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musicforastylesrestaurant · 9 months

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Saccharine Expressions.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - enjoy 8k words of Harry grieving his wife.

trigger warnings - mentions of car crashes, hospitals, mentions of miscarriage and a shit load of angst. if you notice anymore triggers please let me know asap!

word count - 8k

in which, your husband postpones his american leg of tour because you get involved in a road traffic accident, resulting in you ending up in a medically induced coma, your husband and four year old comes to visit you everyday and they always have something new to tell you. this is everything that Harry experiences whilst you asleep, speaking to you whilst holding your hand, getting forced to eat because he doesn’t want to move and reassuring your son that mummy’s going to be fine.

12th August, 2022. — 14:47pm.

You had been looking forward to this moment all day. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow as you sat behind the wheel, cruising along the familiar roads on your way to pick up your four year old son, Alfie from school. The car hummed softly, the radio playing a cheerful tune in the background. The anticipation of reuniting with your little one filled the air, your heart light with the prospect of his laughter and stories from his day.

As you turned onto the street leading to the school, you imagined his face lighting up when he spotted your car. He would come running, his backpack bouncing against his small frame, his smile infectious. You couldn't wait to envelop him in a tight hug, his energy and innocence providing a welcome escape from the adult world.

The plan was to head to your husband's music studio, where he was getting everything ready for his American Leg of tour. It had been a while since the three of you had spent quality time together there, surrounded by the melodies that had woven into the fabric of your life. You had ordered takeout from his favourite restaurant, a little treat to celebrate a simple yet special evening.

The studio was your sanctuary, a place where your husband's creativity flowed freely. The walls were adorned with framed memories and records, a testament to his journey as a musician. Walking in, you'd inhale the familiar scent of music equipment and the subtle mix of coffee and old books. You'd settle into the cosy corner, watching as your son explored the room with wide-eyed wonder.

You'd listen to your husband's stories, sharing in his triumphs and frustrations. The music playing softly in the background would create a serene backdrop to your conversations, each note a reminder of the bond you shared. You'd laugh, you'd dance, and you'd cherish the time spent as a family.

But as the sun began its descent and the car continued down the road, fate had other plans.

Out of nowhere, a truck materialised in your path, its imposing presence casting a shadow over your joy-filled thoughts. Panic surged through your veins, your heart racing as you attempted to react, but time seemed to slow.

The impact was sudden and brutal, metal colliding with metal in a deafening symphony of destruction. Your world spun, and for a fraction of a second, everything went black.

Harry sat in the dimly lit studio, his fingers dancing across the keyboard of his laptop as he worked on everything that would be needed for the show in upcoming days. The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound accompanying his thoughts.

But then, a sudden interruption shattered his focus – his phone began to ring insistently, its vibrations causing it to skitter across the table.

Frowning, Harry picked up the phone and saw the school's name on the caller ID. He furrowed his brows, a sense of unease fluttering in his chest. He swiped to answer the call and held the phone to his ear.

" ‘ello?" he said, his voice a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Hi, Is this Mr. Styles?" a voice on the other end inquired.

"Yeah, this is ‘im," he replied, his brows knitting tighter.

"I'm calling from LakeRidge school," the receptionist explained. "It seems there was a mix-up, and no one came to pick up Alfie today."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Wait, what? No one picked him up?"

"That's correct. We were trying to reach your wife earlier, but it seems no one was answering," the receptionist explained, her voice apologetic.

Harry's mind raced as he glanced at the time on his watch. You and Harry took it in turns to pick up Alfie from school. You did Mondays, Wednesday and Harry did Tuesdays and Thursdays. You both picked him up on Fridays. He ran a hand through his hair, his worry deepening.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I'll be right there t’pick him up."

"Of course, Mr. Styles. We'll make sure he's safe until you arrive," the receptionist assured him.

"Thank you," Harry replied, his tone earnest. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

12th August, 2022. — 15:12pm.

The tires of Harry's car screeched as he quickly manoeuvred into a parking spot near the school. He barely had time to turn off the engine before he was out of the car, his long strides carrying him toward the school building. Panic surged through him with every step, a mix of worry and guilt propelling him forward.

As he burst through the doors of the school reception, his eyes frantically scanned the room for a familiar face. And there he was – his son, Alfie, standing near the reception desk, his face a mixture of relief and excitement as he spotted his father.

"Daddy!" Alfie's voice rang out, and he sprinted toward Harry with open arms.

Harry's heart swelled with a rush of emotions. He crouched down, his arms outstretched, and Alfie practically leaped into his embrace. Harry held his son tightly, a mixture of relief and remorse flooding his senses.

"I'm so sorry, buddy," Harry murmured, his voice filled with regret. "Me and Mummy should have been here t’pick y’up on time."

Alfie squeezed Harry even tighter, his small arms wrapping around his father's neck. "It's okay, Daddy. I knew you'd come."

Harry pulled back slightly, looking into his son's eyes. "Still, I should have been here f’you. I promise this won't happen again."

Alfie's face lit up with a bright smile, his forgiveness and trust shining through. "I love you, Daddy."

Harry's heart ached with love as he pressed a kiss to Alfie's forehead. "I love you too, more than anything."

After a moment of holding his son close, Harry straightened up and swung Alfie onto his hip. He gathered his son's backpack with his free hand and draped it over his shoulder.

"Ready t’go, bud?" Harry asked, his voice gentle.

Alfie nodded enthusiastically, his arms wrapped around Harry's neck. "Yeah!"

With Alfie securely perched on his hip, Harry made his way back to the car. He settled Alfie into his car seat, making sure he was buckled in safely. As he closed the car door, he leaned in to meet Alfie's gaze.

"M’really sorry about today, Alf," Harry said sincerely. "From now on, Me and Mummy will make sure were here on time t’pick y’up, n’matter what."

Alfie's smile returned, his eyes filled with trust. "I know you will, Daddy."

Harry smiled back, his heart full as he ruffled Alfie's hair affectionately. With one final glance, he closed the car door and walked around to the driver's seat.

Just as Harry's hand touched the ignition to start the car, his phone lit up with an unknown number. A sense of unease washed over him, but he quickly connected the call to the car's Bluetooth system.

" ‘Ello?" Harry said, his voice projected through the car's speakers.

"Is this Mr. Styles speaking?" a calm voice inquired.

Harry's brows furrowed as he gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Yes, this is ‘im."

"Mr. Styles, I'm Dr. Parker from Willow Creek Hospital," the voice introduced itself. "I'm calling because you are listed as the emergency contact for (Y/N) Styles."

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his wife’s name, his thoughts racing as he tightened his grip on the phone.

"(Y/N)?" he repeated, his voice shaky.

"I'm afraid there's been an incident," Dr. Parker explained gently. "It would be best if we discussed this in person. Can you please come to Willow Creek Hospital as soon as possible?"

A surge of panic coursed through Harry's veins as he turned to look at the backseat, where his four-year-old was sitting. He reached out and gently grasped his child's small hand, his mind racing with worry.

" ‘hat happened?" Harry asked, his voice quivering.

"I understand your concern, Mr. Styles," the doctor replied, his tone compassionate. "I assure you, we will explain everything once you're here. Please, make your way to the hospital as soon as you can."

Harry swallowed hard, his mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion.

"Yeah, ‘kay," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

12th August, 2022. — 16:09pm.

The hospital loomed before Harry like an imposing fortress of uncertainty. He had hurriedly dropped off Alfie at his manager Jeff's house, making sure his son was safe and away from the unsettling environment of a hospital. Now, his heart raced as he rushed through the sliding glass doors, the sterile scent hitting him like a wave as he stepped into the hospital's bustling foyer.

His eyes darted around, scanning the signs that pointed the way to different wards and departments. But his mind was a blur, and he found himself striding over to the reception desk, his voice hurried and tense.

"S’cuse me," Harry began, his voice tinged with anxiety. "M’looking f’m’wife, (Y/N) Styles. Can y’tell me where she is?"

The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, looked up from her computer screen and offered a sympathetic smile. "Of course, sir. Let me check for you."

Harry's fingers tapped nervously on the counter as he waited, his gaze flitting around the lobby. The distant hum of footsteps, the occasional murmur of conversations – it all blended into a surreal symphony that only heightened his unease.

After a moment, the receptionist turned back to him. "It says on her notes that her doctor wants to speak to you before you l are updated on your wife, I’ll page her doctor and let him know your here, be will be out to speak with you shortly about your wife’s condition"

Harry's shoulders slumped slightly in frustration, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "Right. Thank you."

As he paced back and forth near the reception area, his mind raced with scenarios and questions. What had happened? Was (Y/N) okay? The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, a doctor emerged from the corridor beyond.

"Mr. Styles?" the doctor called out, his white coat billowing slightly as he approached.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he turned toward the doctor. "Yes, that's me."

The doctor extended a hand, his expression a mix of professionalism and empathy. "I'm Dr. Parker. Please, come with me. We have a private room where we can talk."

Dr. Parker led Harry down a series of hallways until they reached a small, private family room. The air inside felt heavy with anticipation, and as Harry stepped through the door, he could hardly ignore the sense of foreboding that settled over him.

Taking a seat, Harry's hands trembled slightly as he looked at the doctor, his eyes wide and expectant.

"I appreciate your patience, Mr. Styles," Dr. Parker began, his tone gentle. "I know this is a difficult time, and I want to provide you with as much information as I can."

Harry nodded, his heart pounding as he held onto every word the doctor spoke.

"Your wife, (Y/N) Styles, was brought in unconscious after the car accident," the doctor explained. "Upon evaluation and a CT scan, we discovered a small bleed on her brain. It's causing increased pressure, and we're closely monitoring her condition."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his fingers clenching into fists as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. His wife, the person he loved more than anything, was facing a critical health challenge.

"Additionally," Dr. Parker continued, "she has sustained multiple injuries. Her ribs are fractured, and she has also broken her femur."

The weight of the doctor's words seemed to press down on Harry's chest, his mind struggling to process the extent of his wife's injuries. Images of her vibrant smile, her laughter, and the moments they had shared together flashed through his mind, a stark contrast to the reality he was now facing.

"What... what’re the next steps?" Harry managed to ask, his voice quivering.

"We've already begun treatment for the brain bleed," Dr. Parker explained. "She's under close observation in the Intensive Care Unit. Our priority is to stabilise her and manage the pressure on her brain. Once that's achieved, we'll assess the best course of action for her other injuries."

Harry nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He wanted to be strong, for both his wife and their family, but the weight of the situation threatened to overwhelm him.

"Can I... can I see ‘er?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Parker nodded understandingly. "Of course. We're preparing a room for you to visit her briefly. Please keep in mind that she's still unconscious, and we're closely monitoring her condition."

As the doctor led Harry through the hospital corridors, the journey felt like a surreal blur. He couldn't shake the fear that gripped his heart, nor the deep sense of longing to see his wife's face, to hold her hand and offer his unwavering support.

The door to the room swung open, revealing you lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and monitors. Your face appeared peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil within Harry's heart. He approached the bed, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead.

"(Y/N)," Harry whispered, his voice laden with emotion. "M’here. I love you."

He held your hand gently, his grip offering both reassurance and a silent promise that he would be by your side throughout this challenging journey. As he looked at you, his heart swelled with a mixture of love and determination, a reminder that your bond was unbreakable, even in the face of adversity.

The soft beep of machines filled the room as Harry stood by your bedside, his gaze fixed on your still form. Dr. Parker joined him, his presence a mix of professionalism and empathy.

"Mr. Styles," the doctor began, his tone gentle, "I need to explain that due to the severity of (Y/N)'s injuries, we made the decision to place her in a medically induced coma."

Harry's heart sank at the doctor's words, his eyes widening as he turned to look at Dr. Parker. The gravity of the situation seemed to deepen with each passing moment, and the reality that you was facing a critical condition hit him like a ton of bricks.

"A coma?" Harry repeated, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," Dr. Parker confirmed. "Given the head injury and the need to reduce pressure on her brain, we initiated the coma to allow her body to heal and to give her the best chance of recovery."

Harry's hands trembled as he reached out to hold your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, his heart heavy with worry for his wife.

"I know this is incredibly difficult," Dr. Parker continued, his voice compassionate. "But the induced coma is a crucial part of her treatment plan. It will help minimise any further damage and allow us to closely monitor her brain activity."

Harry nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving your face. He felt a mixture of helplessness and determination, the need to be there for you overwhelming his thoughts.

"M’here f’er," Harry said, his voice firm. "Whatever she needs, I'll be here."

Dr. Parker nodded, his expression one of understanding. "Your presence and support are invaluable, Mr. Styles. We'll continue to keep you updated on her condition and progress."

Dr. Parker remained in the room, his expression a mix of concern and professionalism. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice measured yet compassionate.

"There's one more thing I need to discuss with you, Mr. Styles," the doctor said, his tone somber.

Harry's head shot up, his eyes locking onto Dr. Parker's. A sense of dread gripped him, his heart pounding as he awaited the doctor's words.

The doctor's gaze met Harry's, his eyes conveying a mixture of empathy and gravity. "Were you aware that your wife is pregnant?"

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion, his mind racing to process the question. He shook his head slightly. "No, I wasn't."

Dr. Parker nodded, his gaze steady. "According to our initial assessment and subsequent scans, (Y/N) is approximately 13 weeks pregnant."

Harry's eyes widened in shock, his thoughts a jumble of emotions. The news hit him like a tidal wave, the realisation that not only was you facing a critical condition, but your was also carrying yours and his second child.

"She... she’s pregnant?" Harry managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alfie was going to be a big brother.

