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musicforastylesrestaurant · 8 months

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Saccharine Expressions.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

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

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

word count - 8k

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

12th August, 2022. — 14:47pm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12th August, 2022. — 15:12pm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12th August, 2022. — 16:09pm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alfie was going to be a big brother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

14:17pm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

18:30pm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

08:58am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

09:16am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10:01am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10:35am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

15:05pm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

18:45pm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes were open and staring at your two boys.

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

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chelseachilly · 5 months

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do you want to build a snowman?

pairing: reader x ben chilwell request: "ok so you and ben have a daughter around 3 or 4 and its her first time seeing snow so they take her outside to build a snowman :)" - anonymous warnings: fluffff, dad!ben word count: 2k

author’s note: thanks for all the requests!! i'm really getting in the flow of writing rn (and inspired by the holidays) so i'm going to do my best to write as many of them as i can! ❄️

“Is Daddy gonna be home soon?”

It’s not the first - or the second, or the fifth - time your daughter has asked this question since she woke up this morning.

Ben left for training shortly before 8, and neither you nor your daughter Sophie were awake yet. You could’ve happily slept a few more hours, but Sophie woke you up not long after to excitedly announce that it had snowed overnight.

In her four years of life, your daughter has never seen a significant amount of snow, at least that she can recall. It snowed quite a bit on her first Christmas, but she was far too little to remember that, and since then there’s been nothing but a few flurries here and there or a light dusting on the rooftops.

She’s quite fascinated by the concept from watching movies and TV shows featuring winter activities and is currently deep in a Frozen phase, which means she’s obsessed with the idea of building a snowman.

Over the past month as the weather got colder, you and Ben had tried to keep her expectations low as you weren’t sure you would get enough snow to make this dream a reality. You could tell it was killing Ben to disappoint her - he hates denying his little girl anything - and a few nights ago you caught him looking into booking a holiday to Switzerland or Finland or anywhere she would be guaranteed some snow.

Thankfully, today her prayers were answered, and you were fully prepared to bundle up and go outside with her before you even had your coffee, but she insisted on waiting for Ben. It was their plan to build the snowman together, Sophie told you, and she stuck to her decision even when you reminded her he wouldn’t be home for hours.

It‘s been pretty adorable watching her anxiously await her dad’s return all morning, pacing around the house and checking for his car in the driveway often. You can tell how badly she wants to go out and play in the glistening white snow, and the remarkable restraint she’s showing is a testament to how much of a daddy’s girl she is.

“Not too much longer, sweetheart,” you assure her as you beckon her to come cuddle with you on the couch where you’re doing a bit of work on your laptop. “He texted a while ago and said he’ll be here as soon as he can.”

“Alright,” Sophie sighs. “Can you put on Frozen?”

You’ve watched this movie more times than you can count lately, and once already today, but you remind yourself that you signed up for this when you chose to be a parent as you’re queuing up Disney Plus once again.

Later, when you’re nearing the end of the film and you’ve given up on doing any more work as long as your daughter is screaming the lyrics to each song, you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing.

“Daddy!”

The movie is quickly abandoned as Sophie darts toward the foyer to greet Ben. You’re not too far behind her, though by the time you reach them she’s already in her dad’s arms.

“Daddy, it snowed!” Sophie exclaims, her little arms wrapped around Ben’s neck. “We have to build a snowman!”

“I know, darling,” Ben laughs, giving Sophie another squeeze before gently setting her down. “Why don’t you go get your coat on while I say hello to Mummy?”

Sophie nods and eagerly runs toward the closet to fetch her winter coat. As Ben drops his bag and makes his way over to you, you can see how tired he is from training. When he cups your face to give you a kiss, you can tell he’s also freezing.

“How was training, baby?” you murmur, placing your hands on his to warm them up.

“Cold,” Ben sighs. “Forgot how brutal it is training in the snow. I’m glad the gaffer let us go home early, though.”

“You and me both,” you smile, leaning in to kiss him again. “Maybe you should warm up a bit before going out to play with Soph?”

“No, she’s been waiting for me all day,” Ben says. “I’ll be fine.”

You know there’s no changing his mind, especially when Sophie comes running back into the room in her adorable little puffer jacket that nearly swallows her whole. You help her zip it up and grab mittens, a scarf and a hat to keep her warm, as well as some for you and Ben.

Once you’re all ready to face the cold, you head out to the garden together. You and Ben have matching grins on your faces as you watch Sophie excitedly run through the snow for the first time, a core childhood memory being created right before your eyes.

She gets to work right away on her snowman, rolling the snowball she’s formed as long as she can before it gets too heavy for her and she has to accept Ben’s help.

You join in on their efforts, occasionally taking a break to take some photos of your daughter and husband that you already know are going to be your new phone background.

After some hard work - certainly for a four year old - the snowman is completed with a carrot nose and hat that you had prepared just for this occasion.

“He looks great, Sophie!” you exclaim. “What’s his name? Olaf?”

Despite it being a fairly safe guess, Sophie looks at you like you have two heads.

“No, Mummy, Olaf doesn’t have a hat,” she reminds you very matter-of-factly. “His name is Tom.”

“Like Uncle Tom?” Ben chuckles, referring to his best friend and her godfather.

Sophie seems to contemplate this for a moment before shaking her head.

“No, because I want him to be Tom.”

You and Ben look at each other for a moment before bursting out into laughter. You both blame your daughter’s stubbornness on each other, though deep down you know it’s from both of you, but at times like this it’s both hilarious and adorable.

“Fair enough, sweetie,” you say, bending down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Now, I think some hot chocolate is in order. Ready to go in?”

“No, we have to make snow angels!”

Of course, this was another activity she had seen in films that she was dying to try for herself.

“Alright,” you chuckle. “Why don’t we make snow angels while Daddy goes and warms up? He’s been out in the snow all day.”

The pout on Sophie’s face quickly tells you that she is not happy with this plan, and Ben swoops in before you can say anything else.

“I think I have a few snow angels left in me,” he smiles, picking Sophie up and balancing her on his hip. “Babe, can you start the hot chocolate while we finish up here?”

You raise an eyebrow at your husband but accept his proposal nonetheless, placing a quick kiss on both his and Sophie’s cheeks before heading inside.

As you’re warming up the milk on the stovetop, you look out the window where Ben and Sophie are still playing, her excited giggles loud enough that you can hear her through the windowpane.

Your heart is threatening to burst from the sweet scene, overflowing with love for your daughter and admiration for your amazing husband. No matter how tired he is from training, if he’s upset about a loss or injured or anything else, he always steps up for Sophie. You’ve known since you met him that he would be a great dad, but ever since you became parents, he’s continued to exceed your expectations.

Just as you’re pouring three steaming mugs of hot chocolate, you hear your family come in through the back door and begin to strip off their winter gear.

To your delight, Sophie runs straight into the kitchen and hugs you tightly.

“I made five snow angels!” she exclaims as you run your hand up and down her back in an effort to warm her up. “Daddy made some big ones, too.”

“That’s amazing, love,” you smile, kissing her head. “You want some hot chocolate?”

“Yes! Can I put the marshmallows in?”

“Of course,” you say, lifting her up onto the counter and passing her the bag of mini marshmallows.

As much as she’s a daddy’s girl at heart, you also get your fair share of moments when your daughter seems to only want her mother. You know how special her bond is with Ben, and you really can’t blame her for how much she loves spending time with him, but you still cherish the little things that just for the two of you - making hot chocolate with extra marshmallows being one of them.

You carry the tray of drinks into the living room with Sophie trailing behind, and find Ben already there getting the fireplace going and arranging some pillows and blankets.

“This looks cozy,” you smile, setting the drinks down and sitting on the floor across from him, Sophie following your lead. “Thanks, honey.”

“Thanks for making the hot chocolate, my loves,” Ben responds, glancing over at the tray that holds two regular Christmas mugs and one with the Frozen characters on it. He picks that one up and pretends to take a sip. “I assume this one is mine?”

“No, Daddy, that’s mine!” Sophie squeals, making both you and Ben laugh as he carefully passes it back to her.

You all sip your drinks in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the sweet beverages and the burning fire.

“So, did you enjoy your first snow, Soph?” Ben asks. “Was it everything you hoped?”

“It was amazing!” Sophie confirms. “Thank you for playing, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome, angel,” Ben says with a soft smile as Sophie climbs into his lap and he kisses her rosy cheeks.

It’s not long before she drifts off to sleep, tuckered out from playing in the snow and comforted by her dad’s embrace and the sound of you and Ben quietly talking about your days.

Once she’s fully passed out, Ben carefully shifts her tiny frame over in his arms to make room for you on his other side and beckons you over. With him laying back against the sofa and you now laying against his chest, both of you watching your daughter sleep peacefully, you’re not sure you’ve ever felt more content.

“That little girl absolutely adores you,” you comment, nuzzling further into Ben’s warmth.

“She must get that from her mum, then,” Ben jokes, making you roll your eyes for a moment before kissing his jaw, then his cheek.

“Mhm,” you nod, smiling as you reach his lips and kiss him slowly.

When you pull back, Ben gazes lovingly at you for a moment before his eyes return to Sophie, her little hand curling around the material of his hoodie in her sleep.

“Babe?” Ben murmurs, and you nod again. “How would you feel about trying for another one?”

It takes everything in you not to betray yourself with a grin as you think about the tiny Christmas onesie and pregnancy test you boxed up and placed under the tree yesterday while Ben was picking Sophie up from daycare.

It’s less than a week until Christmas - you can make it that long.

“Let’s talk about it after the holidays?” you say for now, pressing another kiss to Ben’s lips.

He nods with a smile, though you can see his mind wandering with thoughts of another little one to play in the snow and curl up by the fire and watching the same movies over and over with.

It’s been the greatest joy of your life raising Sophie side by side with him, and you absolutely can’t wait to do it all again.

#ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell x y/n #ben chilwell imagine #ben chilwell #first time writing dad!ben!! and also first time making a graphic dont laugh at how bad it lmaooo

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zapreportsblog · 9 months

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↱ you’re it for me 2 ↰

➘ summary : this is a continuation from the first post right here, again this is a headcanon on Hobie brown aka spider punk, it’s a length one which had been made from this post

➘ a/n : here goes part 1 of this headcanon

His Love Language is Physical Touch But It’s So Much More Than That :

In the cozy confines of Hobie's apartment, a gentle warmth enveloped the room as he and (y/n) found themselves in each other's company. Their connection had deepened over time, and Hobie's love language had become increasingly evident to (y/n) – physical touch.

As they settled on the couch, their fingers intertwined, Hobie's arm found its way around (y/n)'s shoulders. His touch was reassuring, a silent affirmation of his affection.

Hobie's love language manifested in various ways. There were moments when he would wrap his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug that made (y/n) feel safe and cherished. Other times, he would reach for her hand, his fingers entwining with hers as they walked down the street or simply sat together.

Cuddling was another favorite activity for Hobie. On lazy evenings, they would nestle against each other, (y/n)'s head resting against his chest as his arms encircled her. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat served as a comforting backdrop to their whispered conversations and shared laughter.

One day, they found themselves in Hobie's kitchen, cooking dinner together. (y/n) was focused on chopping vegetables when she felt Hobie's arms wrap around her waist from behind. His lips pressed against her temple in a soft kiss.

"I love that we can do simple things like cooking together," he murmured against her skin.

She smiled, leaning back against him. "Me too. It's the little moments that mean the most."

