#oh no his feeding tube is now scratching me

[dramaticstarfish]

My dog won’t stop looking at me with his big nose

#oh no his feeding tube is now scratching me #dog #big ears #goofy dog #big nose #silly dog #weird little guy #I love this dog #but also he’s weird #but that’s okay

[totisviribus]

An ADHD Morning

I set seven alarms so I don't oversleep. I couldn't sleep last night because I was researching ancient Rome on Wikipedia until 2am so I am bleary tired. My coffee maker is moldy from last week's brew and I don't even consider cleaning it, I just know that I won't be having coffee this morning.

I forgot to shower the night before, but now I don't have enough time to do it this morning, I got up too late. I use dry shampoo and hope my hair doesn't look greasy (it does). I scrape it into a messy pony tail that will give me a migraine but it's the only way it looks acceptable. My finger nails are stumps of dried blood because I picked at them all night. The inside of my lip is swollen and bleeding because I couldn't stop chewing on it, thinking about how I could ruin today. My eyebrows need to be plucked. My face is covered in acne because I never remember to take my makeup off before I fall asleep.

My bedroom is a sea of clothes, piled high to obscure the wooden floors. One hamper has some clean clothes in it, I know, but I have forgotten which one. My ironing board is under the piles somewhere, but it's broken, so I'll have to try to use the anti-wrinkle spray on the sweater I fish off the floor and hope it looks okay. It's already been forty minutes, how has the time passed this way? I will be late now, no hope of arriving on time. My sweater is covered in cat hair. Where is the lint roller? I look through the piles and can't find it. I spend ten minutes looking for tape to make a make-shift lint roller and it doesn't really work.

My dresser is filled with empty makeup tubes, used makeup wipes, glasses wipes, and used lint roller sheets. I pick out the products I use and quickly do my makeup on my unclean skin.

Purse. I need my purse. Which purse did I use last? Which has my wallet in it? I walk past the piles on the floor of my apartment, past the dirty dishes, past the mound of art supplies on my desk. I find my purse on the floor under my desk. Okay.

Socks? I need socks. My socks might show when I sit down in these too-tight too-short pants. I have to find matching ones. Clean ones? No, that's too much of a reach. I must just find matching ones. I search, digging through the floor piles. I find two that do not match, but are the same color. Good enough.

Fifteen minutes late. My cat chirps as he brushes against my leg. Oh! My little friend! He's so cute and sweet. My sister loves to get pictures of him, so I'll take one for her. Look up here, Blue! So cute. I should really update the instagram I made for him, I've met so many people who have the same type of cat. I should edit some photos of him today to post. He makes me so happy. I feel so lucky I get to have a cat and such a sweet, loving one like Blue. How many people get to have such a great pet? I'm so thankful for him, and I tell him so while I scratch his face the way that makes him purr.

I text my sister the picture. She tells me to have a good day. I try to find a cute GIF to send her to tell her to have a good day too. Here's one with Snoopy. She'll like that.

I also need to feed Blue. There are a dozen empty, smelly cans on the counter of cat food, but I pick a new one out of the box they were shipped in and put it in his dish with a random measuring spoon because all my other silverware is dirty.

Bag. I need to pack a bag. Laptop, keys, tissues, pens, notebook, headphones, charging cable for my phone. Is that everything? And my wallet, of course! Aha. That would be bad if I forgot that.

My shoes are dirty and scuffed but I don't have time to fix them. What kind of coat? I don't check the weather. I pick out a thin yellow one that I like. I've always liked bright colors. This will cheer me up to wear it. Bag, coat, keys, phone...where is my phone?

I have headphones on, listening to a YouTube video on two times speed, but I don't know where my phone is. I don't have time for this! But I can't leave without my phone.

It's deep in the covers of my bed. I don't remember putting it there between sending the GIF to my sister and now, but no matter. I found it.

It's twenty degrees and raining. I have no umbrella and my spring coat is incredibly inappropriate for the weather.

I've left my car on the street for a few days in an area that is only for 3-hour parking. The parking tickets are stacked on the windshield. I owe the city about $400 in parking tickets and I keep getting letters from the police that they'll boot my car if I don't pay. I messed up the days on my budget spreadsheet, so I won't be able to pay them for another month.

I have no gas. I check the miles my car estimates I can go with the amount left and compare it to what my GPS says. Just enough. Maybe. It'll be okay. I can't get gas now.

I forgot to brush my teeth. I forgot my laptop charging cable. I forgot to take my medication, and I forgot to bring my medication with me to take my second dose. When I finally arrive at my destination, I don't remember that my debit card fell between the seat in my car yesterday while getting coffee at the drive-thru. So I leave without it. I also forgot to put deodorant on.

I wonder what my coworkers would think of me if they knew about my messy apartment, my poor hygiene, my lack of planning skills. Will they notice my teeth aren't brushed? Do I have any gum, mints, anything?

My coworker sees me come in late with in an oddly-fitting outfit and messy hair, but I greet them happily when I come in. They say that everyone forgets things sometimes and lends me their laptop charger. I'll forget to return it, but they don't know that yet. They don't know about my kitchen or my bedroom or my clothes or my unwashed face or my parking tickets. They don't know that without my medication I will be useless for the entire day and get nothing done, making more work for them.

I'm an excellent actress. I pretend to be like everyone else, and somehow I pass the test every time. I'm a shy, kind, young woman - they would never suspect there is a moldy box of forgotten take out food in my backseat that I'll discover in a few days. People socialized as female are expected to be neat, organized, in control. They don't even consider that I might not be those things.

"What did you bring for the potluck today?" my coworker asks.

The ingredients I bought for the dish I signed up to make are rotting in my fridge, forgotten as soon as I put them there after shopping two weeks ago. I didn't think to buy them closer to today. I also didn't think to put the pot luck on my calendar.

I make up an elaborate story about how my boyfriend needed to be picked up from a far-away job site last night. She believes me and I feel I don't deserve it.

I wish I wasn't a good actress.

#adhd #adhd women #adhd post #adhd tag #adhd things #executive dysfunction #neurodiverse stuff #add #essay #personal #totisviribusletters #adhd feels #adhd life #adult ADHD #adhd adult #adhd brain #my adhd

[aajjks]

choice!JK

despite the year-gap its been since minho has stayed at jungkook’s, his clothes still fit him. you were shocked to see his room was untouched; all his toys, games, and bedroom design were all still in place. it felt as if minho never left and he easily became accustomed to his familiar bedroom.

you made sure to help minho with his homework while mrs. min cooked something for him. of course dinner with minho was always endearing until you found out about his behavior. of course you scolded minho for misbehaving in your absence but he insisted that won’t misbehave again now that you both are together again.

turns out jungkook was right. minho made things a lot more lighter in the huge house. because of the 6-year old, mrs. min got to hear your sweet voice a lot more than usual and after 8 long days of neglecting food, you finally put something on your stomach.

mrs. min happily reported the good news to jungkook who seemed serious about feeding you through a tube to keep you from starving yourself but now that minho’s here, she and jungkook are sure you’ll take better care of yourself.

at 8:30, you put minho to bed after he took his bath but since he’s afraid of the dark you made sure to turn his nightlight on before shutting his door. “night min~” whisper as you head to your room but on this particular night, you find it hard to let sleep succumb you. to pass the time, you take a bath, do your nightly routine, and head downstairs to watch a movie or two.

by the time you finished the first movie, it was 9:15. once the second one ended it was 10 o’clock but still, you didn’t feel sleepy. because you’re prohibited from going outside, you walk around jungkook’s large mansion and take in all the expensive decorations around the house.

polished marble floors, glass chandeliers, you can’t believe he used to live in this huge house alone. not that you care! it’s just, strange. you could never live in a place this big by yourself yet here you are living in this huge house except you’re with minho and—

you hear keys jingling at the door and quickly, you sprint for your bedroom to pretend to be asleep. just as jungkook walks in the large house, you slam your bedroom door shut and throw the covers over you, pretending to be asleep.

you hear his footsteps heading upstairs but he bypasses your room. you gasp ‘he’s going in minho’s room!’ in a panic, you grab your shoe, ready to hit it over his head for hurting your younger brother.

but when you tiptoe closer to minho’s room and take a peek through the cracked door, all you see is jungkook making sure his nightlight is on. the gesture could mean so little to someone yet it means a lot to you. jungkook could be petty and turn it off to spite you, instead, he makes sure it’s on because he knows minho is scared of the dark. he did buy the nightlight, after all.

you’re so caught up with admiring jungkook’s small act that you don’t even notice him coming towards you and when he does, the first thing he sees is you with a shoe in your hand.

“sorry, i uh, ehem. i thought you were up to no good”

“Oh wow- how romantic yn.” He laughs, scoffing at you.

But can he blame you? “I’m not going to hurt him.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, carefully walking out of Minho’s bedroom to make his way into his own.

He knows that talking to you will do no good because you’re still pissed at him but he cannot help but think about trying to actually ask you about it.

Jungkook scratches the back of his head, his eyes a little red. “Hey yn… I have to go to a party tomorrow- for a drug deal.” He says, without any filter or hesitation because now you know everything so he might as well just suck it up.

Of course you’re going to say no- reject him, but he’s gotta try at least. So he intakes, before opening his mouth. “Would you like to accompany me? I mean it’s okay you can say no- you’re probably going to but..”

He’s currently fantasizing about hearing a yes from your mouth.

“Would you…?” He says with curiosity. This could be good for the both of you- but he’s not hoping for anything, “it would be fun.”

#ask: choice!jungkook #protective sis for the win

[suntdracull-archived]

co-written by the-blackened-dove

The live broadcast began to fritz and static. The live feed changes to what seems to be a dungeon. A piece of parchment written finely in calligraphy.

"And now! It's time to Learn with Mr. Hyde!! Duh-duhduh-duhduuuuuuh!!"

The paper left the frame, replaced with a most horrifying sight.

"Good evening, kiddos, it's me! Edward Mulligan Hyde, and today we will learn about human anatomy, specifically the eye!"

He would twirl his cane and point its end to a nearby blackboard with an intricately drawn diagram of the human eye in blue chalk.

"There are various parts of the eye, the sclera, the iris, and the pupil. But inside the eye, we can see a vast plethora of fun little knick-knacks, the machinations of the human eye. What we will focus on today, boys and girls is the cornea. The cornea is endowed with the greatest density of nerve fibers of any place on the human body, making it among the most sensitive areas of the body."

He kicks the chalkboard away to reveal Roxxy, arms, and legs bound in silver chains, strapped to a treatment chair. Two flasks turned upside down on grips, filled with a sickly yellow liquid on both sides of the chair on silver trays, catheter tubes twisting overhead, dangling over Roxxy's eyes forced open with ocular speculums.

"Observe!"

The clamps on the tube are released halfway, the strange liquid filling the tube briskly only to slow as it reaches the end as the liquid leaks in slow, steady beads, dropping onto her eyes.

The burning

The stinging

Like a thousand needles dragging against her eyes sporadically, scratching, aching, and digging deeper into her eyes, the corneas of her exposed eyes sizzled with a horrifying noise barely picked up by the microphones- grotesquely accompanied by a shriek of the sharpest soprano tone. The golden light that quickly tore the wounds was like a candle's gleam, warm and haunting in its radiance. Distressing were the bloodied tears that flooded down the sides of her face as she wept and howled.

Her back arched, straining against the binds that held her- fangs bared in agony at the distortion of her very vision.

What an awful, beautiful sound.

"The liquid you see is a diluted hydrochloric acid. Not enough to cause any major damage, but just enough to make the pain oh-so extraordinary."

Hyde ambles his way behind the chair, a most sinister smile on his face.

"Listen well, Dracul's. No matter how this is going to end, it changes nothing. You know… It's funny. I thought that maybe being a bachelor again would be freeing. But for the past near-century, I've been so bloody bored. Returning to playing these games with Barbie and Ken isn't the same. That's part of why I partnered up with the Prince. But you lot are so predictable that it's starting to feel like a repeat of the same. old. song. Is it me? Have I gone stagnant? I mean, probably not; I'm bloody perfect. But still, it feels like the same melody, chorus, and instruments. I feel like, it's time for a comeback. Step up my game, and make a real impact. I mean…Poppet and I always did talk about changing the world.

Mr. Hydes is on the rebound, baby! And my comeback is gonna set the whole world on fire! Literally! AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!

Oh...which reminds me~

Did you know that there are fifty miles worth of catacombs under this estate? And they are ALL filled with high-end EXPLOSIVES! In approximately eighty-six hours, I will activate the denotation switch; this entire estate will be blown sky-high like the bloody Hindenburg in thirty minutes! Better play by the rules~

Oh! I know you have my clue, ya daft cunt! Mr. Idon'tknowwhoyouarebuti'msureyouranassholeandeventuallyi'mgonnahateyou!

Also, Alexander. I know you're watching. I just want you to know one thing. You're second-rate, Roxxy has never forgotten me even after all these years, but you know what they say. You never forget your first. Isn't that right, Poppet?

Oh! Can't forget, little Igor, time and time again, you have failed to protect your family! This is like, what, the third time you couldn't save your sister? Once against Stjephan and twice by Stjephan and me again. Interesting, isn't it? You're not a viceroy; you're a pet!

Lisaaaa~ Welcome back to the land of the living, you batty crone! Some mother you are, can't even protect her own daughter, and Stjephan? Sheesh, what a mess!

And Dracula.....oh, Drac...

The most ancient of leeches!

You know, you might be the worst of all of 'em, mate. How many times is it now that your family has suffered because you were just out of reach to protect them? Lisa, Adrian, sweet little Rokshana- you can't even make piece with the old goat downstairs for their sake, let alone keep them safe.

You're weak. You've let love make you soft!

And now you get to watch as I break and reshape your magnum opus into something better.

Something perfect.

EeeheheheheeAAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAHA

TICK TOCK TICK TOCK DRACULS! AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAA"

@xxlordalexanderxx, @hriobzagelthewanderer, @shatteredwastes, @bleedinghearth, @the-blackened-dove

#~dash commentary~ #𝓥: ♱ 𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 #tw; body horror

[ragingbookdragon]

Love Bites (But So Do I) PT. 2

Justice League x Reader One-shot

Word Count: 2.3K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Aye, we're back with another Skyrim!Reader fic! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It’d been close to a year since she’d joined the Justice League, and though the original members were a tightknit group, they’d welcomed her with open arms. Some of them were still wary about her, but for the most part, she was doing well within their ranks, especially when it came to being around Bruce or Hal. Given her longevity, she’d seen men like them before, known how to get along with them. Bruce she could meet on equal footing, Hal was simply a man that had to be shown who was in charge; it didn’t take much to make Hal crack under her authority, and in mere days, she had him wrapped around her fingers—Bruce too, but he’d never outright admit it to her face, or anyone else’s, even if a gun was put to his head.

She didn’t particularly fight much when they went on missions, preferring to be backup as well as their combat medic, a job she did well. She’d sewn up most of them without a blink of an eye, and while the first time she sewed Bruce’s wounds up, Clark and Diana stood beside to watch in case she tried to feed, they quickly learned, not only through her own comment but also his, that she wasn’t going to harm anyone.

Barry liked her. Or at least he enjoyed speaking with her. He found her ten thousand years of experience interesting, the history of her life, the survival of it. They’d spent hours talking about the past, hers and his from going back in time often. She enjoyed puzzling the poor scientist with magic. Barry wasn’t one to follow the whole “It’s magic” sermon; he wanted scientific evidence, hypothesis and experiments to prove how sparks, fire, and frost flowed from her fingertips like water. How natural it was for her as if it were like breathing.

She liked Barry. Liked to help him through personal issues. Her many years had given her experience in most subjects of life. Spurned lovers, betrayal of friends, death, life, all of it. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t help with, the League had come to find out. Sometimes, she even helped, and she didn’t even realize it.

***

It was one of the routine meetings for the month; she sat next between Diana and Hal, trying to focus on the words coming out of Bruce’s mouth but all she could hear was the quiet rumbling coming beneath them. What was she hearing? A broken pipe in the ceiling? Air hissing from a crack in a window, perhaps? No, it seemed to be coming from the table. But what was it? Nothing was shaking the foundation. What—

“(Y/N), is something wrong?”

She cocked her head up, realizing she’d pressed her face to the table in hopes she could listen closer to the noise; clearing her throat, she felt the eyes of the group on her. “Apologies,” she excused. “There’s…there is something I keep hearing under your voice. It’s…distracting.”

Her eyes found Clark’s. “Listen for a moment and see if you can hear it.”

They waited, everyone holding their breath, and when the rumbling came again, her eyes widened. “See! That! What is that!”

Clark held his hand up to say wait and she fell silent, letting him listen of for a few more moments, and then he cracked a smile and laughed.

“What? Why are you laughing?” she questioned. “What is it?”

“It’s Barry’s stomach,” he chuckled, nodding at the Speedster who suddenly flushed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you guys could hear it.” He laughed nervously. “It’s past my usual snack time so I’m really hungry.”

“I’ve got you,” Hal replied, digging in his bomber pocket to pull out a candy bar. “Snickers?”

“Ooo!” Barry chirped, taking it from him with a, “Thank you. I forgot to pack snacks when I left the house today.”

“Bar, one day, you’re gonna keel over from hunger because you forget. I swear, your memory is just as bad as your lateness.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Barry snickered.