"Yes," Dr. Parker confirmed. "The baby appears to be fine, given our initial scans. However, I need to be transparent with you, Mr. Styles. The circumstances surrounding the accident do pose a higher risk of miscarriage."

Harry's heart ached at the doctor's words, the weight of the situation heavy upon him. The room seemed to close in around him as he processed the reality of the delicate life that hung in the balance.

" ‘hat can we do?" Harry asked, his voice trembling.

Dr. Parker's expression softened. "Right now, the focus is on (Y/N)'s recovery. We'll continue to monitor both her and the baby closely. While the situation is delicate, we'll do everything we can to support their well-being."

Harry nodded, his thoughts a whirlwind of worry and determination. He glanced back at you, his hand instinctively moving to rest on your abdomen, as if trying to protect the life that was growing within her.

"Thank you, Dr. Parker," Harry said, his voice heavy with gratitude. "Please, do whatever y’can t’take care of them."

The doctor offered a reassuring nod. "We're committed to providing the best care possible, Mr. Styles. We'll keep you updated on any developments."

As the doctor left the room, Harry's gaze remained fixed on you, his heart a mixture of hope and fear. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but he knew that the love and strength the two of you shared would be his guiding light, illuminating the path toward recovery for both you and their unborn child.

Dr. Parker's steps had barely faded when Harry found himself whispering to the still room, his voice a mixture of desperation and raw emotion.

"Y’can't leave us," Harry murmured, his fingers gently brushing your hand. "We need you. Alfie needs you."

His voice cracked as he spoke, the weight of his words heavy in the air. He looked at your face, so peaceful yet distant, and a lump formed in his throat.

"Alfie can't grow up without a mother," Harry continued, his voice trembling. "I don't know what I'll do without you."

Tears welled in his eyes as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. He took a shaky breath, his fingers gripping your ones tighter.

"Y’everything t’us," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. "We can't lose you."

The room was silent, the machines and monitors offering a haunting backdrop to his plea. Harry's heartache felt like an ache in his chest, a reminder of the fragility of life and the depth of his love for you and your unborn child.

DAY ONE. 13th August, 2022. — 07:54am.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow across the hospital room, Harry roused from his light slumber. He had spent the night in the chair beside your bed, his presence a steadfast symbol of his unwavering support. The machines continued their soft symphony, their rhythmic beeps and hums creating an almost surreal backdrop to the uncertainty that hung in the air.

A nurse, her footsteps soft and purposeful, entered the room. She moved gracefully, her experience evident in the way she approached your bedside and began checking her vitals. The machines responded with gentle beeps, their cadence familiar to Harry's ears by now. He watched the nurse's actions with a mix of hope and apprehension, his heart pounding in his chest.

As the nurse worked, her gaze shifted to Harry, and she offered a kind smile. "Good morning. Did you stay the whole night?"

Harry nodded, his voice hoarse as he replied, "Yeah, m’didn't want t’leave ‘er."

The nurse's gaze held a mixture of understanding and reassurance. "She's in safe hands here, Mr. Styles. We're doing everything we can for her."

Harry's grip on (Y/N)'s hand tightened, his gaze unwavering as he looked at the woman he loved. "I know, but I just... I can't leave her side."

The nurse nodded in understanding, her demeanour empathetic. "It's understandable that you want to be here for her. Just know that if you need anything – a drink, a meal, a moment to step outside – the nurses' station is just outside the door. Don't hesitate to reach out."

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice filled with gratitude. "I appreciate that."

With a final nod, the nurse completed her assessments and left the room, her presence a brief yet comforting interlude in the otherwise tense environment. Left alone once more with (Y/N), Harry's gaze returned to her face, his emotions a tumultuous mix of concern, love, and longing.

"Y’not alone in this," Harry whispered, his voice gentle. His fingers traced over her skin, the wedding band on her left hand a poignant reminder of the life they had built together. "We're in this together."

14:17pm.

Later in the afternoon, Harry's phone rang, shattering the quiet stillness of the room. His heart jumped at the sound, and he quickly retrieved the device, seeing his mum Anne's name on the screen. With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, he answered the call.

" ‘Ey, Mum," Harry greeted, his voice laced with a hint of anxiety.

"Harry, love," Anne's warm voice came through the line, tinged with concern. "I saw the announcement about the tour. Is everything alright?"

Harry's eyes welled up with tears, his emotions still raw and close to the surface. He took a deep breath, his voice shaky as he replied, "No, Mum. Everything's not alright."

Anne's voice softened with worry. "What happened, sweetheart?"

Harry's voice quivered as he began to recount the events of the past day, from the car accident to (Y/N)'s injuries and the delicate situation with their unborn child. As he spoke, the emotions that he had been trying to hold back surged forth, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I just... I can't lose her, Mama," Harry choked out, his voice breaking. "And Alfie... I don't want ‘im t’go through this. I don't know what t’do."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, a pause that carried a weight of empathy and understanding. Then, Anne's voice came through, filled with unwavering support.

"I'm catching the first flight out, Harry," Anne said firmly. "I want to be there for you, for Alfie, and for (Y/N)."

Harry's heart swelled with gratitude, his breath hitching as he wiped away tears. "Mum, y’don't have t’ I know y’have y’own commitments."

Anne's voice was resolute. "Harry, you're my son. Family comes first, always. I want to be there for all of you."

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes once more, this time fueled by the overwhelming love and comfort that his mother's words brought. He took a shaky breath, his voice heavy with emotion.

"Thank you, Mum. I... I really need y’right now."

"Of course, love," Anne replied gently. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Take care of yourself and Alfie."

18:30pm.

As the sun began its descent, casting a warm and soothing light across the hospital room, Harry remained rooted in his seat beside your bed. His unwavering presence was a testament to his devotion and concern for you, a quiet guardian watching over you as machines softly beeped and hummed in the background, a symphony of hope and uncertainty.

As the day's shadows grew longer, Harry turned his gaze to your serene face, his fingers still delicately entwined with your frail ones. With a tender smile, he began to speak, his voice a soothing balm in the hushed room.

"M’sun," he began, his words a blend of affection and determination,

His voice carried a note of eagerness, a glimmer of the future he envisioned. Gently, he reached out, his fingertips brushing against her hand as if conveying his sentiments through touch.

"When y’better we’ll go back t’England," he continued, a touch of excitement in his tone. "We'll leave everything behind f’a’while – the tour, the noise, the schedules. It can all wait. We can wait."

His gaze then shifted to her stomach, where their child was growing, a symbol of their love and resilience.

"N’this lil’one," he said softly, as though speaking directly to their unborn child, "we'll take y’to the places y’never seen. The countryside, the beaches, the parks. We'll have picnics and adventures. Your mum, I, and your big brother, Alf, we're going t’show y’the world."

A tender smile played on Harry's lips as he imagined the joy that such simple moments would bring to their son's life.

"We'll watch the sunset by the sea," Harry murmured, his voice an intimate whisper. "It'll be just the four of us, wrapped’n’blankets, sharing stories’n’laughter. We'll make memories that'll last a lifetime, (Y/N)."

His hand gently left hers and reached out, his palm resting tenderly on her stomach. The connection felt tangible, a bridge between the present challenges and the future joys they were determined to experience.

"We'll have all the time in the world," he promised softly. "Time for us, f’our family. No rush, no pressures. Just our love and the life we're creating."

DAY TWO. 14th August, 2022. — 08:03am.

The next day's gentle light filled the hospital room, casting a sense of quiet hope. Anne, Harry's mother, entered with a mixture of concern and determination etched on her face. Her gaze fell upon Harry, who remained hunched over in his chair, his fingers tightly interwoven with yours, and his eyes red-rimmed with sleeplessness. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she took in his exhausted appearance, noticing the telltale signs of strain.

"Harry," Anne's voice held both care and worry as she walked over. She crouched down next to him, gently touching his shoulder to get his attention. "Hey, love."

His eyes blinked open at her touch, his gaze filled with a mixture of surprise and relief as he registered his mother's presence. He managed a small smile, grateful for her being there.

"Mum?" His voice was hoarse, a mix of gratitude and exhaustion.

Anne offered him a soft smile, her fingers brushing a wayward strand of hair from his forehead. "I'm here, Harry."

He pushed himself up in the chair, a mixture of relief and emotions washing over him. He looked at his mother, his eyes red and heavy with sleepless nights, his exhaustion painted across his features like a canvas of worry.

Anne's eyes flickered with concern as she took in his appearance. "Harry, love, you look exhausted. How long have you been here?"

His gaze dropped, a mixture of guilt and weariness weighing heavily on him. "I... I haven't left ‘er side."

Anne's voice was a gentle mix of understanding and concern.

"Oh, Harry." She reached out, her hand gently lifting his chin, guiding his gaze back to her. Her fingers brushed away the tracks of tears that had silently fallen down his cheeks. "You can’t do this alone, my love."

He looked at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his emotions finally bubbling to the surface. "I know, Mum. But I can't leave her. I can't..."

Anne's touch was soft as she cupped his cheek, her eyes brimming with motherly warmth. "Harry, you need rest too."

He turned his gaze back to yours, his expression one of intense worry and fear. "M’scared, Mum. Scared t’leave ‘er."

Anne's voice held a comforting note as she spoke. "I understand, H. But you need to recharge so you can be strong for (Y/N) and for Alfie."

His eyes met hers, his vulnerability shining through as his voice cracked. "Thank you, Mum. F’being here."

Anne's smile was tender, her thumb brushing his cheek as she wiped away a lingering tear. "Always, Harry. Always."

As their gazes held, the room seemed to fill with a sense of connection, the unbreakable bond of family reminding them that they were not alone in facing the challenges ahead.

Anne's voice held a reassuring note as she spoke once more. "Listen to me, Harry. You need to go home, get a shower, and spend some time with Alfie. He's probably got a lot of questions about where you and (Y/N) are. You can come back right after."

Harry hesitated, his eyes drifting back to you. "But ‘hat if something happens?"

Anne's hand rested on his cheek, her touch warm and grounding. "I'll be here the whole time. I promise, if anything happens, I'll call you right away."

The weight of Anne's reassurance settled over him like a comforting embrace, giving him the permission he needed to take care of himself and his family.

"Okay," he finally nodded, his voice soft and weary. "Okay, Mum."

08:58am.

Harry's car pulled into his manager Jeff's driveway, the engine's soft hum fading into the tranquil neighbourhood. He sat there for a moment, his thoughts a maelstrom of worry and uncertainty. This visit, intended to be a routine pickup of Alfie, had taken on a weight he hadn't expected. He took a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel tightening briefly before he finally turned off the ignition. For a few lingering seconds, he sat there, his hands resting on the wheel, gathering his strength.

With a deep sigh, Harry opened the car door and stepped onto the pavement. Each step to the front door felt heavy, a silent acknowledgment of the upheaval that had consumed his life. Before he could fully process it, he stood before the door, his knuckles poised to knock. In that fleeting moment, he closed his eyes, as if hoping to find solace in the darkness behind his lids.

The knock resounded through the door, a signal of his presence. As he waited, his heart seemed to echo the rhythm of the universe, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. The door swung open, revealing Jeff, his manager. The lines of concern etched on Jeff's face reflected the tumult that Harry carried within himself.

"Hey, H," Jeff greeted, his voice a mixture of understanding and empathy.

Harry managed a faint smile, though the weariness in his eyes betrayed the facade. "Hey, mate. M’gonna pick up Alf and then take ‘im t’see ‘is mum."

Jeff's eyes softened, recognizing the weight Harry carried. "Yeah, he's inside. Come on in."

Harry stepped into the familiar surroundings, the walls of Jeff's house offering a silent embrace. He took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of his emotions press against his chest. A mixture of memories and apprehensions filled the air, an intangible current that Harry navigated with each step he took.

"Alfie, it's your dad!" Harry's voice carried a blend of warmth and longing, the words directed down the hallway where his son would soon appear.

From within the depths of the house, a small voice responded, "Daddy?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his son's voice. He waited, his gaze fixated on the hallway, his breath caught in his throat.

And then, as if from a distant dream, Alfie burst into view. His face lit up like the sun breaking through the clouds, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he saw his dad. "Daddy!"

A rush of emotion overcame Harry as Alfie ran towards him, his little arms wrapping around his legs in an enthusiastic hug. Harry's own arms encircled his son, holding him close as if he were his anchor in the storm. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, a mixture of relief and tenderness flooding his heart.

" ‘ey, buddy," Harry murmured, his voice tinged with both love and weariness. He knelt down, his fingers ruffling Alfie's hair with a gentleness that only a father could muster.

Alfie looked up at him, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Are we going somewhere, Daddy?"

Harry managed a small, affectionate smile, his heart a tapestry of emotions. "Yea’ Alf. We're going t’go home and then go and see someone."

Alfie's face lit up with a radiant smile, his excitement contagious. "Yay!"

09:16am.

Harry's car rolled to a stop in front of their home, the engine's soft purr fading into the tranquil surroundings. The journey from Jeff's house had been a mixture of quiet conversations and Alfie's enthusiastic recounting of his day. As Harry stepped out of the car, he glanced up at their home, a mixture of warmth and heaviness settling over him. The familiarity of the place was a welcome comfort, yet the weight of the situation cast a shadow over everything.

Alfie bounded out of the car, his small steps carrying a youthful exuberance as he rushed towards the front door. His laughter filled the air as he fumbled with the keys under Harry's watchful eye.

"Alright there, buddy?" Harry's voice carried a mixture of amusement and tenderness.

Alfie looked up at his dad, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Yeah, Daddy! Can we play pirates when we get inside?"

