H."

He kisses your forehead, "Impossible. I love you most."

The reference to one of your favorite movies has you smiling at him, that dreamy feeling falling over you again, "Can we watch Tangled?"

"Sure, princess."

He sinks next to you, head propped up on your shoulder, navigating easily through Disney+ to find your requested movie.

Your eyes drift closed right about the time the lanterns are being released in the sky, a moment that normally leaves your face wet with tears, the soft vibrations of Harry humming along the perfect lullaby to push you further into your dream.

//

He wakes you later in the evening.

"Dinner's on the table if you want to join me."

"Time's it?" Your voice is still heavy with sleep.

"7. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you, thought your body could use the extra sleep today."

"Yeah. It was nice, thank you." You stretch your arms forward, reaching for his hands to help pull you up.

"How do you feel?"

"A little sore. More sober, for sure."

Dinner is simple; a bowl of plain broth, salad, and toast. Exactly what the nurse suggested earlier. There's even a warm mug of tea waiting for you.

"With honey for my honey," He's so proud of his cheesy expression of love you cannot help but smile.

You look at him curiously when he sits next to you, the same boring meal set out for himself.

"Harry..you can eat what you want, babe. Seriously you've done enough today, more than enough to be supportive. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you made yourself something different."

"Nah. S'fine. We're in this together, yeah?"

You raise your eyebrows at him playfully, "Did you have an organ snatched from your body today?"

"No, I didn't." He laughs, "I just meant food wise, love. It's vegetable broth, by the way, hope that's alright."

"It's perfect."

You nudge him lightly, an elbow to his side, shifting closer to ask for a kiss. He meets you the rest of the way, lips planted firmly on yours. When you don't pull away, he quickly adds another.

After dinner is done and you have another round of meds, the two of you end up in an awkward ball of cuddles on the couch. Harry flips through the channels on the tv before finding a show you both agree on.

But you're too restless, unable to find a position comfortable enough for you. You shift a few times, finally giving up and letting out a frustrated groan before tossing the blanket off the both of you and springing up and off the couch.

Harry doesn't panic, just grabs your hand before you can get too far away or lose your balance, keeping his voice low when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hurts. I just can't get comfortable, and I don't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right, angel? Explain."

"I don't feel like myself. I don't know how to explain it. Just feel off."

He sees you're on the verge of tears and ascends from his spot on the couch, arms quickly enveloping you before placing a finger under your chin to pull your face up to look at him.

"It's probably gonna take a day or so to adjust, baby. Yes it was a minor surgery but it was a major change to your body." He's bending now to look right into your eyes, searching them,  "How can we fix it tonight, hmm? What do you need?"

Tears are free flowing, falling on the front of your t-shirt and down to the floor.

"Take your time. Breathe." A large hand smoothing warm circles firmly across your back; a balm for your restless spirit.

You pause, deep breath in before slowly letting it out, "I think I just need to move around for a bit."

"Let's go for a walk, eh? A quick one and then back to bed. Your mind needs more rest. How's that sound?" He taps your forehead softly.

"Okay, yeah." You nod your head, an approval of his plan.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

You nod again, scared your voice will break if you try to speak. He knew that those words held a lot of weight for you, he'd repeated them often throughout this whole process and to hear them now was a reminder of how safe you were. That with him, you would always be safe and loved.

Being dark outside meant you gracelessly padding through the house, up and down the hallway a few times and back to the living room. Harry stays close, encouraging you along with little claps and kisses to motivate you. When your stomach starts to feel uneasy, he urges you once again to take something for nausea. You agree to take a half a pill, knowing it'll help you sleep.

Despite the nap you had earlier and only being awake for a couple of hours, it doesn't take much convincing for you to settle back into bed.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He's already reclined next to you, book in hand, the soft light from the lamp illuminating one side of his face. You're smushed against him, drifting between that sweet space of almost asleep and wanting to stay awake to enjoy any spare moment you get with him. His hand working through your hair helps push you towards the former of the two.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden today," Your words are slurring together but you continue on, just needing to get your thoughts out before he can stop you, "I don't deserve you and I shouldn't have overreacted so much about something so simple."

"Hey, none of that now," He lays the book on the nightstand, careful to save his place for later before pulling you closer to him, "You were not, nor have you ever been a burden to me. Just because you needed a little extra help today does not mean you aren't deserving of me or my love. You will never have to earn that. It's yours, always has been, will be as long as you decide to keep me around."

"Thank you. For all of it. I'll always want you."

"Always? Y'might change your mind someday, angel."

"I won't. Promise."

"Yeah? Me either."