(Y/N) hummed, eyes lingering on Barry for a moment before she turned to Bruce. “Sorry for the interruption. Please, continue.”

Bruce didn’t skip a beat, but she kept the thought of Barry in the back of her mind.

***

A couple hours later, the meeting had ended, and she caught up with Barry and Hal as they left. “Barry, a moment of your time, please? There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

Hal waved the two off and continued to the Zeta tubes, leaving them and Barry smiled, “What’s up, (Y/N)?”

“How often do you eat?”

Hello left field with that question.

“I—what?”

“Consuming sustenance,” she reiterated. “How often do you do it?”

Barry shuffled on his feet, scratching at the back of his head. “Well…my metabolism burns through food like Hal does jet fuel.” He saw her cocked eyebrow and unimpressed look and immediately said, “I need to eat roughly 4.8 million calories a day.”

Her eyes went wide and for a moment she simply gaped at him, then she recovered and shook her head. “Divines, you eat a lot of food.”

“Yeah,” Barry chuckled. “Only downside of being a Speedster besides seeing the world in slow motion.”

“Forensic scientists make between forty and one-hundred-thousand a year. Is it possible for you to afford the nutrition you need to adequately feed yourself?”

Just like that, she hit a sore spot because Barry stilled, a remarkable feat, and his cheeks tinted red; she heard the stutter in his heart rate, noted the way he looked around uncomfortably. “I…Bruce…helps me sometimes.” He shifted nervously. “High calorie protein bars are the easiest to manufacture in massive quantities. I need them most nights.”

“So, you can’t afford the amount of food you need?” (Y/N) hummed, eyes narrowing as she brought her hand to her face, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “I’m going home for the evening,” she suddenly blurted out. “Come back here tomorrow around the same time. I’ll have something for you that will help with your food shortage.”

As she walked off, Barry grabbed her arm, pleading, “Wait, (Y/N), don’t. I can’t take money from you.”

“I never said anything about money,” she corrected, removing his arm. “I merely said for you to come back, and I’ll have something for you.” She winked. “Relax Barry. I’m not going to tell the world your secrets.”

***

He stood in the center of the area where he was supposed to meet (Y/N), had been standing there for an hour, but then again, she was only fifteen minutes late and he forty-five minutes early. Barry glanced at his watch when a buzzing started in his pocket; he pulled his phone out and saw her caller ID, lifting it to his ear. “Hello?”

Barry! Sorry for calling late. That thing I’m looking for is taking a bit longer than I expected it to. Do you think you could come to my home in Gotham? I’ve already called ahead and let Bruce know you’d be in city limits.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered. “I’ll be right there.”

Good! Travel safely!

It’d taken him all of ten seconds to get from the Watchtower to her house and Barry almost shit his pants when he saw it. It reminded him of Hagrid’s house but slightly wider and with multiple conjoined buildings to it. He walked up to the front door, hyping himself up to grab the brass doorknocker that resembled a demonic skull. When he knocked on the door, nothing happened, then the locks flipped and it opened, creaking on its hinges like a cheap eighty’s horror film, but it did the trick because Barry was scared out of his mind when all he saw was a darkened room lit up only by a candle holder on a table in the middle.

“I’m in the back!” a voice called from inside. “Fang is coming to greet you! He’s bringing Nevermore!”

Nevermore was the bird. He remembered that one, but who was Fang?

His question was answer by a giant mastiff came bounding from an opening to the hallway and Barry almost jumped a foot in the air; it looked terrifying, but he merely whined and shoved his head into Barry’s palm, waiting to be scratched behind his ears.

He relented, giving Fang a good ear-scratch, and smiled as Nevermore hopped up his arm to sit on his shoulder.

“Hungry!” he croaked. “Want snacks!”

Barry dug around in his pocket, finding a half-eaten granola bar. “Granola?” he offered, holding up a piece and Nevermore swiped it with a quick snap of his beak.

“Come in!”

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“In the back!” she called. “I told you that already!”

“I meant where!” Barry laughed, coming to the hallway. It split down two sides, one going to the right the other left. The right opened to what looked like a studio. The left went down and had two doors on the wall, what were bedrooms, and at the end of the hall was a study.

“Bedroom!” she answered, and Barry walked down the left, stopping at the second door that was creaked open.

He saw (Y/N) laying over her bed, digging for something on the opposite side away from him. “(Y/N)?”

“Come in,” she said, listening to him walk around to see her. “I forgot I shoved this underneath her a long time ago when I was cleaning things out.”

“How long is a long time ago?”

“Hmm…American Revolution? Give or take a decade or so?” she waved it off, pulling out what looked like an antique drawstring bag, about the size of a dinner plate; she held it up and patted the bed beside her with her free hand. “This is going to solve all your food problems,” (Y/N) announced, watching him sit down.

“Uh…how so?”

She placed it in his lap. “Think of your absolute favorite snack food. Chips or cookies or something.”

He did.

“Now…reach into the bag and pull it out.”

Barry’s brows furrowed as he reached in the bag, and she knew he’d found them because his eyes went wide, and he pulled out a snack pack of cookies. “What the—”

“Magic food purse,” (Y/N) explained. “Found it one day when I was exploring.” She took it back and reached into it, pulling out a thin tray of expertly wrapped sushi. “It’s really helpful when you’re traveling and can’t carry massive amounts of food around with you.”

Barry watched her pop one in her mouth; he knew damn well that sushi wasn’t in there when he reached inside. He swiped the bag from her and opened it, peering inside, but all he saw was a dark, stretching expanse. “That’s not possible,” he breathed. “There’s nothing in here.”

“It’s magic,” (Y/N) snorted, reaching in to pull out a frosted chocolate cupcake. “Anything you can imagine eating or drinking? It will come out.”

“That’s not scientifically possible!” Barry stressed, trying to shove his head into the bag. There had to be some gimmick to it. A transporter! Something!

“Why is it so hard for you to accept that some things in this universe can’t be explained by science?” she stared at him. “For Divines’ sake, Barry, your best friend is a man who wields a magic ring. You run faster than the speed of light.”

“There’s science behind some of that!”

“Not much.”

“But there is science! Here—there’s nothing!” Barry was having a crisis. “I don’t know how this works. I don’t understand.”

(Y/N) smiled and folded the bag up, gently stowing it in Barry’s jacket pocket. “It’s not about understanding, Barry, it’s about accepting that there are some things you won’t ever understand.” Her eyes crinkled at the edges. “That bag will never run out of magic. You can think all the food and drinks into existence and never run out of food again.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “No more high calorie meal bars unless you have to eat them. No more worrying about putting money aside to make sure you have enough to eat. No more relying on others to keep yourself from going hungry.” (Y/N) whispered comfortingly, “No more fear. No more worries.”

Barry felt the lump rise in his throat. He’d never admitted it, not even to Hal, but he worried constantly about keeping fed. Worried that money wouldn’t come in, that he’d go hungry, that something worse would happen. All the nights he’d laid in bed and had to roll over on an empty stomach because he couldn’t afford to buy more or eat what he’d planned for tomorrow then. All the skipping meals, all the exhaustion, all the worry. Gone in moments.

He felt her thumb under his eye, and he looked into her umber ones, seeing her smile softly as she wiped away another tear. She didn’t say anything, merely gazing at him and Barry leaned into her palm, reaching up to cup her hand closer to his cheek. “Thank you,” he managed through the lump in his throat. “I don’t know how to repay you for—”

“Shhh,” (Y/N) hushed, pressing her thumb to his lips. “There’s nothing to repay anyone for. I did this for you, Barry, not so you’d owe me.” She pulled away from him and rose from the bed, looking back. “Now, if you’d like a moment to yourself, I understand. But I was planning on making dinner. Would you like to stay the night?”

“You don’t mind?” Barry asked. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a wink, flashing those pretty white fangs in a smile as she flirted, “Stay all you want, Barry. I won’t bite…yet.” She left Barry in the room, heart pounding in his chest, but not from fear—from excitement and anticipation.

#barry allen x reader imagines #barry allen x reader imagine #barry allen x reader #barry allen imagines #barry allen imagine #barry allen #flash x reader imagine #flash x reader imagines #flash x reader #flash imagines #flash imagine #flash #the flash #flashfamily x reader imagine #flashfamily x reader imagines #flashfamily x reader #flashfamily imagines #flashfamily imagine #flashfamily #justice league imagines #justice league imagine #justice league #bruce wayne #batman #clark kent #superman #diana prince #diana of themyscira #wonder woman #hal jordan

[cleverhideoutchild]

cries @ your mammon fic, can i make a request if your requests are open? each of the bros react to mc having to get a surgery done (like for the heart) and theyre demons so this is an unfamiliar subject to them since they wouldnt ever need any surgery. So mc is extra fragile for the next 2 weeks or so when they need to recover, the hospital is full of machines the bros know nothing about either (like seeing mc's x-rays and being confused) medical treatment has changed a lot since the last time

My very first request! Sorry if this isn't up to your expectations or if it's OOC. I'm still learning! I'm re-doing the banner btw, so no banner for now.

❀(*´▽`*)❀

Masterlist

Rules

Prompts list

————————————————————

Fandom : Obey Me!

Type : HeadCanons

Pairings : Various x MC

Genre : Fluff, and a bit of comedy

Includes : Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and Belphegor

Warning : Surgeries, hospital

Summary : You're going into a surgery in a few hours to get an open heart surgery, and the demon bros are a bit nervous and confused cause they're not familiar with human surgeries. After the surgery, they stay by your side until you are fully recovered.

Lucifer

Most likely to be the most calmest among the bros.

He made sure you are prepared both mentally and physically for this surgery.

He made sure you're on empty stomach before surgery so it will go smoothly.

You're nervous? He's gonna let down his pride and hold your hands until it is time for the surgery.

When the time has come, he will give you a reassuring smile to calm you down.

During the whole surgery, he wait outside the room; constantly pacing back and forth the hallway.

After it's done, the doctor call him to the office to explain the succession of the surgery while the nurses move you into a room.

When the doctor showed him an x-ray of your body, he's a little confused but kept calm nonetheless he's a little confused, but he got the spirit.

After listening about what to do and not to do while you recover, he then excuse himself to go see you.

By the time he got there, you were already awake; tubes and monitors on and around you.

He slowly and calmly approaches you.

When he's finally by your side, he put a hand on top of yours and gave you a soft smile. I mean the softest smile ever.

"See, I told you. You can do it." he then kisses your forehead gently like hanshjahzjBa it's cute ugh.

For the whole duration of the recovery, he stay by your side; comforting you, feeding you when you can't, giving you light kisses, and bringing you flowers.

Even after you're fully recovered, Lucifer still kept an eye on you just incase something happened to you.

More under the cut cause I was enjoying myself

Mammon

"You're going into a- WHAT?!"

Please calm him down, he's really nervous for your surgery. If you can, please shut his mouth as well.

He almost got kicked out due to how loud he is. Please reassure him that you will be fine throughout the whole surgery.

Will make sure you're prepared for it.

Tried to steal a picture from the waiting room, but that didn't go as plan. Keep an eye on him please.

He's not the best at words but he tried. A for effort.

While the surgery is going, he waited impatiently outside the room; constantly reminding himself that you're strong and you'll able to get through this.

When it was done, the doctor call him in. They then showed him an X-ray of you and tells him about the successful surgery.

"So this is the X-ray results, thankfully it's not hard to replace the heart due to the structure of the bones."

"Wait, that's MC's bones? How can you do that? Did you went inside their body and then take a photo of it?"

Yeah, he's a little confused.

After everything was explained to him, he quickly went to check on you. He got lost a few times while trying to find your room.

By the time he got there, you were still unconscious. So, he approaches you quietly.

He sat on a chair beside your bed and held you hand, just casually admiring you peaceful face. Sometimes he wonder how he got so lucky to have you.

Overall, you can just see the admiration on his face like agahsnsksnzhaj he loves you so much and is very happy you decided to choose him, and he's very grateful of you but he's too stubborn to admit that to your face.

When you wake up, he quickly let go of your hand and pretends to look out the window.

During your whole recovery, he stayed by your side and make sure you're comfortable. He brings your favorite flowers from time to time as well. He's not the best at actions either, but he tried.

Leviathan

Uh oh.

Crowded hospital? Weird computer stuff? People are gonna cut you open and replace your heart? Oh no.

When I say he's way more panicked than Mammon, he really is. Please calm him down before he breaks something.

He's not familiar with the whole surgery thing so he's really nervous for you.

Tries to give you encouraging words, but ended up stuttering instead. Please tell him that you'll be fine, he needs reassurance.

Also while you're at it, make sure you explain to him that with you getting a new heart doesn't mean you won't love him anymore.

He constantly asked you if people can play games on those monitors, you told him no.

When you finally went into the surgery room, his anxiety level reached sky level. Sweet! New achievement! I mean- ahem.

This demon right here can't help but panicked a little bit while waiting for the surgery to be done.

When it's done, the doctor called him to the office for a brief explanation.

If you thought he can't get any more nervous then Oh boy, you're very wrong.

During the whole explanation he just sat silently on the chair and frequently nods his head. When he saw the X-ray, he got even more confused.

After the short yet awkward explanation, Leviathan quickly went to your room.

When he arrives, you were already awake, and so he quickly stand by your side. Please tell him you still loves him, he needs it.

During the whole recovery, he stayed by your side and played games with you. So with that being said, you're not bored at all.

Satan

The second calmest.

He read a bunch books about surgery, so he's not too nervous unlike the others.

He held your hand while you both wait, occasionally reminding you that it'll be fine.

When it's time, he gives you a hug and the softest smile he can muster.

While he wait, he can't help but pace back and forth in the hallway. He was worried, don't blame him. :(

When the surgery is done, he was called to the office for you guessed it, explanation again. At this point I'm getting tired

He already read about this stuff, so he's not too confused about it.

After the doctor was done, he excuse himself to go see you.

When he went inside you room, you weren't awake yet, and so he stayed by your side while reading a book and holding your hand.

When you're awake, he asks you how're doing. Even though he knows it's a stupid question considering you just finish getting a surgery done.

During your recovery, he's usually seen sitting beside your bed; reading you a book or telling a story about Mammon's stupidness.

He tries to bring you a cat once, but he failed. Sweet, 3 more to go

Asmodeus

When you tells him you're gonna get a surgery, he freaks out cause he thought you were gonna get plastic surgery.

He kept telling you that you don't need any plastic surgery cause you're beautiful the way you are. You just kinda have to shut him up and then explain it to him.

Once he understood the situation, he is more than willingly to come with you.

When you both arrived, he was a little confused due to the amount of monitors and stuff in that hospital. But he's not complaining about the amount of shiny surface there is.

He can see his beautiful face from many angles and he's very happy about it.

Before the surgery starts, he gives you a tight hug and make sure to tell you that everything will be going as smoothly as his skin, I mean- what.

During the whole operation, he waits patiently outside while looking at the passing nurses and doctors.

After that you know the drill, he was called into the office, the doctor explain stuff to him, yada-yada-yada, you get my point

When the doctor shows him your X-ray, he was absolutely confused. The doctor have to explain it to him.

After that he went to your room to check on you.

During the recovery, he frequently checks on your well being. Actually, scratch that, he rarely leaves your side.

When he does leave, he will come back with a ton of fresh and juicy gossips.

Beelzebub

He almost choked when you said you were going into a surgery in a few hours. Poor baby was frightened.

He made sure you are ready for the surgery by asking a lot of questions. Answer then honestly please, he needs to know.

Will hold your hand while waiting and occasionally giving you words of encouragement.

Will try his best to prevent himself from giving you any food before the surgery.

Before you were taken away to the surgery room, he gives you a little peck on the lips. For good luck he says. (｡･ω･｡)

While the operation is going, he quickly went out to buy some food cause your boy is H U N G R Y :(

When he comes back, the operation was finished with a successful note.

And you know the rest, yada-yada-yada

When the doctor shows him your X-ray, he was confused.

"Wait, but how?"

After that you know the rest, he went to your room, your awake, yada-yada-yada

Your whole recovery process is basically just Beel pampering you with love and affection.

He also makes sure to gives you food that won't upset both your stomach and heart.

Belphegor

Finally, the last one! I- ahem He was chill about your surgery. But we know he's silently panicking inside

He lazily puts a hand on your waist while you both walked down the hallway, making sure you're comfortable until the surgery.

While you both waited, he gives you sleepy hugs and reassuring words.

When it was time for the operation, he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before smiling at you.

While the surgery was going, he decided to take a little nap on the hospital bench.

You know the drill at this point, I'm too lazy to type it again cause it's night time and I have classes tommorow

When the doctor shows him your X-ray, he couldn't care less honestly. He just wanted to see you.

Your 2 weeks of recovery is just full of you and Belphie taking naps together and maybe planning to prank Lucifer with Satan once you've fully recovered.

————————————————————

And it's done! Sorry that the Belphie one is too short. I am very tired, I wanna go to sleep. Bye bye. Also, ignore any mistakes or misspellings please, it's almost midnight here.