Hobie's touch spoke volumes about his feelings – a touch that communicated love, affection, and the deep bond they shared. Whether he was tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, brushing his fingers against her arm, or simply holding her close, his actions resonated with tenderness and devotion.

As the evening sun cast a warm glow into the room, (y/n) turned to face Hobie. She reached up to cup his cheek, her touch gentle and filled with emotion. "You know, I've come to understand your love language. And I love how you express your feelings through touch."

Hobie's eyes softened as he looked at her, his fingers tracing patterns on her arm. "I'm glad you appreciate it. It's my way of showing you how much you mean to me."

Her heart swelled, her gaze meeting his with unspoken understanding. In that moment, they didn't need grand gestures or elaborate displays of affection – their love was felt in the simplest of touches, the shared glances, and the way their souls intertwined.

As the evening unfolded, Hobie and (y/n) continued to share their love in the language of touch. Each embrace, each handhold, and each affectionate gesture served as a testament to the depth of their connection, a connection that was built not just on words, but on the beautiful language of the heart.

Hobie and (y/n) had developed a beautiful rhythm in their relationship – a harmony of companionship and support that extended to their everyday tasks. It was in these seemingly mundane moments that their bond shone the brightest.

One day, as (y/n) was sitting at her desk, working on her laptop, Hobie entered the room with a smile. "Hey, need any help with anything?"

She looked up from her screen, her expression grateful. "Actually, I could use some help organizing these files. They're getting a bit messy."

Hobie pulled up a chair next to her, his fingers deftly sorting through the documents. His touch was gentle, his movements precise as he organized the files into neat folders.

As they worked side by side, (y/n) couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. It wasn't just about the task at hand; it was about the shared effort, the way Hobie seamlessly integrated himself into her world.

Later that evening, as they prepared dinner together, Hobie took charge of chopping vegetables while (y/n) worked on marinating the chicken. Their synchronized movements and easy conversation made the kitchen feel like a haven of togetherness.

"Hobie, could you pass me the salt, please?" (y/n) asked with a smile.

Hobie obliged, handing her the salt shaker with a playful grin. "Anything for you, chef."

Their laughter filled the air as they continued to cook, a shared joy in the simplest of tasks.

The support went both ways. On another day, (y/n) noticed Hobie engrossed in assembling a piece of furniture. She approached him with a determined expression. "Need a hand?"

Hobie's eyes lit up with appreciation, and he handed her a few screws. "You're a lifesaver. This thing is more complicated than I thought."

They worked together, following the instructions and sharing small victories as the furniture started to take shape. In that moment, the task was secondary; what truly mattered was the teamwork and connection they shared.

Whether it was helping (y/n) with household chores, offering a hand when she needed assistance, or simply being there to lend an ear after a long day, Hobie's presence was a constant source of comfort and support.

As they sat on the couch later that evening, wrapped up in each other's arms, (y/n) looked at Hobie with a soft smile. "You know, you make everything feel easier, just by being here."

Hobie pressed a kiss to her forehead, his touch a gentle caress. "That's what partners do, right? We make each other's lives better."

Their connection was built on the foundation of shared moments, small gestures, and unwavering support. In the tapestry of their relationship, the threads of companionship and love were woven into the fabric of their everyday tasks, creating a beautiful masterpiece that told the story of their journey together.

He Teaches You How to Play The Guitar and Shows You Something He’s Learnt Too :

One sunny afternoon, Hobie and (y/n) found themselves in Hobie's cozy living room, the soft melody of a guitar playing in the background. Hobie had an idea – to teach (y/n) how to play the guitar, a skill that had been close to his heart for years.

Hobie handed (y/n) the guitar, his eyes warm with anticipation. "Okay, first things first, let's learn the basic chords. This is an E major chord."

He demonstrated the finger placement on the fretboard, guiding her fingers with his own. As their hands interlocked, a current of connection passed between them, the shared moment creating an unspoken bond.

(y/n) focused on the strings, her fingers slightly trembling as she strummed the chord. The sound that emanated from the guitar was a bit shaky, but a proud smile spread across her face.

"I did it!" she exclaimed, her eyes bright with excitement.

Hobie's grin matched hers, his voice encouraging. "You're doing great. Now, let's try a few more."

With patience and guidance, Hobie walked (y/n) through the basic chords, explaining each step along the way. The room was filled with music and laughter as they practiced together, their fingers working in harmony to create melodies.

As they progressed, (y/n)'s confidence grew, her fingers finding the frets with increasing ease. The feeling of the strings beneath her fingertips was both exhilarating and soothing, a testament to the beauty of learning something new.

Hobie's heart swelled with pride as he watched (y/n) immerse herself in the process. Her determination and eagerness to learn mirrored the passion he felt for music.

"See? You've got the hang of it," he said, his gaze filled with admiration.

She strummed a few chords, her fingers moving more confidently now. "It's a lot of fun, actually. I never thought I'd be able to play even a little."

Hobie leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "You're a natural. Just remember, learning takes time, but the journey is what matters."

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow into the room, (y/n) looked at Hobie with a grateful smile. "Thank you for teaching me this. It means a lot."

Hobie's fingers brushed against her cheek, his touch gentle. "Anytime, (y/n). Sharing this with you feels amazing."

With the guitar still in her hands, (y/n) leaned over and placed it carefully on the stand. She turned back to Hobie, her expression full of appreciation. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I've fallen in love with playing the guitar."

Hobie's laughter was rich and full of joy. "Well, then I'm honored to be your guitar teacher."

As the evening wrapped them in its embrace, the music of their laughter and shared moments lingered in the air. Their connection, deepened by the chords they had strummed together, was a melody that resonated in their hearts, a reminder of the beautiful journey they were on – one filled with love, laughter, and the harmonious rhythm of each other's company.

In the days that followed, Hobie's determination grew as he embarked on a mission to learn something special for (y/n). He had noticed the sparkle in her eyes whenever her favorite song played, and he wanted to surprise her by playing it on his guitar.

With unwavering dedication, Hobie spent hours practicing, his fingers moving over the strings with precision and focus. He watched tutorials, followed chord progressions, and even recorded himself to track his progress. It was a challenge, but the thought of bringing a smile to (y/n)'s face fueled his determination.

As the days turned into weeks, (y/n) noticed Hobie's increased dedication to his guitar practice. She watched with curiosity as he strummed and played, a look of concentration on his face.

One evening, as they were sitting on the couch, Hobie set his guitar aside and turned to (y/n) with a sheepish grin. "So, I've been working on something for you."

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Really? What is it?"

Hobie took a deep breath, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. "I've been learning to play your favorite song on the guitar."

A mixture of surprise and delight washed over (y/n). She placed a hand over her heart, her eyes sparkling. "You did that for me?"

Hobie nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yeah. I wanted to surprise you with something special."

Curiosity piqued, (y/n) leaned in closer. "Well, don't keep me waiting. Let's hear it."

Hobie cleared his throat and carefully positioned the guitar on his lap. He began to play, the melody filling the room with its familiar notes. As the song progressed, (y/n) realized that he was playing her favorite song, his fingers moving over the strings with a tenderness that spoke of his dedication.

The song reached its crescendo, and Hobie looked up at (y/n), his eyes filled with hope. "So, what do you think?"

Tears gathered in (y/n)'s eyes as she listened to the melody that held so much meaning for her. She wiped away a tear with the back of her hand, her heart overflowing with emotion.

"That was amazing, Hobie," she managed to say, her voice filled with awe.

Hobie's grin was one of pure satisfaction. "I'm glad you liked it."

She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you for putting in the effort to learn my favorite song."

Hobie's arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight hug. "Anything for you, (y/n). I wanted to learn something that would make you happy."

As they held each other, the melody of the song lingered in the air, a reminder of the love and dedication that Hobie had poured into his guitar practice. In that moment, their connection felt even stronger, a bond woven through music, shared moments, and the deep affection they held for each other.

He’s Intimidating To Everyone But He’s A Big Softie For You :

Hobie's reputation as a skilled and confident individual often preceded him. With his confident stride, chiseled physique, and unwavering demeanor, he projected an air of strength that others found intimidating. However, beneath that exterior was a heart full of warmth and compassion.

One day, Hobie and (y/n) found themselves at a social gathering. As they entered the room, (y/n) noticed the subtle glances and hushed conversations that followed Hobie's path. His presence seemed to draw attention, but it wasn't the kind that made people feel at ease.

As they mingled with the crowd, (y/n) could sense that some of the attendees were hesitant to approach Hobie. His imposing stature and the way he carried himself had created a barrier that made him seem unapproachable.

"Hey, Hobie," (y/n) said, leaning in to speak softly to him. "I think some people find you a bit intimidating."

Hobie's lips curved into a rueful smile. "Yeah, I've heard that before."

As the evening progressed, Hobie made an effort to engage in conversations, his tone warm and welcoming. However, the lingering aura of intimidation seemed hard to dispel.

It wasn't until (y/n) stepped away briefly that she witnessed a different side of the situation. A group of people were discussing Hobie, their words tinged with admiration but also apprehension.

"He's so talented and confident, but I'm not sure if I could ever approach him," one person commented.

Another nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he just seems so intense."

Overhearing the conversation, (y/n) couldn't help but smile. She knew that Hobie's exterior was a shield, protecting the gentle and caring soul underneath.

Later that evening, (y/n) approached Hobie with a playful glint in her eyes. "You know, people find you intimidating."

Hobie chuckled, his expression a mix of amusement and self-awareness. "I guess I have that effect."

"But they don't see the side of you that I do," she said, her tone affectionate. "The Hobie who spends hours learning my favorite song, who helps me with everyday tasks, and who holds me close when I need comfort."

Hobie's gaze softened as he looked at her, his heart warmed by her words. "You see the real me."

As the night drew to a close, (y/n) and Hobie shared a dance, their movements fluid and synchronized. The music filled the air, but it was the connection between them that resonated the strongest.

In the midst of the dance, (y/n) leaned in and whispered in Hobie's ear, "You may be intimidating to others, but you'll always be my gentle giant."

Hobie's arms tightened around her, his touch a silent affirmation. As they swayed to the rhythm of the music, the barriers of intimidation melted away, revealing the depth of their love and the understanding that went beyond appearances.

In the eyes of the world, Hobie might have been seen as intimidating, but to (y/n), he was a constant source of comfort, support, and love. And that was all that truly mattered.

In the realm of their private moments, a different side of Hobie emerged – one that was known only to (y/n). Behind the confident and imposing exterior, he was a big softie when it came to her, revealing a vulnerability and tenderness that he kept hidden from the world.

One evening, as they lounged on Hobie's couch, (y/n) leaned her head against his shoulder. She traced patterns on his hand with her fingers, her touch light and affectionate. "You know, it's funny how different you are when it's just us."

Hobie's lips curved into a warm smile as he looked down at her. "Yeah? What do you mean?"

She met his gaze, her eyes full of understanding. "You're a big softie, Hobie. When it's just you and me, you let your guard down, and I get to see this side of you that no one else does."

Hobie's expression softened, his fingers gently threading through her hair. "I guess you bring out the best in me."

As they continued to talk and share quiet moments, (y/n) began to notice the little things that revealed Hobie's soft side. The way he would spontaneously wrap his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace as if he couldn't bear to let her go. The moments when he would glance at her with a look of adoration, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings.