A kiss laid delicately to the top of your head has your eyes dangerously close to falling shut again before another thought navigates its way through your mind and out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"H..what am I gonna do with a full week off from work?"

"Let me take care of you?"

//

And that's exactly what he does.

Mornings spent sleeping in, late breakfasts made together and afternoon walks. Evenings consisting of the two of you preparing dinner together or ordering takeout from some of the forbidden places you couldn't eat from before. Mugs of herbal tea before early bedtimes, you sweetly falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading to you most nights.

But his favorite part was that the scent of lavender was no longer cursed for you. Some nights before your surgery, when you simply could not fall asleep the pain was so unbearable, you would fill the tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles to try to calm yourself enough to be able to drift off afterwards. It never worked, the heat always doing more harm than good. Harry would always be waiting for you, open arms and a soft towel to wrap you in.

So the smell became one you hated, memories of sleepless nights and nausea. But now you were free to use it again for what you always loved it for before it was cursed. In your body wash, lotion, even your laundry detergent; spreading the scent all over your shared space in as many ways as you could.

He even mentions it one night after dinner, when the two of you are pressed impossibly close together on the couch. His nose buried into your neck, inhaling deeply, pulling away to announce, "You smell like you again, love. Missed it so much." He burrows back in, placing kisses from your neck to your shoulder, ignoring your giggles and protests of how much it tickles.

A week later, the alarm wakes you sooner than you've become accustomed to, reminding you of your return to work. Harry's arm thrown over your waist pulls you closer as you try to leave the bed, a sleepy "Don't go." mumbled in your ear.

You do your best to peel yourself away from him, admitting silently to yourself how much harder it is for you to leave the warmth of your bed as it is for him to let you go.

//

2 years later, you have a scar you swear didn't heal right, and a man who loves you even more because of it.

[oldfritz]

I'm genuinely curious and don't want to start something! Just wanted to ask what you make of the 'Old Fritz might've been asexual' take, I don't know much about him and I feel you're one of the best people to ask esp since you lean towards 'he was probably queer in some way' too

Hey there! So, first off, don’t ever worry about me interpreting you asking me a question as starting something. As much as I love making dumb jokes about the guy, I love nothing more than doing this kind of stuff and defending or explaining my points. There’s two degrees I want to get over the next decade: first my JD and then my MA in Prussian history. I live for this stuff! Always have! Second off, I’m very sorry for not getting to this sooner. Things have been incredibly stressful for me for a variety of different reasons which have made answering your question, until now, rather difficult. Putting this under a cut because, holy shit, it got long!

My personal reasoning for why I think he’s bi (which, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m assuming is what you meant instead of ace and could be a different post entirely since some historians have tried to argue that) stems more to do with some of my lingering questions about the nature of his relationships with certain woman, rather than that of his relationships with men. To me and my modern, queer eye, Fritz’s relationships with men like Hans Hermann von Katte, Francisco Algarotti, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, and (much to my personal vexation) one Monsieur Voltaire are either outright homosexual/homoerotic in nature or very, very easily lend themselves to that interpretation rather than strictly romantic friendships (which Wikipedia does a fairly good overview of and, if you’re coming to me from AmRev perspective, uses Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship as a familiar example). While I’m avoiding those relationships in this ask, I’d be more than happy to elaborate upon one/all of them in a different one. 

Before I go into the big pauses that Fritz’s relationships with Madame von Wreech and Countess Orzelska give me, I want to deny the use of Fritz’s wife as an example of Fritz’s attraction to woman. While this, admittedly, may sound odd, we have ample evidence of how turned off and repulsed Fritz found Elisabeth Christine. Before he had even met her, Fritz was complaining about how she was ‘not very pretty, speaks but little, and acts like a blockhead’ (Asprey, 87) and, later, admitted to Grumbkow his plan to ‘keep my word,...get married, but afterwards it will be a case of that is that, and goodbye, Madame, and fare thee well’ (Jones, 52). For Christ’s sake, the man pitied her knowing how his treatment would leave her as ‘one more unhappy princess in the world’! Which is little consolation when you remember he also referred to her with such romantic terms as ‘this unpleasant creature,’ ‘the abominable object of my desires,’ ‘the person,’ and claimed to have preferred to marry ‘the biggest whore in Berlin’ (Asprey, 87). And while we (fortunately? unfortunately?) know quite a bit about their sex life, Fritz largely regarded it as just another duty - to quote him, ‘I will only have the duty to fuck’ (Ibid, 87). And while Seckendorf heard - first, presumably from Count von der Schulenburg and, later on, Count Friedrich von Wartensleben, a close and intimate friend of the then-crown prince - that Fritz would ‘fuck and refuck’ Elisabeth Christine and that said act occurred in the afternoon, it still was out of a sense of obligation (Bely, 481-2). When reminded that if he wanted more money for frivolities, he’d need to produce an heir, Fritz bemoaned that he ‘cannot sleep with my wife out of desire, and when I do sleep with her, I do it out of duty rather than inclination’ (Clark, 50). All this in accumulation, as well as the myriad of other quotes and incidents I’ve left out, makes one wonder why his relationship with Elisabeth Christine is sometimes used by historians to prove any sort of heterosexual impulse in the man when she’s the woman with the weakest supports for that argument.