#obey me #obey me imagine #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #obey me headcanon #mc #obey me shall we date #obeyme #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x you #obey me x y/n #obey me mammon #obey me luficer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #mammon x y/n #lucifer x you #mammon x mc #obey me x readers #x readers #beel x mc #beel x reader #belphie x mc #asmo x reader #satan x reader #leviathan x mc

[castthy-nightedcolour]

One- Shot: The Seaside Dream (written as part of my series ‘don’t worry about a thing’ on AO3, link can be found at the bottom of the post as it won’t let me embed it)

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: GN Reader, Aziraphale, Crowley

Warnings and Tags: depression, skipping meals, dynamic duo, here come the boysssss, soft crowley

Summary: you don’t show up for wine with crowley and aziraphale, and the two hurry to your apartment to see what’s going on

Word Count: 2281

Link to original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31055930/chapters/83889112

‘Crowley, please hurry!’

The pained cry of the angel came from the top of the flight of stairs in your apartment block, echoing off the concrete walls. This mixed with the reverberant sigh of Crowley, and the ever- so- slow tread of his footsteps.

‘CROWLEY. This is important! Do you not care?’

The demon stopped dead in his tracks, planting his feet at the bottom of the set of stairs that the out of breath Aziraphale stood at the top of.

Crowley was not at all happy with the angel’s question.

‘Do I not what? Care? Oh Angel, you’re asking to be pushed down these stairs,’ he responded, almost growling under his breath. In any other circumstance, this might have actually pleased Aziraphale, however this time, he was actually terrified.

-

The scenario had started with what Aziraphale called ‘a dreadfully funny feeling.’

Since Armageddon was narrowly avoided, the angel and the demon had found themselves at somewhat of a loose end on Earth, enjoying their free time together but still constantly striving for some higher purpose.

That’s where you came in. Little did you know that a walk into a lovely little bookshop called A.Z Fell & Co. one day to search for an overpriced illustrated copy of your favourite book would lead to drinking a couple of bottles of wine with the owner and his companion for seven hours straight, and that this would become a weekly tradition. You just clicked with the pair, you found them magnetising and, well, you were a fascinating human to the angel and the demon, so they quickly grew fond of you.

The two supernatural beings then decided that their purpose would be caring. Caring for you.

Not in a suffocating way though, at least that was never the intention. Between the two of them, Crowley and Aziraphale decided from the get go that they would just be there for you as a friend, with little extras added on top like going out and buying your shopping for you whenever there was a thunderstorm, or baking you enough cake to feed the 5000. But, the pair’s talents in observance and intuition slowly made them realise that something was always just slightly off with you.

To them, it seemed like there was always something hidden behind a wall in your head, like a pretence that you constantly held up. Granted, part of their realisation came when in one of your drinking sessions at the bookshop, you let slip that you hadn’t eaten a proper meal for two days and they both nearly hit the roof. They asked you why, and kept asking why (Aziraphale in particular was extremely persistent) but you brushed it off- you always brushed it off.

‘No no, it’s nothing to be worried about, I promise! I’ve just been so busy, y’know? It’s nothing, please Aziraphale, you can sit down. Don’t you worry about me.’

Now, Crowley could sense a lie from a mile off considering he was the lord of them, and Aziraphale could feel that your inner emotions were about as steady as a mongoose riding a pedal bike, and they therefore deduced that they should in fact worry about you.

And so the slightly incompetent suffocation began.

This was definitely mainly from Aziraphale, as his senses for detecting emotional suffering and hurt were a lot stronger than Crowley’s- this was just down to how long he’d been pulling angelic manoeuvres. Crowley was a lot less practised however when he felt that something was off, he really did feel that something was off. This however meant that wherever in London you were, Aziraphale would realise that something was wrong, no matter how small the inconvenience.

Notable occasions included when the tubes on the Central Line were running one minute late and Aziraphale unsuccessfully attempted to miracle another train up, causing even more delay and destruction, when the bottom of your shoe fell off in a puddle and Aziraphale got so upset that he cried for an hour, (to be fair, he’d had a long day; someone had tried to buy a book from the shop which had displeased him greatly) and when a seagull crapped on your shoulder while you were sitting outside a bar at Canary Wharf and the angel managed to manifest a fluke bolt of lightning which struck the seagull down right into your food.

And all this from the comfort of his own home.

Crowley had tried to tell the angel that not every inconvenience could be sorted out, that the pair needed to pick their battles with the perils of the human life.

‘Yes yes, I understand. I’ll stop, I promise. We’ll stick to the original plan. Now have you seen my banana bread recipe? I think they could do with a pep up.’

This lasted for 22 hours.

You hadn’t shown up to the bookshop like you did every week.

‘Oh Angel do stop pacing, they have a life of their own you know,’ Crowley nagged, holding a bottle of red wine in one hand as he stood in the doorway between the main shop and the back room.

‘Something is wrong, Crowley. I have a dreadfully funny feeling,’ Aziraphale insisted, wringing his hands and pacing at twice the average speed of an angel.

‘Right, yes, okay but the problem is, you’ve said that every night for two weeks and it hasn’t been true once.’

‘You can’t sense it like I can.’ The angel stormed towards the coat stand, reaching for his coat.

‘Oh no no no, we agreed, no suffocation. Put that down, you’re not going anywhere,’ the demon asserted.

‘Oh yes we are. Put that wine in the back, you’re driving.’

Crowley had rarely heard Aziraphale’s voice like this before, low and extremely demanding. There wasn’t any way he was getting out of this, the angel was on a mission.

-

And so, Crowley drove the angel to your apartment block and the two of them ended up in the stairwell facing off with each other. Too highly strung for their own good.

‘What if this is the one time that I’m right? You’re here getting all… demonic on the stairs and-‘

‘I will get demonic, Aziraphale. I am in fact a demon, plus if this is the one time that you’re right then you’re holding both us back by squabbling. Move out of the way.’

Crowley marched up the stairs stony faced, swooping straight past Aziraphale to your front door.

He did care. He really did. He just didn’t like to show it around Aziraphale because he always felt inferior in they way that he cared compared to the angel. He didn’t have those massively intuitive senses, his baking skills weren’t up to scratch, he felt held back by control. But something in the demonic form burned when he thought of the idea that you were hurting- and that burning was made more painful by Aziraphale’s suggestion that he didn’t care.

He snapped his fingers at your door, and it violently swung open, hitting against the wall of the hallway as it did. He stormed inside, barely letting Aziraphale follow behind before he snapped his fingers again to close it. Darkness and silence fell over the hallway as the angel and the demon stood completely still, their anxious breathing slowly filling the space.

They could both easily sense one important thing- you were present in the apartment, you were safe within the four walls. There was a collective sigh of relief.

‘Told you,’ Crowley sneered under his breath, trying to hide his still present anxiety. As much as he could feel your presence, he was struggling with any of the finer details, your emotional state or your exact whereabouts.

‘Don’t be like that. I was only trying to help,’ Aziraphale whimpered, taking a small step forwards. Unlike Crowley, he could just about tell that you were somewhere in the general direction of your bedroom. The angel clicked his fingers and uttered a small ‘let there be light’, allowing the hallway to be illuminated by a faint white glow. There was no other light coming from anywhere due to a distinct lack of windows in the architecture of this building, the only three were in your living room, your bedroom and your kitchen and even then, you’d shut all of the curtains and all of the doors in the place.

The angel padded further down the hallway, leaving Crowley to look at the prints on your walls like an awkward cousin at a party. By the time Aziraphale had reached your bedroom door, Crowley had moved onto examining the items on the coffee table that was slightly further down the hall. There wasn’t a lot to examine, a couple of books, your keys, an Alexa that you’d turned the microphone off on. The one thing that caught Crowley’s eye was a small painting of a seaside town just laying down on the table. It wasn’t anywhere near being finished and much to Crowley’s dismay, it was crumpled up. He assumed two scenarios from this, either someone had given you an unfinished painting and you felt so strongly about it that you took to crumpling it up, or this was in fact your handy work that had been partially destroyed.

‘Crowley, what now?’ Aziraphale whispered from the end of the corridor, bringing Crowley’s gaze up from the table and back to reality.

‘Uhhh, don’t scare them. Don’t just burst in,’ the demon responded, moving down to meet Aziraphale by the bedroom.

‘I wasn’t planning on doing that! I just mean, do I knock? Just go in? Announce our arrival?’

Crowley rested his hand lightly on your bedroom door, looking quizzically at Aziraphale who was jumping through every possible scenario in his head. The demon sighed.

‘Just, shush. Okay, let’s just be quiet. Follow me, angel.’

Crowley very slowly pushed your bedroom door open, being greeted with yet more darkness from inside as he did so. Aziraphale hung over his shoulder to try and look inside, with Crowley grunting slightly at this. Through the darkness, Crowley made out a shape in the bed.

You, curled into a ball and fast asleep. Your breathing was heavy, but not laboured, and the bedsheets rose and fell accordingly. You were as close to comatose as could possibly be, dead to the world but luckily, very much alive.

‘Aaah. Oh, look,’ whispered Aziraphale. Crowley glared slightly at the angel, but inside, his sentiments were very similar. The pair stared at your form resting in the darkness for a few seconds, relieved with every breath that you took. With anyone else? It would have been creepy.

But not with these two. It was a deep devotion and concern.

Aziraphale went to take a step forwards but Crowley stopped him in his tracks, stopping the angel from getting anywhere near you.

‘Don’t even think about waking them, look. They’re deep in dreamland,’ the demon hissed, meeting Aziraphale’s puppy eyes.

‘Oh please, I just wanted to check that they’re okay.’

‘Aziraphale, they’re very clearly shattered. I think that we’ve discovered that they’re definitely not okay, but interrupting their sleep won’t help anyone. Let’s just, y’know, help where we can.’

‘But their soul-‘

‘I know. We’ll help with that tomorrow. For today, they sleep.’

Aziraphale eventually backed off slightly, looking down while nodding in defeat. While his deep concern could only ever have come from a place of love, he realised that stepping back for a second could be beneficial to everyone. He started to head towards the kitchen to see if there was anything that he could help with in there, turning back round for a second to ask Crowley what he should do. Crowley however was no longer stood in your doorway, and was instead sat on the edge of your bed, resting his hand on your leg.

The angel went to protest in some jealousy for a moment, but the warm glow that filled up his heart because of the sight stopped him. He just smiled, and turned back.

—

Between the pair of them, you were treated to a clean kitchen, a full fridge, a massive fuzzy blanket for the bed and soft, warm light for each room.

But there was one final detail bugging Crowley.

As the pair crept down your hallway back to the front door, Crowley let out a soft whistle to his friend as he stopped beside the coffee table. The angel turned his head, looking at the objects scattered about the surface.

‘What’s this?’ He asked, strangely intrigued by the small speaker- like object.

‘It’s an Alexa, it’s like a - y’know what, doesn’t matter. That’s not what I need you for. Look at this.’ Crowley picked up the ruined painting that he’d spotted earlier, showing it to Aziraphale. The angel scanned over it.

‘Ooh, its Whitby, the place with Dracula!’ He half gasped half squealed, failing to see what his friend was seeing.

‘It’s fucked is what it is, angel. I think they’ve crumpled it up in frustration or something, which I’m not exactly thrilled with. I’m out of niceness for today, can you do something?’ Crowley sighed, thrusting the painting towards his friend slightly.

‘Oh, easily. Your wish is my command, dear.’

Aziraphale swiped his hand across the paper and watched as the creases disappeared and the smudges eased. The colours got just a little brighter, and the beauty of your half- finished painting was restored.

‘We’ll help them finish it tomorrow, yes Crowley?’ The angel continued. Crowley gave a small smile with all the good energy that he had left in his body.

‘Yes angel. That would be nice.’

#good omens #good omens one shot #good omens fanfic #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader

[celestialmango]

(an anon sent me a prompt a while ago that caught my interest and I tweaked it a little so I wouldn't get writers block and get stuck but honestly whoever you are anon, great job👍, I loved it but it just took awhile for creative juices to flow so I could write it out.)

Soft vore, stuffing, unwilling Prey, ambiguous ending, reader insert, fatal mentions.

🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭

Holy shit, you shiver in fear at the knowledge just given to you by the college staff, you shouldn't have signed up for the dorms fuck what do you do? You don't know but you don't have a choice now, you chosen a college far from home and didn't have the money to rent a place. You can see pity on the staffs face as if they know they signed your death warrant. You take a deep breath, stand up and leave.

You don't have a choice, you can't afford to go anywhere else, you were just assigned to be the roommate of a well-known upper class man Pred on campus, as you slowly walk a down the path to the main dorm you feel you have to think, what do you do? as you enter the building....you have an idea, it might be dumb, might not even work but if a plan like this might help you survive you have to at least try it right? You clap your hands and pray to whatever deities are out there that this will work.

You walk down the hall to your assigned dorm room and knock on the door, after a moment it opens and you're face to face with a gurgling bulge of a stomach, you try not to let it phase you as you look up at the towering form rubbing the back of their neck before they look down at you, before the can do anything you play your cards 'o-oh wow you're tall! Hi I'm (y/n)!' you say with an innocent friendly smile 'the dorm manager assigned me as your roommate, from the sound of it you sound pretty hungry which is great! I wanted to invite you out to a buffet I saw on my bus ride to campus for lunch, my treat!' you look at them expectantly waiting for a reply after your word vomit.

After a few minutes of silence and them just staring down at you begin to fidget in place, they just blink at you slowly, looking as if they're debating some as they lift a hand to their mouth and yawn, you fidget a bit more nervously as you see how wide their maw can stretch and see their sharp canines dripping with saliva before their hand drops and their jaw relaxes. Their other hand finds it's way to the back of your shirt and they bring you inside the room before dropping you on a giant beanbag chair, they yawn again "Nnnn fuck it sure, give me a minute, I gotta put on some pants."

Phase one of plan play dumb success! The staff members said your roommate would eat you as soon as they opened the door, but instead you convinced them to a buffet instead, you take your chance to look around the room and your smile drops a little into a look of concern and confusion. There's only one bed. After getting dressed the come out of a bathroom and see your face "what's with you?" They ask sounding a little hostile, you respond by letting your face flush and scratching your cheek with a finger 'u-um well.' their eyes are gazing at you like a hawk 'there's only one bed in the room, this college doesn't really make roommates share a bed do they?' the Predator responds with an unnerving grin "most of my roommates don't last long."

Deflect! Deflect and act cute! You smile at them innocently again and tilt your head 'oh? Did they get kicked out for some reason or something?' their grin gains an aura of menace. "Or something." You put a hand on your chin in thought, 'by the way how do we get to town from campus? Do you have a car or will we be taking a bus to buffet.' their grin drops as they pause for a moment raising their eyebrow, "do you honestly think someone my size can fit in a car? Because the answer is no." You just grin at them 'guess I'll be paying for bus passes too then' they shake their head "naw, the college provides monthly passes, now come on, we'll want to hurry because the next one will leave soon." You look startled before you leap up, 'ok'.

You have trouble keeping up with them as you both run so they quickly turn back pick you up and tuck you under their arm before rushing to the bus stop, they really want that free food you offered, a chance to pig out that they don't have to pay for sounds great to them.

-----------

To saw you were surprised at how much $5 at a buffet could stretch was an understatement, barely half an hour and a tower of plates was stacked on the table you two sat at and as the pred finished their final plate a well dress person came up and banned you both from coming back, as you both stood on the sidewalk you spoke with a stunned look on your face 'i didn't know it was possible to get kicked out of an all you can eat buffet' the pred patted at their large gut "yeah, pity. I'm not even full yet." They pause looking like they're thinking about something again when you spoke again 'what? Seriously? You ate out the entire buffet.' they look towards you again with a strange gaze that you don't even notice and answer.

"I could go for more." You don't even see them reach for you before you turn to them with a mischievous grin while ask them an question that interests them greatly 'wanna see how many buffets we can banned from in a day?' they hesitate, the hand they were about to snatch you up freezes for a second before it reaches down to pat your shoulder instead as they give you a wide grin and an enthusiastic reply "hell yeah." And off you both went to cause as much chaos as possible before you had to go back to campus.

-----

A few hour later and they can barely squeeze themselves out of the doors of the bus as you return to campus, their gut bulging out so large it look as if they ate a moose, the both of you laughing '-i mean the look on that guys face when you snatched up and ate an entire turkey whole as they chased us out was priceless' "pfft yeah but what about the other guy when I ran out of the kitchen with that pot of soup a chugged it?" You both walk towards the dorm 'he looked like he was about to faint! That was right off the stove! Like boiling hot! How in the world did that not burn like you were drinking lava?' "heat resistance is a wonderful thing" they reply grinning from ear to ear.

After they open the door and you're about turn to leave to talk to staff about finishing the dorm paperwork their hand presses against your back a shove you into their room, you don't see a dark look flash across their face for a moment before disappearing, there is an unnerving tone to their voice that gives no room for argument as they speak "hey now, how about we spend a bit more time together?" It doesn't sound like a question but more like an order. Afraid and nervous about what may happen if you say no, you agree.

They hand you a controller and ask in a voice, as if they know exactly how the words sound

"Wanna smash?" 'Hah' you can't help the laugh that comes out, you shouldn't have told them about your weakness to dirty jokes.

----

Time passes fast as you play smash bros together for a while then move on to more multiple play games, you keep noticing they way they glance at you sometimes with a look that scares you, sometimes licking their lips, you notice as time goes by the size of their stomach decreases and the more it does, the more these moments of staring increase.