Harry's smile was fond, a genuine reflection of his love for his son. " ‘f’course, mate. We can play pirates."

With the door unlocked, Alfie swung it open with a triumphant grin, his youthful energy infectious. As they stepped inside, the house enveloped them in a familiar embrace, the creak of floorboards and the soft hum of appliances a testament to the life they had built together.

"Daddy, look!" Alfie's voice carried from the living room, his excitement tangible even from a distance.

Harry followed his voice and found Alfie standing amidst a makeshift pirate ship of cushions and blankets. A sense of warmth filled Harry's heart as he watched his son play, the innocence of childhood a precious balm against the storm of emotions that had consumed their lives.

"Great job, Captain Alfie," Harry said with a playful salute, his heart aching with both sadness and a fierce determination to be strong for his son.

As Alfie continued his pirate adventures, Harry's gaze lingered for a moment before he turned and quietly retreated down the hallway. He stepped into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click. The sound of the running water provided a gentle rhythm, a backdrop to the thoughts that had been hovering at the edges of his mind.

The water cascaded over Harry's body, the warmth soothing his muscles but doing little to ease the ache in his heart. As he stood under the spray, his head bowed, tears mingled with the water, the release of his emotions a quiet catharsis.

He lathered up a razor and carefully shaved, the rhythmic motion offering a small sense of normalcy amidst the chaos. Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and reached for another to dry his hair.

As he moved through the motions of getting dressed, his eyes caught his reflection in the mirror. The image that stared back at him was a complex tapestry of emotions – a father, a husband, a man who was holding onto hope amidst uncertainty.

The tears he had shed in the shower had left traces on his face, a silent testament to the pain he was carrying. But as he looked at himself, there was a quiet strength in his eyes, a resolve to be the pillar of support that his family needed.

With one last glance in the mirror, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, his footsteps carrying him back to the living room where Alfie's laughter echoed. The journey ahead was uncertain, but in the simple moments like this, Harry found the strength to navigate the storm, determined to be the anchor that held his family together.

10:01am.

As they sat in the back of the car, the engine's gentle hum providing a comforting backdrop, Harry stole a glance at Alfie. His son's curious eyes were fixed on the passing scenery, his mind likely filled with questions that he didn't yet know how to voice. Harry took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the task ahead.

" ‘ey, buddy," Harry began, his voice gentle yet tinged with a mixture of sadness and reassurance.

Alfie turned his head to look at his dad, his expression a mix of curiosity and trust. "Yeah, Daddy?"

Harry smiled, his eyes warm with affection. "Y’know how Mummy's not at home right now? She's in the hospital."

Alfie's brows furrowed slightly, his young mind processing the information. "Why is Mummy in the hospital, Daddy?"

Harry sighed softly, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel for a moment before he continued. "Well, y’remember when we talked about how sometimes people get hurt or sick, and doctors help them feel better?"

Alfie nodded, his gaze fixed on his dad's face, absorbing every word.

"Exactly," Harry affirmed. "Mummy got a lil’hurt, ‘n’the doctors are taking care of her t’make sure she gets better."

Alfie's expression shifted to one of concern, his eyes widening slightly. "Is Mummy going to be okay, Daddy?"

Harry's voice held a soothing tone, his hand reaching back to briefly squeeze Alfie's knee. "Ye’,buddy. The doctors are doing everything they can, and we're going t’visit her right now."

Alfie nodded slowly, the weight of the situation evident in his gaze. "Can I see Mummy, Daddy?"

Harry smiled softly, his heart aching at his son's innocence. " f’course, Alf. We're going t’see her together."

As they continued on the journey to the hospital, the atmosphere in the car was a blend of quiet anticipation and unspoken emotions. Harry's grip on the steering wheel was steady, his thoughts a mixture of concern for (Y/N) and a determination to provide comfort and reassurance to Alfie.

"Buddy," Harry said after a moment, his voice gentle, "if y’have any questions or if y’feeling worried, y’can always talk t’me. I'm here f’you."

Alfie's small hand reached out to grasp Harry's, his fingers curling around his dad's hand. "I love you, Daddy."

Tears pricked at the corners of Harry's eyes, his grip on the steering wheel momentarily tightening. "I love you too, Alfie. We're a team, okay? We'll get through this together."

10:35am.

Harry walked into the hospital room, Alfie nestled in his arms, their footsteps quiet against the linoleum floor. The room, typically a place of healing, was filled with an air of uncertainty and tension. Harry's gaze shifted from the floor to the sight that awaited them – you lying still on the bed, your eyes closed, your form a stark contrast to the vibrant woman he knew.

As they entered, Alfie's eyes widened, his gaze immediately drawn to the figure on the bed. He also noticed Anne sat next to the bed,However, this time, the usual excitement that would accompany seeing his grandmother wasn't present. His little body tensed in Harry's arms, his eyes fixated on his mother's still form, the weight of the situation settling over him.

"Daddy," Alfie's voice was a mere whisper, tinged with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

Harry held him a bit tighter, his heart aching at the realisation that Alfie was trying to process what he was seeing. "Yea’, buddy?"

Alfie's small hand pointed toward the corner of the room, where Anne stood, her gaze filled with a mix of sympathy and love. Typically, Alfie would have dashed over to her with the energy only a child possessed, but now, he seemed frozen in place.

"Is that Grandma, Daddy?" Alfie's voice was soft, almost hesitant.

Harry nodded, his own eyes briefly meeting Anne's before he turned his attention back to his son. "Yea’, that's Grandma."

Alfie's gaze shifted back to you, his eyes filling with a mixture of emotions that were too complex for his young heart to fully understand. He looked back at Harry, his voice carrying a request that seemed beyond his years. "Daddy, can I go hold Mummy's hand?"

Harry's heart swelled with both sadness and pride at Alfie's resilience. He walked over to the bed, carefully lowering Alfie to the edge of it. "Of course, Alf. Y’can even give her a little cuddle, j’gotta be careful."

Alfie's tiny hand reached out, hesitating for a moment before he gently placed it on your hand, his eyes studying her features as if searching for a sign of life. His other hand rested on your arm, his touch gentle yet filled with an innocence that brought tears to Harry's eyes.

As Alfie leaned in, his small body pressed against his mother's, Harry stood beside them, his emotions a tempest within him. He watched as Alfie's head rested on your chest, his breaths steady, as if seeking solace in the closeness of his mother.

"Y’doing great, buddy," Harry whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

Alfie's voice was soft, a mixture of curiosity and longing. "Is Mummy asleep, Daddy?"

Harry's heart ached at the innocence in his son's question. "Yeah, Alf, she's asleep right now."

Alfie's gaze remained fixed on yours, his small fingers curling around your cold hand. The room held a fragile sense of connection, as if time itself had slowed down to honour the moment. In that stillness, Harry watched his son, his heart both heavy with grief and full of hope for the future.

DAY THREE. 15th August, 2022. — 14:12am.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the hospital room. Harry sat by your side, his gaze fixed on your still form, his thoughts a jumble of hope and uncertainty. Anne had taken Alfie back to the house, giving Harry some time alone with his wife.

As he sat there lost in his thoughts, the door creaked open, and a doctor entered the room. Harry looked up, his eyes meeting the doctor's with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

"Good morning," the Dr Parker greeted, his voice gentle and reassuring. “How’re you holding up?”

Harry managed a faint smile, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and fatigue. "Doing m’best, thank you."

Dr. Parker nodded understandingly, his gaze shifting to your form before back to Harry. "I'm here to talk to you about the next steps. Given the circumstances, we'd like to perform an ultrasound to check on the baby."

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the baby. The mixture of hope and fear that had been his constant companion intensified. "F’course, whatever y’think is best."

A nurse entered the room, carrying the necessary equipment for the ultrasound. She smiled at Harry as she prepared for the procedure. "Hello, I'm Chloe. We'll make sure everything goes smoothly."

Harry offered a small smile in return although it never fully reached his eyes, his eyes shifting between the doctor and the nurse. "Thank you."

As the nurse prepped the ultrasound machine, Dr. Parker explained the procedure to Harry. "We'll be able to see the baby on the screen and check for any signs of distress or complications. It's a routine precautionary measure."

Harry nodded, his fingers involuntarily tracing patterns on your hand. "I understand."

The nurse positioned the ultrasound device on your abdomen, and the monitor came to life, displaying the fuzzy image of the baby. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he saw the tiny figure on the screen – their unborn child, a symbol of hope amid the uncertainty.

He watched as the nurse moved the device, the image shifting slightly, revealing more details of the baby. The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the soft hum of the machine.

"There we go," the nurse's voice was gentle, her expertise apparent in the way she manoeuvred the device.

Dr. Parker stood by, her gaze shifting between the screen and Harry's expression. "Everything looks good so far. The baby's heartbeat is strong."

A rush of relief washed over Harry at the doctor's words. He couldn't help but feel a swell of emotion, a mixture of awe and gratitude for the life that was growing within your body.

As the nurse finished the ultrasound, she smiled at Harry. "You have a healthy, strong baby here."

Harry's eyes were fixed on the screen for a moment longer, his voice soft. "Thank you."

The nurse and the doctor left the room, giving Harry some space. He turned his attention back to you, his hand gently resting on your abdomen. The image of their baby, captured on the ultrasound screen, held a promise of better days ahead. As he sat there, a sense of determination settled within him, a resolve to be strong for his family and to hold onto hope, no matter the challenges they faced.

15:05pm.

Later in the afternoon, the room was bathed in a soft, warm light. Harry sat by your bedside, his gaze shifting between your still form and the monitor that displayed the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. The room held a hushed stillness, as if time itself had slowed down in the face of the uncertainty that lay ahead.

Harry's hand rested on your stomach, his touch gentle yet filled with an unspoken tenderness. As he looked at the monitor, his thoughts drifted to the tiny life that was growing within your – their unborn bundle. His heart swelled with a mixture of love and protectiveness.

" ‘Ey there, little one," Harry's voice was soft, his fingers tracing patterns on your abdomen. "Y’mum and I, we're here f’y’We're going t’be strong, just like y’mum."

His gaze shifted to your face, his heart aching at the sight of the bruises that were slowly starting to become more prominent. He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Y’mum's the strongest person I know, y’know? She's been through s’much, and she's still fighting. Y’going t’be just as strong as her."

A soft smile tugged at Harry's lips as he imagined their future together as a family of four. He leaned down, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your stomach, as if to convey his love and hope directly to their unborn child.

"Y’not alone in this, lil’one," Harry continued, his voice carrying a mixture of reassurance and determination. "We're all in this together. And when y’ready t’meet the world, y’have a whole lot of people who love ye’."

As he spoke, the room seemed to hold a sense of promise, a quiet sanctuary where his words held the power to bridge the gap between the present and the future. Harry's hand remained on your stomach, his touch a physical connection to the life that were growing within her.

"We're going t’get through this, y’and me and y’mum," Harry's voice was a whisper, as if sharing a secret with the unborn baby. "And when y’mum wakes up, we're going t’tell her all about ye’. She's going t’love y’so much."

Harry's gaze shifted back to your face,his heart filled with a mixture of longing and hope. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Hang in there, love. We're all waiting f’you."

As Harry's words hung in the air, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if the universe itself was listening to his heartfelt monologue. His hand remained on your stomach, his touch both tender and resolute. He leaned in, pressing a final kiss to your forehead, a mixture of emotions welling up within him.

And then, in a moment that felt like a miracle, your hand twitches in his hold.

Harry gasped, his heart leaping in his chest. He stared at your hand, disbelief and hope warring within him. Before he could react, the heart rate monitor suddenly went off, the rapid beeping filling the room with urgency.

With a sense of determination, Harry bolted out of the room, his heart pounding in his ears. He found Dr. Parker in the hallway and quickly explained what had just happened – how your hand had moved, triggering the heart rate alarm.

Dr. Parker's eyes widened in surprise and excitement. "Let's not waste any time. Come with me."

Harry followed the doctor back into the room, his pulse racing as they reached your bedside. A sense of tension hung in the air, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

Dr. Parker approached the heart rate monitor, checking the readings and your vitals. His expression was a mix of concentration and cautious hope. He adjusted a few settings on the machines, his fingers moving with practised precision.

"She's trying to breathe on her own," Dr. Parker said, his voice carrying a note of astonishment. "Her body is responding to stimuli."

Harry's heart swelled with a mixture of joy and disbelief. He looked at your figure, his fingers gently brushing against your hand. "Y’doing it, m’love. Y’fighting."

Dr. Parker continued his assessments, his focus unwavering as he monitored the changes in your condition. The room seemed to vibrate with a newfound energy, a sense of possibility that had been absent for so long.

As the minutes ticked by, the heart rate monitor displayed a steadier rhythm, and Dr. Parker nodded in approval. "She's showing signs of improvement. She could wake up at any moment. It's a positive step forward."

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes, his voice choked with emotion. "Thank y’Doctor."

18:45pm.

The hospital room was cocooned in the gentle embrace of the night. The soft glow of the dimmed bedside lamp cast a warm and soothing ambiance, casting delicate shadows across the walls. The rhythmic beep of the heart rate monitor punctuated the stillness, a reassuring reminder of the life that pulsed within the room.

Alfie sat nestled on his father's lap, his small frame comfortably settled against Harry's chest. The hospital chair cradled them both, a makeshift throne where father and son formed an intimate fortress of love and togetherness. Harry's arms wrapped protectively around Alfie, holding him close as they shared the moment.

Alfie's concentrated expression was etched with a mixture of focus and determination. His tiny fingers clutched a pencil, his brow furrowing as he tackled the math problems that were laid out before him on the sheet of paper. Harry watched with a blend of admiration and amusement, his heart swelling at the sight of Alfie's dedication.