In the privacy of their shared space, Hobie's vulnerability was on display – the way his voice softened when he spoke about his hopes and dreams, the way he would open up about his fears and insecurities. (y/n) cherished these moments, knowing that they were a glimpse into the real Hobie – the one who trusted her with his heart.

One day, as they took a leisurely stroll through a park, (y/n) felt a sudden raindrop hit her nose. She looked up at the sky, and before she knew it, the heavens opened up, sending a downpour upon them.

Hobie's protective instincts kicked in immediately. He pulled (y/n) close, shielding her from the rain with his own body. As they huddled together under the umbrella, (y/n) couldn't help but chuckle at the situation.

"Looks like we're caught in the rain," she said with a grin.

Hobie's expression was a mix of concern and amusement. "I've got you covered."

As the rain poured around them, (y/n) leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Hobie's lips. It was a spontaneous, tender moment that felt like an affirmation of their connection.

"You know," she said, her voice gentle, "I love that I get to see this side of you – the big softie who cares so deeply."

Hobie's arms tightened around her, his touch reassuring. "You make me want to be a better person, (y/n). With you, I can be myself without any pretense."

As they stood there, wrapped up in each other's arms and shielded from the rain, the world around them seemed to fade away. In the midst of the downpour, they found solace in each other's company, and the vulnerability that Hobie shared with (y/n) was a testament to the depth of their love.

He Can’t Sleep Without You :

The apartment felt unusually empty and quiet as Hobie walked through its familiar rooms. (y/n) was out of town, visiting family, and though he was happy for her, he couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that settled in his chest.

He glanced around, his gaze falling on the couch where they would often cuddle and share stories. Without her presence, the space felt incomplete, like a missing puzzle piece.

As the evening stretched on, Hobie tried to distract himself with various activities – reading a book, watching a movie, even strumming his guitar. But no matter what he did, his thoughts kept drifting back to (y/n).

The bed, once a sanctuary where they would fall asleep wrapped up in each other's arms, now felt too big and empty. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his mind filled with memories of their shared moments.

Hobie reached for his phone, scrolling through pictures of (y/n) on his camera roll. Each image held a snapshot of their happiness, a testament to the love they shared. He couldn't help but smile as he looked at her, even though the ache of missing her was palpable.

He found himself dialing her number, his heart racing with anticipation. After a few rings, (y/n) picked up, her voice a soothing balm to his restlessness.

"Hey, Hobie," she said warmly. "How's everything over there?"

Hobie's voice was laced with affection as he replied, "It's quiet without you. I miss having you around."

There was a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. "I miss you too. But I'll be back before you know it."

As they talked, Hobie felt the heaviness in his chest begin to lift. (y/n)'s voice was a lifeline, connecting him to the one person who could fill the void he felt.

Before they ended the call, (y/n) said, "You know, I'll be thinking of you, even when I'm away. And we can catch up on all the cuddles when I'm back."

Hobie's lips curved into a smile, the warmth of (y/n)'s words wrapping around him like a comforting embrace. "I'm holding you to that, (y/n). Can't wait to have you back here."

After hanging up, Hobie closed his eyes, imagining (y/n)'s presence beside him. He could almost feel her fingers intertwining with his, her laughter filling the room, and the sense of completeness that only came when she was by his side.

As he drifted off to sleep, the emptiness slowly ebbed away. The distance between them was temporary, and knowing that they would be together again brought a sense of comfort that allowed him to find solace in their love, even when they were miles apart.

In the stillness of the night, the apartment was shrouded in darkness. Hobie's eyes fluttered open, his sleep interrupted by the lingering emptiness he felt without (y/n) by his side. He sighed softly, his thoughts turning to her.

As he lay there in the dim moonlight, he couldn't shake the yearning to hold her close. With a determined yet gentle movement, he pushed back the covers and got out of bed. His steps were quiet as he made his way to (y/n)'s side of the bed.

He picked up her pillow, the scent of her shampoo and warmth still lingering. Hobie held it close, his fingers curling around the fabric as if he could capture her essence within it.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as an idea formed in his mind. He opened one of her drawers and pulled out a shirt that still carried her faint scent. Holding it to his chest, he placed it over the pillow, dressing it in the familiar fabric.

With the makeshift "replacement" pillow now resembling her, Hobie settled back into bed, adjusting the pillow in his arms. He closed his eyes and imagined (y/n) beside him, her warmth and presence filling the space.

As he held the pillow close, he could almost hear her soft laughter and feel her fingers running through his hair. In the quiet of the night, the lines between reality and imagination blurred, allowing him to find a sense of comfort in the illusion he had created.

Hobie's fingers traced patterns on the fabric, his touch gentle and loving. The pillow became a tangible connection to (y/n), a way to bridge the gap between their physical distance.

Slowly, the rhythm of his breathing began to steady, his thoughts drifting into a peaceful reverie. He felt (y/n)'s presence surround him, her essence intertwined with his own.

As he finally drifted back to sleep, he held onto the sensation of her being with him, even in the quiet darkness of the night. The pillow, dressed in her shirt, became a symbol of their unbreakable bond – a bond that transcended time and space, allowing Hobie to find solace and rest in the embrace of his imagination and love.

Where He Gives Up Trying To Sleep Without You :

The restlessness had become too much for Hobie to bear. The emptiness of his apartment without (y/n) had reached its breaking point, and he knew what he needed to do. In the middle of the night, driven by the powerful urge to see her, he swung his way to the town where (y/n) was visiting her family.

The moon cast a soft glow over the streets as Hobie landed with silent grace near (y/n)'s temporary residence. He approached the house with a mix of determination and anticipation, his heart pounding with excitement.

Careful not to disturb anyone, Hobie climbed the vines leading to (y/n)'s window. With practiced ease, he pushed it open and slipped inside her room. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and as he looked around, he saw her sleeping peacefully in the moonlight.

Hobie's heart swelled at the sight of her, her face relaxed in slumber. He moved closer, his gaze fixated on her delicate features. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair away from her forehead, his touch gentle as if she might wake at any moment.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and her eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, their eyes met – her sleepy surprise mirrored by his affectionate gaze. "Hobie?" she whispered, her voice a mixture of astonishment and delight.

Hobie's lips curved into a warm smile. "Hey, it's me. I couldn't sleep without you."

(y/n)'s expression shifted from surprise to happiness. She sat up in bed, her eyes shining as she looked at him. "You came all the way here?"

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I couldn't stand being apart from you. I needed to see you."

With a mixture of awe and affection, (y/n) reached out and cupped his cheek, her touch confirming that he was really there. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

Hobie chuckled softly, his fingers finding hers and intertwining with them. "I just knew I needed to be with you."

As they sat there, bathed in the moon's gentle light, the world outside seemed to disappear. The physical distance that had separated them earlier had been bridged, and their connection felt stronger than ever.

"(y/n), I love you," Hobie whispered, his words sincere and heartfelt.

Tears of happiness glistened in her eyes. "And I love you, Hobie."

With a sense of ease and contentment, Hobie lay down beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. They held each other as if the universe itself had conspired to bring them back together.

In the stillness of the night, their heartbeats synchronized, and the distance that had once felt insurmountable faded into insignificance. The moments they shared were a testament to the power of love – a love that knew no bounds and could traverse any distance, no matter how great.

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rosyrosethings · 7 months

Text

Y/n returns after missing

This story is a rewrite/edit. I posted this story a while ago. But I'm doing over my master list. So i rewrote this. It inspired by the tv show manifest which is a about a plan that goes missing and they return a few years later

Four years had slipped away since the passengers aboard flight N-47 vanished into thin air, presumed to have tragically succumbed to some unfathomable fate. Yet, in a twist befitting a miracle, three souls previously lost had reemerged. Y/n Y/L/N, James Carter, and Sus-... The screen went blank as she snapped off the TV, cutting the newscaster off mid-sentence. For Y/n, those four years encapsulated an epoch of isolation, an overwhelming void where time seemed inconsequential. The world had marched on, relentless and indifferent, leaving behind a cascade of changes she could scarcely begin to absorb.

Memories of her life before the ill-fated flight were vivid and achingly sweet. She had been on the cusp of a new chapter, her dreams tangibly close. A blossoming fashion designer, Y/n was set to weave her creativity and passion into the very fabric of the industry. Her return from Rio was supposed to be a celebratory milestone, marking her transition into a life shared with Harry and the thrilling prospect of seeing her best friend Kendall, potentially the next supermodel sensation, flaunt her designs down the runway.

The reality she returned to, however, was starkly different. Expectations of a warm welcome, of falling back into the comfortable embrace of her old life with Harry, were shattered. Hours turned into an eternity at her mother’s house, each passing moment amplifying her confusion and heartache. Where was Harry? Why was he submerged in a new life where he was a solo artist, a far cry from the hiatus he'd taken from his band in 2015?

Trepidation gripped her heart, preventing her from delving too deep into the life Harry led now. The fear of discovering him entwined with someone else was paralyzing. With a resigned sigh, she closed her laptop, a barrier against the torrent of information that threatened to drown her.

“Y/N? Honey,” the gentle voice of her mother broke through her reverie. The joy in her eyes was unmistakable, yet it carried the weight of years filled with mourning a daughter lost. They had even held a funeral for her, Y/n realized with a start. The profound relief and elation of having her back were palpable in every hug, every tearful smile her mother gave her.

“Yes, mom?”

“Umm, someone is here to see you.”

***

Contrastingly, Harry's life had been a portrait of attempting to move on while being anchored in the past. His home, once a sanctuary of memories shared with Y/n, now housed his new relationship. Kendall, her head resting on his chest, was a constant presence, offering solace in a reality where Y/n existed only in echoes. She was 'Kenny' to him, a pillar during his darkest times, understanding the depth of losing Y/n as she, too, had lost a dear friend.

But the past clung to Harry with stubborn tendrils. His routine, for three long years, involved calling Y/n’s voicemail, a one-sided conversation where he'd spill the day's trivialities and monumental changes alike, seeking solace in the sound of her recorded voice. It wasn’t until the pain dulled into a quiet ache, and with Kenny’s unwavering support, that he ceased this ritual. Yet, he never truly let go, with monthly visits to Y/n's mother becoming a testament to his undying connection to her.

Their bond had been forged in the innocence of childhood, blossoming from neighborly acquaintances to an unbreakable union of soulmates. It was a love story initiated when two eight-year-olds found friendship and grew seamlessly into love as they reached sixteen. It was a story abruptly paused, until an unexpected phone call threatened to turn the page once again.

Harry’s phone shattered the comfortable silence, Mrs. Y/L/N’s number on display. Kendall, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, sat up, her own complex emotions swirling as she watched Harry answer the call.

“Yes, Mrs. Y/L/N, how are you?” Harry’s voice was cautious, unprepared for the emotional maelstrom the conversation would incite.

Kendall battled with her feelings, a mix of jealousy and self-reproach. She loved Harry, but standing in Y/n’s shadow was a constant reminder of what she lacked. She was never going to ignite in Harry the passionate love he held for Y/n. She was a balm, she realized, not the cure to his heartache.

“Harry.. she’s home. My baby is here, Harry. She came back to us.” The words, heavy with emotional gravity, froze Harry in place. Confusion, hope, and sheer disbelief warred within him.

“Okay, I’ll be there shortly, Mrs. Rose,” he managed, his mind racing.

“What is it, Harry? Who was it?” Kendall queried, apprehension lacing her words.

“Y/n’s mom...”

“Are we going to dinner with her tonight?” she attempted lightness, a stark contrast to the situation’s gravity.