Their stomach growls a low long sound and you feel like you're sweating as you shiver while a chill shoots down your spine,you speak in a shaky voice as you get up and start walking towards the door 'w-ell t-this has been fun but I have speak to staff about sleeping arrangements as there's not room for me her right now' you open the door a crack before it slams shut, you see the Pred's hand above you and the other engulfs your shoulder, the tone Pred speaks to you in makes your heart stop "oh I have room." Before the spin you around, pinning your arms to your sides as their jaw stretches open and they lift you up , shoving your head inside and swallowing before you can properly process the situation.

The grip of their throat is tight, but the fleshy tube contracts and releases easily as the experienced muscles drag you deeper inside, you snap out your stunned state a futilely kick and squirm , the struggles doing nothing except helping you slide down faster, the Pred groaning at your flavor as they gulp heavily and fast, impatient and greedy they feel they have waited for this long enough. Your head passed through the opening to their stomach and thinking fast you hold your breath, closing your eye as your face is shoved into the pile of half digested remains of the multiple buffets they cleaned out.

You're quickly force inside, curling up you gasp as your head emerges from the slurry of food, it stick to your hair, a foul acidic smell in your nostrils, you barely have the room to move and you start to cry feeling a bit betrayed but your soft sobs can't be heard over the gurgles and groans of the chamber as it continues to work on the food around you.

-----

"Aaah that hit the spot." They plop back down on their beanbag, their gut having grown in size once more, they give it a couple pats then rub it lightly "out of everything I ate today you are definitely the tastiest." They mean that fully, they had been planning to do this since they were first told that staff was going to once again, try to give them a roommate, a freshman this time, you were always going to feed them, they just didn't expect you to do it in more ways than one.

They continue to switch between rubbing and patting their their gut as a thoughtful look crosses their face, they had made up their mind to eat you, nothing you did was ever going to change that, however, what happens afterwards is still up for debate because honestly you are probably the first one staff sent that was actually friendly towards them instead of an entitled jackass , you also took them out and let them stuff themselves till they couldn't eat anymore, they had to wait to digest a bit before they could fit you in too, but even then they had a really good time today with you.

Considering who and what they were it wouldn't take but a second to cast the spell they would need to keep you from being lost inside their stomach forever, hell you might even actually be a good roommate if they give you that chance....a low whiny gurgle sounds from their gut. Whatever their decision is they will need to make it soon, they have about 15 minutes before the acid in their stomach starts to affect you too.

#soft vore #v*re #v0re #unwilling prey #ambiguous ending

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

//

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

//

Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.

His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of  curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.

“Rough day?”

“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.

He’s referring to the umbrella she got  roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.

Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”

He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.

He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh  as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.

When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.

“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.

“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”

“I’m good.”

Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before.  Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.

It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other)  who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.

The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter,  “Is Blake not coming tonight?”

“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped.  “Quite fancy if you ask me.”

Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.

With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it  for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.

Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.

“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.

“The Grammys.”

Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”

“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”

“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”

“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”

He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”

“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach  “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”

“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”

“Are you going?”

“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”

Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.

It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on  top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face  become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.

Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.

It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly  when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he  learned how to desensitize himself.

That  doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.

“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”

“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship.  “We dated before she even set foot in America.”

“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”

He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”

“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”

“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”

“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching  her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown.  He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”

“Julia…”

“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.

“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”

“Why not?”

“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”

“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”

“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”

“Not everyday.”

The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit,  until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.

He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry  about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown  four years ago.

Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?

//

Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.

Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.

He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.

Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.

“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.

“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.

You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.

I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.

Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”

Your smile  widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.

You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.

Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.

“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”

You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,

“I love it.”

You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.

She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.

Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?

Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.

So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.

It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.

“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.

“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”

“I don’t—“

“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”

In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.

So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.

Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.

This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.

Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.

The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.

“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.

“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.

It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice.  “I love this song.”

“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”

“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks.  “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”

“Sure is.”

Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.

Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.

“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.

“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Nervous?”

The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”

“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”

“I guess.”

“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee.  “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”

“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.

“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”

“I know. I know.”

“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”

“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.

“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”

“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.

True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.

It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.

From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.

You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.

The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.

A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.

It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.

Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.

It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.

“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.

“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”

“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”

“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.  

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”

There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”

You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”

You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”

“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.

“Tired.” You repeat.  “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”

“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”

“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”

A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”

You sigh. “I know.”

“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”

“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”

“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”

The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.

It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.

The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)

What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.

The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.

Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.

It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.

Because they call out your name.

Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.

Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.

Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.

Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.

The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?

There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

//

Harry’s not having a good day.

He’s not having a good week, actually.  Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.

On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it.  Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.

But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)

He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.

He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.

Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.

“Fucking--”

His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”

Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”

There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.

At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.

Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.

“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”

“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head  straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”

“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”

Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.

The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.

Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.

From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.

Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.

It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.

Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.

The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.

So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.

Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.

Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.

“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”

Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.

Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.

It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.

He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.

What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.

He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.

It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry  He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.

Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.

The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.

“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.

His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”

“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.

“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”

“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”

You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”

“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.

“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.

True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.

As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.

His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).

Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.

“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.

“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist,  “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”

At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.

Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.

It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.

As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.

His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.

“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.

She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.

The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.

Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.

“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.

With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.

Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.

After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much  more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.

During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.

It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.

Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.

It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.

The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.

“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”

Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.

“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.

“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.

“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”

“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”

“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”

He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”

“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?

“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”

“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”

“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”

He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief.  “With my mum?”

The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.

He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.

“The same one, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”

“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”

“Still, that’s…”

“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”

The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.

How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.

Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.

After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.

That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.

So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?

The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.

After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.

And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.

Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.

Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.

And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.

The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.

Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.

But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.

“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.

Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.

The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.

Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a  quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.

For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.

It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.

Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.

Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”

“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.

He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.

Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.

Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”

“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”

He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”

Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.

You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.

But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response,  “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”

He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.

Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”

“What?”

“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”  

You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.

“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”

Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”

“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”

“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”

He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”

“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”

“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”

You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”

His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”

You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.

“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”

His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.

It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.

You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.

Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.

You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”

You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed.  “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”

He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”

“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”

“Okay, then.”

//

As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.

That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.

You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.

It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?

But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.

The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.

Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?

He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.

It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).

Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.

Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.

He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.

When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”

“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”

“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.

“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.

“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.

“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”

“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.

He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.

From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.

Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”

“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.

“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”

The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.

Oh.

You’re drunk.

“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.

You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.

His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”

He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”

You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.

Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.

Because that’s the thing.

He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.

A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.

He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”

“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.

Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.

He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”

“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.

“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”

“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago.  “I think so.”

“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll be right here!”

Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.

He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.  

“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”

He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”

“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”

“No!” Harry quickly asserts,  “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”

When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”

“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”

You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”

He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”

He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”

“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”

“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”

“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”

He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.

It’s all much too confusing to him.

“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.

The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.

“Yeah?”

You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”

“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”

“I do.”

“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”

He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”

When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”

Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”

“Yeah.”

You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”

He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug.  “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”

“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”

Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”

Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”

Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”

Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”

“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”

“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”

“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”

“Sounds great.”

You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”

He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”

“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”

“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”

//

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing

[jeeperso]

D&D Quotes Without Context

Ravenloft Edition, Lamordia Arc, Part 2

“It looks like it’ll have stuff that’ll try and ram it’s ovipositor down our throats and lay their eggs in our stomachs. Which I’m not knocking if that’s your thing.”

“There’s a ‘vivisection theatre.’ I’d say optimism has had it’s day, and it’s not now.”

"Okay, largest tube being shattered and empty. Maybe it was the big bird we fought that was inside it. Oh, who am I kidding? It is going to be something nasty by the looks of this place."

The creature chuckles, <Your magics are nothing to me.> Gorbash: "Old fashioned violence it is."

Azathoth: "They're very graceful for a crab."

OOC: *starts doing Uncle's chant from Jackie Chan Adventures to remove curse on the server*

"Let me go you overgrown crab with delusions of power!"

Nyarlathotep: "Damn crabs refuse to wear glasses." "crab": <They don't make classes with eight lenses.>

Jonni: "Cast create butter!"

Marshal: "You have the right to remain dead!"

“Any of these brains your boyfriend?”

Gorbash: *stuffing a severed crab-omination limb into his pack* "Just spill it. Our day is already miserable."

“Is the body his and can we put it back in?”

"Goddammit I'm a brain in a jar aren't I?"

“Eddie, he’s alive, he’s got body options. That’s more than most. “

"UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE CENTURY! I'd ask if he's out of his mind but that seems to be all he's got right now."

"And then we're going to Kumquat the LIVING TARTARUS out of this elder brain."

Gorbash: "Keep it away from Eddie. I'll not feed his magical gambling habit."

“Let’s hit the armory and see what cool ways to blow shit up they’ve got.”

It speaks in Deep Speech, "Identification please." “Jonni Humantorch, Genie Fucker. I’m in charge now.”

"How were you guys responding to that thing, it was talking in Deep Speech and I thought only Gorbash and maybe Edmund knew that among us." "They spoke loud and slow."

Space guns, Space Armor, Space Ice Cream. Poom tastes the ice cream. "And they called my family evil."

Jonni: “Marsh, put one in your leg hole in case that guy tries to take them from us.” Marshal: "I don't have one and no you aren't making one."

Gorbash: "Oh there's that horrible feeling of something trying to sneak into my brain."

"Everything is about brains around here it seems...."

Three of the Intellect devourers begin to engage in a three stooges routine with one another.

Cyrus watches Jonni work "Why does she want laser rifles again? She seems like she don't need them." Gorbash: "Because it's shiny and it belonged to beings that suck."

"I don't need legs that badly."

"That one goes in the hole. It's mostly intact and can thus pay off the old man."

"Why does it have a bunnycat on its head?"

Gorbash: "My memories a little full of holes, but you squid-faced fuckers all look alike. And what I do remember is more than enough!" “Come on, man, that’s racist. We’re better than that.”

"That this one has the tentacles in a silly mustache isn't helping."

“Not today, squid-satan!”

"He's coming for you, Jonni." “I’m too hot to die!”

"Alright, you weird, green ape-dog thing. Let's see how resistant you are to daggers."

<I would laugh but my species lacks the biological capacity to do so.> “Yet you have the ability to have your head up your ass. Evolution is a strange thing.”

It was at this moment, Thark knew, he fucked up.

"That is not your boss music you hear, Thark. It is Gorbash's."

*record scratch* Thark: <Yup. That’s me. You might be wondering how I got in this situation…> Yog-sothoth: "Not really."

Nyarlathotep: "FINISH HIM!"

“Aaaaaa! This is what pain feels like!”

Azathoth: "KHAAANNNN!"

Poom: "Did you just roll back time?" Yog-sothoth: "Screw the rules, I'm made of balls!"

Poom vomits. “Yeah, they probably taste gross without proper seasoning.” Poom: "I hate seafood." “…. You’re a cat.” Poom: "Who's part hyena-demon, and used to eat humanoids."

*meanwhile, on the trip back in the illithid jumpship* Jonni (at the controls, everyone else plastered against the back): "AND IT’S WHISPER QUIET TOO!"

“Who? The gnome with the sheet metal isn’t here, so they can’t be that bad.” "Sorry, I was on break."

Gorbash: *sigh* "Ugh why are we always doing favors for Darklords? Why?"

OOC: I just wanted badass lady entrance…

OOC: Warlock. All my spells are overkill.

OOC: Make him illithid Weyoun: keeps dying, the God Brain decants another.

#dungeons and dragons #dnd 5e #quotes without context #ravenloft

[unloved-cadillac]

So Much For Your Happy Ending. (Levi x Reader)

Summary: a soulmate au where you have matching tattoos that moves around your body.

C/n: let me know how you guys are. I miss you.

Eighteen years old.

That’s when everybody gets their tattoo. Nobody knows exactly how it happens, but all they know is that at the time that you were born on your eighteenth birthday, a beautiful tattoo will form on your left forearm then it will begin to move around your body.

It’s fun sometimes because you could wake up in the morning and see your tattoo plastered on your face, or on your butt cheek. Very odd but fun nonetheless.

You had a blue wing that flapped and “flew” around your body. Your friends always enjoyed watching yours more than their own because yours seemed to listen to you.

“Tell it fly again.” Niccolo says as he looks at the wing, which was currently on your hand. “Okay,” you look at the wing, “fly.” You whisper and it flutters and moves up your arm. “Oooo.” Your friends say in awe of your tattoo. “You got such a cool one, Y/n. I got stuck with a potato. A potato! What the fuck?! I mean, I love cooking, sure. But you would think I’d get a knife or something.” Niccolo says as he drinks his soda. “Oh, Nic. Calm down. You’ll find her soon.” You pat Niccolo’s shoulder and he smiles. “How the hell did that dipshit find his soulmate so quickly? We aren’t even 21 yet.” Niccolo motions to Eren who was sitting with his girlfriend, feeding her fries.

“Well, you have to understand that they have been friends since childhood. They both turned 18 and had the same tattoos. It was sweet actually.” You say and he scoffs. “Cheer up, Nic! Maybe potato girl will show up soon.” Yelena wraps her arms around his shoulders. “But a potato! Seriously?!”

Everyone laughs and you get back to looking at your tattoo. It seemed to twitch every now and then which made you a bit worried because it never did that. But you spoke to it when you were alone. Telling it that wherever that your soulmate was, that you already love them and to be safe. That seemed to calm it down but the worry still hid behind your mind.

Recently, all you have been feeling was sick. Your leg and hands always hurt and you had consistent headaches. It only began a week ago and you even went to the doctors but they couldn’t give a diagnosis. You tried drinking water and pills but it didn’t help.

You decided to try and ignore it, figuring it was probably stress from all the assignments you had, and carried on with your life.

It was a month after your aches and pains began and you were lying in your bed texting your friends. Apparently, Niccolo finally found his soulmate. Her name was Sasha and she loved potatoes.

- Y: When are we meeting her?

- N: soon. How’s tomorrow?

- Y: sounds good. Y/n?

- You: yeah. Perfect.

You turn your phone off and lay down. Your tattoo began to flinch again and, maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, but it seemed like it’s royal blue color began to fade. You shook your head and fell asleep.

~~~~

‘Is he okay?’

‘No. He’s in critical condition. The car slammed into him and he raptured his whole left ribs and it pierced his internal organs. One being his heart.’

‘Oh my god. What now? Can you save him?’

‘We have to wait and see. We removed the bits and pieces but it was pierced too far in.’

The friends and family sat down and a blond boy held his mother as she cried. He looked down on his brother who had an oxygen tube in his mouth and bandages around him.

His tattoo beginning to fade.

~~~~

“Ladies, this is Sasha. Sasha, these are my two girls who I’ve known since kindergarten. Yelena and Y/n.” Niccolo introduces the two of you to the smiling brunette and she hugged you. “It’s so lovely to meet you.” She says and Yelena laughs. “Lovely to meet you too, Sasha. Are you hungry?” Yelena asks and Sasha’s eyes brighten up. “Always. Niccolo cooked me some his favorite dishes and it was amazing. I heard there’s a really cool restaurant on this side of town.” Sasha says and you nod. “Yeah. It has one, if not the best, seafood. Shall we?” You motion for all of them to walk and the four of you go to the restaurant.

Niccolo walked in front with Sasha while Yelena walked with you behind them. “You okay?” Yelena asks you as you look at your tattoo. “I don’t know. I feel..off? I don’t know. Something’s wrong.”

“Is it your soulmate?”

You shrug your shoulders and Yelena places her hand on your head. “Your temp is a bit high. Have something cold when we get to the restaurant.” You nod and Yelena hugs your shoulders. “It’ll be okay.”

In the restaurant, which was way more exquisite and classy than you thought it was, the four of you say and ordered. Niccolo insisted on getting only the best for Sasha since she had to leave in two days.

“What are you studying, Sasha?” You ask as you sip your water. “I’m majoring in art. I wanted to become a chef but the odds were always against me. Figures since this one is studying to be one.” She nudges Niccolo who had a faint blush on. “Let‘s see your tattoos.” Yelena says and they both show their forearms.

The potato’s both had flowers on it. Sasha’s were green, Niccolo’s favorite color, and Niccolo’s had red, Sasha’s favorite. “I read an article saying that when you meet your soulmate, it grows flowers and doesn’t move anymore. But the flowers thing isn’t consistent with everyone.” Niccolo says and looks at the two of you. “Ah. Nice.” Yelena says and you nod.

“Let’s see yours!” Sasha says and you roll up your sleeve and Yelena shows her arm. She had a butterfly, but it’s wings were multi colored. “That’s so beautiful, Yelena.” Sasha compliments her and Yelena smiles. “I bet my soulmate is so beautiful. And calm. Like a butterfly.” Yelena gets lost in thought and Niccolo slaps her hand. “Ow!” “Snap out of it.” He jokes and she shows her tongue at him.

“What about yours, Y/n?”

You look on your left arm to see it still twitching and flinching and when you show Sasha, her head tilts. It’s quiet and then she gasps softly. “What?” You ask and she looks up at you, with a shock. “Y/n, have you been feeling sick or like, aching everywhere?” Sasha asks and you nod. “Yeah. Why?”

Sasha scratches her head and looks at Niccolo like she was about to cry. “Honey, what’s wrong?” He cups her cheek and then she looks at you. “Y/n. I have a friend. He was in a terrible car accident a few days ago. He’s tattoo was a blue wing just like yours on his arm.” She points to yours and you gasp. “Levi is a great guy. But the accident..it was so bad. The doctors don’t think he’ll make it.” She whispers and you wake up suddenly. “No. H-How? I, this can’t be real. Where is he, Sasha? Which hospital?” You ask and she tells you the hospital is in the middle of town.