"Okay, buddy," Harry's voice was a gentle blend of guidance and encouragement, "y’got this. J’add those numbers together."

Alfie's tongue peeked out from between his lips as he concentrated, his eyes narrowing in concentration. The tip of the pencil move with purpose, crossing out digits and jotting down numbers. Every so often, Alfie would glance up at Harry, his gaze seeking validation and assurance.

Harry's fingers gently brushed the back of Alfie's head, offering silent encouragement. "Y’doing great, Alf. Keep going."

The two of them formed a heartwarming tableau, a portrait of fatherly support and shared effort. Amid the beeping monitors and the hushed hum of the hospital, Harry and Alfie created their own small world, a world in which challenges were met with determination and love was expressed through shared moments.

And then, in the midst of the quietude, a movement caught Harry's attention. His eyes shifted from the maths problems to the bed, where you lay, and his heart ricocheted against his rib cage.

Your eyes were open and staring at your two boys.

“(Y/N)?” Harry spoke in a hushed whisper as you tried to smile at him.

1K notes · View notes

voidpetrova · 9 months

Text

friends — lip gallagher x reader

and what the hell were we?

tell me we weren't just friends

this doesn't make much sense

☄. *. ⋆

content warnings and genre: swearing, alcohol consumption, smoking, sex, nudity, slut-shaming, arguing, fighting — smut, angst, fluff

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

synopsis: going from the best of friends to the best of friends with benefits shouldn't be a problem—at least, not until one starts to catch feelings for the other

✧.*

the southside streets were a tapestry of dimly lit alleyways and faded dreams. you found yourself perched on the stoop of the gallagher house, a half-empty beer bottle in your hand. the night was alive with whispers of city life, the distant sounds of sirens and laughter merging into a symphony of chaos. the air carried the sweet tang of uncertainty, a reminder that anything could happen in these streets.

lip gallagher, a mix of charm and raw edges, emerged from the house. his presence was magnetic, drawing you in with a lopsided grin that spoke of countless adventures. “fancy seeing you here,” he remarked, his voice a cocktail of amusement and intrigue.

“fate or coincidence, you decide,” you shot back, the corner of your lips curling into a playful smile. this was your ritual, a dance that had become second nature between you two.

he leaned against the porch railing, his shoulder brushing against yours in a way that felt more intimate than accidental. the conversation flowed effortlessly, a rhythm that only the two of you understood. stories of the latest flings and mishaps unfolded, the honesty between you a testament to a connection that ran deeper than the surface.

as the night stretched on, the dialogue tiptoed along the line between flirtation and confession. every word carried a weight of promise and potential, each laugh a step closer to crossing a boundary that neither of you had dared to name.

lip's gaze held a mixture of challenge and curiosity, his words dipped in a shade of daring. “so, what's the most daring thing you've done lately?” he asked, his eyes never leaving yours.

a smirk tugged at your lips, a telltale sign that you were about to unveil a carefully guarded secret. “well,” you began, drawing out the word for dramatic effect, “i may or may not have found myself in a rather intriguing situation with a certain gallagher.”

His eyebrows arched, his mask of nonchalance slipping just a fraction. “oh, really? do tell.”

you leaned in, your breath mingling with his as you whispered your confession. “let's just say, friends with benefits has taken on a whole new meaning.”

his laughter was a melody that echoed through the night, a mixture of surprise and something else that flickered in his eyes. “you're something else, you know that?” the unspoken truth hung between you, the acknowledgment that this game you were playing had stakes neither of you had anticipated. but as the night drew on, the allure of the unknown kept you tethered to the porch, the city's heartbeat matching your own.

it only took a second for him to close the gap between your lips. the kiss was a collision of pent-up tension and unspoken desires, a fusion of emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. his lips were warm against yours, a promise of more to come, as if the touch of his mouth held the answers to questions you hadn't even asked.

the world around you seemed to fade into the background, the distant city noises reduced to a gentle hum. all that mattered was the taste of him, the sensation of his fingers tangling in your hair, his body pressed against yours. as the kiss deepened, so did the complexity of the emotions it unearthed. It was more than just a physical connection; it was a revelation of the layers you'd both been hiding. the hands that had been exploratory in their touch grew steadier, more purposeful, as if mapping out the contours of a future neither of you had planned for.

when the kiss finally broke, you were left breathless, the weight of what had just transpired settling between you like a secret too heavy to bear. lip's eyes bore into yours, a mixture of uncertainty and longing, a reflection of the storm that raged within him. “we should probably go back inside,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down your spine.

“probably,” you agreed, though neither of you moved. the unspoken words hung between you as he smashed his lips into yours once more, the kiss more feverish than ever.

his fingers trailed along the fabric of your shirt, dipping under the hem as he tugged on it aggressively. you smiled into the kiss, complying as you helped him out, the shirt landing on the floor beneath your feet. the air felt electric, every touch igniting a spark that set your senses ablaze. lip's touch was both urgent and tender, his hands mapping the expanse of your skin as if committing every inch to memory. the porch became a canvas for a connection that had transcended its boundaries, each brush of skin a brushstroke in a masterpiece of vulnerability. as his fingers danced along your spine, you leaned into his touch, savoring the way his breath hitched when you traced the contours of his chest. the unspoken words that had lingered between you now found their voice in the language of touch and sensation.

his lips found your neck, trailing soft kisses that sent ripples of pleasure through you. the world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of stolen intimacy. the night held its breath, as if aware of the gravity of this moment, of how it would reshape the landscape of your connection. “really need this,” he murmured into your neck, his veiny hands finding their way onto your chest, gripping at your boobs with an aggression that made you moan. “had such a shitty fuckin' day.”

you couldn't help but smile as you pushed his hands farther into your tits, giving him all the leverage he needed to grope them harder, unclipping your bra before letting his mouth help him out. “well, what are best friends for?”

he let his teeth sink into your nipples, tongue circling the hardened buds as you shivered under his touch. you were busy yourself, fingers eagerly pulling his jeans down, boxers catching up to them in an instant. you were both bare, nothing you hadn't seen before—but it never got old. his hands traced your toned stomach, rubbing soothing circles into your hipbones before making their way south.

the sensation in his dick became even more unbearable as he ran a sole finger along your slit, picking up all the moisture you had in store for him.

“so fucking wet,” he groaned, admiring the way your sweet slick dripped onto his fingers. “all of this for me?” you nodded in response, your fingers wrapped around his wrist as you pushed upwards, encouraging him to go further. you didn't have to tell him twice, his index finger pushing its way into you, meaty walls clenching in an instant. you couldn't help but moan, his finger long and sturdy, hitting you where you needed it to.

“let's see how well you take them tonight,” he mused, his pace quickening as the tip of his finger brushed against your sweet spot. you find yourself with your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling on his curly locks. he pushed a second finger into you, the burning pain of being stretched out so nicely clashing with overwhelming pleasure. in no time, he had pushed a third finger into you, all three mercilessly pounding inside of you, curling and twisting so that he could prepare you for a bigger treat. “that's a good girl.”

when he slid his fingers out, you whined at the emptyness. he pressed his lips to yours once more, fingers soaked with your arousal. you kissed him back just as hard, just as needy as he trailed his wet fingers up your body, caressing your stomach, tits and neck—before he pulled away, substituting his lips with his fingers. you obliged at the silent demand, swollen lips parted to make way for his thick fingers. he shoved them in carelessly, watching you suck on your own juices to clean him up. he groaned at the sight of you all pretty and desperate for him, he couldn't hold out any longer.

you had your face propped up on your elbows, back arched for him with your ass in his face. he brought down his hand against the meat of your ass harshly, watching it riccochet and bounce back. you mewled at the stinging sensation it left behind as you pushed up against him, eager for another taste. he smirked, knowing you were just as desperate as he was.

when you felt the tip brush past your walls, there was no shutting you up. of course, you've had countless encounters like this with your best friend, and you've seen a considerable amount of dicks in your life—but nothing could compare to him, nothing could make you get bored with him. you let out a cry of ecstasy once he pushed himself in balls-deep, the feeling making you tense up completely.

“so fucking big,” you purred, his hands gripping onto your ass for leverage. “can't take it.” the grip on your ass intensified as he leaned down to your ear, dick pushing into you even deeper than before.

“oh, yes you fucking will,” he argued, hot breath fanning your lobe. “gonna stay there and let me use this pussy like a good little bitch.”

you felt yourself clench around him at his degrading words, a string of disgusting moans leaving your mouth as he fucked you—and he fucked you good. he made sure you felt the way every vein pressed against your walls, the way his tip cruelly slammed against your cervix, the way his balls would slap your ass roughly. neither of you were there to make love—you were there to fuck. you were there to let loose and let go of your stressful issues, and being best friends, you were determined to help each other out.

when he came, he didn't do it quietly. one hand was gripping at the flesh on your ass, sure to leave marks. the other was in your hair, pulling your head towards him while he fucked you, longing to watch how your eyes rolled back at the brutal pleasure. he came with a loud groan, dumping his cum into you, along with the problems the day had in store for him. you followed just a few seconds after, tears rolling down your cheeks as you soaked him, the nirvana positively ecstatic.

“i'm gonna get going,” you breathed out, quick to get back onto your feet after coming down from your high. lip shot you a look as he tucked his elbows behind his head. “no, you're not,” he countered with a yawn. “you're gonna get us some beer and stay over so we can talk about shit.”

the low hum of the room was accompanied by the afterglow of your connection, the air still heavy with the intimacy you'd shared. with a reluctant nod, you slipped into your discarded clothes and made your way to the small kitchen, returning shortly with a couple of cold beers. you settled back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as you handed lip a beer. the cans clinked together in a silent toast as you both took a sip, the casual gesture feeling strangely intimate after what had transpired between you.

“so, what's on your mind?” lip asked, his gaze fixed on the ceiling but his attention clearly focused on you. you took a deep breath, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself. “you remember that guy from our school, sam?”

lip's eyebrows furrowed as he turned his head to look at you. “oh, yeah. captain of the football team, real dick.”

“yeah,” you confirmed, your fingers tracing the rim of the beer can. “we were fucking for a while, but it kind of fizzled out.”

lip's expression was a mixture of curiosity and concern. “what happened?” you shrugged, trying to keep your tone nonchalant. “just the usual stuff. real small dick.”

silence hung in the air, a bridge between what was said and what was left unsaid before you both broke into laughter. it was your turn to ask, “what about you?”

lip's lips quirked into a wry smile. “my sexcapades aren't as bad as yours,” he took a long sip of his beer before continuing. “well, you remember mandy milkovich?” your heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name, though you tried your best to hide it. it was nothing personal with her, she was just a huge cunt. “oh, yeah. real bitch.”

lip's gaze was distant, as if he were recounting a distant memory. “fucked her longer than i counted for, real intense.”

“intense how?” you couldn't help but ask, your curiosity piqued. he let out a soft chuckle. “mandy's got this way of getting under your skin, you know? we were good together, but then we weren't. she wanted more than i was willing to give at the time.”

the honesty in his voice resonated with you, reminding you that the emotions you'd been navigating weren't exclusive to you alone. as you continued to share stories, both trivial and significant, the barriers that had once separated you seemed to crumble, replaced by a newfound understanding of each other's vulnerabilities.

the hours slipped away in a haze of laughter and candid conversation, the connection between you growing deeper with every word exchanged. it was a respite from the chaos of the world, a haven where feelings could be acknowledged without judgment.

eventually, as the night gave way to the early hours of the morning, the two of you lay side by side, the beer cans empty and discarded. the moment was a tranquil pause in a story that had become increasingly complicated, a pause that allowed you to savor the newfound intimacy that had emerged from the ashes of your casual arrangement.

the morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow across lip's disheveled room. groggily, he rubbed his eyes and shifted, only to find an empty space beside him. confusion settled in as he searched for any sign of you, his mind racing through fragmented memories of the night before.

had you left? or maybe you'd ended up in someone else's bed? of course you left. the thought gnawed at him, igniting an unsettling fire of emotions he wasn't prepared for. lip's fingers brushed against his temple as he attempted to piece together the events of the previous night, the truth feeling elusive.

days turned into a slow build-up of anticipation and anxiety. the absence of your usual banter and casual encounters weighed heavily on him. the evening approached, and you had found yourself at the bar, nursing a drink and trying to settle in for a night of fun you'd been anticipating the past dew days.

as the hours ticked by, a vision of confidence and allure. the room seemed to shift its focus to you, a magnetic force that drew glances from all directions. men couldn't resist approaching, their intentions clear, but their advances met with a firm dismissal.

at the bar, kevin watched with amusement, recognizing the game you were playing. with a sly grin, he intercepted a particularly persistent suitor, delivering a curt “fuck off,” that sent a clear message. unbeknownst to the onlookers, the stage was set, and the tension was building, like the calm before a storm.

the whispers among the patrons painted a picture of longing. it seemed like you were waiting for someone, and in their minds, that someone was lip gallagher. expectation hung in the air like a palpable thread, weaving through the dimly lit space as the night deepened.

as the door swung open, a collective breath held, only to release in a surprised murmur. it wasn't lip who stepped in, but carl, his presence strikingly magnetic. a slow grin curled on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the role he was about to play.

his entrance was like a bolt of electricity, charging the atmosphere with an undeniable energy. his eyes locked onto yours from across the room, a silent invitation that you couldn't resist. with a smirk, he made his way over, sliding onto the barstool beside you.