That being said, now we get to the women with a more muddled places in his romantic escapades, if you will. What exactly happened between Orzelska and Fritz during his trip with his father to Dresden in 1728? The main source for everything that occurred during this trip is Wilhelmina, who didn’t attend and without anything about this specific incident coming from Fritz or Friedrich Wilhelm I, make it rather hard to use as concrete, irrefutable proof. Now, if her recollections were contemporaneous - like coming from a diary or journal she kept at the time - that would be one thing. But it comes from her memoirs which, while a delightful read 10/10 recommend, are written decades after this trip took place and, memory being a finicky thing, can’t be taken to the bank. All those disclaimers, here’s the story as told by her:

‘One evening...,the King of Poland [note: Augustus II] insensibly led the King of Prussia to a very richly decorated room...The King of Prussia, delighted with what he saw, stopped to contemplate all its beauties, when [all of] a sudden a tapestry was rolled up, which procured him a very novel sight. It was a lovely female in a state of nudity [note: Countess Orzelska, the Polish king’s daughter], carelessly reclined on a couch. Her beauty excelled that of the finest pictures of Venus and the Graces; her body seemed of ivory, whiter than snow, and better shaped than that of the Venus de Medicis at Florence.

...Scarcely had the King cast his eyes on the fair one, than he turned about with indignation; and seeing my brother behind him, he rudely pushed him out of the room, and left it immediately after in a violent irritation against the trickery they had attempted to practice on him. ...In spite of the King’s vigilance, [Frederick] had had time to contemplate the Venus of the closet, who did not cause him so much horror as she had done to his father. (Wilhelmina’s Memoirs, vol. 1, 107-6)

Wilhelmina then goes on to claim Fritz had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Orzelska and that the illness Fritz experienced upon returning home was simply being lovesick. Pinning the accuracy of this story is incredibly difficult because, again, we have only one source relayed decades after the fact and from two volumes of memoirs known to have inaccuracies. While I, personally, would love if he had had a tryst with Orzelska (who is such a badass in her own right and deserves more recognition than as a footnote in this guy’s story), there’s no one way to say with more than 30% confidence. I am inclined to believe something along these lines happened because if someone told me a story like this, lord knows I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life. And, with Wilhelmina being so close with her brother, it lends a bit more credence but as to the actual emotional or physical response Fritz had to it, well, without my time machine, I can’t and don’t want to say.

With Madame Eleonore-Louise von Wreech, things are a little more concrete. For starters, Fritz actually talked about her! In written correspondence that survived! We even have seven letters between the two of them that survived, which is a bigger win! As Blanning says, they’re ‘ardent but light in tone, ironic, almost flippant, and highly stylized’ (Blanning, 58). Their relationship was known to those close with Fritz at the time that Schulenberg felt compelled to visit and warn the crown prince against devoting himself to women because ‘the slight pleasures gained cause a million displeasures.’  Fritz’s response? To tell the poor guy that he may have ‘the gift of continence, but I assure you that I do not’ (Asprey, 83-4). Firtz even went so far as to send a letter to her mother, waxing poetic about Louise’s ‘beauty, her majestic air, her bearing, and her entire department.’ It’s worth noting that Louise eventually broke off the affair due to being bored by how he ‘loved [her] too much and often annoyed [her] with his clumsy love’ (Ibid, 84). Contemporaries, including Friedrich Wilhelm, believed Fritz had impregnated her with a daughter who her ‘cuckolded husband would refuse to recognize’ (Blanning, 58). Blanning is the only source I’ve seen dispute this due to this news coming from Seckendorf, who didn’t reveal how he came about this information; that Fritz and Madame von Wreech’s correspondence doesn’t indicate a physical relationship; and on the fact that she was not pregnant. I haven’t been able to find the birth dates or any sort of records for Louise’s two daughters to figure out where their conception could’ve been in the timeline and if it matches with the likely dates for the affair, but I also don’t have the resources Cambridge would afford Blanning. Either way, while the physical nature of the affair is in dispute, the emotional aspect certainly was there. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that she’s the woman Fritz was likely referring to in the 16 August 1737 letter to Voltaire where he claimed she had taught him how to love (and also inspired him to write poetry, which we shouldn’t be thankful for). Specifically, all these years later, he stated how ‘this little miracle of nature possessed every possible charm, together with good taste and delicacy. She sought to transfer these qualities to me. I succeeded well in love but poorly in poetry. Since that time I have very often been in love and have always been a poet’ (Fritz’s Oeuvres, vol. 21, 96).