You didn’t wait. You ran outside the restaurant straight to a taxi. You told the driver your destination and your phone rings. “Yeah?” You answer not looking at the caller ID. “Y/n. His name is Levi Ackerman. Ask for that name. I’ll meet you there.” Yelena tells you and you cut the call.

Few minutes passed and you finally went to the hospital. Your body became numb all of a sudden. You took whatever strength you could and rant o the receptionist. “L-Levi Ackerman. I need to see him. What room is he in?” You ask and the lady asks who you are and if you’re family.

“I-I’M HIS SOULMATE! Please let me see him!”

When she told you the room, you ran to it. You started to burn and ache but finally, after flights of stairs, you made it to him.

Some people stood outside the room and you sniff as your tears started to fall. A lady with glasses approached you.

“Who are you?” She asks, her voice coarse and rough. “I’m Y/n L/n. I’m here for Levi Ackerman.”

The lady nods and looks at your neck when her eyes widen. “Your tattoo...you’re his..?” She asks softly and you nod. Another boy comes out of the room and his eyes land on you. Suddenly, a pain shoots through your body, especially your left side and you fall to the floor clutching your chest.

“Please. L-Let me see him.” You breathe out and Hange helps you up. When the boy and her take you to Levi, you felt your heart stop.

An older woman cried as she held the unconscious man’s hand and the sound of a beep filled the room. You looked at him and stood next to him as you tried to understand what the hell is happening.

The Doctor comes rushing in, pushing everyone aside and begins to perform CPR on Levi but unfortunately, it was too late. The woman looked at you while you stared at your tattoo.

It was gone.

It had turned into ash and fell off of your body and you looked up to see Levi. You slowly made your way, on stumbling feet, and sat next to him.

Your eyes searched his body and you just saw his royal blue wing fade and disappear. Your eyes widen and you couldn’t help but cry. “No..” you whisper as you hold his hand.

“No. No this can’t be real. We didn’t even meet yet! I didn’t hear your voice yet! I didn’t see your eyes! Levi! You can’t leave me so soon! Please! I didn’t even get to tell you that I love you. We didn’t get to have a date! Please! Come back!”

You cry as you rest your head on his chest, praying you will hear his heartbeat. He was still warm. He felt like home already. You meant to be in his arms. But not like this. Not when he didn’t wrap them around you. Not without him kissing your head and telling you that he loved you. Not like this.

You hugged him for one last time before waking up and looking at his face. Even though he had so much of bruises and scars, he was so handsome. His black hair and pink lips. Even though they were bruised, you still leaned up and laid a gentle kiss on them.

“I love you.”

The nurses came and took Levi away and you left standing there while the older woman looked at you. “Excuse me?” She calls and you look at her. “I’m Levi’s mother, Kuchel. I heard you said that you didn’t meet him yet?” She asks and you nod. Her eyes swell up with tears. “Oh, sweetheart.” She brings you in for a hug as you both cried in each other’s embrace.

Yelena, Niccolo and Sasha were there too. And it sucked that they had to see you like this. Sasha saw Connie, Jean and Hange and introduced Niccolo and Yelena to them. “Y/n just lost her soulmate, didn’t she?” Niccolo asks and they nod. “It was no use. He slipped into a comma and the injuries were far to lethal. It all happened so fast.” Jean whispers as he looks at you and Kuchel speak.

Later that night, you sat against your bedroom window and looked out at the sky. The night sky had no stars and it was pitch black. It’s like the world new that you had just lost your other half and decided to mourn with you.

Not everyone got to meet their soulmate. And that was the harsh reality that you had to live with.

🖤🤍Thanks for reading🤍🖤

-Caddy.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #captain levi #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #aot fanfiction #levi heichou #aot x reader #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #captain levi fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction

[mentallyillwhumpee]

TW: institutionalized slavery, mouth whump, gore, gaslighting, implied catatonic state, drugging, past noncon, vomit

This one is pretty intense, please tread lightly

Pluto was exhausted, all day he had been doing chores, no food or water for him, and then entertaining house guests however master saw fit. He hadn't slept in a long time, he couldn't remember how long, but he just couldn't. He was terrified the moment he let his guard down even a little that something awful would happen to him. He had already been whipped, drugged, raped, shocked with cattle prods, pinched and groped, and beaten. He could not take more, he was too weak, he needed to get out.

"aww, cute little thing isn't he?" A woman smiled, petting his head and scratching behind his ear. Pluto leaned into her like he had been taught, smiling softly at her gentle touches.

"he's a rescue, some sick fucks improperly trained him. He's learning, but he needs a lot of discipline" he spoke it like a threat. The sound of a phone ringing made Pluto flinch and cower into the woman. Charles sighed. "will you excuse me for a moment? I need to take this" he said, leaving the room in an angry huff.

This was his chance, Pluto couldn't make it out on his own, he needed help, he needed to get out. He turned to the woman, big pleading eyes. "help me- please ma'am I need you to help me, you don't know the things he does to me- I need to get out of here please!!" He begged, looking up at her. She looked sympathetic for a moment, scratching behind his ear again

"it's okay baby, I'll help, I promise. I have a plan, just you wait" she can reassured. Pluto could've jumped with joy, but he had to hold it in.

That shred of joy quickly shattered in his hands when he felt his hair grabbed tight by the woman as Charles walked back in. He trembled and be fought and screamed as she told him everything, everything that Pluto had begged and done. He hit, kicked, punched to get away, but it was no use. Charles quickly got sick of his protests and slapped him with all his force, sending him to the floor. When he was there, he jabbed him with one of the needles he kept on hand. Pluto begged and protested slowly, but his body soon went into that limp, unknown twilight again.

He began to come to again in the basement, tied up to what looked like a dentists chair, his head strapped down and held in place by a leather strap and two plates on either side preventing him from turning. A piercing light was above him, and he just knew that this was going to be different than the rest of his punishments.

"you just can't listen, can you?" A voice said, walking up to him. Charles had worn his blood stained clothing he used for punishments. "you know I was going to keep you in good shape, show the world that you can keep pets docile without punishment" he grumbled "but you still had to find a way to fuck that up, didn't you?" He said, shoving a ring gag into Pluto's mouth to keep it open. "I wanted to make my image look better, after what happened with my last pet, I thought maybe you could be the one to show the world that pets can learn to obey" he spat "but I guess not, I guess you'll be the reason that things never change" he said.

Pluto wanted to sob, he couldn't handle being the reason that things didn't get better for pets. But then a lump formed in his throat. His last pet. His last pet had died in an 'accident' they said, he was bad and didn't take his punishment as instructed, and instead of his shoulder, Charles sliced his jugular, and he couldn't be saved. It was the pets fault to everyone else, but Pluto knew he would be next if he didn't start to obey. He mumbled and begged through the gag that he would be good, he could be a good boy and he wouldn't disobey ever again.

"oh Pluto-" Charles cupped his face "it's far too late now" he said coldly.

At this, Pluto began to shake, trying violently to escape, but his restraints hardly allowed him to move, let alone escape.

Charles approached him, a flaming hot brand in his hand. Pluto froze in his panic, looking up with terrified eyes.

"Pluto stick out your tongue" he commanded

Pluto shook his head, trying to hide his tongue with the ring gag somehow.

Charles began to grow angry. "stick out your tongue, NOW, or I'll cut it off entirely" he threatened.

Pluto complied, sobbing and sticking out his tongue. The worst pain he had ever felt shot through him as the brand was pressed down. The smell was horrible and the taste in the back of his throat was worse. He was in silent agony for far too long, until the brand was removed, and he began to scream. It was too much, too much pain and too much everything and too much-

He felt the familiar feeling of sickness in his stomach, as he vomited over himself and his chest. He couldn't even move to get it away.

Charles made a disgusted face, walking away angrily before returning with a bucket of steaming hot water, dousing him in it to get the vomit off.

Pluto screamed again as the water burned- it burned so bad, but only seemed to leave small little burns along his form.

As Charles approached again, he tried to speak, to tell him he had learned his lesson, that he would be better, but the pain in his tongue left him unable to speak.

Charles laughed at this, cupping his face for a moment, then walking back to grab something new. "I mean you didn't think I would just let you get away with this so easy right?" He quipped, a large pair of bone scissors in this hand. Pluto didn't even have it in him to tremble more. "tongue out again" he said.

Pluto instantly complied this time, closing his eyes tight. He cruel metal placed around the tip of his tongue, and then snipped. He screamed, the loudest and most piercing scream he could as his mouth filled with blood. Charles looked at the severed muscle, the first few centimeters of his tongue.

Everything after this became a blur. He could vaguely feel pliers in his mouth, and he came back to reality four times, only to scream again as his canine teeth were ripped violently from his skull. He didn't know how long it took anymore, he was exhausted, lost in a fog no drugs could even begin to compare to. After awhile he was let go, dropped to the floor. A blanket was thrown at him as he was left to lay on the floor so he didn't bleed on masters property.

"you're lucky I didn't wire your mouth shut like a fucking corpse. If this doesn't make you think twice about your words, nothing will" he threatened.

Pluto lay in his fogginess, it was too painful to eat or drink, so master had to bring an IV and a feeling tube so he didn't die. He didn't know how long it was, it seemed like forever. After a bit, he was brought back up to masters room, still with his IV and feeding tube. He wasn't expected to be near guests right now, but even when he was, master would just tell them that he was recovering from a very bad punishment for being a very very bad pet.

The fog began to clear, bit by bit, but a certain level of haziness still floated in his mind.

"you'll never talk like that again right?" Master knelt down to him, looking him in the eyes so he would repeat it.

He nodded fervently, his brain skipping certain words like a broken record. I will never talk again, I promise

@rat-father @sideblogformindtrash

#pluto my child #pet whump #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump ideas #whump rp #whump fic #whump community #whump #whump drabble #whumpee #whump blog #mouth whump

[humankoalaa]

BLACK LIGHTNING! 4x03

*SPOILERS*

- timeout. y’all mean to tell me.. even in dreams my grandfather is STILL getting his ass whooped?! childish.

- no he didn’t just bite into his twin. tell me tobias don’t resemble that turkey leg. his beard the skin, his head the meat, and his neck the leg.

- “you the one with the Phd... you tell me” 🤣🤣 respect your elders granddaddy.

- i think the dream mean he aggravating. put the fuckin suit on and go pawpaw.

- lawd everytime jeff says “my best friend” i be in tears like my grandmother once that green light hit the floor. RIP UNC.

- not the self loathing again 😒 shondra... play nina simone.. isn’t it a pity 🙂

- grandma... WHY?! WHHHHYYYY?!

- “hypocrisy looks good on you” ���� grandpa... please.

- this mans called the lady a weekend warrior but he’s a whole metahuman in the therapist office crying bout a dream 🤣 she got to be a weekend warrior hell. all you do is cry and bullshit. and yalll daughters reckless, petty, and messy okay? don’t even get me started. my mother and my auntie a whole different type of liability 😭

- karen.... shut up. don’t come for my auntie unless she send for you. .your hair don’t make sense and that lipstick can’t be lighter than the red that is the color of your dress. bitch.

- “there’s no such damn thing as superHERO insurance” 🗣 BIIIIIIITCH 🤣🤣🤣🤣💀

- *lethal lightning* KAREN... P L E A S E ! 🤣🤣

- “becky from the block” 😭 auntie jenniferr... settle down.

- anissa and jenn banter 10/10 HIGHLY RECOMMEND 🤣🤣🤦🏾‍♀️

- it’s the “says the woman who leaves giant cracks in the streets just by landing dramatically .. you can just walk anissa” for me 🤣 see?! i told y’all my auntie was messy.

- lynn in the background just completely done with both her children and their shit 🤣🤣

- this show is so unapologetically black i love it. please tell me y’all saw anissa actually im gonna say nafessa scratching that scalp with a whole attitude 🤣🤣

- “bye lethal lightning” 💀 see i told y’all my mother was petty.

- “now put my show back on” 🤣🤣🤦🏾‍♀️ mawmaw... where are your manners?!

*that whole scene was actually really cute tho*

- ion know about this lady that uncle gambi sweet on. somebody using somebody... most likely gambi 🤣 but ion truss her and unc have his reasons to do the things he does. periodt. i can’t ship this. issa whole canoe in 7 foot seas.

- “mr. pierce .. who do you think i am... black lightning?” ... Jeff looking at him liike... “first of all... you would’ve had to lose that fight to be black lightning... so no”

- NOT MY MOTHER GIVING MY COMATOSED MOTHER SLASH PET SLASH ... whatever the old man is A SPONGE BATH 😭 IMMA DROWN IN MY TEARS 😭 nah fuck all at. just give me a suitcase for my tears.

- no woman ive ever dated has had conversations with me like the one anissa is having with a comatosed grace. embarrassing.

- “babe” *says some more shit* “babe” *says some more shit* “babe” *says some more shit* gimme a fucking bucket. IMMA MESS 😭😭 shondra.. play brandy... have you ever.

- “i did it without violence” ... anissa.. we not doin that. we aren’t lying to people in comas 😂🤦🏾‍♀️

- “damn babe ...you’re a lil ashy today” ANISSA. PLEASE! 🤣🤣🤣🤣💀 SHE IS 🤏🏾 CLOSE.. to getting fucking mauled by my pet leopard.

*okay but nafessa williams is beautiful*

- first of all you not gon tell that lady she ashy then say send me a sign you still in there cause a future and all that other shit 😂 apologize.

- TIMEOUT. GRACE. no she didn’t.. even in a coma, grace is dramatic. how you gon flatline after my mother said she loves you?! that’s not what she meant when she said give her a sign 😩 oh my goodness. 🤣🤣🤦🏾‍♀️ STOP THE MADNESS! PLEASE!

- it’s anissa going “hmm?” for me, after asking a comatosed grace a question. im going to hell i know.

- WHERE IS NOAH AND THE ARC 😭😭😭😭 *lion king rafiki voice* “SHES ALIIIIIIIIVE” ... shondra... play whitney houston.. one of those days”

-first word and question post coma.. “anissa?” my shirt is soaked. im gonna have a water bed by the end of this scene. JUST don’t even look at me. brb flooding the world with my tears after i finish my ovaltine.

- anissa talking about “how are you” 😂🤦🏾‍♀️ grace looking at her like “... uhhh.. i don’t see a fucking feeding tube.. im starving“

- TC looking handsome! done upgraded from them fits he was wearing from 1800 BC. i love him and jenns friendship so much.

- well when you put it like that mawmaw 🥺 shondra... play bruno mars.. just the way you are.. nah fuck that play uhh... aretha franklin.. respect” 😌

- we literally don’t care about this fighting shit 😒

- WAIT A MINUTE! i know that’s not william from girlfriends looking like whatever he got going on uhh everywhere 😩

- “you’re my electric queen” 🤣 same terry. same.

- no he didn’t 🤣🤣 tawm bout a kiss 😂

- man i just KNEW gambi ass was gon steal one of those guns 🤣🤦🏾‍♀️

- wow ...they actually let jeff win a fight? after he got his ass whooped of course. childish.

- oooooo LYNN!!!! look at my grandmother. michelle obama energy. yes lawdt. beautiful!

- OH ... no.

- shondra.. . play.. uhh... dammit.... kehlani... nights like this”

- no this man didn’t 😩 my grandmother slayed to the gods only to be tricked by a turkey leg lookin mans? complete madness.

“even a broke clock tells the truth twice a day” 🤣🤣🤦🏾‍♀️

- aww lawd.. shondra .. uhh im manifesting my grandmother not falling for mr. whales bullshit so uhm ..play.... christina aguilera .. fighter”

- writers... y’all really want me to believe Jeff thinks lynn just casually bought him flowers and put a note in it to meet her for dinner? ok.

- shondra ... nevermind.

- “you look like trash” 🤣

- hmm... that was weird... the whole thing with jenns arm like disappearing.. last time that happened was when she was struggling in those alternate universe to not become the worst version of herself... hm.

- jenn.... 🤦🏾‍♀️

- grace looking at dr. morgan like... *let me find out you tried to ask my soon to be wife in about 15 seconds out for drinks.. and don’t look at me”

- “i paid him 20 dollaz” 🤣🤣🤦🏾‍♀️ i love my aggravating mother.

- “baby.. you are the love of my life .. will you be my wife too” 😭😭 a poet. william shakespeare could never .

- G R A C E ... lets play a game.. it’s called ...sAy I lOvE yOu BaCk!

- “yes... i do” .. close enough. next week we try again ❤️

- first of all y’all gon’ have to fight me because i am here for the fastest wlw marriage in the history of television. it’s the last season and long overdue for anissa and grace just being happy. dragging stuff out and angst like we’ve had enough and that was barely. so im excited to see where they go from here.

-oooo lawd jeff done seen tobias and lynn dining together 😩 shondra... play... luther vandross.. are you there.. with another guy 👀

goodnight. this episode was everything. so messy 🤣🤦🏾‍♀️

#black lighting spoilers #black lightning #chantal thuy #thundergrace #anissa pierce #anissa x grace #the cw #nafessa williams

[amydancepants-peralta]

the shape of you 

(aka, Jake and Amy’s first night *together*, post-Mac) - rated NSFW. 💗

the shape of you 

With her fingers gripped around the base of a washcloth Amy Santiago wipes her bathroom mirror clear of all remaining condensation, casting a discerning eye over the reflection that stares back at her as she drops the towel into the nearby hamper.  