“looks like you really showed up,” he drawled, his tone dripping with flirtatious charm. you laughed, a mixture of amusement and anticipation. “you gave me a reason to.”

he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “good, because we've got shit in store for tonight.”

the double entendre hung in the air, and a shiver ran down your spine. “is that so?” you teased, meeting his gaze with a challenge. carl's hand found its way to your thigh, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. “absolutely, only if you can take it.” you and carl have known each other as long as you and lip have—as long as you and all the gallaghers have. granted, none of you were as close as you and lip were, but carl wanted nothing more than to form a close bond of hia own with you.

the playful glint in his eyes told you he had no intentions of keeping that promise. as the night wore on and drinks flowed, the conversation between you grew more intimate.

“you always knew how to keep things interesting,” you mused, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. carl's foot brushed against yours under the bar, a subtle touch that spoke volumes. “life's too short for anything less.”

the chemistry between you was undeniable, each word and gesture a part of an intricate dance. his laughter mixed with yours, creating a bubble of shared secrets and hidden desires.

leaning in, he whispered, “you have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this.” your breath caught in your throat as his lips grazed your earlobe. “oh, really? and what exactly have you been looking forward to?”

carl's fingers traced a path along your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. ”getting to know you better. much, much better.“ the words hung in the air, heavy with implication. the bar seemed to fade away as the night deepened, leaving only the electric connection between you and him. the chemistry crackled, a tantalizing push and pull that was impossible to ignore. the bar buzzed with activity, but your focus was solely on each other. With every touch, every whispered promise, the tension between you grew, until it became a force that couldn't be contained.

when he took you home, everybody was asleep. everybody, except for lip, who was nowhere to be found. you chose not to ask questions and ignore the feeling that grew in your chest. you knew he was out elsewhere, possibly in someone else's bed, but you didn't care. why would you? you focused on carl, on the way you were straddling his lap on his bed, your bodies closer than ever. his fingers brushed against your cheek, his touch gentle yet charged with an electric undercurrent. the weight of unspoken words hung in the air, but there was no need for explanations.

his breath mingled with yours, a rhythmic symphony that seemed to echo the racing of your hearts. the chemistry between you crackled like electricity, each touch igniting a wildfire that spread through every nerve ending. his lips brushed against yours, a soft tease that sent tremors of longing through you.

“you drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky whisper that seemed to send vibrations straight to your core. a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. “and what are you planning to do about it?”

carl's hands found their way to your hips, his touch possessive yet tender. “i think you already know,” he replied, his gaze holding a promise that was impossible to ignore. the barriers that had once separated you from this moment felt like distant memories. in the dim light, the layers of pretense were shed, leaving only raw desire and the unspoken connection that bound you together.

as your lips met in a hungry kiss, the world seemed to fall away. the sensation of his mouth against yours was intoxicating, a heady mixture of need and vulnerability. your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as the kiss deepened, a silent exchange of emotions too complex to put into words.

in that moment, you chose to let go of the questions that had been nagging at the back of your mind. the feeling that had grown in your chest, a mixture of unease and longing, was pushed aside in favor of the intoxicating present. you straddled the line between reality and desire, a place where the only thing that mattered was the connection between you and him.

“you gallaghers sure know what you're doing,” you breathed out in exasperation. your body was pressed real tight against his, tits spilling out of the top of your dress against his chest—he couldn't look away. the bulge in his jeans rubbed against your lace panties from under your dress, soft moans leaving your mouths.

after the words left your mouth, he was quick to flip you over. “talking about lip, aren't you?” you couldn't form a response, only being able to nod as he kissed your neck. “he's a real cynic. forget about him, at least for tonight.”

it was easier said than done.

the first crack of dawn filtered through the windows, casting a pale glow across the room as you stirred from your sleep. you were naked next to carl, his arm placed messily against your tits due to the uncomfortable sleeping position. the hushed rustle of clothing and the creak of the bed were your attempt to leave without disturbing anyone, especially carl, but just as you were about to slip out, your heart stopped.

there, standing in the doorway, was lip, his eyes locked onto you with a mixture of shock and anger.

time seemed to stand still as you both stared at each other, a tense silence enveloping the room. then, the dam broke, and lip's anger burst forth like a storm unleashed. his voice was a roar, laughter hysterical, his words a torrent of rage as he accused you of betraying him with his own brother.

“you really couldn't help yourself, could you?” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “fucking around with carl? are you that desperate?”

the accusation hit you like a punch to the gut, and before you knew it, you were on your feet, a fiery retort on your lips. “don't you dare act like you have any right to be angry, i get to fuck who i want, lip.”

the room became a battlefield, words like weapons as you hurled accusations at each other. the tension that had been building between you for so long finally exploded, the frustration and hurt pouring out in a torrent of anger. objects were knocked off surfaces, the crash of shattered glass punctuating the intensity of the argument. it filled you with fury, how he thought he had any right to be angry at you, despite your agreement.

lip's face contorted in a mix of disbelief and fury. “you think that gives you the right to fuck my brother? to act like nothing matters?”

“nothing does matter,” you yelled back, your voice laced with desperation. “we had an arrangement, lip, and you knew exactly what you were getting into. don't play the victim now.”

the fight raged on, a storm of emotions that neither of you could control. the boundaries you had carefully established had crumbled, leaving you both exposed and vulnerable. the accusations and hurtful words flew like daggers, each one cutting deeper than the last.

“whore around all you want,” his voice cracked as he spit the words out, right in your face. “just spread your poison somewhere else.”

eventually, the anger began to subside, replaced by a heavy silence. panting, your chests heaved as you glared at each other, the residue of the fight hanging in the air like a bitter taste. with a final, seething look, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the room, retreating from the chaos you had unleashed.

as you left the house and retreated back to the familiarity of your own space, a mix of emotions swirled within you. the confrontation had left scars, wounds that ran deeper than the surface. the lines had been crossed, the arrangement shattered, and the tangled mess of emotions was impossible to ignore.

the sun painted your room in gentle hues of gold as you slept, oblivious to the turmoil that had transpired the day before. unbeknownst to you, lip stood outside your window, a conflicted figure bathed in the soft light. the memory of you, peacefully asleep, stirred something within him, a mixture of regret and longing.

he knew he had to make things right. climbing onto the windowsill with a mix of determination and trepidation, he moved silently, careful not to wake you. his eyes lingered on your peaceful face, the lines of your features softened in slumber. his fingers traced the curve of your cheek, the touch featherlight as he stroked your skin. regret and tenderness intertwined as he watched you, his heart heavy with the weight of his emotions. he had to apologize, to make amends for the pain he had caused.

and then, your eyes fluttered open, startled by his presence. the initial confusion in your gaze gave way to surprise and a hint of vulnerability. before you could react, he spoke, his voice a quiet confession.

“i'm sorry,” he whispered, his gaze locked onto yours. “i let my jealousy get the best of me. it wasn't fair to you.”

the sincerity in his voice struck a chord within you, and as you took in his remorseful expression, the tension from the previous day seemed to fade away. you shifted in your bed, sitting up and giving him space to come in.

"i appreciate your honesty," you replied softly, your voice carrying a mix of caution and warmth. "but we can't keep going like this, lip. we need boundaries."

he nodded, understanding in his eyes. “you're right. i messed up, and i don't want to lose you.”

the vulnerability in his admission resonated with you, and you found yourself considering the possibility of something more. it was a risky leap, but the connection between you was undeniable.

with a determined glint in his eyes, lip reached out to take your hand. “i wanna try something different. something real. can we give this a shot?”

the air seemed to hang heavy with the weight of his question, and as you looked into his eyes, you saw a genuine desire for change. a flicker of hope ignited within you, and you found yourself nodding slowly.

“let's take it one step at a time,” you replied, your voice steady. “but we need ground rules, lip. no more secrets, no more jealousy. just honesty.”

he nodded fervently, a renewed determination in his expression. and so, as the light bathed the room, you and lip embarked on a new chapter, one that held the promise of something deeper and more meaningful.

#shameless #lip gallagher #lip x reader #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher smut #lip gallagher angst #lip gallagher fluff #carl gallagher x reader #carl x reader #carl gallagher #carl gallagher smut

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ask-the-prose · 10 months

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Do Your Research

This phrase is regularly thrown around writeblr and for good reason. It's important to research what you are writing about to know what to include, what can be fudged, and how to depict whatever you're writing. I see "do your research" most thrown around by well-meaning and highly traditionally educated writers. It's solid advice, after all!

But how do you research?

For those writers who don't already have the research skills necessary to write something comfortably already downloaded into your brain, I put this guide together for you.

Where do I even start?

It's a daunting task, research. But the best place to start is with the most basic, stupidest question you can think of. I'm going to talk about something that I already know a lot about: fighting.

When researching fight scenes, a great way to start is to look up what different weapons are. There are tons out there! So ask the stupid questions. What is a sword? What is a gun? How heavy are they?

Google and Wikipedia can help you a lot with these basic-level questions. They aren't great sources for academic articles, but remember, this is fiction. It doesn't need to be perfect, and it doesn't need to be 100% accurate if you don't want it to be. But knowing what is true to life will help you write well. Just like knowing the rules of writing will help you break them.

You may find in your basic research sweep that you have a lot more specific questions. Write them all down. It doesn't matter if they seem obvious. Write them down because they will be useful later.

How To Use Wikipedia Correctly

Wikipedia is a testament to cooperative human knowledge. It's also easy to edit by anonymous users, which means there is a lot of room for inaccuracies and misleading information. Wikipedia is usually pretty good about flagging when a source is needed or when misleading language is obvious, but Wikipedia itself isn't always the most accurate or in-depth source.

Wikipedia is, however, an excellent collection of sources. When I'm researching a subject that I know nothing about, say Norse mythology, a good starting point is the Wikipedia page for Odin. You'll get a little background on Odin's name and Germanic roots, a little backstory on some of the stories, where they appear, and how they are told.

When you read one of the sentences, and it sparks a new question, write the question down, and then click on the superscript number. This will take you directly to the linked source for the stated fact. Click through to that source. Now you have the source where the claim was made. This source may not be a primary source, but a secondary source can still lead you to new discoveries and details that will help you.

By "source-hopping," you can find your way across the internet to different pieces of information more reliably. This information may repeat itself, but you will also find new sources and new avenues of information that can be just as useful.

You mean I don't need a library?

Use your library. Libraries in many parts of the US are free to join, and they have a wealth of information that can be easily downloaded online or accessed via hardcopy books.

You don't, however, need to read every source in the library for any given topic, and you certainly don't need to read the whole book. Academic books are different from fiction. Often their chapters are divided by topic and concept and not by chronological events like a history textbook.

For example, one of my favorite academic books about legislative policy and how policy is passed in the US, by John Kingdon, discusses multiple concepts. These concepts build off one another, but ultimately if you want to know about one specific concept, you can skip to that chapter. This is common in sociological academic books as well.

Going off of my Norse Mythology example in the last section, a book detailing the Norse deities and the stories connected to them will include chapters on each member of the major pantheon. But if I only care about Odin, I can focus on just the chapters about Odin.

Academic Articles and How To Read Them

I know you all know how to read. But learning how to read academic articles and books is a skill unto itself. It's one I didn't quite fully grasp until grad school. Learn to skim. When looking at articles published in journals that include original research, they tend to follow a set structure, and the order in which you read them is not obvious. At all.

Start with the abstract. This is a summary of the paper that will include, in about half a page to a page, the research question, hypothesis, methods/analysis, and conclusions. This abstract will help you determine if the answer to your question is even in this article. Are they asking the right question?

Next, read the research question and hypothesis. The hypothesis will include details about the theory and why the researcher thinks what they think. The literature review will go into much more depth about theories, what other people have done and said, and how that ties into the research of the present article. You don't need to read that just yet.

Skim the methods and analysis section. Look at every data table and graph included and try to find patterns yourself. You don't need to read every word of this section, especially if you don't understand a lot of the words and jargon used. Some key points to consider are: qualitative vs. quantitative data, sample size, confounding factors, and results.

(Some definitions for those of you who are unfamiliar with these terms. Qualitative data is data that cannot be quantified into a number. These are usually stories and anecdotes. Quantitative data is data that can be transferred into a numerical representation. You can't graph qualitative data (directly), but you can graph quantitative data. Sample size is the number of people or things counted (n when used in academic articles). Your sample size can indicate how generalizable your conclusions are. So pay attention. Did the author interview 300 subjects? Or 30? There will be a difference. A confounding factor is a factor that may affect the working theory. An example of a theory would be "increasing LGBTQ resources in a neighborhood would decrease LGBTQ hate crimes in that area." A confounding factor would be "increased reporting of hate crimes in the area." The theory, including the confounding factor, would look like "increasing LGBTQ resources in a neighborhood would increase the reporting of hate crimes in the area, which increases the number of hate crimes measured in that area." The confounding factor changes the outcome because it is a factor not considered in the original theory. When looking at research, see if you can think of anything that may change the theory based on how that factor interacts with the broader concept. Finally, the results are different from the conclusions. The results tell you what the methods spit out. Analysis tells you what the results say, and conclusions tell you what generalizations can be made based on the analysis.)

Next, read the conclusion section. This section will tell you what general conclusions can be made from the information found in the paper. This will tell you what the author found in their research.

Finally, once you've done all that, go back to the literature review section. You don't have to read it necessarily, but reading it will give you an idea of what is in each sourced paper. Take note of the authors and papers sourced in the literature review and repeat the process on those papers. You will get a wide variety of expert opinions on whatever concept or niche you're researching.

Starting to notice a pattern?