All this to say, there’s a bit too much evidence of some degree of opposite-gender attraction in Fritz to completely write off the possibility that he could’ve been bisexual. While it’s undeniable he held a preference for men and that’s whose company he typically enjoyed, I still do find it interesting the two exceptions (one potential and the other with a fair degree of certainty) to this. And, while I would never want his attraction to men be minimized in favor of that to women, it still remains important to note to get the most comprehensive picture of the man.

[leejungchans]

— our first snow.

word count: 2.2k

pairing: dino (svt) x idol!oc (juliet)

warning(s): mentions of cyberbullying, allusions to stalking (dispatch yucky), mentions of the toxic/dark side of the kpop industry

genre: mostly fluff; slight angst (about idol life); crushes-to-lovers; idol au

notes: can be read as a standalone but you can refer to juliet’s masterlist for more info on her!! there may be some weather inaccuracies in this ahskhwjs please don’t be mad 😭 i live somewhere that never snows :(

summary: a confession is made during the first snowfall of 2021.

a/n: thank you to the anon who suggested a cute dino/juliet scenario 🥺💖 i hope you like this!!! thank you all for reading and have a nice day!!

Winter in Seoul is beautiful.

Even though she’s been living in Korea for six, almost seven years, Juliet thinks she can never get tired of seeing snow. Something about it is just so utterly magical and charming, like being in a Christmas card. Sure, it’s freezing and the snow sticks to everything—her hair, parka, boots, even her lashes, but it’s still one of her favourite things about living in Seoul as it’s something she wouldn’t be able to experience back home in Sydney.

Juliet still remembers the first time she saw snow the year she moved to Korea and how transfixed she had been. Upon learning about this, Yeri, the first friend she made at her former company, immediately dragged her out to the sidewalk where snow elegantly floated down from the sky and would eventually envelop Seoul in a pristine white blanket.

Though, she supposes that at the moment, they’re experiencing more of a snowstorm than a snowfall. By the time she gets back to the dorm, her black parka will probably turn white from all the snow sticking to it. She wonders what her members are doing, if they’re also enjoying the snow or staying inside to shield themselves from the biting cold.

A particularly strong gust of wind blows the hood of Juliet’s parka off her head, causing snow to immediately start landing on her newly-dyed purple hair. A gloved hand instantly reaches up to tug the hood snuggly back into place.

The female idol turns to her companion and smiles, even though he can only see her eyes due to the both of them wearing black masks, but she hopes he notices her eye-smile anyways. “Thanks, Channie.”

Juliet watches Chan’s eyes curve into crescents, and she knows he’s also grinning behind his mask. They’re always so sparkly, she thinks, like they hold the entire universe in them.

“C’mon,” he says softly, “the snow’s getting heavier, better get you home before we’re both stranded out here.” Juliet doesn’t tell him, but she wouldn’t exactly complain even if they do get stranded as along as she’s with him.

Here being a mostly empty street with only the dim lights from the street lamps and the occasional passerby to keep them company. The passerby’s don’t pay them any attention either as they walk briskly in an attempt to get out of the snowstorm as quickly as possible. They did pass a few small groups of people who came outside to enjoy the first snow of the year, but those people too occupied with making snowmen and taking photos to notice that they had crossed paths with two idols.

Despite the late hour, Juliet doesn’t want to go home. At least, not yet. She knows she should be back by now, a few award shows are scheduled for the end of the month, not to mention ATEEZ’s upcoming projects and appearances, so she needs all the sleep she can get to keep up with the practising. Chan definitely also needs the rest, yet he insists on walking her back to her dorm after their late night out before going back to his.

Juliet knows they’re both physically exhausted from their hectic lifestyles, but it is the unspoken knowledge that this is the only time of the day they have for themselves, truly just themselves, that make them want to stay out longer to retain a sense of normalcy. Over the years, she’s learnt to cherish the short-lived moments away from the cameras and prying eyes.