It feels like it was only yesterday - but realistically, had been close to six years ago - since she had stood in this very position and prepared for her first date with Jake.  It was a lapse of time that felt as though it had passed in a blink, and tonight there was a part of Amy that longed for the simpler times; when her biggest concern had been how to style her hair, second only to which of the two recently purchased dresses she should wear.  

(Her final decision to wear her hair down, based purely in the hope that Jake’s fingers may end up running through her curls, had clearly been an excellent one - and one that she definitely thanked herself for making later that evening.)

She still remembers the nerves she’d felt that night (that kind of thrumming that seems to run through your veins when you just know you’re on the verge of something amazing), remembers the feeling of the kiss he gave her outside the restaurant.  The way the scent of him had filled her senses as he moved closer, pushing her gently against the exterior with careful hands on either side of her hips.  The scratch of the brick against her lower back until his hands moved between her and the stone, simultaneously protecting her from harm and drawing her into his arms.  The soft sigh she’d let out as their tongues brushed up against each other … the way her body felt like it was melting into his embrace.  

It was the kind of kiss that made Amy forget all the rules (made her forget anything other than how hard her heart was beating against his ribcage) - the kind of kiss that confirmed for her, even if she wasn’t completely ready to admit it - that this thing between them was more than just ‘like’.  The rest, as one would say, is history - and while Amy knows that her and Jake’s love story may never compare to the works of Austen or Brontë, theirs will always remain her favourite.  

And now, two toothbrushes live in their holder by the sink, her perfume sits comfortably beside the same brand of cologne from that evening, and a series of colourful turtle decals are stuck to the side of their bathtub (supervised from above by the requisite rubber ducky).  Clearly, a lot had changed - but the one thing that seems to have made a return appearance from their first night together, is the kaleidoscope of butterflies that have taken up residence in her stomach.  

Tonight was Date Night for her and Jake - their first since she’d given birth to Mac close to seven weeks ago - and in true Santiago style, Amy had spent what free time she’d had over the past few days researching the topic of postpartum sex.  Standing in front of the mirror now, with her favourite black lacy underwear hiding underneath her robe and far too much awareness of the dark circles under her eyes, Amy was - for the first time in her life - regretting all the studying she had done.

It had been hard not to get lost amongst it all - articles on episiotomies (a side effect of childbirth that, thankfully, she had managed to avoid), scores of medical advice on when is the right time and endless testimonials from other new mothers, most talking about their total loss of sex drive or lack of primal response to their partner’s advances.  And even though logically, Amy knows that there is little to no chance of that happening to her and Jake (their sex life pre-baby, by all accounts, had always been healthy - especially so during her pregnancy), it had been enough to plant a seed of doubt in her mind - one that seems to have flourished into something far greater as the hours wore on.  

It had, after all, only been a few weeks ago that her underwear had been made of mesh, and housed icepacks to aid the healing of her nether regions.  Even less since her bra had needed to fight for space amongst the lactation pads that held court, replaced on the regular as she and Mac tried to figure out some kind of routine when it came to feeding.  For a while there, the sexiest thing that either her or Jake could say to the other was ‘you keep sleeping, I’ll take this round’; and now there was a dress hanging in their wardrobe that was a size larger than normal, and a set of stripes on her stomach that remained a constant reminder that things were not as they used to be.  

Amy’s hands fiddle with the contents of her makeup bag, toying with the curved edge of her favourite shade of lipstick as her mind continues to race.  It was insane, to think this way: and if Jake’s attentiveness to her since giving birth to Mac was anything to go by - his clear attraction to her at all stages of their relationship, actually - her doubts were going to be unfounded.  

It had, in fact, only been three days ago that both she and Jake had miraculously woken up before their son … and sleepy morning cuddles had turned into a heavy makeout session, evolving into something a little more before Mac’s indignant ‘I’ve just woken up’ cry filled their apartment and pulled everything to a stop.  (Their plans for this evening had been made that very afternoon, with both of them agreeing that perhaps a little bit of ‘Mommy and Daddy time’ was needed.)  

Deep down, Amy knew that the bond that she and Jake shared was stronger than anything either had ever known - but the doubts still lingered all the same, and there was only one person she wanted to talk about them with.

As if on cue, “Amy Santiago!  Date time!  Time to date!” cuts through their previously quiet apartment, and Amy grins into the mirror as she hears her husband’s keys land in the bowl next to hers, finally returning from dropping Mac off at Grandma Karen’s for his overnight visit.  Already, she can feel the tension begin to leave her shoulders, calling out a greeting in return as she listens to his footsteps move around their kitchen.  

Their home seems strangely quiet without Mac’s presence - largely, because Jake wasn’t singing or talking out his actions as he went, like he did so often when carrying Mac around - and she’s just about to call Jake into the bathroom when his singing voice begins to float down the hallway.  

“I think we’re alone now …” the somehow still familiar melody of the 80s song builds in volume as Jake makes his way towards her, and Amy lets out a giggle.  It’s a song that a 10 year old version of Amy, resplendent in some version of taffeta, would have absolutely danced to at a cousin’s quinceanera.  And while her younger self might be disappointed that her husband didn’t turn out to be a version of Magnum P.I., the Amy that looks back at her in the mirror today, laughing loudly at the man walking towards her, knows that there couldn’t ever be a man better for her than Jake Peralta. 

(Moustaches are overrated, anyway.  They’re a treasure trove of crumbs, and leave you with a permanent pash rash.  Great in theory, but a little morning stubble is much more enjoyable.)

His smile is beyond bright as he passes through the bathroom door, a glass of wine held high in each hand as he hums the last few bars of Tiffany’s greatest (and perhaps, only) hit.  “Hey babe - wow, good lord you are gorgeous.”  

Feeling the tip of her ears heat up at Jake’s statement, Amy smiles at her husband through the mirror, busying herself with a tube of mascara and quickly changing the subject.  “How did Mac go?”

Moving further into the room, Jake leans in to drop a kiss to Amy’s shoulder before placing her glass of wine on the counter.  “Uh, it seemed to go okay?”  Leaning his weight against the wall beside him, he takes a sip before continuing.  “Is it weird how much I missed him, like, the instant I closed Mom’s front door?”

Pulling away from her reflection, Amy turns to face her husband with an understanding grin.  “Not at all.  I felt like a part of me was missing the second the two of you left an hour ago.”  Shrugging, she gives him a sheepish look.  “Almost texted you to bring him home immediately, coz I wasn’t sure I could actually go without seeing him for a night.”

“Okay, yeah.  That makes total sense, because I literally almost turned the car around twice.”

“Ugh, we really are just lovestruck parents, aren’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely.  But, I have to say … I’m also really glad we’re getting to do this.”

Amy’s responding smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and the knots in her stomach tighten as she notices Jake pick up on the difference.  

His gaze is careful, holding onto the silence for a beat.  “Ames?”

Her fingers fiddle with the lid of the mascara, lifting and dropping the wand exactly the way she’d been taught not to do, and suddenly all the words she wants to say have jumbled up at the tip of her tongue.  Leaning forward, Jake stretches out his hand to reach for her wrist, and she drops her cosmetics back into the bag without hesitation - the need for her husband’s reassurance too strong to ignore.  The warmth of his palm, tied in with the coolness of his wedding band, is a welcome distraction from the uncertainty running through her mind.  

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

Amy nods, knitting her eyebrows as she lifts her shoulders in a self-conscious shrug.  “I … might have spent a little time the last couple of days, researching into what sex can be like after having a baby.”

Dropping his bottom lip slightly, Jake nods in understanding.  “It wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t.  But, babe … you know that we don’t have to do anything like that tonight if you don’t feel ready, right?  We can just go to dinner, and fall asleep on the couch if you want to.” 

Squeezing his hand, Amy is quick to nod in response.  “I do know, and I also know that I’ve been looking forward to tonight.  Like .. a LOT.”  Throwing a wink, Jake squeezes her hand in kind.  “I just …”  Pulling her fingers out of Jake’s grip, Amy pulls the already closed lapels of her robe tighter.  “There are still so many things happening to my body that I don’t have a lot of control over, and I can’t help but worry a little that it’s only a matter of time before …”

“Before?”

Amy’s chin falls to her chest, folding her arms in front before resting her weight against the bathroom sink.  Despite all of the reasons why she knew these fears to be irrational, they weren’t showing any signs of going away - and if there’s anyone that can help clear her mind, it’s Jake.  Slowly, she raises her head to watch his reaction.  “We’ve always had such a great relationship when it comes to being open and affectionate, and the sex - well, you know how good the sex is, but … I don’t know, what if .... what if things happen, and that changes?”

Jake’s reply is so quick - so factual that it makes her heart quicken at the simplicity of it all.  “Then we work at it.”  Pushing himself off from the wall, Jake comes to stand in front of Amy, tipping one finger underneath her chin and lifting her face towards his.  Bright brown eyes stare into hers, so full of sincerity she wants to cry.  “We grow, and we change with it.  There’s nothing that we can’t overcome, Ames.  Nothing.” 

It’s everything that she already knew to be true, but felt far more authentic when coming from her husband.  She’d felt a little ridiculous to be saying any of it, but it would seem that even the securest of relationships needed a little reassurance now and them.  Trying her best to ignore the tears that are threatening to fall from behind her eye, Amy raises her brows.  “You really think so?”

“I know so.  Babe.”  His hands move smoothly, wrapping themselves around her waist and locking at her lower back.  “You’re my best friend, the greatest person I’ve ever known - and the most sexiest, might I add - plus, the mother of my child.  It’s just not possible for any single universe to exist, where I won’t love you forever.”  Leaning in, Jake rests his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath.  “We’ve had to overcome so many obstacles, and nothing has beaten us.  You’re the love of my life, Amy Santiago, and there is literally not a chance that anything will ever change that.”

It’s all it takes for the threatened tears to begin to fall, and Amy tries her best to blink them away as she stretches onto her toes, lifting herself up to meet Jake’s lips for a kiss.  “I love you, Jake.  And I’m sorry for all the crazy talk, I just - ”

“Ames.”  Jake interrupts, a solemn look falling onto his face.  “I’m always going to want to hear how you’re feeling.  I know you’d do the same for me, and I don’t want you to think there’s anything that you can’t tell me, okay?”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Amy affirms with a kiss, sighing softly into Jake’s mouth as it deepens.  It’s felt like so long since they’ve been able to do this - to just stand and kiss for no other reason than to be close to one another.  His eyes are glazed by the time she pulls away, and it’s enough to spark a tiny fire in her heart, and so she leans in for another.  

Jake’s voice is muffled slightly when he speaks, waiting for a break in kisses to speak.  “We’re going to be late for the restaurant if we’re not careful.”

In what is perhaps the easiest decision she’s had to make in a long time, Amy tightens her grip around Jake’s neck, pulling him in for another hot kiss before whispering against his supple lips - “Fuck the restaurant.  And please, fuck me.”

She feels Jake’s hands grip her butt in an instant, digging in as he lifts her with ease.  Her legs wrap around his waist, a move that has been done a thousand times before but tonight feels so new, his responding moan sending a wave of shivers up and down her spine as he shuffles them towards the doorway.  

There’s a crib half adorned with muslin wraps and a colourful play mat on the floor near their bed for Jake to dodge, but he moves their joined bodies with a practiced ease, never pausing to adjust his grip until Amy can feel the softness of their pillows beneath her head.  

The smile he gives her as he hovers above is so soft, the adoration clear as she moves to shove his hoodie from his shoulders.  It falls to the floor as his nimble fingers work on the knot of her robe, letting the silk slip through with ease, and Amy can feel her heart begin to race as the material falls away.  She knows that it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before - between marriage and motherhood, there literally isn’t a part of her body that Jake doesn’t know like the back of his hand - but she’s still conscious that the bra is a little tighter than it used to be, and the softness of her post-birth tummy remains.  

And then Jake sighs, his eyes raking over her body as he whispers, “You’re so goddamn sexy, Santiago,” and suddenly, Amy doesn’t feel like a new mother with formula in her hair and suitcases under her eyes.  Suddenly, she feels like a woman - a beautiful, desirable woman who somehow managed to capture the heart of the sweetest man to ever walk the earth.  His hands wrap around her waist, lifting her middle towards his as his legs slot in between hers, and the feeling of her husband’s passionate kisses is something that Amy never wants to go without again.  

It doesn’t take long before the rest of their clothing has landed on the floor - a sense of urgency to their movements is something they’ve gotten used to, now that the likelihood of being interrupted has become so high - and it isn’t until Jake begins a trail of kisses down Amy’s jawline that she takes a calming breath.  She feels giddy, like it’s been far longer than seven weeks since they’ve been able to be together like this (eight, if you counted the last time they had sex before Mac’s early arrival), and the feeling of her husband’s hard dick nudging against her thigh was making her crave more, and she wanted it NOW. 

The scent of Jake washes over her as his head dips lower - same as it did all those years ago, only now the scent felt less like cologne and more like home - and her fingers dive into the curls of his hair as his tongue circles the outside of her nipple with the careful consideration of a man who has watched her wince in pain some early mornings.  His teeth scrape along the underside of her breast, the feeling of his breath hot against her skin as he moves to her left to repeat.  With her free hand, Amy traces the length of his back, holding him close as her fingers run over the dips and scars that she knows oh so well, feeling her hips thrust up instinctively towards her husband as his reverent kisses move further down her body.  She can feel the warmth of her arousal pooling in her folds, and it genuinely feels as though she might combust if something doesn’t happen soon.  

Jake lifts his head on the way down, the desire in his eyes obvious as he settles himself at the end of their bed, caressing the outside of her thighs as they settle on his shoulders.  His voice is gruff, the rough sound of a turned on Jake making a welcome return to her ears, and Amy grins.  “Okay, babe?” 

Her heart is racing with both anticipation and nerves, but Amy nods anyway.  She knows that things might be a little different (pushing a tiny human out of your body kinda has that affect), but she also knows the way she’s feeling right now, part of her might just fall apart completely if she doesn’t get to feel Jake’s mouth work it’s magic on her.  

Thankfully, he doesn’t make her wait any longer. 

He starts by rubbing the tip of his nose against her clit, a slow and deliberate up-and-down motion that ends far too quickly, looking up at her with a devious grin as he turns his head to place a tender kiss on the inside of her thigh.  Amy huffs in dissatisfaction, narrowing her eyes in silent reproach, only to throw her head back into the pillow as Jake immediately relocates to where she needs him the most.  His gentle tongue sweeps over her clit with each kiss, lapping up her arousal as the tip of his finger circles her entrance.

“Ames,” Jake whispers, and if it wasn’t for the feeling of his voice vibrating against her over-sensitive body, Amy would swear she’d imagined it.  “Ames, look up for me.”

His fingers, now moving in a circular motion around her folds; are making it very hard for Amy to concentrate on anything right now, and it takes another breath or two before she can lift her head.  Jake smiles as their eyes lock, holding her gaze as he speaks.  

“I love every single part of you, Ames.  This right here?”  He pauses, dropping a kiss on just the outside edge of where she’s craving him before looking up again.  “It shows me how much you want me.  How much you want to be with me, and it's so hot, it drives me crazy.”   His tongue flicks out, drawing a long, thick line against her folds, and her pelvis arches up towards his touch as his fingers slowly enter.  “You’ve literally spilt yourself open to give birth to our child, and you’d do it all again in a heartbeat.”  Carefully, they begin to pump in and out of her, settling into a gentle rhythm that sets all of Amy’s nerve endings on fire.  “You’re a goddess, Amy Santiago.  And I love you more than I can say.”

“I - unhhh! - I love you too,  Jake.”  Her reply is breathless, broken in two as Jake’s tongue returns to her clit, settling into a pattern that increases in intensity - the way he does whenever he knows Amy is about two seconds away from losing all control.  Her left hand travels down until her fingers are running through his hairline, holding him in place with her gentle grip.  

“I’m never not going to want you, babe.”  His breath is hot against her skin, the tiny stubble of his five o’clock shadow ticking her inner thigh as he deviates to place a series of kisses before leading straight back to her centre.  There’s a slight crook to his fingers now, as they continue to move in and out at a steady pace, and it’s enough for both of them to moan their assent.  “So good, Ames.” 

“Oh god babe, right there - yes!”  Jake’s mouth returns to her clit, suckling on her nub as his tongue continues its assault, and its all Amy needs to feel before her mouth falls open in ecstasy, a silent scream of satisfaction falling short in her mouth as her right arm flails up to grip their metal headboard, desperate for something to ground her before her entire body begins to convulse.  It had been so. long. since she’d been able to feel like that … so long since there hadn’t been anything between them, and she’d (almost) forgotten just how damn hard it made her heart race.  

(From his position at the base of the bed, Jake wraps his hand around his erection and gives himself a few solid strokes at the sight of his wife in post-orgasmic bliss, already certain that the image is going to stay in his memory for a long time to come.)     

Amy’s left hand digs into Jake’s hair as she comes down from the high, her fingers carding through the messy half-curls in that way that seems to relax both herself and her husband every time.  “You’re always going to want me?”