“She’s alive, Kenny.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile truth that threatened to change everything. Once again, life’s unpredictable tide was pulling them in a direction they never anticipated. The lost was found, and with her return, the threads of their lives were irrevocably entwined once more.

Y/n felt the soft give of her childhood mattress beneath her as she rose, each muscle groaning, still remembering the harshness of the ground she'd slept on for years on the island. The air around her buzzed with a mixture of familiarity and foreignness, a sensation that had enveloped her since her return. She was home yet felt like a stranger in a place woven into the fabric of her earliest memories. Her room, though untouched, seemed to belong to another era, one before her life had fractured into a before and after.

Since her unexpected return, her home had turned into a pilgrimage site. Relatives she hadn’t seen in years, cousins whose names she struggled to remember, and a throng of others had paraded through the living room. She had hoped, with every knock, that she would see Harry’s face, hear his voice, touch his hand. But as hours turned into days, her hope waned.

Dragging herself to her feet, she moved through the hallway, each step echoing the pounding in her heart. Her feet, moving of their own accord, carried her towards the living room, the epicenter of the constant, suffocating stream of visitors.

And then, she saw him.

It was as if the world contracted in that moment, every sound, every color, every breath funneling into this singularity. Harry stood there, a portrait of the years gone by. His hair, shorter than she remembered, framed his face, and those green eyes, which had haunted her dreams, seemed to glow. Dressed in the simplest of clothes — black jeans and a white t-shirt — he was a sight for her sore eyes. He was her beacon during the darkest nights on the island, the memory of him, a silent prayer, a sacred chant that wove through the solitude of her survival.

For Harry, the sight of Y/n wasn't just a balm; it was a resurrection. She was here, alive and so achingly present that his heart faltered in its rhythm. The past years had been a cacophony of grief, confusion, and a numbness that seeped into his bones. And here she was, her skin glowing with a vitality that seemed impossible. He had always adored her skin, the richness of her complexion; it reminded him of the sweetest chocolates he'd ever tasted. He had spent years bolstering her against the world, against the harshness of critics and fans alike, reminding her of her beauty, her worth.

He was captivated by the woman before him, who had been tempered by survival, her spirit burnished but unbroken. How could it be that she stood before him even more breathtaking than he remembered? In that instant, Harry understood the depth of the void her absence had carved into his life. She wasn't just a missing piece; she was the very foundation that his reality had been built upon.

Without a word, he closed the distance between them, his arms enveloping her in a hug that felt like a collision of every unsaid word, every unshed tear, every unfulfilled longing of the past four years. His emotions breached the dam he had painstakingly built, tears wetting the crown of her head as he nestled his face there. "God, I've missed you so much," he breathed, his voice a hoarse whisper laden with every nuance of pain, relief, and overwhelming love he felt.

Y/n, ensconced in Harry's arms, felt a sense of returning. Here, in the circle of his arms, the world righted itself. His scent, the solidness of his chest, the timber of his voice — they were her lighthouse. "I never stopped thinking about you, not even for a moment," she confessed, her voice muffled against him.

Their reunion, however, was shadowed by an unspoken acknowledgment of the time lost and the reality that had marched on relentlessly in her absence. Y/n detected subtle shifts in him, intangible but unmistakable. As they sat on the couch, a chasm of unsaid words stretched between them. Harry's affectionate term, 'kitten,' once a playful endearment, now seemed to echo across a vast distance, a reminder of a shared past that was both their bridge and barrier.

Their conversation meandered, a tentative dance around the elephant in the room. Y/n's fatigue, both emotional and physical, soon became too cumbersome to carry. Her eyelids grew heavy, her body demanded respite. "I need to close my eyes, just for a little while," she whispered, her words a mix of exhaustion and a quiet plea for things to be simple again.

Harry, understanding her unvoiced request, smoothed her hair back, his touch a promise. "Rest, love. When you wake, we'll grab some lunch, maybe even see Kendall. It'll be like old times," he murmured, the ache in his voice belying the casualness of his words.

Y/n's smile, before she succumbed to sleep, was a fragile thing, a tentative hope. And as she drifted off, nestled against Harry, she clung to the sound of his heartbeat — a lullaby that spoke of shared pasts, present uncertainties, and the uncharted future that lay ahead of them.

Harry and Kendall sat in the subtle ambiance of the café, the murmur of conversations blending with the soft clinking of cutlery. The tension between them was palpable, like a silent storm brewing. Harry's fingers drummed nervously on the tabletop, betraying the calm facade he attempted to portray.

"Did you tell her?" Kendall's voice sliced through the tension, her agitation evident in the rhythmic tapping of her perfectly manicured nails against the wooden surface.

He hesitated, the truth weighing heavily on his chest. "No... I couldn't," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he averted his gaze, finding sudden interest in the patterns of the wood grain. The confession felt like a betrayal, a stark deviation from the promise he made to himself about honesty.

Kendall's sigh was a mixture of frustration and understanding. "We can tell her together," she offered, extending her hand to provide solace. Her fingers were warm, a contrast to the cold dread filling his stomach.

As he intertwined his fingers with hers, seeking comfort in the touch, his eyes caught a familiar figure approaching. It was Y/n, a sight that made his heart leap into his throat. Instinctively, he retracted his hand from Kendall's, a subtle but unmistakable reaction.

Y/n's energy was like a breath of fresh air as she arrived. "Kenny!" she exclaimed with genuine affection, stretching her arms out for a heartfelt embrace. Kendall rose to return the gesture, her own emotions a complex web of happiness, relief, and an underlying sense of conflict she wasn't ready to face.

The warmth of their hug was short-lived for Kendall, overshadowed by a realization that Y/n's presence might change everything, including her own newly discovered hopes. As they separated, Y/n slid into the seat across from them, her presence filling the void but also reminding them of the intricate dynamics of their past.

"Harry, my mom told me what you did for her while I was...gone. I can't thank you enough," Y/n's voice held a mix of gratitude and sorrow, referencing the home Harry had bought for her mother after the accident — a gesture of kindness in the face of tragedy.

Kendall, feigning ignorance, asked, "What did you do, Harry?"

He hesitated, swallowing hard before explaining. "After Y/n's accident, I...I bought a house for her mom. She was devastated, thought she'd lost her only child." His voice was laced with past pain, the memories visibly haunting him.

"And you never mentioned this because...?" Kendall prodded, a hint of hurt in her tone.

Harry's response was evasive, his discomfort evident. "It wasn't about publicity or gratitude. And you were away, busy with your modeling." He tried to downplay his act, but the hurt it caused was unmistakable.

The conversation took a sharp turn when Y/n's eyes fell upon the sparkling diamond on Kendall's finger. "Kendall, you're engaged?!" she exclaimed, joy in her voice. But the excitement dissolved as realization dawned. Her eyes darted between Harry and Kendall, the implications clear and heart-wrenching. "Oh... I see," she murmured, her voice a fragile whisper.

The atmosphere turned heavy, the weight of unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings pressing down on them. "Y/n, please, let's talk about this," Harry pleaded, desperation seeping into his voice. But Y/n was retreating, her defenses coming up.

The meal that followed was a symphony of discomfort, punctuated by stilted conversation and Y/n's increasing detachment. Harry recognized her coping mechanism as she ordered more food than she could possibly consume. It was her refuge, her way of finding control in a situation where she felt she had none.

Her breaking point arrived with silent tears streaming down her face as she attempted to keep eating. "Kitten," Harry whispered, an endearment slipping out as he moved to comfort her. But she recoiled, the nickname a reminder of what they had and what seemed lost now.

"I need a to-go tray," she announced abruptly, her voice strained. She stood up, her movements robotic as she packed her food, her exit a clear signal of her emotional state.

"Kitten, please, can't we just talk?" Harry implored, but his plea fell on deaf ears.

With a sad smile, she replied, "That's the thing, Harry. I'm not your kitten anymore, am I?" And with that, she walked away, leaving behind a table laden with uneaten food, unspoken words, and unresolved futures.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #fine line #watermelon sugar #harrys house #manifest

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buc-eebarnes · 2 years

Note

confessions when one character thinks the other is sleeping prompt pls omgggg

cheezy homie i always see u in my notifs and of COURSE i had to go all out on this !!!! sorry if it's late jfsdkljfsdkj jet lag got me conked out as soon as i landed but here it be! (unbeta'd tho 🥲 also trying out a different format 👀)

conversations with myself (about you)

pairing: head engineer mark x the captain

tags: confessions, sleeping, fluff and angst

rated G || 1469 words || read on ao3!

You huff out a sigh of relief. You'd been trying to chase Mark down all day, but his assistants kept telling you that he was in different parts of the base.

You should've known to check his office.

But there he was, slumped over the table with his head resting on top of folded arms. He must've tired himself out from all the projects he was micromanaging. You squint at the laptop to see what he was trying to work on.

It's a progress report. Multiple, actually. You stifle a sigh and look down at his sleeping figure. "Oh Mark, what are we gonna do with you?"

He doesn't stir at your words, which is a testament to how tired he is. You keep your voice low regardless.

There's a folded blanket on the couch, and it smells of him, a weird mixture of pine, oil, and the soap rations they brought from Earth. The couch must be where Mark crashes all the time, which pulls a frown on your lips.

You drape the blanket over him, securing the folds over his shoulders. He's gonna have a crick in his neck in the morning, but he'll thank you later, probably.

He looks so peaceful, sleeping.

You observe him for a while. The constant furrow between his eyebrows is gone. He doesn't frown in his sleep, but his lips are parted, and you can hear the soft puffs of breath he releases. His hair is a bit of a mess, as if he'd run his hands through it multiple times throughout the day, and you find yourself wanting to do the same.

"When was the last time you knocked out like this?" you mutter. Your hand touches a strand that's fallen in front of his eyes before you could stop it.

Reflexes kick in and you jerk back, but he doesn't stir. The only thing that changes is that his brow furrows slightly, but his breaths remain constant, and you relax your arm. You hesitantly take off a glove, and, before you can chicken out, reach forward to tuck the strand of hair behind his ear.

That then motivates you to run your fingers through his thick black locks, and it's as soft as you imagined.

You chuckle lightly, amazed. "Whaddaya know."

You continue the motions, and eventually, the wrinkles between his brows disappear, his features peaceful once more.

You drink your fill admiring him. Wide nose. Strong jaw. Big ears that stick out. Beard's getting to the point where it would break regulation but you're the highest official on this base and what Earth doesn't know won't hurt them, anyway. You look down at the fold of his arms, contoured by muscles. His hands, his fingers, that are so deft, made to create and fix what's destroyed. Why does everyone put you on a pedestal about looks when Mark is literally right here, sleeping soundly and looking sculpted by the gods himself?

"Everyone's blind," you mumble. "I don't hold a candle to you."

The urge to hold his hand is incredibly strong. You could do it—thread your fingers with his until he wakes, blinking blearily up at you with trusting eyes and whispering "Captain?" in a sleepy voice, and you suddenly feel small and unworthy about every single time he followed your lead without question.

And you feel the weight of infinite universes on your shoulders. Not once did you initiate anything more than friendship with Mark with all of the chances you've been given. He was always the ballsier one, more impulsive, more outspoken. As someone who has taken the mantle of a captain of a spaceship, you are an incredibly timid person.