It’s knowing this that causes her to deliberately slow down her walking pace, because she wants just a little more time where she is simply Baek Minyoung instead of Juliet from ATEEZ, spending time with her friend Lee Chan and not Dino from SEVENTEEN.

Juliet has always believed that she is someone who warms up to people slowly with the exception of her members. But then Chan came into her life and effortlessly wove himself into the seams of her heart in a blink of an eye.

She thought they’d just be friends, she really did, until she found herself falling for the energetic boy with a heart of gold after a few secret outings much like this one. Before either of them knew it, their friendship had morphed into something more, though neither dared to make a move. After all, they know how fragile idol relationships can be in their industry—interfering companies, invasions of privacy, the slew of hateful comments that every idol couple cannot escape...

There were many nights where Juliet stayed up late thinking if it was easier to stay friends than to take the next step. Idol friendships, even opposite-sex ones, typically last longer and are met with less scrutiny, after all.

In those times, she also found herself wondering what her life would’ve been if she never came to Seoul and became an idol. She never thought that at one point in her life, getting a coffee or grabbing lunch with friends without having people shove their phones in your face would be a luxury, but here she is.

But if she never came to Seoul, she never would’ve met her members, the kind staff members who treat her like a younger sister or daughter, the amazing friends she met along the journey of becoming an idol...

She also wouldn’t have met Chan, so there’s that.

She once asked him during a phone call last year how he and his members cope with all the downsides that come with being an idol.

“It’s a learning process every day, I think,” he says thoughtfully. “But in general, I try to tell myself that even though bad things happen, there’s still a lot of good that outweighs the bad...I get to meet amazing people and do what I love for a living...These things are what I will cherish forever, the bad things won’t last forever, and it doesn’t do me any good to lose myself in them instead of the good.”

Juliet thinks about that a lot. Not that he has to know, or he’ll never let her live it down.

“—say about the first snow?”

Chan turns to face her with confusion written across his face from a lack of response. She blinks blankly at him. “What?”

He shoots her a look of mock exasperation. “Were you seriously not listening to anything I was saying?” he whines.

“Sorry, I spaced out!”

“I’m not going to be friends with you if you keep ignoring me like this!”

Before the boy has time to react, Juliet grabs a handful of snow from the ground and launches it at his face. He splutters for a moment, brushing off the flakes from his mask as she cackles, but her glee doesn’t last long when he reaches for a larger handful of snow.

Juliet shrieks and jogs away from Chan, which isn’t as easy as she thought given that her feet keep sinking into the layer of snow. “Wait, wait! Stop! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“You have to keep it down,” he laughs, gently tossing the snow back onto the ground, “we can’t be out here screaming and drawing Dispatch’s attention.” His tone is light and teasing, but the mention of the news—no, gossip—outlet makes her wrinkle her nose in distaste.

Though she can’t help but find it funny that if someone from Dispatch is actually currently following them—and she hopes they’re not because, hello? What happened to privacy and human decency?—all they’d get would be footage of them throwing snow at each other.

“You’re right,” Juliet says as they continue walking, “let’s not give them more business. What were you saying earlier, by the way?”

“I asked if you know what people here say about the first snow.”

Of course she does. Even if it has never been brought up in the dramas or movies she watched, her friends outside the industry have certainly gushed about the symbolism.

“No, not really,” she replies, feigning innocence. Playing dumb is fun, especially when you can also play the ‘foreigner card’ to back yourself up.

“It’s said that any lie you tell on the day of the first snowfall will be forgiven, and that any wish you make will be granted.”

Juliet frowns. “I thought that was for the first snowfall of the season, not the year. So technically, today’s not the first snow.”

Chan’s mouth drops open in a large ‘O’. “I thought you said you don’t know much about the first snow,” he accuses before shoving her lightly.

“Ah-ah-ah, you can’t be mad at me! You said any lie told today will be forgiven!”

“You’re the one who said today doesn’t count!”

“Okay,” Juliet relents, “this can be our thing, then. We can have two first snows each year.”

He laughs, and she can’t help but admire the sound of it. It’s just so contagious and never fails to put her in a good mood. “Deal.”

They keep walking until her building is in view. Admittedly, it’s a risky move to have him walk her all the way to the building’s entrance, as it’s known that people tend to wait outside idols’ dorms hoping to catch a glimpse of them, but Chan insisted that he didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of her walking alone in the dark at this hour.

“You know what else people say about the first snow?” Chan’s voice loses its usual playful edge. Instead, it sounds far softer and might’ve even betrayed a sense of nervousness.

