#i have become one of those people who uses nothing but their wedding photos but listen i look like a roast potato 99% of the time
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i am indulging myself this munday (and u all, let's be honest) with a photo of me from my wedding which was the last real time i got nice photos/actuallyhad some form of hair and makeup done. i have not included the eponymous husband but i assure you, he was there
this is one of my fave photos from the whole wedding tbh
... actually i changed my mind you're getitng a twofer bc i scrolled past this photo while i was looking for the first and i can't ever resist it
listen i am soggy and sappy and the way he looks at me ????
#x. ooc | ☾#x. mun | ☾#i have become one of those people who uses nothing but their wedding photos but listen i look like a roast potato 99% of the time
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Todd Haynes on Mandy Slade
OM: How did you come to cast Toni Collette as Mandy? She doesn't strike me as an obvious choice for the role as it is written; her most famous part was in Muriel's Wedding where she played the podgy, Abba-obsessed ultra-hetero outcast.
TH: Mandy was the hardest part to cast in the film. It's a particularly demanding role due to the range Mandy has to display as she changes from the seventies to the eighties. This type of camp female character has basically vanished from our cultural landscape, as far as I can tell. The closest equivalent today is probably a Parker Posey-type character, but she's still quite different from the Liza Minnelli of Cabaret or the Angela Bowie of the glam era. Mandy has a theatrical, campy party girl persona that can be turned on and off at will, and owes a great deal to the gay male sensibility of the time. I think women around the world were liberated from all kinds of highly codified notions of femininity when people like Patti Smith entered the pop cultural arena. It had such a profound effect on women but girls today have no memory of that kind of camp femininity.
I saw so many strong actresses for Mandy, both in the US and the UK, and it was really tough to find the right one. We came close a few times, but it wasn't until I met Toni that it all clicked. I had no doubt about her acting ability, but the question was how to transform Toni Collette psychically, both for the camera and in her own self-regard into this very different, very confident, overly sexual creature. She really had to go off the cliff; I'm sure it was terrifying. And what you see in the film is such a transformation, such a complete commitment to the role that she almost becomes unrecognizable as Muriel in Muriel's Wedding. After a certain point, nothing was too scary for Toni. What you get with the character is what you get with the actress playing her - this range of changes and the effects of various cultures and various experiences on one extraordinary woman.
OM: Although the script informs you of Mandy being an American bisexual who reinvented herself, you get the sense of invention fully in the scene where she presents Brian with the divorce papers. She breaks down and you see the façade in a seventies context. It's a very moving moment and it's contrasted with Brian's coked-up emptiness. What did you discover in your research about the 'back-stage' women of the glam era?
TH: I guess Mandy's basic expression of real needs is made more vivid by that scene, but the beaten-down, hard-boiled Mandy of the eighties gives you the framework for that. She was definitely one of those people who was feeling and hurting and acting out at the same time. Often the casualties were the women of the male rock world. I really feel the film builds and develops complex sympathies for Mandy that you won't necessarily feel going in. The character is loosely inspired by aspects of Angela Bowie, and it's very easy to make fun of that kind of pop creature after the fact. But in all the books I read there was no argument on how fundamentally essential Angela Bowie was to the invention of Ziggy Stardust and to glam rock in general. She inspired risk-taking and flamboyance to a degree no one else can claim credit for. It wouldn't have happened without her.
Source - "Superstardust: Talking Glam with Todd Haynes", Oren Moverman.