"I wish I had your courage. Your tenacity. Your ability to take charge." You let out a humorless chuckle, and your fingers twitch against his scalp. "Countless universes, countless timelines, and we end up right back here. If only I wasn't a coward. Maybe I could finally ask you out on that date, y’know? To not worry about being a captain. Just someone going on a date with the person they like."

He doesn't respond, but you think you could see his breathing stop for a moment. It's a minute thing, barely there, but it's enough for you to cease running your fingers through his hair.

Did he hear you? Panic wells up in your throat. Oh god. "Mark?"

He doesn't answer.

"Are you awake?" you whisper.

He still doesn't answer. His breathing resumes again, slower this time.

You bite your lip, waiting for ten very long seconds, and you slowly pull your hand away.

You swallow down whatever feelings bubbled up to the surface and leave his office, quiet as a mouse. You lean against the door and close your eyes for a moment, wondering if you'd fucked up a friendship you'd spent these past few months trying to mend.

The trek back to your quarters is long. You get ready for bed and end up staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night.

Was he awake? Did he hear everything? If he heard everything, then he definitely felt you with your hand in his hair.

Sleep takes you, eventually, but the sun is starting to rise when it does.

"—and that concludes today's meeting. Please consult Summers for the minutes if there's an item you have a question about. I'll see you all next week. Dismissed."

The morning following the whole did-Mark-hear-did-he-not-hear dilemma is strangely anticlimactic. Mark greets you with the same gusto he does every other time he sees you, which is, to say the least, minimal. He doesn't give an indication that he heard you last night, or that he was disgusted by any of your actions. Frankly, it seems like he's avoiding talking to you, which is already the norm for your relationship these past few months. You chalk it up to your paranoia and gather up your datapad, shutting off the holographic projection on the table when he says, out of the blue, "I don't think you're a coward."

You jump nearly three feet in the air. The room had mostly cleared out, and any stragglers were busy talking amongst themselves, oblivious to the sheer terror running through their captain's veins.

"Jesus Christ, Mark! You scared me."

He raises an eyebrow. "How? I've been right here this whole time."

"It was unexpected, alright?" you huff, clutching your heart. "Give a person a warning, would ya?"

There's a fond smile on his lips, one that rounds his cheeks and narrows his eyes in a good way. That's when what he said hits you.

"Wait. What did you just say?"

"I said I've been right here—"

"No, no. The first thing."

"What, about me not thinking you were a coward?"

Your jaw drops, and every single cell in your body is screaming to run. He fucking heard you last night. He knows. He knows.

"I don't think you are. I never thought you were. I still stand by my opinion of you from the first time I met you."

You don't know what to do. He tilts his head down so that he can look you in the eye, and strangely enough, you find yourself unable to pull away.

“Captain, I’m going to be very presumptuous for a moment.”

Your mouth mimics that of a goldfish. “E-excuse me?”

“And I will go ahead and repeat myself again. You’re the bravest person I know. I don’t think you’re a coward. And even if you were, I wouldn’t think any less of you.”

You maintain eye contact, but you find yourself at a loss for words.

He steps closer, and there’s no malice or anger on his face. All you see is your head engineer, smiling at you like he always has, but there’s something clearer about it. Open fondness, affection, adoration. He tentatively takes your hand, interlocks your fingers together.

“I think you shouldn’t worry too much about being a captain. And I should probably take my own advice and not worry too much about being a head engineer. It’s a hard thing to adjust to when it’s the only thing you’ve known for so long.” He swallows, looks down at your hands. “But I’d still like to see what it’s like to not do that. Just someone going on a date with the person they like.”

It finally hits you.

You close your mouth, and you feel your features morph into something incredibly hopeful.

“I think I’d like to see that too,” you beam. Then, “Would you like to go on a date with me, Mark?”

The answering grin he gives you is blinding, and your chest is aflutter.

“Yes,” he squeezes your hand, saying your name. It sounds wonderful coming from his lips. “Yes, I would love that.”

buy me a coffee!

#cheezylueezy #head engineer mark x the captain #in space with markiplier x reader #iswm x reader #iswm captain #head engineer mark #iswm fic #iswm fanfiction #head engineer mark x reader #head engineer mark x captain #the captain (iswm)#iswm #in space with markiplier #my fic #captaineer #engineer mark x reader #engineer mark x captain #engineer mark x y/n

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vampcubus · 2 years

Text

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟔 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐊𝟖𝟎𝟎 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : nsfw . sub!connor . dom!afab!reader . collars . leashes . kink discussion . praise kink . puppy play/pet play . implied pegging . facesitting(?) . oral sex . deviant connor . android/human relationship .

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 1.6k+

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 : 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓

You discovered Connor liked being told what to do pretty early on in your relationship, his particular model has a built-in rewards system for completing tasks. Not only did he like you bossing him around, but he liked to be acknowledged for his work. To be told how good he was for you, how he was making you feel.

That’s all fine and good, lots of people had praise kinks, and you loved to praise so it all worked out. And then it began to progress into something more, especially when you adopted the pet name “puppy.”

You saw a sparkle in his eyes the first time you used it playfully, both intrigued and pleased.

You couldn’t say you were shocked to find out that Connor liked to be a pet, it was just too fitting. You supposed it was a bit freeing, not having to be a lead detective, but instead a subservient lap dog.

You were more than happy to indulge in this newfound kink, hardly able to sit still as he expressed his desire to be your pet. He seemed pleasantly surprised at your positive reaction, clueing you in that he may have felt ashamed of that desire, which honestly made him seem so human.

Some online collar shopping together felt like the correct next step. You wanted to get his collar custom-made, after all for many doms and submissives it was a testament to your devotion to one another. You wanted to make sure it was exactly what he wanted — not that he was particularly knowledgeable about it. You just let him scroll on your laptop until he found some examples that caught his eye, and you placed an order with a trusted shop. You’d gotten collars from them from previous relationships and the quality is pretty nice, however, Connor seems especially curious about some of the reference photos with leads attached.

“Would you like me to leash you as well, puppy?” You asked, laying on your stomach, shoulder to shoulder with the android in question as you clacked away at your keyboard. His head tilts your way at the pet name, his brown eyes going half-lidded.

“Please.”

“Best we get a matching leash from them too then, any preferences? Chain? All leather?” You questioned, trying to remember the leads you’ve used in the past. Pet play wasn’t an uncommon kink in your history of partners but it has been a long time.

“What do you like?” He asked that a lot, and you couldn’t blame him. He was still experiencing the world for the first time so to speak, so it was only natural for him to turn to you for guidance on things he didn’t have a basis for comparison for. You adored that he lived to please you, but this purchase was mainly for him. He'd be the one wearing it after all.

You discussed whether the collar would be just for the bedroom or full-time use and he expressed he’d like to wear it as often as possible.

“I’m not just yours when we have sex.” he always had a way of saying the most endearing things with such clarity. It sends your heart into those stupid palpitations every single time. “I want it as a reminder.”

“You’re always mine, collar or no, but I understand you want something to have with you when I can’t be there.” You press a kiss to his nape, counting the freckles from his shoulder down his back with your eyes before your lips follow suit. “My pretty puppy.”

“Mmm.” His brown lashes flutter, chin touching his chest.

“You like that name a lot don’t you?”

“Very much. I know it must be strange to hear.”

“Heh, hardly. It’s quite in character for you actually,” You chuckled against his shoulder blade, kissing down his back as he all but melted into the sheets, a pillow propped underneath his hips. The optimal position for taking your strap, but you weren’t quite there yet. The harness sits on the nightstand. You plan to make sure he’s gotten his full treatment before you go sticking things in— as much as you’re sure he wouldn’t complain.

A smile tugs at your lips at the memory, but you remember that he’s still awaiting your reply.

“I won’t be the one wearing it, but the chain sounds nice when it jingles.” It’s an odd fascination in retrospect, but you always found it cute when partners wore bells or jingly things while you fucked them into oblivion.

“Chain then.”

“Chain it is. Have you decided on a color yet?” You query as you scroll through the dropdown menu for the dyes they offer for the leather.

“Depends on what color you’d think look best around my neck,” he whispers into your ear and your face erupts into flames, not expecting his lips to be right next to your ear.

In the end you decide on a dark blue leather with the cutest sapphire studs and a circular ring to easily attach a leash to. As you expected Connor isn’t necessarily picky with sparkles and dangles, he cares much more about the meaning behind it. He still gets a little teary-eyed when it finally ships and he can’t help but wiggle in place as you put it on him for the very first time. It fits perfectly, not too loose, not too tight. His face is full of blue blood by the time you get it fastened and step away.

“Looks so good on you, knew the blue was a good choice. C’mere,” you purred, not able to resist pulling him in for a kiss by the collar and he moans into your mouth.

You could say you were prepared for what that night might hold, but truly you had no idea what you were walking into. You’d never seen Connor so undone, he’s on his knees nudging your legs apart before you can process what’s happening. You have to pull him back by the hair to correct him, and you can hardly even be stern with him when you see the dazed expression he’s wearing. His deep brown eyes are big and you can just barely make out the sliver of his iris being eclipsed by his pupils. Cyberlife didn’t cut corners with his model, down to the specks of amber and the slightest dilation of his pupils as they take in your pleased expression. Always analyzing, always observing.

“I think you need that leash already, tsk. I just got you that new toy and you thank me by trying to get a taste without asking? Maybe I’m too easy on you,” you sighed, feigning disappointment that has him snapping back to reality, head dropping into your lap.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I—“

“Puppies don’t talk do they?” You interrupt, eyes glimmering as he tilts his head back up to meet your gaze, mouth agape.

You hoped you weren’t taking this too far, sure you’d discussed the kink and he seemed to like being treated like a puppy, but this was further than the occasional nickname. You can’t help but wish you had ordered one of those cute tail plugs and a matching set of floppy ears for him to wear alongside his collar, the stones reflecting the dimmed lights overhead as you search his eyes.

He shakes his head no. No, they don’t talk. His tongue and obedience would spell out his apology.

The leash clicks into place on the collar, cold in your hand as you lean back and tug him along with you by the chain, his face chasing yours. His plush lips press against yours desperately, tongue licking into your mouth, his swollen cock rutting into your thigh. You wrap the chain around your fist several times to reel him in close, keeping his head still as you press wet kisses over his face and down his neck. Connor’s on his back before his processors can assess what’s happening, lagging behind as your lips and teeth on his synthetic skin scramble his code and overwhelm his thoughts.

It’s easy to mount his hips, giving him just enough slack for you to lean back and roll your hips onto his, trapping his flushed blue cock between your heat and his stomach. He bucks helplessly, groaning deep in his chest as his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his freckled throat.

He whimpers when instead of letting him slip inside you, you turn around to face his length as you lower yourself over his face. Connor immediately gets to work, lurching forward enthusiastically to lathe over your sex and lap at your slick. Connor was obsessed with oral, often spending hours and hours content to lap and suck at you until you’re so overstimulated you have to pry him from you. You can’t help but shiver and pant as he full-on moans against your pussy at the taste of you, the sensors on his tongue overwhelmed with data as you grind yourself back on his face.

He cutely humps the air as he does so, and you huskily chuckle at the attempt to find friction.

“Do a good job and I might let you cum,” you offered, tongue tracing his blue head before your mouth swallowed him whole. His thighs shake with the effort to not press his hips upwards and his tongue stutters within you, even his fingers twitch and the influx of stimuli. Your cunt on his tongue, the collar around his neck, your throat around his cock, it’s too much!