Juliet doesn’t respond, but she turns to face his side profile to assure him that she’s listening. He keeps looking down at the ground, so she decides to silently admire the straight slope of his nose and the sharp angle of his jawline.

“People say that if you confess to someone during the first snow, you’ll stay together for a long time.”

“Is this your way of saying that you want to be with me for a long time?” she teases, but her grin drops when Chan looks at her with a solemn expression. “Oh. Oh. You’re being serious.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh at her wide eyes. “I know we’ve talked about this before, but what would you say if I told you I want to be with you? Officially, I mean.”

What would she say? A million thoughts are running through her mind, and she feels as though she’s been struck by lightning. How would the boys react? Their second year since debut was only a few months ago, would they think it’s too early? Would they be upset with her? Should she tell her company or let them find out? Would they tell her to break it off if they knew?

What if they break up? Will they still stay friends after that? Idol relationships can crumble easily given the nature of the industry and its habit of selling the fantasy of idols being ‘available’. Ten fingers wouldn’t be enough to count all the couples who broke up due to the pressures that come with this job—hectic schedules, obsessive fans, meddling companies, cyberbullying, the list can go on forever.

Is it worth it to take the risk when there seems to be a million reasons suggesting that it’d be better to stay friends?

But what does she want? Does she want to live basing every decision off of appeasing people who only know her from what they see on a screen?

Or does she want to live unapologetically with the people she loves and cares about, even if she has to risk her reputation and image simply for being happy?

Her answer couldn’t be clearer.

“I’d say that I’d like that a lot. Unless you’re secretly playing a prank on me.”

To say that Chan is flooded with relief would be a massive understatement. “You scared me!” he whines as he clutches his heart. “You weren’t saying anything for so long and I thought you were thinking about how to reject me!”

“I’m sorry,” Juliet giggles, eyes shining up at him. “Forgive me?”

A dramatic, reluctant sigh. “I guess I can make an exception for you,” he finally says.

Despite their masks hiding most of their faces, their eye-smiles tell the other just how happy they both are.

Deep down, Juliet knows that a simple snowfall cannot guarantee a fulfilling, long-lasting relationship. Perhaps a few years later, or even shorter if they’re unlucky, they may find themselves dealing with imminent heartbreak and separation.

But when her gloved hand—gloves courtesy of Chan because he somehow knew she’d forget her own— reaches for his, interlacing naturally as though they’ve done it a hundred times prior to today, she hopes that the universe will grant her silent wish that they can stay like this for a long, long time; that no matter how much they and their environments may change, they will still be able to find happiness and comfort within each other. She thinks it’ll come true.

After all, it is the first snow. Their first snow.

— bonus!!

a/n: eeeeeeeeppppp ngl this is,,,kinda cute if i do say so myself ;-; and yes this is also indulging my wish to have a cute boy (preferably park seonghwa or lee chan) confess to me on a snowy day ahdjhwjs 😔 again, thank you for reading and take care!!

feedback is always and highly appreciated!! whether it’s a reblog, a reply, or a short ask, it would mean the world to me 🥺💗 and remember that you are more than welcome to chat with me about anything in my asks!!

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Objection

Note: I’m a sucker for AUs, so here is a Lawyer!Chris fic nobody asked for, the plot (or whatever) is veery loosely inspired by this book I’m reading atm (The Hating Game) and by the the fact that Chris talking about lawyer stuff is incredibly hot to me

Warning: swearing (a lot), smut, Chris bashing (for the story line, pls don’t take this seriously, I adore this man to death), NSFW, slight exhibitionism

Plus another warning, I am not a lawyer or trained in any other legal profession, so if there are inaccuracies in the way I used certain terms I am sorry

„Objection, your honor, this is hearsay!” you shouted, shooting a furious glance over to the defense table, and to the absolute menace standing in front of it.

Chris Cuomo. The most obnoxious, arrogant, loud-mouthed asshole you ever had the misfortune to meet in court. He was a senior partner at one of New York’s most prestigious law firms, specialized on getting their wealthy clients out of everything from tax fraud to outright corruption.

This man stood for everything that, in your opinion, was wrong with the justice system and this country in general. Everything about him screamed elitist, boarding school, frat boy, preppy rich guy that had everything handed to him on a silver platter. He flaunted his famous last name around whenever he had the chance and it got him right to the top of the business.

You, on the opposite, went to law school on a scholarship, worked your ass of and now practiced law working for the district attorney to prosecute and convict the very people Cuomo tried to kept out of jail to afford the ridiculous Upper East Side Penthouse he probably had. You tried to push the fact that he was one of the most brilliant lawyers you knew aside, because you just hated him. No respect, no admiration for his legal genius, he was the bane of your existence fair and square.