My research methods may not necessarily work for everybody, but they are pretty standard practice. You may notice that throughout this guide, I've told you to "source-hop" or follow the sources cited in whatever source you find first. This is incredibly important. You need to know who people are citing when they make claims.

This guide focused on secondary sources for most of the guide. Primary sources are slightly different. Primary sources require understanding the person who created the source, who they were, and their motivations. You also may need to do a little digging into what certain words or phrases meant at the time it was written based on what you are researching. The Prose Edda, for example, is a telling of the Norse mythology stories written by an Icelandic historian in the 13th century. If you do not speak the language spoken in Iceland in 1232, you probably won't be able to read anything close to the original document. In fact, the document was lost for about 300 years. Now there are translations, and those translations are as close to the primary source you can get on Norse Mythology. But even then, you are reading through several veils of translation. Take these things into account when analyzing primary documents.

Research Takes Practice

You won't get everything you need to know immediately. And researching subjects you have no background knowledge of can be daunting, confusing, and frustrating. It takes practice. I learned how to research through higher formal education. But you don't need a degree to write, so why should you need a degree to collect information? I genuinely hope this guide helps others peel away some of the confusion and frustration so they can collect knowledge as voraciously as I do.

– Indy

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tomriddleslove · 3 months

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What’s left of me?

✩Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where your pursuit for excellence leads you down a path of self destruction, and you’re slowly loosing yourself. You didn’t expect a certain boy in your year would be your saving grace. Alternatively: Mattheo makes you realise you’re more than what you think you are.

A/N: I guess this could very easily be like a prequel to the other mattheo one shot ‘i’m here’. This is definitely a bit self indulgent but we all have our things 😻😻

Warnings: Allusions to overdosing (brief), mentions of not eating.

Songs: Nothings New - Rio Romeo

18 days.

18 days till you would be finished with all of this.

Technically, it would actually be 408 days till you finished school and graduated from this godforsaken place, but 18 more till you finished with exams.

You weren’t sure how many more hours you could spend hunched over indecipherable handwriting, pouring over text till your eyes stung and your back ached. Surrounded by a stack of books and rolls of parchment, you couldn’t even begin to figure out where you ended and the library began. You had taken up a huge table (that could seat at least 4) for the better part of 17 hours, sat on the same chair since 6:00 am.

You stifle a small groan of pain as you roll your wrist, stiff and sore from the hell that was ancient runes.

There are ink splotches all over your skin, and you’re sure the amount of work you were pouring into this stopped being effective nearly 5 hours ago.

Your eyes flicker up and scan over the once-packed library that had slowly dwindled down to a few students, half of whom were in the same boat as you.

To you, being the last person in the library was a huge sign of success. It meant you were more dedicated and more hard-working.

In reality, the truth couldn’t be any further from that, but in your mind, if you weren’t milking yourself over every last piece of work it simply wasn’t being done right.

The hushed murmurs and sounds of parchment being unfurled fade into the background as your quill scratches furiously against the parchment, mind running at a million miles an hour.

You ignore the pang in your stomach as you work; you haven’t eaten today. You didn’t want to get up at any point to get food, for fear of your place being taken.

Now, you didn’t want to get up for another reason. It was well past the library's open hours and Madame Pince was angrily fussing about, bustling around everyone as she got them to leave. A testament to how long you had been there, she didn’t even seem to notice you, and you were worried getting up and walking about would break this sort of invisibility shield you had going on.

Come to think of it, you hadn’t really drunk any water either. You brought your bottle with you but had forgotten to fill it up. It was fine though, the human body could last for 3 days without water - it could wait. Your upcoming exams were far more important.

In Scandinavia, the Elder Futhark remained in use until some time around the eighth century (the time of the Eddas), when drastic changes in the Old Norse language occurred, and corresponding changes in the runic alphabet were made to accommodate the new sounds. However, unlike the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, the Younger Futhark (as it is now called) reduced the number of runes from 24 to 16, and several runes came to represent multiple sounds. The forms of the runes were also changed and simplified.

Gods, you couldn't take this anymore. You felt sick and exhausted. You ignore the hunger that gnaws at your stomach, rubbing a hand over your face as you contemplate finishing off and going to bed.

But every time you think of stopping a horrible feeling emerges in your stomach, consuming you with anxiety. The weight of impending exams and the fear of not doing well gnawing at your determination. You glance at the clock, realizing it's well past midnight, and the library is now completely empty except for you.

Madame Pince, finally noticing your presence, approaches with a disapproving look. "You know, the library does close at a certain hour. I can't have students staying here all night," she scolds, but her tone softens as she sees the exhaustion in your eyes.

“Sorry. I lost track of time” You mumble, haphazardly cramming your stuff into your bag. You get up, and the room spins for a second. You stumble but manage to catch yourself, holding onto the table as Madam Pince reaches out a hand to help you recover.

“You need to take care of yourself. No exam is worth this much stress,” She says, eyeing you with concern. If only she knew how far that was from the truth. You felt as though you had so little to your name. Performing well, overachieing. That was what you were known for. It was the only thing you felt was yours. Everyone else had character, they were distinctly themselves. They had hobbies, interests, and friendships that defined them. But for you, it was always about excelling academically. Without that, you became nobody. You were no more than the number on your papers, and the reminder weighed down on you like an unrelenting burden.

By some miracle you manage to stumble down the empty halls of the castle into the Slytherin common room, which seemed paradoxically warm considering its grandiose stone structure and dark, moody lighting. You carelessly drop your bag onto a table closest to the fireplace, trudging up to your room as you battle the sleep that threatens to consume you.

It's dark, and your roommates have long gone to bed.

“Lumos” You murmur, hiding the blinding light that emerges from the tip of your wand with the lining of your school robes, dimming it slightly. You grope blindly at your bedside drawer, stopping when you feel the familiar smooth glass bottle, that fits perfectly in your palm. You slip it into the pocket of your robes, slowly shutting the drawer as you make your way back down to the common room. You dismiss the light that shines from your wand, tossing it onto the sofa as you take a seat on the floor, in front of the low table. You read the instructions on the back of the small bottle as if you hadn’t been consuming this religiously for the past month.

Wideye potion User Guidance:

Take no more than one teaspoon every 6 hours. Effects will last for up to 8 hours. Excessive use of this potion may lead to adverse effects, and in rare cases, severe bodily harm. Users are advised not to use the maximum dosage for a consecutive 72 hours.

You’ve read it so many times, you were sure you could recite it by heart. Choosing not to heed any warnings, you pop open the cork and down the whole bottle in one go. The rancid taste of the potion burns, eliciting a shudder down your spine as you swallow down the bile that threatens to emerge. Pocketing the empty glass bottle, you stretch your arms before retrieving your books, ready to continue working.

If you were lucky, the potion might give you a boost of energy for about 3 hours or so. You had been taking it so much you had developed a sort of immunity to it, and the effects were not as potent as they used to be. The sacrifice of your well-being for the sake of productivity had become a routine, a desperate attempt to squeeze every ounce of time and focus out of your exhausted mind and body.

You have attempted to brew a stronger concoction, in the misplaced hopes that increasing the potency would counteract the effect of the immunity. However, the violent cramps and palpitations it had given you very quickly told you that wouldn't work.

You knew it was bad. It was causing irreversible damage to your body, killing you at worst. It simply wasn't sustainable. But you couldn't drag yourself out of that mindset.

Failure. Nobody.

You gritted your teeth and carried on working.

You managed to get through another potions essay, and the time on your watch read 1:00 am.

You could carry on for longer, right?

You zone out for a second, staring off at the orange embers that emerged from the fireplace, shining bright for what seemed like a millisecond before falling to the floor, turning into nothing but ash.

The orange embers flicker, and for a moment, you see yourself in them – a fleeting brightness that threatens to be extinguished. The battle between ambition and self-preservation rages on as you grit your teeth and carry on working, oblivious to the embers slowly falling into nothingness, much like your own fading sense of self.

“Why on earth are you up at this hour doing work?” A voice calls from behind you, and the momentary intrusion shocks you, sending a burst of energy through you as you spin around.

Flopping down onto the sofa next to you, leaning back with his legs lazily outstretched, was none other than Mattheo Riddle. Clad in a plain grey sweatshirt and black jeans, he eyes you with curiosity, smelling distinctively of smoke. He had most likely been out, as he so usually was at this hour. You shrug, turning back to your work.

“Exams. Need to revise” You mumble, voice cracking. You swallow, massaging your dry throat as you grimace, trying to get back to your writing.

“Revise? Merlin, you're the smartest person in our year. You don't need to be revising” Matthep leans forward, plucking a piece of parchment from your pile and examining it with a raised eyebrow.

You snatch it back, a protective instinct kicking in despite the fatigue. You hated that sentiment. Despised it, even. People always assumed your performance came naturally. That you were simply born with the ability to do well. No one seemed to consider what you had to do to get to that point, how you wore yourself down, day in and day out, till you either passed out from exhaustion or pain, neglecting your most basic needs.

"I might be the 'smartest' person, but that doesn't mean I can afford to slack off," you reply, a hint of frustration in your voice. The adrenaline from the sudden interruption starts to ebb away, leaving you feeling even more drained.

Mattheo leans back, momentarily caught off guard by your defensiveness. He had never seen you this on edge. He was so accustomed to seeing you as this familiar presence during the school day his partner for the many lessons that he didn’t have his friends in. The two of you would work together and on rare occasions, hang out with one another in the common room as well. It was a rather unlikely duo, the king of Slytherin and the academic prodigy. Yet, More often than not Mattheo found himself seeking out your presence. He never admitted it outright, but he hugely admired you. Your intelligence, your drive, it all captivated him. There were times when he hoped he could be only half the person you were.

How funny it was, for you felt the very same thing when you saw him. He seemed content. Happy. He was loved by nearly everyone. Popular, with a fun social life. He had everything you wanted without putting in any of the work.

You wanted to be like him. But you weren’t. And if you wanted anything like what he had, you had to work damn hard for it. So that's what you did. With a small sigh, you turn back to your work.

“Hey,” He says gently, his voice softening slightly. "I’m sorry. I say stupid things sometimes.” He apologies, brows furrowed as he looks at your back facing him.

“It's fine. I should be saying sorry. You didn't say anything, I just…. I’m just a bit tired, that's all.” You mumble, apologising as you get up. You stretch, a yawn escaping your lips as you wearily rub your eyes.

“I'm gonna run up to my room and grab some more parchment. I’ll be down in a second,” You say, shrugging off your school robe as you turn to walk away. You ascend the stairs leading to your dorm, tossing your robe onto the sofa next to Mattheo as you do so.

Your robe slides off the sofa and hits the floor, a faint clinking sound echoing through the empty room as you disappear.

Curious, Mattheo looks down at your carelessly discarded robe. He reaches down, picking it up. It weighs heavier than it should be, and Mattheo can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity, He eyes the now empty staircase before reaching into your pocket, fingers brushing against a smooth glass vial.

Not just one, but a few.

Frowning, he turns out your pocket, and four identical glass vials tumble into his lap. Picking one up, his frown only deepens as he reads the label.

“Wideye potion?” He mutters to himself, the confusion on his face morphing into something else as the pieces fit in place.

He had admired you for your intelligence and drive, and now he was confronted with the reality of your struggles. The contrast between your achievements and the seemingly carefree moments he sought with you becomes stark. He berates himself for not having noticed early, for having let you fall down such a destructive path.

Jaw clenched, he gazes at the piles of books you had been working through, rolling the empty vials between his fingers as the sound of your approaching footsteps snaps him out of his thoughts.

You pause in confusion, noticing the scrutinising depression plastered on his face as he looks up at you, rolls of parchment bundled in your hands.

"What's the Wideye potion for?" Mattheo questions, his voice cutting through the silence with an uncomfortable heaviness. He holds up the empty vials as evidence, his gaze piercing through the exhaustion in your eyes.

Caught off guard by the confrontation, you glance down at the vials and then meet Mattheo's eyes. A brief moment of silence hangs in the air, the crackling embers of the fireplace filling the empty silence.

“Research. For uh, potions.” You respond, internally berating yourself for coming up with such a weak excuse.

Mattheo's expression remains stern, a mix of frustration and genuine concern etched on his face.

"Don't bullshit me," he says, his tone direct and uncompromising. "I found these in your pocket, and 'potions research' is a shit excuse. I’m going to ask you again. What’s the wideye potion for?"

You shift uncomfortably, feeling small under his scrutinising gaze You clear your throat, speaking.

"It's just to stay awake, you know? To keep going. I only take it in extreme circumstances" you explain, your voice betraying the exhaustion that has settled in.

Mattheos jaw clenches, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he looks to the side with a sigh, visibly frustrated.

“Extreme? And what would that be, hmm? Because right now I'm looking at four empty bottles, and God knows how many more you’ve thrown away.” He snaps, his expression softening as he looks at you.

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you struggle to find the right words. Why on earth were you close to tears? Why did you feel like crying?

“I-” You start, trailing off as you stare at the floor.

Mattheo cuts through the silence, his tone still stern but laced with concern. "This isn't okay. You're smart, and you know better. You can't keep doing this to yourself. What if something happens? What if you collapse or get seriously sick? It's not worth it."

After a moment, Mattheo's expression softens, and he exhales deeply. "When was the last time you ate?" he asks, the concern evident in his voice.

Shit.

You pause, hesitating before admitting quietly, "Breakfast...yesterday."

Mattheo's features tighten at your admission, his eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration, anger, and genuine worry. He rises from his seat and strides towards you, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent room.

"Yesterday? Are you serious?" he says sharply, his voice carrying a weight of both concern and disbelief.

You remain silent, unable to meet his eyes, feeling the shame and vulnerability washing over you.