Connor isn’t built for this sort of thing, so his system is easily overwhelmed by sex. But you’ve seen him push past such blockages before in order to please you. Let’s see how far you can push him before he starts barking for you.

“You’re such a good boy, hah… always so hungry for me.” And with your slurred praise, Connor finds the strength to double his efforts, eyes half-mast as he slurps and laps at you like the obedient puppy he is.

#‧₊🦇˚⊹ ashi writes #kinktober 2021 #kinktober #n/sfw #connor dbh x reader #dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh x reader #female reader #fem!reader #sub connor

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clouds-of-wings · 26 days

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Ok, art time: I spilled tea on my laptop and while mopping it up with the sleeve of my hoodie I accidentally created this folder and renamed it. I call this work of art "Tea Folder". I'm auctioning it off starting at 2000$.

Please refrain from saying you "could have done this". You didn't! This is my genius creative expression! Certainly the fact that I am not a famous artist won't impact your opinion of my art in any meaningful way?

This is a poem, by the way, I simply avoided the unnecessary formal aspects that hindered traditional poets from fully expressing themselves. Also it's completely unique! One of a kind!

And it's super deep because it's a testament to such a unique moment in time. It's so simple, yet it says so much. It looks like a keyboard smash, which usually expresses intense emotions, yet, paradoxically, here it expresses no emotion at all, challenging the viewer to examine how random combinations of letters make them feel. Really it's a subversion of the norms of internet culture. If a random accident can produce a keyboard smash, then what does language even mean? Wow I'm so deep. You wouldn't have seen this coming, would you? No, you didn't think of that. I did.

---

c[LOUD]s of w[INK]s is a mixed media artist based in Germany. She is interested in the intersections between modern technology and everyday life. Her challenging and provocative art frequently explores novel ways to conceptualize digital spaces. She was listed in "40 daftest female artists under 40" and her work has been exhibited by all of her wealthy friends. She took a lot of social anthropology classes in college and knows which buzzwords to use to impress upper middle class airheads who think they're sophisticated.

#art stuff #my finest work to date #ok i found this in my drafts and i'm feeling spicy so here it is

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goldenempyrean · 9 months

Text

Spinning Hearts

REQUEST FROM AO3: Lena is high on cold medicine, Kara must deal with it. Bonus if Kara confesses she has feelings for Lena

〚 Notes - This was fun to write, I thought the idea was so cute, not sure if this needs a warning but she is high as fuck in this so just keep that in mind. 〛

〚 Pairing - Supercorp 〛

〚 Summary - In a medicated haze, Lena Luthor's orderly world spins out of control, leading to a candid confession of love from both her and her best friend. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1570 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

╚════════ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ════════╝

Lena Luthor sat at her sleek, glass-topped desk in her high-rise office, the soft glow of National City spreading out beyond the panoramic windows. Files and plans were scattered haphazardly across the surface, and the soft hum of her laptop was accompanied by the rhythmic creak of her leather chair as she spun around in it, her head lolling back with a dazed expression on her face. Each spin of her chair left her feeling more disoriented, yet she couldn't help but revel in the sensation of weightlessness it brought.

The words on her screen seemed to blur together, and her fingers stumbled over the keyboard. Her normally pristine workspace was now adorned with crumpled tissues and scattered papers, a testament to her futile attempts to maintain order. Maybe she would’ve been more productive if it hadn’t been for the empty bottle of Dayquil sitting on its side. Her logic had been that if she wanted to work for the whole day, without having to take a break that she should just take the overall dosage for one day, ignoring the 4-hour break in-between dosages that she was meant to take and in turn was completely and utterly out of it.

Lena's assistant, Jess, stood in the doorway, her eyebrows raised as she took in the scene before her. She had seen Lena in many states—focused, determined, even furious—but this was an entirely new level of... well, something. She cleared her throat, trying not to laugh at the sight of her usually composed and serious boss acting like a child on a merry-go-round.

“Excuse me, M-Ms Luthor?” Jess stammered, her voice carrying a mix of concern and amusement before catching sight of the empty bottle of medicine, “Oh, Jesus how much of this did you take?” She asked, shaking her head in disapproval before picking up the bottle and numerous crumpled tissues littering her desk to throw in the trash.

"Oh, h-hi there," Lena mumbled, her voice sounding dreamy and distant. She held onto the edge of the desk as if to steady herself, her chair still twirling slightly beneath her. "Just trying to... recalibrate the gravitational algorithms, you know. Multitasking."

Jess suppressed another chuckle, wondering if she should just call it a day and make sure Lena got home safely. But then she remembered something important—the voice on the other end of Lena's frequent late-night phone calls. Jess reached for her phone and dialled a familiar number.

The phone only had to ring once before Kara’s cheery voice rang down the phone, “Hi Jess, it’s not like you to call me. How are you?” She asked happily, blissfully unaware.

“Hey Kara, I’m okay, I'm not calling for me.” Jess began, keeping her eyes trained on the Luthor slowly gliding in her chair as it rolled along the smooth floor, “It’s Lena.”

“Lena? What’s wrong with Lena? What’s going on?” The shift in her voice was obvious at the mention of her best friend's name.

“Well, she caught that bug going around which would’ve been fine in itself, she can handle herself – usually.” She trailed off, trying to stifle a giggle at the sight of her boss slowly tapping her pinkie fingers together, “For some god known reason, she decided to take way too much medicine, she’s really out of it right now, and I mean really.”

"Will do," Jess replied, feeling relieved that Kara was on her way. She hung up and turned her attention back to Lena, who’d given up on spinning and had been leaning back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling.

"Lena, sweetie," Jess said gently, moving closer to the spinning spectacle, "Kara's on her way. She'll help you get through this."

Lena's unfocused gaze shifted to Jess, and she grinned dopily. "Jess, did you know that if you rearrange the letters in 'gravitational,' you can spell 'I love gala invitation'?" She paused, her expression turning more serious. "But I don't love galas. I love... Kara."

Jess couldn't help but smile at Lena's loopy confession. "I know you do. And she's coming to make sure you're okay."

Of course, Kara used her super-speed to get there. She couldn’t help but be worried. Lena was the most put-together person she knew beside Alex and the idea of her like this made her head dizzy was concern.

There was a sound of a faint swoosh, and before they knew it, Kara was opening the door the office and letting herself inside. As she took in the scene before her, Kara couldn't help the concerned smile that tugged at her lips as she approached Jess, who was standing near Lena's twirling chair.

"Thank you so much for calling me, Jess," Kara said earnestly, her voice carrying genuine gratitude. "How is she doing?"

Jess returned her smile, her own relief evident. "You're welcome, she's... well, you can see for yourself."

Lena's chair had slowed down, and she was now attempting to stand, albeit a bit wobbly and her head perked up at the sound of Kara's voice, and she sneezed unexpectedly, her body jerking forward with the force of it. A series of small, adorable sneezes followed, and Lena blinked owlishly at Kara.

“Bless you.” The blonde murmured, wandering over to the tissue box sat at the other side of the room and taking it back to offer out which the CEO accepted with a small innocent smile

Gently, Kara reached out to place a hand on Lena's forehead, checking her temperature, "Hmm, I think someone might be running a fever."

Lena giggled softly, leaning into Kara's touch, “Just a tad.” She mumbled in agreement before mirroring the Kyrptonian’s action and putting her own hand to the blonde’s forehead, “It’s ‘cause you’re hot.”

Kara's cheeks flushed slightly at Lena's words. She was used to Lena's honesty by now, but the way her feelings were coming out in her current state was both endearing and surprising. "Come on, you." Kara said softly, her voice gentle and reassuring. "We’re gonna go back to my apartment, okay? I can take care of you there." She began guiding Lena towards the door, her super-strength easily supporting the slightly wobbly CEO.

Lena leaned into Kara's touch, her steps unsteady, "Mmm, you're my hero y’know.”

Kara smiled, her heart swelling at the affectionate words. "And you're mine.” She led her out of the office and into the hallway, where Jess gave them a knowing smile and a subtle thumbs-up to which the Luthor saw and returned the gesture in an exaggerated manner before almost tripping, leading Kara to practically carry her the rest of the way.

It didn’t take long for the pair to arrive at Kara's apartment, the Kryptonian gently settled Lena onto the couch, ensuring she was comfortable with a soft blanket before disappearing briefly into the kitchen, returning with a glass of water and a damn cloth. She sat down beside Lena, helping her drink before placing the cool cloth over her forehead.

"Kara, you have the softest couch in the world," Lena mumbled, her words slightly slurred as she yawned and leaned into her.

Kara chuckled softly as she tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "Just for you."

Lena reached out and cupped Kara's cheek, her touch warm and tender. "You're amazing, you know that? Always taking care of me."

Lena's tired eyes seemed to shine even in her groggy state as Kara smiled softly. "I've been meaning to tell you something, Lena." She spoke up, finally working up the courage to say what she would been wanting to for weeks, her voice a mixture of sincerity and nervousness. Now might’ve not been the best time but she just couldn’t wait any longer.

Lena sniffled as she looked up at Kara, a curious expression on her face, "What is it?”

Kara paused for a second, and that second seemed to last for hours before she took a deep breath, her heart beating slightly faster before she worked up the courage to admit, "I love you, Lena. I've loved you for a while now, and I can't keep ignoring it any longer.”

Lena blinked, her hazel eyes widening as if trying to process the weight of Kara's confession. A soft smile tugged at her the corners of her lips as she lightly ran her thumb over Kara's blushed cheek, her medicine-high beginning to fade a little as she managed to stay coherent enough to say, "Kara, you have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words from you, I’ve been waiting so long."

She couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Kara's heart seemingly skipped a beat, and she leaned into the Luthor’s touch, a mixture of relief and joy flooding over her. "You mean…?" She trailed off, letting the other fill in the blank.

Lena nodded, her smile growing more radiant as she took the blonde’s soft hand in her own, "Yes, Kara Danvers, I love you too. More than I ever thought was possible."

In that moment, the rest of the ongoing world seemed to fade away into the background, leaving just the two of them on the sofa. Kara leaned in closer, her lips gently meeting Lena's in a tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the emotions they had kept hidden for far too long – love, longing, and the promise of something beautiful.

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#supercorp #lena luthor x kara danvers #kara danvers x lena luthor #lena luthor #supergirl #kara danvers #sickfic #fluff #whump #comfort #lena luthor x kara zor el #supergirl sickfic #lena luthor sickfic #fever

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greenhorn-art · 9 months

Text

Castles in the Sky by Shadaras @shadaras

Fandom: 全职高手 | The King's Avatar

Rating: General Audiences

Category: Gen

Relationships: Chu Yunxiu/Ye Xiu

Words: 36 613

Here are two truths and a lie: Chu Yunxiu is Misty Rain’s captain. Chu Yunxiu is dating Ye Qiu. Chu Yunxiu is happy to have the Shu twins on her team. Of course, a lie can become true if you believe in it enough… (A Chu Yunxiu character study.)

About the book:

FONTS: Alegreya [Google Fonts], Raleway [Google Fonts], Catchy Mager [purchased from MyFonts], Segoe UI Emoji

IMAGES: Clouds from Rawpixel (ID: 9581058); Misty Rain logo from The King's Avatar Wiki (stretched slightly horizontally and traced)

MATERIALS: Domtar Earthchoice multipurpose copy paper, cream, 11"x17" cut in half to form short-grained letter size paper; Recollections' Gilded Ink paper pad; Cialux bookcloth, black; heat transfer foil, gold; 2mm binder board; waxed linen thread, 30/3 size; wheat paste (this time I used 1:4 flour to water ratio, and heated until conditioner-like consistency. An improvement over last attempt.)