You clashed heads in court more than once, and by now he knew exactly how to rile you up, smug bastard. His current client was accused of tax and investment fraud of incredible extent, and there he was, trying to discredit your main witness in front of the jury with some ridiculous accusations about them having a personal vendetta against the defendant. You saw your case crumbling in front of you as the witness got tangled up in Cuomo’s relentless questioning, stumbling over their own words, their credibility shrinking with each minute.

He did what he did best, lulling in people with his charm and striking when they least expected it. And he always did it with his disgusting smile on his disgustingly handsome face. Yes, of course he had to be a hot, fit, well-built asshole, making your professional life miserable at every chance he got.

Sometimes, he even had the audacity to wink at you. In court. During a trial. You wanted to punch him in his perfect face more than anything else.

The judge disrupted your thoughts.

“Dismissed, Ms. Y/L/N, and mind your tone in my courtroom. And Mr. Cuomo, please keep your questions professional or this interrogation will be over.” The judge said, shooting the both of you a warning glance.

“No more questions anyway, your honor, I think the jury heard it all.” Cuomo said, and almost strutted back to the defense table. And with a look over to the jury, you knew he was probably right. They eyed your witness suspiciously, and you almost wanted to stomp down out of pure rage. The fucker just destroyed your chance for a swift conviction right in front of your eyes. You needed more time to gather new evidence, or this would be over.

“Your honor, the prosecution is asking the court for adjournment.” You said, trying your best to not let your frustration show.

“Granted, the trial will be continued tomorrow. Court is dismissed.”

You put the case files into your bag and practically stormed out of the court room, passing the defense table without as much as a sideward glance.

But he caught up with you in the parking deck of the building.

“You’re aware you can’t win this one, right, Y/L/N? It’s all circumstantial, even you should see that.” His smug voice suddenly said from behind you as you were just about to get into your car.

You whirled around, pulse hammering in your chest out of pure anger.

“This is unprofessional even by your standards, Cuomo, I’m not discussing this case with you in a parking lot. Now why don’t you get into this environmental nightmare you call a car and leave me the hell alone.” You hissed, pointing over to where his obnoxiously big SUV was standing.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Y/L/N, just because you can’t handle yourself in court.” He said, smirk still firmly in place. His hands were playing with the car keys, and you were mesmerized for a second by how large his hands were. They looked like shovels.

“Whatever you’re plotting in that weird little brain of yours, stop staring at me.” Cuomo said, actually sounding a bit unsettled. You snapped out of it and went right back into anger mode.

“Staring at you? God, you’re so fucking full of yourself, aren’t you, you condescending prick? Not everything revolves around you and your spoiled ass, Cuomo.”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, girl?” he snapped, raising his voice now. You clearly got to him, and seeing a crack in his arrogant façade gave you a satisfying sense of triumph. You couldn’t stop now, even if his angry face was screaming danger.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, your highness, are you used to people worshipping the ground you walk on because you had the dumb luck to be born with the Cuomo name? Fun fact, nobody cares, you’re still an asshole, just with a fancy suit.” You really threw all caution away, and one look at Cuomo told you that you’ve definitely gone too far.

Because he was livid. There was a vein on his temple that was literally pulsating, his hands were balled to fists at his side and his blue eyes were so full of fury that you were scared to look directly at him.

He took two giant steps in your direction, backing you up against your car. You were caught, Cuomo’s giant frame in front of you with no way to escape his wrath.

You looked up at him, daring to meet his eyes directly. He looked at you like he was about to kill you. You tried to recall your fury from some seconds ago, but the heat radiating from his body and the way his huge arms had you trapped on both sides of your head were making it impossible for you to focus. Damn him for being so attractive. You wanted to fight him, but you also wanted to press yourself against his body and feel what was underneath that suit.

“You presumptuous little…” he spat, stopping himself before saying something truly insulting. He took a deep breath, and looked at you again. And then he saw it.

The way you were biting your lip, the way your pupils were dilated.

And he smiled, a cruel smirk that send shivers down your spine. He brought his face even closer to yours and dropped his voice.

“You know, I got really good at reading people, comes with the job, I guess. But you are making it so easy for me, Y/L/N, look at you?” His mouth was at your ear now, his hot breath tickling your neck.

“Do you really want me to leave you alone? Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

You could barely think straight anymore, you wanted to tell him to fuck off, but it just came out as an embarrassing, needy whimper.