His gaze grows soft, and after leaving another kiss against her thigh Jake raises up, the comforter around Amy shifting slightly as he moves towards her.  The familiar feeling of his bare skin against hers calms Amy’s to no end as Jake hovers above, all the love in the world shining in his eyes as he leans down and presses his lips to hers.  “Always.”

Shifting slightly underneath her husband, Amy moves to grip his hard cock in her hand, following the length of his shaft with her palm as Jake moans above her.  She watches as his teeth dig into his lower lip, biting down harder as she increases her pace, and she tightens her hold before releasing him completely as his hips lift slightly away.  

“Don’t wanna come until I’m inside you,” he whispers, pulling her in for the deepest of kisses before settling in-between her thighs and lining himself up.  Amy feels herself tense up, the tiniest sliver of apprehension remaining as her legs widen slightly, and Jake rests his weight on his forearms above her before entering just the tip, pulling out and waiting for her cue to return.  

Lifting her pelvis in invitation, Amy holds onto Jake’s gaze as he enters another inch inside her; holding for a moment this time before pulling out completely, returning again with another longer stroke.  It’s something that he’s never done before, but was actually the perfect way for Amy to feel reacquainted, and as he repeats the process inch by inch, she gradually feels the last tendrils of tension begin to fade.  

Finally, their bodies are hard up against each other, and Amy can’t help but let out a heavy breath as the intimacy of it all envelops her.

“Hey.”  His thumb traces her cheek, following the contour of her cheekbone, and it’s definitely not the hormones that are going to make her cry.  With eyes so soft Amy could almost dive into them, Jake gives her a tender smile.  “I’ve missed you.”

Amy’s hands trace the subtle lines along his arms and shoulders before resting on either side of Jake’s neck, dipping her fingertips into the base of his hairline as she returns his smile.  “I’ve missed you too, babe.  I love you.”

Jake responds with a kiss, the press of his lips against hers so loving and familiar that Amy cranes her neck to chase for more when it ends.  He gives her a knowing smile, nudging the tip of his nose against hers before diving in for another, moving his hips in careful thrusts as his tongue sweeps gently against hers.   

Logistically, Amy knows that the feeling of togetherness and completion is what making love is all about - but still, as Jake moves above her and she finds her body responding to his steady rhythm, she finds herself overwhelmed by the emotions washing over her.  There were times as a new mother when her body had not felt like her own - like she was merely a walking vehicle for any and all of her son’s needs - but laying here with Jake, feeling all of the other parts of her body awaken at his touch, made her feel so alive. 

In her husband’s arms, Amy feels incredible like an irresistible woman, like the goddess he’s always insisted she is.  And, most importantly - she feels loved.  

Jake’s pace increases, his crazily sexy eyes locking onto hers as he lets out a breathless moan, and Amy feels her lower body instinctively lifting towards his to meet his thrusts.  “Oh god, babe … you feel incredible.”  Amy’s shoulder blades dig into the mattress as she presses her chest against her husband’s in response, elongating her neck and letting out a satisfied sigh as Jake dips down to lick the sweat off her skin.  

It’s his breathless version of her name a moment later that makes Amy break out into a grin, tightening her grip around his lower waist and digging her fingernails into his butt.  Jake takes the cue, speeding up again as Amy’s legs tighten around him, sinking her teeth into his shoulder before shifting her weight and rolling him onto his back.  

The movement makes his cock slide almost completely out of her, a situation Amy is quick to rectify, throwing him a sly grin as she sidles down.  Jake’s teeth sink into his lower lip as their bodies join back together again, a reaction to the sensations that Amy finds herself mirroring, stretching out her spine as she flips her hair back and settles her weight on her husband’s thighs.  

It was a moment just like this that she had been afraid of - being in front of her husband in all her naked glory, highlighting all the newly marked curves of her body with no chance for cover.  But one look at his face - at the sheer amount of adoration and attraction she finds there, made it clear that when it comes to being loved by somebody like Jake Peralta, there was never going to be anything to fear.  

And so she moves, clenching the muscles in her upper thighs as she rises and falls, dipping her pelvis back and forth so that she can really feel every part of him.  Jake’s hands fall to her legs, fingertips digging into her soft flesh as he moans beneath her, sliding up to her stomach as she leans forward to rest one hand on his chest.  He grins up at her, tracing gentle circles against her skin with his thumbs as he pumps his hips up to meet her every time, and maybe this is the hormones but Amy swears she’s about to either laugh or cry.  It’s only taken a moment, but one smile from her husband, and all of her apprehensions are gone completely.   

Amy feels the stretch of her ribcage with every staggered breath she takes, gripping Jake’s lower legs from behind as she sets their movements into a steady rhythm.  “Babe … Jake.  Ohh, I’ve missed this.”

She lets out a moan as she feels Jake’s hand slide up her slick skin, moving towards one breast and cupping her there, carefully circling her nipple with his thumb while his other hand moves to replicate on the other side.  It feels incredible, her husband’s touch - especially when coupled with the feeling of his erection inside her - and there’s a breathless affirmation of the same bubbling out of her throat when his hands move to her lower ribs, holding her steady as he lifts his back off of the mattress and pulls Amy in for a kiss.  

It’s sloppy, the messy kind of kiss lovers give each other when their bodies are moving at too steady a pace for it to be anything but, but Jake takes the chance to bend his knees behind, silently encouraging Amy to lean back slightly as her own legs stretch out behind him.  She can feel the pulse of blood rushing back to her upper thighs as her feet join together behind Jake’s back, holding him in place as she leans against his knees and lifts her pelvis up and down at this new angle.  It’s perfect - it’s tantalising, especially once her husband’s skilled fingers reach down to play with her clit - and it’s definitely going to make her come.  

“I love you so much, Ames.  I’m so lucky to have you, you don’t even know,”  Jake’s voice is strained, a surefire sign that he himself isn’t far away from completion, and Amy cannot resist the chance to lean forward - looping one arm around his neck and puling him in for another kiss.  She loves this man, with everything that she has, and it’s the thought of what they have together that finally pulls her over the edge, crying into his mouth as her second orgasm of the night washes over her.  It’s clearly all that Jake has been waiting for, the sound of his own moans mixing with Amy’s as he makes one final push towards release.  

It takes a while for either of them to disentangle themselves from their upright position, their mixed gasps for breaths the only sound in the room until Jake pulls himself out of his sex-induced haze, covering the section of Amy’s neck he has access to with kisses as she lets out a satisfied sigh.  Her legs tingled (as did some other places), and part of her cannot wait to write her own (highly positive) account of postpartum sex on the forums she’d visited earlier in the week.  But there was something she wanted more than that; and as Jake falls back onto the mattress below she follows suit, tucking herself into the juncture of his neck and shoulder - and just like that, things were exactly as they should be again.

There’s still a latent note of exhaustion in Jake’s voice when he speaks, but his tightened grip around Amy’s naked body begs her not to move as he turns slightly to glance at the clock on her nightstand.  “You know, if we moved quickly, we could probably still make our reservations … just blame it all on a flat tire or something.”

Sighing into Jake’s chest, Amy shifts impossible closer before shrugging her shoulders half-heartedly.  “We could … or, we could order takeout.  Eat, talk, have more sex … whatever.”

Twisting his neck slightly, Jake ducks his head down to meet Amy’s lips with a chaste kiss.  “It’s official.  My wife is a genius.”

In an hour, there will be an extra blanket laid out on top of the bed, and Jake and Amy will alternate cartons of takeout as they talk about everything that’s happened over the last two months.  It’ll be another hour before their meals have been cleared away completely; another again before Jake lifts his head off of his resting place on Amy’s abdomen, leaning in for a kiss that definitely leads to Round Two.  They’ll end up sleeping the rest of the night away, curled up into each other’s arms as they relish the silence - yet already dreaming of picking their son up in the morning and looking for all the ways he might have grown during his one night away.  

But for now, Amy will rest in her husband’s arms, basking in the feeling of his fingertips as they trace lazy patterns on her bare skin.  Change, after all, is inevitable.  But the world that she and Jake have built - for both themselves and their family - is strong enough to take on anything.  

And truthfully, that is all she will ever need.  

#this took forever to write ... but I hope you enjoy! #peraltiago smutfic #peraltiago fanfiction #peraltiago fic #post-baby bangin' #my writing #b99fanfic #b99 fic

[yikesharringrove]

oh god okay feel free to ignore this if you want, idk? but um ive been really struggling with eating lately (like i just kinda panicked about the thought of eating?) and you're really good at writing all this kind of stuff so maybe billy struggling with eating after starcourt (for medical and mental reasons) and steve helping but still bring gentle and encouraging (totally okay if this is a sensitive for you or if you don't want to write it 💕)

This is pretty heavy.

Under the cut for medical stuff, disordered eating, talks of throw up (nothing graphic), me projecting.

The first bit under the cut is my medical story, so skip that if you would like.

Read on Ao3

-

So, oof. A little background. I spent three years misdiagnosed when I was young. I was so sick and in so much pain (one of my organs had literally died) that I couldn’t eat. If I did, I was in such severe pain I would throw up. I was 5 feet tall and weighed 62 pounds. If I had lost 2 pounds, I would’ve had an intestinal feeding tube. The doctors thought I just had an eating disorder from doing ballet. They would look at my chart, see another chronic illness I have, and blame my pain on that. They found what was wrong BY ACCIDENT and fixed it within a few hours in one (1) surgery.

So this is based largely on that.

-

He pushed the mashed potatoes around the plate.

“I thought hospital food was supposed to be like, bad. This is pretty alright.” Steve had wolfed down the plate he had gotten himself, not paying much attention to how the plate he had brought Billy was still full.

“Yeah. It’s okay.” He had taken one bite.

He felt fucking sick.

The thought of food, of something in his sore stomach, made him want to hurl.

“You’re not eating?” Steve’s eyebrows were scrunched up, concerned.

“Don’t feel too good.”

“Would something sound better? I could get you whatever you wanted.”

“Um, just like a ginger ale or something. Then I’ll try eating again.” That was his go-to. Ginger ale or Sprite, the carbonation helped his stomach enough that he could force some food down for a while.

Steve got him a few cans from the vending machine.

He ended up taking three bites of potato.

-

Steve made dinner when he finally got to come home.

They had decided he would move in with Steve, “live” in the bedroom across the hall, but they both knew he would be spending the most time in Steve’s room.

He had just made buttered noddles, nothing that would be hard on Billy’s weak stomach, but he had made the noodles from scratch.

And Billy was just staring at them.

“You feeling okay?”

“Just, uh, you know. Stomach’s kinda off.” Steve got him a can of ginger ale from the fridge, slid it to him with a bright smile.

The gesture was sweet, but Billy just didn’t want to risk it.

Every night he spent heaving into the toilet, it made his muscles seize and hurt. It made his throat burn for hours, made him feel like he was wasting away to nothing.

-

He always used the same hole on his belts.

He knew it was the right one from the way the leather was stretched a bit, the buckle leaving indents on it.

But that was too big now.

Did nothing to hold up his pants.

His pants that used to fit.

He tightened his belt.

Two notches. He was two notches thinner.

-

Billy could hear the blender when he woke up.

He was curious as to what Steve was doing, what the fuck he was blending up.

He came downstairs, found Steve with grocery bags all around the kitchen.

“Hey! I’ve been doing some research.” He poured the thick smoothie into a blender. “I think this might be easier for you to eat and keep down. There’s protein powder and some ginger, that should help keep your stomach calm, and spinach and some fruit and stuff.” Steve was fidgeting with his hands.

“Thank you.” Billy sat down with it.

Steve let him take his time, let him drink it in tiny sips.

He was about halfway through when he threw it all up.

-

Billy hadn’t eaten in two days.

But he also hadn’t thrown up in just as long.

Steve poked a plate of plain toast towards him.

Billy stared at it.

Steve sighed.

“Will you just, take one bite? For me?”

He took the smallest bite he possibly could.

Steve let him wait ten minutes before he pushed the toast back towards him.

They continued that until Billy finished the toast, waiting a while between each bite in order to make sure it wasn’t on it’s way back up.

He kept it down almost the whole night, until the pain in his stomach flared again and he was heaving into the large mixing bowl Steve kept next to the bed.

-

Billy was laying on the bed, curled into himself, clutching his stomach.

Steve had been behind him almost all day, rubbing his back, talking in a low soothing voice.

He left when there was a pounding on the door. He left the door open, Billy could hear Max’s voice.

“Jesus, Max. You’re a mess.”

“It’s, it’s raining. And I fell.”

“Why were you skateboarding in the rain?”

“I um, I remembered, whenever Billy felt sick, he liked eating lime popcicles, and I went to Melvald’s, and I got some.”

She sounded hysterical.

“Alright, thank you, Max. Thank you. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He heard them coming up the stairs, going into the bathroom on the landing he kept the first aid kit in.

They were in there for a while before Steve came in, talking in that soft voice he always uses.

“Billy, Max is here.”

It felt like a feat for him to roll over.

Her knees were bandaged up, and her face was splotchy.

“Hey, Shitbird.”

“You look like shit.” He huffed a laugh.”

“Feel like it, too.” Her lip trembled. He didn’t want that. “Hey, thanks for the popcicles. Can I get one? Lime, right?”

“Yeah. Lime.” Steve helped him sit up, gave him one of the popcicles.

It tasted good, and the cold was nice on his throat.

And he even kept the whole thing down.

-

Steve was standing next to Billy as they waited for the doctor.

He had lost nearly thirty pounds since he’d been home. His muscle was nearly entirely gone.

“Steve, just, play it cool.”

“I will not.” He had his pissed off mom face on, and Billy knew he had no qualms about yelling at a doctor.

“Steve, this is just, my life now.”

“No. I refuse to accept that.”

“You yell at Owens every time we’ve come in for the past four months, Steve.”

“And I’m gonna keep yelling until shit gets fixed.”

There was a rap on the door before Dr. Owens let himself in.

“You need to help him.” Billy huffed as Steve started in immediately.

“Um, good morning to you both.” Dr. Owens looked between the two of them.

“Billy can’t eat without throwing up. Look at him. He’s fucking wasting away.”

“Steve-”

“No. I can’t take it anymore. There is something fucking wrong. It is your job to fix it.”

Owens’ eyes were wide, Steve was on a roll.

“Every day, every day he can’t eat anything. He won’t because he’s in pain, and he’d rather not eat than throw everything up. And you need to help him.”

Owens was quiet.

“Let’s run some tests.”

-

Billy was in imaging within a few minutes. He had an x-ray done of his abdomen, and Owens ordered several blood tests.

They were in another room, Billy was having an ultrasound done of his entire stomach.

The tech was looking at his intestines, finding everything normal.

“Look, you’re already doing all this, can’t you just kinda, poke around?”

“I’m not sure-”

“Just kinda,” Steve made a vague wiggling gesture around Billy’s stomach.

She gave him a look.

But she sighed, moving the wand up his body.

“Huh?”

“Wait, what’s huh?”

“Um, excuse me.” She left in a hurry.

“Wait, you think they found something?” Billy’s eyes were side.

“If they did, and I was right, you’re never gonna hear the end of it.” Billy rolled his eyes.

The tech returned with an older woman, pointing at the screen and discussing in low voices.

And then the doctor was leaving again, and the tech was wiping his stomach.

“So, we’re going to prep an operation room. We’re going to have you in there as soon as we can.”

“Wait, what?”

“His gallbladder is infected.” Steve was fucking grinning when he turned back to Billy.

“So, I was right?”

“Steve, read the room. Surgery.”

“Oh, fuck.”

-

Steve was biting his nails.

The chairs in the waiting room were stiff and uncomfortable.

They were given the run down. Billy’s gallbladder had become infected. Probably due to the traumatic situation of his injuries and the many surgeries it took to put him back together.

It was almost completely dead inside his body, causing severe pain and all the vomiting. The doctor had explained that his rapid weight loss had probably only hurt it more.

They said it would take about two hours to remove.

Steve had been staring at the large clock as the two hours clicked by.

It was creeping up on two and a half, and he was getting fucking antsy.

He scrambled to his feet when a nurse called him back.

“You family?”

“Yeah, I’m his brother.” It was easier to lie. He needed to see him.

“He should be waking up very soon. It’s easier if there’s family. His surgery went well, the surgeons were able to remove his gallbladder with no other complications. He may be in pain and delirious when he wakes up, put that will pass, and we can give him more medicine if he needs.” They had stopped in front of a nondescript door.

Steve let himself in, taking the seat closest to Billy’s bed, taking his hand. His eyes were already blinking slowly. He smiled softly when he saw Steve.

“Pretty,” his voice was soft.

“Hey, Baby. I’m right here for you.”

“Thanks for, thanks for fightin’.” Steve smiled back at him, running a hand through his hair.

“Of course, Bill. I’ll always fight for you.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too.” Billy smiled again. “You feelin’ okay? Need more meds?”

“Nah. Feelin’ good. Feelin’ high.”

“Yeah, they gave you the good drugs.”

“Good drugs.” He laid back in the pillow, his eyelids looking heavy.

“Go to sleep if you’re tired, Bill.”

“Don’t wanna. Wanna see you.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Steve kissed his hand.