PROGRAMS USED: typeset in LibreOffice Writer; title page mocked-up in Procreate then designed in GIMP; imposed with Renegade's Community Imposer.

I spied this fic towards the top of the kudos and kept it in the back of my mind while trawling for more HanYe fics. Thought, well it's gotta be there for a reason so should be good! ooh look aroace queerplatonic relationship 👀👀 Definitely bumping up to top of Read Next!

The amazing thing I've found about The King's Avatar is that the CP possibilities are endless! The characters are both friends and rivals, there's respect and history and it all mixes and clashes creating more possibilities and chemistries than I've ever seen in a fandom before. The fact that AllYe is so popular (and not just in an NSFW way) is testament to it, and also, in part, what drew me to this fic. Asexual representation is scant, aromantic even more so — especially in fandom (in my experience of it at least).

If I were to add a tag to describe Castles in the Sky it would be 'heartwarming'. Shadaras' writing and characterization is wonderful, and I really enjoyed the both the story and the aroace representation. They took a character with relatively little content (in comparison to others in fandom. I have not read the source material) and gave her a voice, dreams, and made me really care about her. I was touched, and after finishing it I jumped to my laptop and set about turning it into a physical book.

So, onto the details.

The thing that stuck out and stayed with me the most about the story was the aroace aspect (Shadaras fed my smol aroace heart so well), so that's what I focused on design-wise.

The title page features a large black ring, referencing the black ring worn usually on the middle finger of the right hand as a symbol of asexuality. The colours of the asexual pride flag are also represented: the text is purple; the clouds colour the page in shades of white and grey; and the ring is black. For the endpapers/cover backing I chose paper that mixes green, purple, and blue: green for the aromantic pride flag; purple for the ace. I also found the green-blue mix of colours to be rather fitting, inspired by the description of Misty Rain's HQ with the "cool blues and greens of Misty Rain's walls" (chapter 5: Transformations). While I personally find CYX's relationship with YX significant, her relationship with her team is just as important.

When choosing which cover each endpaper goes on, I thought about how the story begins with CYX and YX's relationship, and about how after it's established we see her team and it's future at the forefront of her mind. Following that line of thought I put the paper with more purple on the front cover (purple for aroace CYX), and the more green-blue paper on the back (Misty Rain's colours).

The process of foiling the cover took me 3 hours (the length of the movie RRR — good movie actually, would recommend. Which is surprising because I usually find Oscar movies rather boring). The foiling was done with a heat pen. Three hours is not the norm: first, I had the foil backwards and foiled my template instead of the cover; then, my power banks kept dying, so I had to take charging breaks, and I also went over everything again just to make sure that I didn't miss a spot; and of course I was also watching a movie while working, so that ate up some time too.

I had initially planned to bind it as a casebound book, but I didn't have enough time to do it (I was about to go on vacation and wanted to read the book in my downtime). Instead, I did a Coptic binding. The covers were pulled from the press and foiled leaving me 5 hours of sleep to spare.

I went simple on the outer covers to contrast the fun paper on the inside of the covers. I used black Cialux bookcloth instead of my green-blue 'petrol' Iris bookcloth for the contrast, and because it picks up the black from the title page. The text foiled onto the cover is a simple sans serif (Raleway, the same as used inside), and the image is Misty Rain's logo from the donghua. (Image came from The King's Avatar Wiki. It was stretched slightly horizontally because it seemed a bit squished compared to other versions seen on Google, and then traced). Using the colourful paper inside was a practical choice: I couldn't get two covers out of one sheet of paper, but one sheet would do the inner covers with some material leftover.

The sewing and construction of the book was done while camping — I'd packed up what I needed and brought it with me: the signatures (folded and punched); the finished covers; thread; a needle; and an awl. As for the actual sewing, it's supposed to be Coptic but don't look too closely. This was the second time I've tried Coptic stitching and I didn't have any instructions with me. (My first Coptic binding was a thin 2-signature notebook I did a few weeks ago. It was for taking notes at the event I was at, Pennsic War 50).

Book is primarily set in Alegreya. It's currently my favourite body font, and has a matching sans serif family. The fonts used in the title page are Raleway and Catchy Mager. Raleway is also used for titles, headings, etc. Segoe UI Emoji was used for any emojis that cropped up throughout the text (Pretty sure they're the same emojis as seen while reading on my phone and laptop). Catchy Mager was purchased from MyFont. (The first and only font I have ever bought, but I saw it used in a fic's title art and fell in love.)

Lastly, onto The Comedy of Errors, or: When-You-Finally-See-All-the-Typos-and-Mistakes-Once-You're-Done-and-Can-Only-Laugh-While-You-Cry-Inside.

Appendix's footer says 'Epilogue', so I must have missed something with the paragraph style for the Appendix heading.

Forgot about using Segoe UI Emoji font and did not include it in the About the Book.

Missed fixing the archive info for gnomen in the Author's Notes — the copy/paste of metadata into Notebook to remove formatting also removed the commas and spaces between tags.

Because I hadn't planned cover materials/design before printing, there isn't a section for that in the About the Book. Also the reason why the artwork on the cover is not credited in it, as I had not planned to use it.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #Castles in the Sky #Shadaras #qzgs #tka #the king's avatar #hopefully the video works.#first my computer cant view videos taken on my phone. then adding the video to the post from my phone removed allll the text in the post #and it's quality also went down :/#almost feels like just trying to POST this should be on my Comedy of Errors section lol #ALSO #so much rambling in this post because i had more downtime than planned and i reread it all and highlighted stuff and was FULL OF FEELS #sidenote: it was a bit windy out when i filmed that so its nice that the pages weren't flipping in the wind! (that wasn't the 1st take lmao

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mania-sama · 2 months

Note

Random ask, who are your favorite romantic relationship's couples in any media, like anime/manga, tv series, books, etc (can be canon or non-canon)? Feel free if you want to write the reasons or not of why you love them....

Thank you so much for sending in an ask! I would love to answer this question! I didn't go through every fandom I've been in, though I went through quite a few!!! Usually, there is only one ship I really love in a fandom that ends up being my favorite, but I like/love plenty of ships and don't limit myself to just one ship. I will say that when it comes to engaging with fandom and fanfiction, I tend to actually prefer platonic relationships, centered on found family and blood-related family than anything else.

Bungou Stray Dogs -> Shin Soukoku (Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi). I think most of this comes from the way they are quite literally yin and yang (my favorite symbol of all time) in almost every aspect. I firmly believe Asagiri is beating us over the head with a mallet saying "Look! Look what I did! Please look!" I'm under no impression that they will be canon, but BEAST gives me the hope that they can at least become friends, and that's testament enough to the development they go through. There is just so much there. I'm not an enemies to lovers person, but for them, I make the exception. There are so many parallels to draw between them, so much to look at and really dig into. I'm not delusional enough to say they wouldn't be toxic (all of the BSD ships except for, like, RanPoe, are toxic let's be real), but I am lenient enough to say that they can be good to each other in fanfics and decent friends in canon. Also, this applies to their BEAST counterparts, too. BEAST makes them better.

Jujutsu Kaisen -> ItaFushi (Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji). There is a sort of trend I have with shipping, I think. I tend to like the second most popular ship, usually the younger generation of the most popular ship, which is arguably a form of torture in and of itself. JJK is not as bad as the BSD fandom is about the popularity difference, but it's still painful. Anyway, I think my love for this ship stems from the fact that Megumi has a big fat crush on Itadori and I will accept, under no circumstances, any other interpretations of his relationship with Itadori. Everything from the SatoSugu parallels (who are one handhold away from being canon let's be real), to their whole shtick being to save each other (physically and mentally), to Megumi literally describing Itadori as his type of person. Gender neutral. Even though it is so incredibly easy to use gendered terms in Japanese as it is in English. I feel like Gege is doing this on purpose because there is just no way he sees this as normal friend stuff. Recent chapters got me in a chokehold. I am SCARED. Besides all this, I think they just work very well together. They are also horribly tragic. Perfect combination.

Genshin Impact -> Xiaother (Aether/Xiao). I debated pretty heavily with myself here on what my true favorite is. I came to this conclusion mainly for one reason: Xiao. I love Aether, but I love Xiao. He is my favorite character, right next to Razor, so obviously he carries this ship. I also think that, of all of the implied relationships Genshin has supplied in plenty, Xiaother has had the most development. Every scene with them is better than the last, and the way that they make each other better is something I adore. And as for the ship being specifically Aether and not Lumine or nonspecific, it's because I chose Aether, so I'm more accustomed to using him as the traveler vessel rather than Lumine, but I'm honestly fine with either.

Identity V -> Elisop (Aesop Carl | Embalmer/Eli Clark | Seer). I haven't played this game in a hot minute for storage and laptop reasons, and I'm also not updated with the lore (nor was I entirely familiar with it from the beginning, outside of the MAIN main lore). But this ship and game were a huge part of my personal development, I think, and I do want to return to playing it in an honest effort eventually (I WANT MY ROBBIE RANK BACK). I think I perceive it differently than other people do, mainly because people oscillate between two sides of the Aesop Carl characterization spectrum. But there is something really fun in the idea that Eli, with his ability to see the future, thinks that he can somehow "fix" Aesop, under the impression that his and Getrude's relationship will never mend. And Aesop, who sees Eli and feels real love for the first time, finds that he doesn't know if he wants to kill and embalm Eli, or if he wants to indulge in this feeling called love. Toxic, probably. Their color schemes also match very well together (which is actually what led me to ship them in the first place, before fandom influence), and they are extremely compatible gameplay-wise.

Haikyuu -> IwaOi (Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru). If you told me two or so years ago that this was my favorite Haikyuu ship, I would have LAUGHED IN YOUR FACE. I hated Oikawa and didn't care much about Seijou. But then. But then. I went through a like. Month-long Haikyuu revival not too long ago and only read IwaOi fics because I came to this revelation. Oikawa is really goddamn relatable. I think we are all, in a sense, Oikawa, at one point or another. He is THE teenager. He is someone you can project every single one of your problems onto because his struggles with being untalented and unworthy are interchangeable with pretty much any self-worth conflict: internalized homophobia, eating disorders, socializing, etc. Iwaizumi can also provide these internal debates, but in a context with Oikawa makes it even better. Does Oikawa carry this ship for me? Yes. I don't care what you think I'm not here to defend myself.

Voltron: Legendary Defenders -> Klance (Keith Kogane/Lance McClain). Do NOT talk to me. They have ruined my life in pretty much every aspect. Also an exception to the not shipping thing because they are kinda the whole reason I even watched this show past season... three probably. I don't even wanna talk about them anymore because it'll just upset me. Just know that as far as the Sheith vs Klance debate goes, Sheithers are wrong for that after Keith called Shiro his brother. There. I added my fuel to the ever-burning garbage fire that is Voltron shipping. I may talk about Klance again in the future but for now I wanna leave my thoughts off here.