He chuckled darkly, and goosebumps broke out all over your body. Why did this man, that you hated more than almost anyone else, reduce to a state of arousal you had never experienced before just by whispering in your ear? Your panties were already soaked, and he didn’t even touch you. With your last few functioning brain cells, you cursed your needy, weak body, before you tiled your head to the side, baring your neck to Chris mouth.

He breathed over your skin, teasing you without actually touching. You felt like you were going insane.

“Please.” You whispered.

“What? Use your words, darling.”

“Kiss my neck, touch me, anything, just do it, asshole.” You hissed, glad you were able to form a coherent sentence.

“So impolite.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the side of your neck before starting to suck lightly. You moaned softly and pressed your pelvis into his. You could feel his hardness through his slacks, his unaffected behavior was clearly an act, he was just as aroused as you were.

One of his hands went down to squeeze your ass hard, bringing another surge of wetness to your panties.

Seeing him getting into this gave you some of your courage back, and you started to grind against him, making him growl against your neck.

“Is that everything you got, Cuomo.” You asked, trying to rile him up a bit. You really enjoyed the way he was manhandling you, as much as it pained you to admit it. But his hands were wandering under your skirt now, so you might as well just go with it.

Your provocative behavior clearly had the desired effect on him, because he grabbed your waist in a bruising grip, spun you around and pinned you against your car, his erection pressing against your ass. He yanked up your skirt and tore off your panties, leaving your lower body completely bare.

By now, you were glad that you picked the parking spot on the top floor, because your two cars were the only ones left and no one would come up here at this hour to catch you, about to be railed against your vehicle by Chris Cuomo.

“My, my, Y/L/N, this really turns you on, doesn’t it?” You could hear his breathy voice from behind you, and then felt a thick finger slowly being pressed into your aching pussy, followed by a sharp intake of breath. “Fuck, you already are so wet for me.” Chris growled.

“Are you going to fuck me soon, or do I have to take care of it myself?” You asked, teasingly.

He swore under his breath and gave your ass a sharp slap, making you welp.

You heard the sound of his zipper, and the rustle of foil.

“You really brought a condom to court, Cuomo? Wow, you are even more shameless than I imagined.”

“Shut up.” He growled, and you did, because he lined up his cock and slowly started pressing into you. He was big, and you had to bury your face into your arm to muffle the obscene sounds coming out of your mouth at the feeling of being stretched like this. He bottomed out with a low moan, and immediately started a fast, hard pace, pushing you against your car with every move of his hips.

You turned your head around to look at him. His face was flushed, and his eyes were fixed on the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you.

The friction was delicious, and he was hitting a perfect spot deep inside you with every thrust. Your moans became louder and louder, and he pressed one of his large hands over your mouth.

“Be quiet, you don’t want someone to catch little Miss Righteous being screwed in the parking lot by big, bad Cuomo, don’t you?” he whispered in your ear between husky breaths, and you could only cry out against his palm as he was speeding up his thrusts. The idea of someone catching you here was as arousing as it was terrifying.

Suddenly, Chris other hand sneaked around you to press on your clit, hard, and you screamed into his hand as your orgasm hit you like a punch to the gut, your walls gripping his cock like a vice while he was still fucking you through your climax.

“That’s it, darling, come for me. Fuck.” He groaned, before suddenly going tense as he reached his peak as well, cock buried deep inside you.

You slumped against your car with a huff, and the brief glimpse you caught of your reflection in the window made you question what you just did even more. Not only did you have (amazing, mind-blowing) sex with the opposing lawyer, he also absolutely wrecked you, you looked like you just had the roughest night ever with your hair undone, your makeup smudged and your panties in shreds on the floor of the parking lot. You hastily pulled down your skit again and tried to fix your hair as much as possible to get a minimum of decorum back.

Chris was just disposing the condom into a nearby bin, already looking calm and composed again. You hated him for that, and for the broad, self-satisfied grin that was all over his face again. And still, your heart gave a little flip as he approached you.

“That was fun.” He smirked, “We should definitely do that again. But not today, I’m busy. See you in court.”

He started to make his way to his car, and there was definitely a spring in his step.

“In your dreams, Cuomo.” You mumbled after him but couldn’t suppress a smile. That was, until you looked into the side mirror of your car to check your makeup and saw the giant, purple bruise on the side of your neck.

“Cuomo!” you screamed. “Come back here right now, you imbecile, you gave me a fucking hickey!”

“Better wear a scarf then tomorrow!” he called, entering his car. “And don’t make plans for after the trial, I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate my victory. And I mean that.”

And with that, he drove off. And as much as you hated yourself to admit it, you were really looking forward to having dinner with this idiot. After you destroyed him in court, of course.