“Seriously? Fuck, what’s wrong with you? Why would you do that to yourself?” He chastises you, and you snap.

“I have to! You don't fucking get it, do you? I don't have anything else to fall back on.” You start, dropping the parchment onto the table in front of you.

Mattheo's expression shifts from concern to confusion as you lash out. "What are you talking about? You have plenty more than just academics. You're talented, you're smart, and people care about you. Why are you reducing yourself to just grades?"

You scoff, a bitter smile playing on your lips. "Talented? Smart? What does that even mean? It's just a facade, a cover-up for the fact that without these achievements, I'm nothing. I don't have friends; I don't have hobbies or interests. What am I without my grades?"

Mattheo tries to interject, "You're a person with-"

But you cut him off, "No, you don't get it! I'm just a number, a ranking, a test score. Everything I am is tied to how well I perform academically. Do you know what it's like to feel like the only thing you're good at is studying, and even that's slipping away?" You snap anger evident in your tone as you spin around to face him, your weary eyes meeting his.

“It’s the same thing every single day. I wake up, bury myself in books, and push myself to the brink just to feel like I matter. I don't eat, I don't sleep, I don't talk to anyone. I’ve spent my whole life isolating myself and neglecting my most basic needs for this! If I stop now, then what's left of me?”

Tears start to well up in your eyes, and you hate yourself for showing such vulnerability. Mattheo's stern demeanour softens as he watches you unravel.

"I can't stop, Mattheo. I can't afford to. Because if I do, what's left of me?" Your voice trembles.

Mattheo's heart drops at your words, guilt and hurt clawing at his insides. He can’t fathom the idea of you suffering so much, and him being blind to it. How could you not notice how incredible of a person you are beyond all of this? He’d give anything in the world for you to see yourself through his eyes. For you to feel the way he feels when he's with you, even for a second. To know that he’d do anything you asked him to because he cared for you. Not the one who gets outstanding on all their tests.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mattheo finally speaks, his voice softer, genuine concern written across his face.

You shake your head, a mix of frustration and desperation in your eyes. “Because you wouldn’t understand. No one does. They just see the grades, the perfect student. They don’t see the mess behind it all. And I can’t let them. I can’t let anyone see me like this.”

Mattheo moves closer, his expression shifting. “You’re wrong. I do understand. Maybe not completely, but I want to. You don’t have to face this alone.”

You scoff, wiping away a tear. “Why? What do you care? You have everything, popularity, friends, a life. I’m just the study partner, the smart one. I can’t burden you with this.”

Mattheo remains silent for a second, before he speaks.

“Every other Sunday, you go down to Hogsmesde and buy a hamper of sweets form Honeydukes. You take it to the children’s school and volunteer there for an hour. Everytime you visit, you make their day.” He starts.

"You're not just grades," he says, his voice gentle. "You have quirks that make you who you are. Like the way you absentmindedly tap your foot when you're deep in thought. Or how you always carry a small notebook, and I bet it's filled with more than just class notes. I've seen you doodle in the margins."

He continues, "You have a wicked sense of humor, even if you don't show it to everyone. I've heard you snort-laugh during our study sessions. And don't even get me started on your taste in music.How you call that dastardly jazz music, i’ll never understand, but you can’t resist humming along to the tunes of the Wizarding Wireless Network when you're studying. Your fondness for Chocolate Frogs and your inexplicable aversion to pumpkin juice.”

Mattheo's eyes light up, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalls more details. "Remember that time in Charms class when you made your quill dance across the room just to see if you could do it? Or when you brewed a prank potion that turned the water in the Prefects' bathroom blue for a week? You have a mischievous side that not many people get to see." He continues, looking down at you sincerely. He remains silent for a second, eyes scanning over your face before he steps back, sighing.

“I don’t know how to do this emotional, sappy bullshit. I don’t do it. But with you, I do. I want to. Other people want to. That’s what you do.” He says, voice quiet.

You remain rooted to your spot, somewhere between disbelief and gratitude as you stare up at Mattheo. How did he know all that? Why did he know all that?

“You noticed?” You speak up, voice alarmingly quiet.

He looks at you as though you’ve just asked him whether the sky is blue.

“Of course i’ve noticed. It’s impossible not to.” He murmurs, and you know he’s being honest.

Tears prick in your eyes again, and it’s as though all that exhaustion and neglect has come crashing back down on you tenfold after Mattheo had called you out. You try blink them away but alas, you simply couldn’t. Before you can even say anything, Mattheo steps forward, pulling you into his chest as he wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. He holds you tightly, not even entertaining the thought of letting go as your tears soak his sweatshirt, tentatively accepting his embrace. His heart clenches at every tear that falls from your eyes, and he can’t tell if he’s horrified or accepting of the fact that he’d give up everything to relieve you of your burdens, even if only for a day.

He rubs your back soothingly, and you can’t help but let it all out.

It’s rather cathartic, really, because you've held onto this weight for so long, and now, in Mattheo's arms, it feels like a moment of release.

As your tears eventually subside, you pull back, both embarrassed and utterly shattered. You look down, sniffling as you wipe away your tear stained eyes when Mattheo hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

People often said that the eyes were a window to the soul. You never really understood that, but in this moment, you felt as though you were gazing into the very depths of Mattheos being.

With a tenderness that betrays the boundaries of ‘just friends’ , he wipes away your tears with his thumb, looking down at you.

“Come on. Let’s get you up to rest, yeah?” He hums, quietly. You nod, having to tear yourself away from his touch.

He leans down to pack away your stuff, not letting you handle a thing as he throws your stuff over his shoulder.

“You can stay in my room, if you’d like. Theodore’s out for the night so I can take his bed.” Mattheo says.

You consider it for a second. You didn’t particularly fancy heading up to your room with Mattheo, for fear of your roommate awakening to see you in such a state. You nod, speaking.

“Yes please.” You say, voice embarrassingly hoarse from having cried so much. You pray Mattheo didn’t notice.

Of course he did. But, he chose not to draw attention to it, instead resolving to run down to the kitchen to get you a cup of tea.

You follow Mattheo into his room, which you were no stranger to. Having projects together meant endless hours of collaborating, and opting to avoid being pestered by your roommate and her friends (who had a rather amusing infatuation with Mattheo), you worked in his room instead.

“Help yourself to some clothes if you’d like. They’re on the right.” He says, carefully draping your school bag and robe onto one of the desks. You thank him, smiling softly as he cleans the mess he had left.

“Go lie down. I’ll be back in a second” He says, turning away as he exits his room. Swiftly walking down to the kitchen, his head is reeling with thoughts of you.

He chose not to confront the feeling gnawing at him in light of your breakdown. He didn’t want to deal with that just yet. In no less than 10 minutes he’s carefully treading up the stairs to the dorms once more, a cup of chamomile tea in one hand and some small crackers in the other.

You hadn’t been eating, nor drinking, and the idea of you neglecting yourself so much sent Mattheo into an uncomfortable state where he found himself riddled with anxiety.

Just friends, right?

He clicks open the door to his room with his elbow, precariously walking over with the tea and crackers in hand as he goes to set them down on his bedside table. His eyes flicker over to you, and a small smile tugs at his lips as he sees you already fast asleep, curled up under the covers. The sight of your slumber brings a warmth to Mattheo's heart. He watches you for a moment, taking in the soft rise and fall of your breath, the delicate features that are usually tense with stress now softened in sleep.

The sight brings him more peace than he wishes to admit, and the looming reality that he had to eventually confront only pressed down on him further.

But for now, he didn’t care.

Because in your peace, he found happiness. And he’s sure he’d never find anything else more beautiful.

Possessed by a wave of sentiment that betrays his usual self, he can’t resist reaching out to tuck a stand of misplaced hair behind your ear. Before he can even comprehend what he’s doing, he leans down and presses a soft , brief kiss to your forehead.

He pulls back and finds himself slightly taken aback by his own actions. The quiet room, filled only with the soft sounds of your sleep, almost seems to amplify the beating of his heart.

Mattheo stands there for a moment, looking at you with a mix of tenderness and confusion. Then, shaking off the unexpected surge of emotions, he retreats to Theodores bed , slipping out of his clothes as he goes to lay down. He had to resist the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse of you once again, and lets out a small sigh as he shuts his eyes.

Mattheo Riddle was not a man of sentiment. He was not soft, and he most certainly did not go out of his way for others.

You had changed that. And he couldn’t figure out whether the prospect was one he was ready to welcome.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #harry potter #tom riddle #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader comfort

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andy-15-07 · 2 months

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Our legacy begins

masterlist ! pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

In the opulent world of Panem, Y/n found herself entangled in an unlikely romance with none other than Coriolanus Snow. Despite the stark differences in their backgrounds, their love flourished, transcending societal expectations. As whispers of their relationship echoed through the Capitol's corridors, a new chapter unfolded—a chapter that would shape their legacy.

One crisp evening, Y/n and Snow sat in a lavish penthouse, the soft glow of city lights casting a warm ambiance. The news of their impending parenthood hung in the air, a delicate secret shared between them. Y/n's fingers traced circles on her growing belly, a silent conversation passing between the couple.

"Coriolanus, we're going to be parents," Y/n finally spoke, her eyes meeting Snow's intense gaze. The revelation brought a soft smile to his lips, a rare display of warmth that few had witnessed. "Our own piece of eternity in this world," he replied, his voice holding a tenderness that belied his reputation.

As the news slowly trickled into the public domain, the Capitol's high society buzzed with speculation and gossip. The union of Y/n and Snow defied convention, sparking discussions about power dynamics and societal expectations. Yet, amidst the scrutiny, the couple remained resolute in their love.

One day, as Y/n navigated the bustling streets, a reporter ambushed her with intrusive questions about her relationship and impending motherhood. Snow, ever vigilant, intervened with a stoic presence, shielding Y/n from the prying eyes of the Capitol's relentless media.

"Do you have any comments on the rumors surrounding your relationship with President Snow?" the reporter prodded, attempting to capture a reaction. Snow's icy gaze met the journalist's, a silent warning that left no room for further inquiry.

"Personal matters are just that—personal," Snow declared, his authoritative tone cutting through the speculative chatter. "Our focus is on the prosperity of Panem, not the gossip columns." With those words, the couple retreated from the public eye, determined to shield their growing family from the Capitol's insatiable curiosity.

As Y/n's pregnancy progressed, Snow surprised her with moments of unexpected tenderness. He attended prenatal classes, his stoic exterior momentarily softened by the joy of impending fatherhood. Late nights were spent discussing baby names, with Snow suggesting traditional choices that echoed the grandeur of the Capitol.

In the quietude of their home, Y/n and Snow found solace in preparing a nursery, an oasis of warmth and love amidst the cold grandeur of the Capitol. Dialogues flowed seamlessly, a blend of affection and anticipation.

"I never imagined this for us, Coriolanus," Y/n confessed one evening, her hand resting against her abdomen. "But I can't imagine it any other way now." Snow, his gaze fixed on the future, replied, "Our legacy will be extraordinary, my love. A testament to the strength found in unconventional love."

As the day of their child's arrival approached, Y/n and Snow faced the unknown together, their bond fortified by the challenges they overcame. In the delivery room, Snow's stoicism crumbled, replaced by an overwhelming sense of awe as he held their newborn in his arms for the first time.

"Our legacy begins," Y/n whispered, a sentiment echoed by Snow as they gazed at the tiny bundle that united their worlds. In that moment, the formidable President Snow became a father, and Y/n witnessed a side of him few knew existed—a man captivated by the profound magic of parenthood.

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unbidden-yidden · 7 months

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Okay I'm curious: I've seen a lot of Christians use/refer to the phrase "hosanna in the highest!" which is used in the New Testament and I've frequently heard it pronounced "hoh-ZAHN-ah". However, it's a much older liturgical phrase in Hebrew and definitely not pronounced like that. I want to know: (1) were you taught the actual meaning of this word by your community/do you know what it actually means without googling it, (2) what variety of Christian are you, and (3) if, after googling it, were you correct?

Sorry fellow yidden and other non-Christians; this poll is specific to people who identify as Christian and/or who were raised as such. (Edit: gerim who were raised Christian can vote, but you have to base it off of what you were taught as a Christian, not what you know now.)

Christians who answer: if you googled this after voting yes and were taught wrong about it, please let me know in the notes.

(If you're wondering if you "count" as Christian or having been raised as such, for these purposes I would say interpret it broadly to include anyone who views Jesus as the messiah and grew up reading the New Testament as part of your bible.)

#christian #non-Christians please boost but don't vote #I have... a theory about this but am curious to have at least informal data about this first #yes I realize linguistic drift from other languages is probably how ''hozanna'' happened #but the Hebrew is different #this post brought to you by: Sukkot #every hour is theology hour around here apparently

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prythianpages · 4 months

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Lay All Your Love On Me | Bonus

summary: After failing to recognize the mating bond, the Cauldron sends another sign. One that, yet again, you and Cassian are blind to.

warnings: mentions of violence/abuse (reader losing her ability to fly & then taking out her revenge); implied smut at the end

a/n: I'm glad everyone enjoyed this story! This is like a summary/background of reader & Cas that mentions when they met, fell in love and when the bond snapped for each of them. I bolded & italicized those parts.

Cassian knew you would become someone special to him the moment his eyes met yours.

In the aftermath of war, Prythian lay in ruins, a realm brimming with tension, particularly between the Spring and Night Courts. With the ascension of two young and unprepared high lords, Rhysand of the Night Court and Tamlin of the Spring Court, the atmosphere was fraught with chaos and death.