Merlin BBC -> Merthur (Arthur Pendragon/Merlin). Thank you Merthur fandom for teaching me what a good fic is supposed to taste like. They are kind of the epitome of the ships I tend to gravitate to: TRAGIC. The ending of Merlin is traumatizing and the fact that all of the cast pretty shipped it (as well as you can see the faint mouthing of the words "I love you" in the final death scene) is like. The first true healthy immersion into a ship I've ever had. I never obsessed over them too hard, I think, but Merlin is still my favorite live-action show, and Merthur is always well and true to my heart. They also got me introduced to the master/servant trope in terms of medieval times, and I had a very long affinity for it in fanfiction. I don't like it as much anymore, but I look upon that time with happiness rather than the usual slight embarrassment.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power -> Catradora (Adora/Catra). I also make an exception for enemies to lovers for them because they even added that extra-friendly step of friends to enemies to lovers. Genuinely, no show surprised me as much as She-Ra did. Shout out She-Ra for giving me the worst envy I've ever felt in my life. I want to rock a suit as well as Catra did in that one scene. Anyway, I loved their development. I know some people criticize it for being rushed towards the end, but I like the way they were able to forgive Catra so easily. They understood what it meant to be used and manipulated, what it meant to be unable to fight against oppressive forces. People are mad at compassion, even though that's the literal whole point of She-Ra. Whatever. They could never make me hate you Catradora.

Percy Jackson (all book series) -> Percabeth (Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson). The blueprint. That's it. That's all you gotta know. I don't read fics about them because there is nothing to improve upon. One of the best written series and best written romances of all time. It was basically everything Avatar: The Last Airbender failed to do with Kataang (sorry for ragging on them for a second but that's the only thing I didn't like about ATLA; the romances) failed to accomplish, with all the same in-depth and wonderful characters. Like, they are everything I aspire to have in a relationship. The way they are simply meant for each other and aren't rushed, but are always implied to have that cutesy young crushes until they finally got together. I love them. Ugh. Uncle Rick you win again.

Anyway, these were some of my favorite ships of all time!! Sorry, I blabbered a lot. Probably listed more ships than you meant to but I take whatever opportunity I can to talk about things I enjoy IN DEPTH. There were also a lot of M/M romances, which, I swear to God, just happened out that way. I love plenty of F/F and F/M relationships, they just rarely end up as my top favorite. DO NOT accuse me of anything because I WILL NOT hear it.

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rylem33 · 3 months

Text

Life Imitating Art

Isabella’s fingers paused over the keys of her laptop, a gesture unnoticed amidst the soft clicking that filled the corporate office. A glance at the clock told her it was nearly time to head home, yet her report was only half-finished. She exhaled, a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding back. Overwhelmed, she packed up her work and headed home.

The chime of the elevator announced her arrival home. Joe was already in the kitchen, his laptop open. He greeted her with a warm smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were heavy with the weight of his own workday.

She found the envelope as she shuffled through the mail, standing out amid bills and catalogs. The gold embossing caught the light, and she turned it over in her hands, feeling the weight of the paper.

“What’s this?” Isabella asked aloud, more to herself than Joe.

“Looks fancy. Someone still believes in snail mail, huh?” Joe’s voice broke through her curiosity, pulling her attention momentarily.

The name on the envelope sent a jolt through her—Eric. With fingers that suddenly felt numb, Isabella slid a nail under the sealed flap and opened it to reveal a hand-written invitation. Eric’s script was as flamboyant as ever, each loop and swirl a testament to his personality.

“He’s curated an art exhibit. This is an invite for a private viewing,” she said, her voice a whisper of disbelief.

Joe’s response was a pause, a silence that spoke volumes before he finally said, “Eric? Your ex Eric?”

“Yes.” The confirmation felt like stepping into a long-abandoned room, dust swirling at the disturbance.

Eric… The embodiment of my artistic dreams, yet as unreliable as a painter’s light. Choosing Joe, the practical over the flamboyant, stability over a love that was as vibrant and unpredictable as Eric’s art.

“You’re not actually considering going, are you?” There was a caution in Joe’s tone, a protective edge that was both endearing and slightly misplaced.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, tracing the gold leaf with her thumb. “It’s been so long since I’ve been to a gallery. And it’s Eric, he always had an eye for beauty.”

Can I really just step back into that world? Even for one night?

“Bella, I support your art, but this guy… he’s from your past. And you said yourself, you left that world behind,” Joe said, closing his laptop with a soft click that somehow echoed louder in her ears.

“I did. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss it. This could be… a glimpse back into that world,” Isabella replied, her heart aching for the scent of oil paints and the hush of a gallery.

Would it be so wrong to go?

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Joe said, his concern clear.

“I won’t, I promise. But this is something I feel I need to do. And I’d love for you to come with me,” Isabella said, reaching across the marble countertop to cover his hand with hers.

He doesn’t understand. How could he? He’s never felt the passion of art call to him.

“Okay, we’ll go. But the moment it feels off, we’re out of there, agreed?” Joe’s voice was firm, his decision made in the name of support, not understanding.

“Agreed. Thank you, Joe,” she said with a smile that was both grateful and tinged with a sadness he didn’t see.

As she looked down at the invitation again, the gold lettering seemed to dance before her eyes, a promise of a world she had once loved with every fiber of her being.

This is my chance. A chance to reconnect with the person I once was, if only for an evening.

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

The gallery was nestled in an alcove of the city that Isabella hadn’t visited in years. As their Uber pulled away, leaving them on the cobblestone path leading to the entrance, she couldn’t help but feel the flutter of anticipation mingled with an undercurrent of trepidation.

The doors to the gallery were propped open, inviting them into a warmly lit foyer that was conspicuously silent. The usual murmur of cultured conversations and soft footfalls on polished wood floors was absent. Isabella glanced at Joe, her hand finding his as they stepped inside.

“Strange, isn’t it? No one else is here,” Joe murmured, looking around the empty space.

Isabella squeezed his hand. Art always speaks more intimately in the quiet, she thought.

Their footsteps echoed in the hollowness as they moved towards the main exhibit hall. The grand doorway was flanked by two sculptures that seemed to watch them enter. Isabella’s eyes were drawn to the paintings that adorned the walls, each illuminated by its own dedicated light.

Eric emerged from the shadows, as if he was a part of the art itself, his charismatic smile bright and unwavering. He was dressed impeccably, his style unchanged from the flamboyant artist she remembered.

“Isabella, Joe, welcome,” Eric greeted, his arms open as if to embrace the room. “I’m thrilled you could make it.”

“Eric,” Isabella replied, her voice steady despite the quickening of her heart. He looks the same, the past painted on a present canvas.

Joe’s handshake with Eric was polite but reserved, the air between them charged with an unspoken tension.

“I wanted to give you a personal tour before the masses descend tomorrow,” Eric explained. “Consider it a VIP preview.”

“Thank you,” Joe said, though his eyes held a note of skepticism as he surveyed their surroundings.

Eric turned and gestured towards a small bar set up in the corner. “Drinks before art? I remember a certain someone had a preference for elderflower tonic,” he said, his gaze lingering on Isabella with an intimacy that belied the years apart.

Isabella’s cheeks warmed at the mention of her old favorite. He remembers.

“Still her favorite,” Joe commented, though his voice carried a hint of wariness.

Eric prepared two drinks, handing one to Isabella—a clear, lightly effervescent liquid with a twist of lemon—and the other to Joe, a darker, amber-colored concoction.

“To art and old friends,” Eric toasted, raising his glass.

Isabella took a sip, the familiar floral dancing on her tongue. Joe took a more cautious drink, his eyes never leaving Eric.

He’s trying so hard to be comfortable with this, Isabella noted, watching Joe. But Eric’s pushing things. I’ll need to keep an eye out for him.

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

Isabella stood before the first painting, a portrait of a woman whose mysterious gaze seemed to pierce through the canvas, her features composed in an expression of serene confidence. The woman in the painting bore an uncanny resemblance to the Isabella that Joe had always known, but as Isabella studied the portrait, her vision began to swim, the edges of the room blurring into nonexistence.

What’s happening to me? Isabella thought, her heart pounding as a sensation she couldn’t quite describe began to take hold. It was as if the air around her was charged with electricity, buzzing against her skin in a way that was both unsettling and exhilarating.

Joe watched, a frown creasing his brow as Isabella’s auburn locks darkened before his eyes, her freckles fading into the newfound olive complexion of her skin. Her features shifted subtly, realigning themselves to match the elegance of the woman in the painting. It wasn’t painful to watch; if anything, there was a grace to the transformation, an artistry that was as beautiful as it was impossible.

“Isabella?” Joe’s voice was tinged with concern, his confusion palpable as he reached out to her. “Are you alright?”

But the Isabella who turned to face him was not quite the woman he had entered the gallery with. Her eyes, now a deeper shade, held a glint of the same poise and confidence that the woman in the painting possessed. Her smile was knowing, cryptic, as if she shared a secret with the painted figure before her.

“Yes, I’m more than alright,” she replied, her voice carrying a new, mesmeric quality. “I feel… alive. As if I’m seeing the world with new eyes, feeling it with a new heart.”

Isabella’s transformation was not merely physical; it infused her with a persona that seemed both familiar and exotic to Joe. She leaned closer to him, her eyes locked onto his with an intensity that he had never seen before. Her body language was fluid and confident, a striking contrast to her usual reserved demeanor.

“Joe,” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. “Do you see the beauty? It’s all around us, inside us. I feel like the very air in this gallery is charged with it, and it’s exhilarating.”

Her hand traced the line of Joe’s jaw, a touch that was both tender and provocative. She moved with a newfound grace, her every gesture a dance that pulled him into the rhythm.

It was alluring, the way she now moved with such self-assuredness, the way her gaze invited him to partake in the silent dialogue between her and the art.

But as much as he was drawn to this version of his wife, it unsettled him. “Bella, what’s gotten into you?” Joe asked, his voice a mixture of awe and anxiety. “You’re acting differently.”

Isabella laughed, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the gallery halls. “Isn’t change the very essence of life, Joe? We’re here to experience, to feel, to transform.”

She twirled away from him then, her movements echoing the fluid lines of the paintings that hung on the walls. When she returned to his side, her hand found his, and she pulled him toward the next artwork with a playful tug.

“Come with me,” she urged.

Joe’s concern spiked as he realized the implications of Isabella’s transformation. This was more than just an unusual display of confidence; it was as if she had become a different person entirely. The art had a hold on her, and Joe needed answers. He needed to find Eric.

“Stay here,” he instructed Isabella, trying to maintain a semblance of calm. “I need to speak with Eric about… about the exhibit.”

Isabella’s only response was a serene smile, her attention already drifting back to the paintings as if the conversation had been nothing more than a gentle ripple in the pool of her new reality.

Joe turned away and began to retrace their steps, his shoes echoing ominously in the suddenly stifling silence of the gallery. The foyer, which had been their point of entry, now seemed far more distant than mere geography could account for.

Reaching the grand entrance, he grasped the handle and pulled. The door didn’t budge—an unyielding barrier that refused to grant passage. Panic fluttered in his chest as he tried again, his efforts met with the same immovable resistance.

“Eric!” Joe’s voice rose in a mixture of frustration and alarm. “Eric, we need to get out of here!”

But the gallery remained silent, save for the soft hum of the lights that cast each painting in a golden hue. There was no sign of Eric, no indication that he had ever been there apart from the lingering essence of his presence.

Realization settled in, cold and unwelcome. They were locked in, with the only way out being to move forward, through the gallery, past the rows of paintings that seemed to watch him with knowing eyes.

“We can’t leave the way we came,” Joe called, a hint of urgency threading through his words. “We have to keep going forward.”

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This is not the end of this story. The rest can be found on my blog. My blog like is on my Tumblr homepage.

#f2f transformation #personality change

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