#i was literally so skinny the doctor found out i had slight scoliosis just by me like standing there #yikes writes #tw disordered eating #tw eating #tw eating disorder #tw medical anorexia #tw throw up #tw vomit #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

[loveisblindfanfictionbka]

Love Is Blind: Chapter Twenty-Three

Chris turned over in the bed and frowned as he felt an empty space next to him. Robyn had to have been gone for a minute because the sheet was cold. He ran his hand over his head before he climbed out of the bed. Slipping his feet into a pair of slippers and pulling a t-shirt over his head, Chris made his way out of the bedroom. The smell of bacon hit his nose as he reached the top of the stairs. He quickly made his way to the kitchen and walked in just as Robyn pulled a pan of muffins out of the oven. He cleared his throat and Robyn smiled over at him, “a little early for you, ain’t it?”

Robyn chuckled, “Good morning Babe. I figured I’d make breakfast since I was up anyway. Did I wake you?”

“No. I rolled over to cuddle you and the bed was empty. I got nervous.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry. I’m good. Just wanted to do something nice, that’s all.”

“It smells good.”

“Thank you. I was gonna bring some upstairs to you so we could eat together before the kids woke up.”

“We can still make that happen. What do you still need to do?”

“Just make the plates and put the rest in the oven to keep warm for the kids.”

“I can help.”

“You don't have to do that, Babe.”

“I want to.”

Chris walked over to her and kissed her lips, “thank you for this.”

“You haven’t even eaten yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. The intent is enough for me.”

Robyn smiled as she leaned in to kiss him, “you are trouble.”

Chris chuckled as he moved over to the sink and washed his hands, “point me to where I need to be.”

Within a few minutes, they were sitting on the enclosed back porch, eating breakfast. Robyn cut a piece of pancake and dipped into the small puddle of syrup on the side of her plate then held it out to Chris. He ate the piece then kissed her cheek.

“Eww...now I got syrup on my face.”

“I can always lick it off.”

“Nope. You just trying to be fresh now.”

Chris laughed as he sat his own plate on the nearby coffee table. He took Robyn’s plate from her and set it next to his on the table before grabbing her around the waist to pull her into his lap. Robyn giggled as she settled back against his chest, “what are you doing now?”

“I just want to hold you, that’s all.”

“Well then let me turn around.”

Robyn got up then turned around to saddle Chris’s lap. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his hands on the top of her butt. Robyn put her arms around his neck and pecked his lips, “much better.”

“Now who’s being the troublemaker?”

Robyn giggled as she pressed her forehead against his, “what’s our plans for today?”

“You keep moving in my lap like this, I’ma turn on some cartoons for the kids and lock you up in our bedroom for a few hours.”

“You are silly. I’m serious.”

“Depends on if you wanna stay on the grounds or go exploring.”

“We can go out for the day.”

“Ok, there’s a zoo I think the kids will love, then we can just wing it from there.”

“Works for me.”

“Mommy! Daddy! Look at the baby goat,” Anesa exclaimed as the park attendant led her into the animal gate. The attendant handed Chris a  plastic sandwich bag full of food pellets. Chris poured a small amount in Anesa’s palm and instructed her to hold out her hand, “just wait a second and the goat will come to you. Just remain calm, Nesa.”

Anesa steadied her hand just as the goat came to sniff at her palm. The animal moved tentatively closer before he began nibbling at the pellets. Anesa held her other hand to her mouth as she giggled. Robyn smiled as she snapped a few pictures of the moment, “Nesa Boo, watch your hand near his mouth.”

“Yes Mommy.”

Chris glanced over at Robyn before leaning over to kiss her temple. “You seem to be enjoying this as much as the kids are.”

“Anesa is loving it. Christian has been asleep this entire time.”

Chris chuckled as he peeked under the blanket covering the carrier affixed to the front of Robyn’s body. Christian was fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth.

“I hope that doesn’t become a habit,” Chris murmured as he kissed the baby’s forehead then placed the blanket back over his head.

“He’ll be alright. You think of where we’re going to eat lunch?”

Chris shrugged as he poured more food pellets into Anesa’s hand, “depends on what you would like to eat. There’s a couple steak places we can try.”

“Sounds good.”

“You know what you want to do tomorrow?”

“Depends on what we do tonight.”

Chris raised his brow in shock and Robyn laughed, “are you starting with me because it’s too early for you to be starting with me?”

“It is never too early, Christopher.”

“If that’s the case, steak restaurant has been scratched from the plans.”

“What? We still have to eat.”

“Oh we’re gonna eat, just not in a restaurant.”

“So what are you saying?”

“You know exactly what I’m saying especially since I can’t say it out loud.”

Robyn laughed as she leaned into his shoulder, “and you call me a troublemaker.”

“You started that first.”

“Whatever.”

“Daddy, I need more food,” Anesa said as she made her way back to the fence. Chris poured the last bit of pellets into her hand, “alright Love Bug, after this we’re gonna see a few more animals then go eat dinner.”

“Can we have pizza, Daddy?”

“Sure. We’ll pick up some pizza on the way. Anything else?”

“And ice cream?”

“We’ll get some ice cream to go too.”

“Yay! Thank you!”

Anesa kissed his cheek before running back over to the attendant to feed the baby goat she was standing with.

                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robyn hummed as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a plush towel around her waist then another around her head. Just as she opened the closet door, her phone rang. She grabbed it and slid over the answer button, “hello?”

“Hey Sis.”

“Le, what’s going on?”

“Nothing much. Just bored and pregnant,” Leandra replied, “you?”

“About to get dressed. Just got out the shower.”

“Oh ok.”

“Something wrong?”

“No. Max is at work and Maxwell is asleep so it’s just me up right now.”

“Well it’s still early, there’s nothing on TV?”

“I’ve watched all the shows, I swear and Netflix is no damn help.”

Robyn chuckled, “I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”

“But you can’t. Where’s my brother?”

“He’s making us a late dinner. We’ve been out at the zoo with the kids all day.”

“That’s so cute. How are they?”

“They’re good. They both went down pretty easy so I hopefully they stay sleep.”

“Hope so too. Their parents need to work on getting their groove back.”

“It is not like that.”

“Well it should be. Y’all got almost a year of fucking to make up for.”

“Leandra!”

“What? You know I’m right.”

“I cannot with you.”

“But you can with your husband.”

“He is not my-”

“Girl, whatever. Tell somebody who doesn't know any better. He proposed yet?”

“No. We both know we aren’t ready to go there yet.”

“You mean you aren’t ready to go there.”

“Same thing.”

“Not exactly.”

“Le.”

“What? I need something to do and planning your wedding would be perfect so hurry the hell up.”

“If we do get married again, I’m not having a wedding.”

“What? Why?”

“We’ve already did that part. It wouldn’t be about that anyway.”

“At least let me plan a reception.”

“There’s nothing to plan, Le.”

“Well hurry up so there can be. This pregnancy is driving me insane.”

“How is my niece or nephew?”

“They are fine.”

“They as in you aren’t telling us the gender yet or they as in there’s more than one?”

“There’s more than one.”

“You’re having twins? Yes!”

“I am petrified.”

“Why?”

“What the hell am I going to do with two babies? That’s too much.”

“It’s just perfect. Le, you’re gonna do fine.”

“All I know is my uterus is closed for business. I am getting my tubes tied after this.”

“Whatever works for you.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Any more babies?”

“No. I don’t want to go through anymore surgeries right now but I’m definitely not having anymore kids. That last pregnancy took me out.”

“I understand. Well you and Christopher better be careful.”

“We are very careful.”

“So what’s the plan for tonight?”

“Far as I know, just dinner but he always has something up his sleeve.”

“Well I’ma let you get to it. When you coming back?”

“Probably Monday. He has a class on Tuesday.”

“Cool.”

“I’ll take Tuesday off and bring the kids by to check on you. I need to see that belly.”

“Oh God, don’t mention the belly. I am so fucking fat.”

Robyn laughed, “I love you Le.”

“Love you too, Sis. Enjoy your night.”

“I will. And you get some sleep, please.”

“Will do. Bye Sis.”

“Bye Le.”

Robyn hung up and tossed her phone back on the bed. She squeezed the towel that was wrapped around her hair before pulling it off and tossing it into the hamper. She moved to ruffle through the outfits she had hanging in the closet and decided on a short spaghetti strap dress. It was fitted without being tight, giving her a modicum of comfort. Tossing the hanger with the dress on it on the bed, she grabbed her body cream and sat down on the bed to put it on. 

“Underwear or no underwear?” she murmured to herself. 

After a few moments, she held the dress up to her body in the mirror then slipped it over her head. She turned to see her backside and smirked, “definitely no underwear.”

“There you are. I was getting ready to come upstairs and get you,” Chris remarked as Robyn walked into the kitchen.

“I had to take a shower. I felt all sticky from being outside all day.”

“Not a problem. I like that dress. It’s cute.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want to get too fancy since we weren’t leaving the house.”

“You’re beautiful in absolutely anything.”

“I could put on a garbage bag and you’d probably say that.”

“Probably be the sexiest garbage bag I’ve ever seen.”

Robyn laughed as she leaned into his side. Chris wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her temple, “you ready to eat?”

“What are we having, Master Chef?”

“We are having honey glazed salmon, roasted asparagus with crispy garlic smashed potatoes and sparkling grape juice since you can’t drink alcohol yet.”

“That’s the dinner we had on the day you proposed to me. You really cooked or did you order?”

“I cooked. It was one of the first dishes I wanted to learn how to make when I took cooking classes as one of my therapy assignments.”

“Now I feel like I should’ve dressed up a bit more.”

“You look perfect. I really do like that dress.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I’m not dressed up either.”

Robyn gave him a long look then smiled up at him, “definitely a bit more dressed up than me. Is that another shirt that I bought?”

“The one when we went on vacation to Italy.”

“We went on a lot of trips that first year.”

“We did. We never made it to the Maldives though.”

“We could always go when we get the chance. Probably once the babies are older”

“We don’t have to wait. Winter break is always a good time to go.”

“I don’t know if I’ll want to be that far from them just yet.”

“Such a Mommy.”

Robyn chuckled as she nudged his shoulder, “you made me one.”

“I did. You ready to eat?”

“Yes Sir.”

Chris pulled out a chair from the dining table and Robyn sat down. He moved to the oven and started to put the serving platters of food on the table. He poured juice into their wine classes before taking his seat perpendicular to Robyn’s seat. She carefully smoothed the wrinkles from the table cloth, “Chris?”

“Yes?”

“Are you gonna propose to me again?”

“Not tonight.”

“Ok.”

“You really don’t have to worry about me springing a proposal on you every time I do something fancy. I just wanted to remember how much fun we had the first time. Just some nostalgia. That’s all.”

“Ok.”

 “I’m starting to think that you’re warming up to this marriage thing.”

Robyn shrugged, “it’s not as scary as it was to me.”

“That’s good. As long as you’re thinking about it.”

“I don’t want to but-”

“You so nervous I’m gonna propose all the time, you can’t not think about it.”

“I guess you could say that.”

Chris laughed as he rubbed the back of her hand, “you know you could definitely start calling me your husband, It could ease your anxiety.”

“Or make it worse.”

“Really? Why?”

“That makes it sound real.”

“It is real, Ms. Fenty-Brown.”

Robyn rolled her eyes as Chris emphasized the “Brown” on the end of her last name, “I carry your name still, I remember.”

“Exactly so I don’t know why you acting like this is so brand new to you”

“I haven’t had a husband in eight years, Christopher.”

“Physically. Emotionally is a totally different thing.”

Robyn rolled her eyes, “you love your semantics, don’t you?”

“When they highlight truth, yes.”

Robyn laughed, “can you just fix my plate so we can eat?”

“Are you claiming defeat, Robyn?”

“I am officially waving the white flag. For now.”

Chris smiled as he leaned over and kissed her lips, “you are so stubborn.”

“You don’t have on underwear,” Chris remarked in slight disbelief as he ran his hands down Robyn’s backside. She was straddling his lap as they sat on the enclosed back porch. It had become their pseudo spot while they were at the cabin.

Robyn laughed as she shifted her weight in his lap, “I’m surprised it took you so long to notice.”

“That ass been jiggling all night, I just assumed you had on a thong or something. You don’t usually go commando.”

She shrugged as she rubbed the back of her neck, “Just in the mood, I guess.”

“You’ve been rubbing your neck all night. You ok?”

“It just feels a little stiff,” she noticed Chris’s body language change, “not like that. I’m not having another seizure, promise. I think I slept on it wrong.”

“Let me see,” Chris replied as he carefully cupped the sides of her neck. He gently massaged each side using just his fingertips. Robyn groaned in satisfaction as she let her neck relax back into his hands. Chris chuckled lightly, “lean forward for me, Baby.”

Robyn leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Chris’s. He smiled, “Hi.”

“Hi Boyfriend.”

“Stubborn ass.”

Robyn laughed then kissed his lips.

“Just close your eyes and relax. You’re really tense around your shoulders.”

Robyn moved to press her cheek to his as Chris continued to gently massage around her neck and shoulders. He carefully tapped his fingertips along her spine and she sighed shakily. Chris continued for a few more minutes, “feel better?”

“I see why massages always end in sex.”

Chris laughed, “why you say that?”

“It’s sexual as hell.”

“Or you’re just kinky as hell and like me wrapping my hand around your neck.”

“That could be it too.”

Chris laughed again as he shifted Robyn in his lap, “how about we take advantage of the jacuzzi and I give you a real massage afterwards?”

“That sounds good.”

“Good.”

“Oh my god,” Robyn moaned as she leaned back against the jacuzzi wall, “Babe, we need one of these at the house.”

“You really want one because I’ll get it for you.”

“You don’t have to be so sweet all the time, Christopher.”

“I’m just saying that I have no problem getting one installed for you.”

“Thank you but I’m just being extra.”

Chris shrugged, “Sit up so I can sit behind you.”

Robyn scooted forward as Chris climbed into the tub behind her. She rested her back against his chest and Chris settled his arms over her shoulders, “what did you put in it here? It smells good.”

“It’s bath oil. Helps soften the skin and it smells good.”

“I’m starting to think you’ve done this before.”

“Google is man’s best friend.”

“What else has Google gave you an idea about?”

“Now if I told you that, I wouldn’t be able to surprise you anymore.”

“Now that, I doubt.”

Robyn shifted against his midsection and Chris groaned before he could catch himself, “I’m sorry, Baby. Did I hurt you?”

“The opposite.”

“Oh well then,” She pressed closer and could his erection resting against her back, “it would be very easy to do something about that.”

“I didn’t do this for that.”

“Never said you did but I’m definitely doing this for that.”

She carefully moved his arms to settle on the edge of the jacuzzi as she carefully turned around to straddle his waist. She stroked his erection for a few moments before she sat on it in one quick drop.”

“Shiii-” Chris hissed through clenched teeth. Robyn giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, “feel better?”

“You are dangerous, Woman.”

“And you feel so good right now.”

“I haven’t moved yet.”

“You really don’t have to. You are settled in the perfect spot.”

“Sometimes I think you like him more than me.”

“I wouldn’t want him without you. My heart and body don't work that way.”

“Glad to hear it. May I move now?”

“Yes.”

Chris grabbed her hips and started to push upward as she pressed down. The pace soon quickened and water started to slosh over the side of the tub. Robyn tucked her face into his neck and bit down on his skin. 

“Damn it, you feel so good,” Robyn murmured as she gripped the edge of the tub and Chris slid into her from behind. This guttural moan slipped from between his lips as their skin smacked against each other and more water sloshed around them. 

“Oh God, Chris, I’m cumming.”

“I’m right there. Come with me, Baby.”

“Mmmm….I can feel it.”

“I’m right here. Just let it go. I got you.”

“Oh MY GOD!”

Robyn bit down on her lip as she felt her body start to convulse. Chris gripped her body tightly around her waist and leaned into her as he felt her walls tighten and her lose grip. He lifted her up and held her back against his chest as the tremors continued through her body. He murmured soft words against her ear as he waited for her body to calm itself, “Just breathe for me, Sweetie. Just deep breaths.”

Her breathing started to slow. Her body started to relax. Chris pressed a palm to her stomach and to her chest, carefully measuring her heartbeat.

“There you go, Sweetie. Nice and easy.”

A few moments passed and Chris kissed her cheek, “you ok?”

“I’m ok.” Robyn replied softly, “I didn’t expect it to hit me like that.”

“I’m just glad I know the difference between your orgasms and your seizures.”

Robyn giggled as she took a few breaths, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. That’s exactly what we both needed.”

“I don’t want to make you nervous about stuff like this.”

“I’m not nervous. I know I have to be prepared for the unexpected. You’re worrying too much.”

Chris kissed her cheek then turned her face to look at him, “I’m not nervous. I’m not scared. I’d never intend to fuck you into a seizure but I won’t be embarrassed if I do.”

Robyn pinched his side and Chris yelped, “OUCH! What was that for?”

“For being conceited.”

“I am not conceited. I am confident in my abilities as I should be.”

“There you go with your semantics again.”

Chris laughed as he kissed her lips, “I love you, Wife.”

“Whatever, Boyfriend.”

“Stubborn ass.”

Robyn laughed as she pulled his arms around her to hold her tight, “we might need to get out, the water is getting cold.”

“In a minute. I like holding you like this.”

Robyn smiled as she rested her head on his chest. 

#chrianna #loveisblindfanfiction