Rhysand’s first task as high lord was to ease the tension among the Illyrians. They lost many of their soldiers in the war. He decided to use this opportunity to introduce the idea of banning the wing clipping of females and training them to become warriors instead to increase their numbers. He knew the great opposition he would face. Not even the camp lords had agreed with his proposition when he first introduced the idea to them in private. That didn’t stop Rhysand though.

The crowd immediately burst into chaos, whispers and shouts in protest. Rhysand shut it down, power emanating from him in dark waves and moving the mountains. Yet, one of the camp lords dared to crudely question him, stepping out from among the crowd with flared wings.

"No female here will want to train, and I highly doubt any female could become half the warrior of any male in this camp."

Cassian’s jaw had tensed and Azriel’s fist clenched at his sides. From where he stood, Cassian could see Rhysand’s gaze darken, icy rage pooling within his violet eyes at the male but he caught the way it softened ever so slightly at the sound of another voice.

“I will train.”

Cassian turned his gaze back to the crowd and his eyes widened at the sight. He heard Rhysand ask for your family name and he recognized it. Your father had died in the war and your brother was left heavily injured. He couldn’t hear much past that, the world coming to silence around him when your gaze met his.

There you stood, head held high and shoulders squared. Your wings, tucked behind you, trembled every so slightly yet there was a fiery determination in your eyes. A testament to your bravery. One he immediately admired.

In the span of the following year, Cassian assumed the role of your mentor, taking you under his wing. His training methods were often unforgiving and ruthless, relentless in their pursuit of excellence. Azriel, on occasion, would step in, offering a gentler touch and much needed respite to your instruction. Your ability to adapt and learn quickly was remarkable, your skills surpassing all of Cassian’s expectations. You often reminded Cassian of himself when he was younger.

Despite the disdain from the males in your camp who viewed your unconventional training as the utmost betrayal of tradition, you remained resolute. Their bullying and abuse seemed to be never-ending but so was your determination. The fire Cassian first witnessed the day he laid eyes on you, the very one he had grown fond of during your training sessions, still blazed brightly–like a flame that refused to be extinguished.

Somewhere along the line, Cassian softened in his methods, your training lasted longer and your time spent with him went beyond the training grounds. He took you to Velaris, grateful that your wings had been left untouched so you could fly beside him, where he introduced you to various new foods and shops. His smiles grew warmer, tone lighter and unbeknownst to him, you crept further into his heart.

After five years of rigorous one-on-one training, you not only matched but exceeded the proficiency of your male counterparts. When Cassian assigned another upcoming warrior to spar with you, you had emerged victorious. He’d never forget that moment–the way your eyes had widened in pleasant surprise and immediately had searched for his. When your eyes met, the radiant smile you bestowed upon him lit up the entirety of the training grounds. In that heartbeat, he felt a warmth kindle in his chest that was more than just pride.

Your triumph against one of Windhaven’s promising great warriors was quick to reach the ears of the camp and though you were placed under the High Lord’s protection, some of the males wanted to teach you a lesson.

Cassian was away on a mission when it happened. He remembered waking up that day with a strange unease that he was unable to settle. When that unease grew, it pressed heavily upon his chest like a weight he could not lift. A sudden snap within him triggered a cascade of emotions—panic, fear, and an indescribable pain. Without knowing or questioning, an ominous certainty engulfed him. It was coming from you and something was terribly wrong.

When he landed in Windhaven, he found you laying in a pool of your own blood. Fear gripped him at the sight. Bruises, cuts, and gross wounds littered your body and your wings–gods, your wings were torn so harshly…

His siphons gleamed with an intense light, and his fists clenched at his sides but a strangled whimper escaped from you. A heart wrenching sound that sent him to his knees in an instant. Cassian approached with utmost care, his heart sinking as he witnessed your flinch away from his touch. "It's okay, it's me. Cas," he reassured, attempting to reach out once more. This time, you didn't resist.

With gentle precision, he shifted your body, cradling you in his arms, his attention focused on the delicate task of handling your injured wings. Your eyes remained shut, your face etched with pain, tears streaming relentlessly down your cheeks.

"I didn’t see them coming. Cas, they–they–I can’t feel my wings."

"I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. From now on, I've got you. I always will."

And he meant it.

He took you to Velaris, screaming at Rhysand and Azriel to get Madja. Guilt ate him from the inside because he was foolish for not protecting you more. If you had just stayed with him instead of insisting you stay with your brother, if he had put more thought before pushing you to spar with that male, if he hadn’t been out on a long mission–so many if’s. But regardless of the many ifs, you still lay there in his arms broken.

As Madja rushed to heal you, he refused to part ways with you. He held you down while you screamed and writhed in pain, whispered soothing words into your ears. She was able to restore some of your damaged nerves but not enough for you to be able to fly again. Nothing prepared him for when your eyes finally opened days later. When they met his eyes, his heart sank to his stomach at the loss of warmth in your gaze. The once vibrant fire in your eyes was dim, its flickering flame on the verge of going out.

They broke you and he wanted nothing more than to break them but he realized this was not his battle. Azriel found the group of males responsible for drugging and attacking you. Rhysand gave you permission to carry out their punishments however you wished to. Cassian was by your side when you returned to Windhaven after weeks of healing and building up your strength for that very moment.

As you landed, his hand found yours, offering you a comforting squeeze. I’ve got you, he silently promised. You nodded your head and took a deep breath. There were rumors that you were dead so your return had shocked many. Cassian caught the awe and admiration in some of the female’s eyes as they looked up at you and he took delight in the fear that flashed in some of the males’s eyes.

Cassian felt every emotion coursing through you that day but he was too concerned over you to question why. You hunted the four males one by one. You didn’t kill them, though. They did not deserve that mercy. Instead, you slashed and cut through their wings, maiming them and rendering them useless as they had done to yours. “Please, just kill me,” the last male had begged. “It was your brother. He paid us to do this. I was only doing what I was told.”

The haunting revelation of your brother being behind all your pain and misery had your breath hitching in your throat. You sought out your brother next. Your brother was never kind but cruel was not a word you would use to describe him. Not until he betrayed you, anyway. Cassian was aware of your brother’s envy toward you from the stories you’d tell him. Apparently, your brother wasn’t fond of your father letting you skip the clipping ritual of your wings when you had first bled and your training had only angered him further. Still, you never thought he’d be the one behind your attack.

It was as if your brother was waiting for you when Cassian and you found him in your small home. He didn’t blink at the blood drenching your leathers and you spared him no mercy as you did the same to him. You didn’t stop at his wings. You kicked and punched, using all your strength to shatter him as the males had done to you, until he was left laying in a pool of his own blood, barely breathing. Until Cassian pulled you away, not wanting you to bear the burden of killing your own blood.

“Let’s go home,” he had told you and he felt as the words violently shook through the very core of your being.

Because Windhaven was no longer your home. Cassian was. As he pulled you into the haven of his arms, the revelation sent shivers down your spine and gave rise to a newfound warmth in your heart.

News of your revenge shook through the camp of Windhaven. The men who had hurt you, including your brother, took their own lives within the span of a year. They could not bear the thought of living without their wings. You had stripped them of their very being. The same way they did to you and all the other females before you.

Yet, there was no relief when Cassian reported their deaths to you. He was hesitant in telling you, already anticipating the reaction it’d stir from you. It nearly crushed you all over again. Because it was all unfair. The way they no longer had to live through the consequences of their actions. All while you still had to live, carrying the burden of all of theirs as the memories of what they did continued to haunt you.

Cassian was there for you, guiding you through your hysteria. “Stay with me, y/n. Breathe with me. Don’t let them win. Keep fighting. I promise you it will be worth it.”

And true to his promise, it was worth it. You only grew stronger from it, your days gradually growing brighter and brighter.

Cassian became your lifeline. Your spark. The one who brought life back into your eyes. You two are inseparable. Training, drinking and going on missions together. It’s during one mission when you're attacked by small puffball faeries that gives rise to your nickname. Bibble. Though the tiny creatures are fur balls of blue and purple with wide wicked eyes, it’s their feisty yet adorable attitude that reminds him of you.

The two of you have a few little love affairs here and there but they never last long and Cassian would never admit to you all the times he’s purposely sabotaged them. Unaware that you had done the same. The fine line of friendship and something else begins to blur between you two as teasing becomes flirting, gazes drift lower, touches linger longer than necessary and thoughts drift to more deviously sinful ones.

It’s nearing the decade of your friendship when Cassian finally convinces you to attend Starfall. You were never fond of extravagant parties and up until then, had always come up with an excuse every year as to why you couldn’t go. When your excuse this year is because you don’t have a dress, he asks Mor to take you shopping.

Cassian had only known you in your leathers, simple dresses, and casual loungewear. He always found you beautiful, especially in your leathers. The way they hugged your every curve nearly had him drooling every time. But the moment he saw you adorned in a sparkling ball gown, a vision crafted with Mor's expertise, you were absolutely breathtaking. A Goddess he wanted to create shrines for, and yearned to worship on his knees.

When your eyes met, it felt like discovering the final missing piece to an intricate puzzle, a puzzle that held the essence of your connection. It brought forth a fluttering feeling deep within your chests, leaving Cassian momentarily speechless. The only words he managed to utter were a feeble "you look different," failing to encapsulate the overwhelming beauty that had left him awestruck.

The words sparked a warmth that surged to your cheeks, as though he had recited the most enchanting verses of a romantic poem. Yet, neither of you became aware of the reminder of the rare blessing the Cauldron bestowed upon you.

Azriel’s shadows were the first to pick up on the shift in your scents, excitedly reporting the change to their master. However, despite the unmistakable scent of your mating bond, Azriel observed no overt changes in the dynamic between you and Cassian. You still regarded each other as friends, despite your burning feelings for one another.

In an attempt to unravel the mystery, Azriel cautiously broached the topic with Cassian, inadvertently stumbling into a bargain, where he swore to guard the secret of Cassian's love for you. He then realized three things. One, that though his shadows had just picked up on the bond, it was not new. It had been there for a while. Two, neither of you had a clue over said bond. Three, a loophole in his bargain. He had promised not to tell you about Cassian’s feelings for you. So he told everyone but you.

The golden thread, unbeknownst to both you and Cassian, continued to weave its intricate pattern between your souls. Starfall acted as the catalyst that set alight the simmering cauldron of emotions that had been quietly kindling within. The pot, brimming with the heat of your burgeoning affection for one another, now stood precariously on the edge. It was only a matter of time before the intensity of those emotions would tip the pot over.

It was only after a visit to the Summer Court that led to jealousy and the destruction of a building, that the pot finally tipped over. Though that led to a passionate night together and a confession the next morning, you and Cassian still remained unaware of your bond. A notion that nearly drove Rhysand and Azriel crazy but luckily for them, your ignorance doesn’t last much longer.

A couple of weeks into your newly established relationship with Cassian, you find yourself waking up in your apartment. After a night of drinking and dancing at Rita’s, you and Cassian had been too tired to make your way back to the House of Wind or the townhouse. With a yawn, you crawl out of bed and freshen up. Heading toward your kitchen, you hope that there’s something edible to make.

You’re grossed out by the expired milk in your fridge but relieved to find eggs and bacon. That will have to do, you think to yourself with a sigh, missing the House of Wind. The sentient house has definitely spoiled you all these years. You can’t even remember the last time you had to make something for yourself.

As you begin to plate the food, strong arms wrap around you from behind. Your wings are pressed against Cassian’s hard chest and your breath hitches at the sensation, body sinking further into his welcoming warmth. His breath tickles your ear.

“Come back to bed.”

“I made breakfast.”

“I want something sweeter.” His arm tightens around you while the other travels lower. You somehow manage to turn before he could reach his destination, revealing the teasing grin on your lips as you look up at him. He pouts in response, kneading the soft flesh of your ass instead.

You recognize the look on his face so when he leans in, you’re shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth to keep him occupied with something else.

“After.”

Cassian lets out a hum, holding your gaze as he munches on the crispy meat. Deciding to tease him further, well aware of the consequences that would follow later, you rise up to lean in and bite at the end of the bacon hanging from his mouth. His pupils flare, darkening his gaze with a hunger you know can not be satiated with food and heat pools down to your stomach.

A surge of overwhelming warmth courses through every fiber of your being, and your eyes widen in response. It draws you closer to Cassian, akin to a golden thread, and there’s something humming madly in your chest the closer you’re pulled. You know he can feel it too. The sensation is not entirely new to either of you. You’ve felt this–the mad fluttering in your chest for one another–for years.

Yet, in this moment, it’s as if a veil has been lifted from your eyes. The significance of it takes on an entirely novel meaning for you, revealing a secret you and Cassian were unaware of keeping.

“Now,” he nearly growls at you and you immediately give in. “I want my mate.”

Mate. The word echoes through the depths of your soul. It's a revelation that leaves you questioning when exactly the delicate strands of your bond had woven themselves so intricately between you and Cassian. Because despite the newfound awareness, everything still feels achingly familiar. The same way it did when you became aware of your feelings for him.

As he set you ablaze with his hot kisses, you can’t bring yourself to care anymore when the bond had snapped. You love him wholeheartedly and you’d choose him in every lifetime. There’s a tug in your chest that you now recognize as Cassian, echoing your thoughts. The bond is but an outgrowth of a love that was already deeply rooted.

A love that was always meant to be.

a/n: when writing this, I imagined the bond to snap for them at different times but they're too focused on hiding their love for one another to notice. So the Cauldron decided to work its magic again at Starfall. I couldn't help myself with this meme lol.

#cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #cassian angst #cassian imagine #acotar cassian #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar x y/n #acotar x you

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