Photo source
Emphases my own :)
#mandy slade#velvet goldmine#25yearsofvelvetgoldmine#velvetgoldmine25th#many things to think about from this.#first - Toni Collette's ever-changing accent through the film is a stroke of fucking genius#i will never understand people who criticize how all-over-the-place it is. that's the entire POINT#next - camp femininity!!!#Mandy really does more drag than the rest of the characters. I LOVE how performative she is with her gender#(also this interview is from when the movie came out and I think since then we've had plenty of displays of exaggerated femininity in pop)#then - often the casualties were the women of the male rock world!!!!#yes EXACTLY
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so! i would love, if you don't mind, to hear about the wedding between darius and wifey. my impression is that he's not really interested in THAT part of the whole thing, but i'd still love to know. what if wife insisted/demanded? what if whatever powers that be compelled him to have a ceremony of some kind? does he have a shitty uncle who spikes the punch? what's the first dance song? does he cry seeing the bride walk down the aisle? his thoughts on cute bridal lingerie? 🤔
There's only one way this man is having a proper wedding. His father and brother got under his skin about it. Sure, his little brother used to idolise him growing up, but these days he flips between the idolisation and envy that he vents by targeting things he is jealous of. And his wife isn't much better. They visit one day, and the hag brought the old photo album that has pictures of Dare and her at their wedding. That's what makes him snap. He'll get married again, but this time it'll stick and you'll be by his side till he keels over.
Darius wants to keep the event small and intimate. But he'll still go all out on expenses. He hates public spectacle, but if he can give his father, brother and her the middle finger while making you further endeared to him, then it's worth it. His family is thankfully small. There's his parents, his brother, sister in law and their two kids. His mother has a sister with a daughter that'll probably come. And his buddy from work is his best man (under no circumstances is his brother doing a best man speech). Otherwise, it'll be your family and friends that will or wont fill seats.
There will be flowers he won't allow. If you're planning a ballroom dress he'll keep a close eye on what it looks like, and if it gets even slightly like her's was, he'll tell you no. And the cake can't be vanilla. And Elton John's music is banned.
He will think you're boring if you want a diamond ring. Come on. Get something interesting. Pretty rocks cool.
Needless to say, he'll be in a foul mood the entire run up to the day. Too many bad memories popping up.
But the day of? He couldn't be happier that he did it. All those horrible thoughts he'd been having would melt away seeing you walk up the aisle. You just replace them with yourself. He doesn't cry. But there's a peaceful look on his face. His eyes don't leave you, even as the official says the things people say at weddings.
At some point he'll realise everyone's gone quiet, finally breaking his stare to see he's being looked at by everyone.
"Oh, is it my turn? I was a bit distracted," he'll mutter, doing his signature cheek scratch that he does while flustered. It elicits some chuckles, but it's you giggling at him that he notices.
"... I don't even know what to say. I prepared a speech but I've completely forgotten it." He'll begin with that. His skin feels uncomfortable. Like he's a pig roasting on a spit for all to see. But he can't stop himself talking. Not when he can see his father glaring at him from the corner of his eye.
"... but I guess I do become impulsive and stupid around you, don't I? I just get all caveman brained and want to impress you and make you like me. I think I succeeded?"
More laughs ring out, his awkwardness thankfully coming off as humorous and not floundering as he truly is.
"Nothing makes me happier than waking up and seeing you in the morning. Even if you're still asleep, and I just get to think about how you're in bed with me. How you're so lovely and it's me you're with."
He swallows hard. He should stop. He's getting to personal, too open. But you're grinning up at him with tears in your eyes.
"Sometimes you'll just be standing by a window and the sun will shine on you in this way that makes me think you're something like those beautiful nymphs from stories my mam used to read to me as a kid. I just have moments like that, where you don't look real - where I think you're made out of smoke and I can't touch you or you'll disappear. But you are real, and moments where I hold you in my arms are when I feel most at peace in this world."
He clears his throat, glancing down at his polished shoes as he blinks away the tears that threaten to fall.
"Thank you for choosing to stay with me."
He leaves it at that, nodding to the official to signify that he's said all he wants. Darius notes how your smile changes at his final words. A little inside secret between the two of you. No one else here knows how he got you in the first place. It wasn't exactly a choice back then. It is now, though. There's so many people. You could tell them all what happened. How he took you, kept you, broke you. Made you into the loving bride you are now.
You don't though. Your speech is much more vulnerable than his. You tell some little white lies here and there, just to make things look more normal to the guests around you all. They can't tell that they're lies. He knows though, and again you share those cheeky looks.
Darius almost doesn't care about the seething look his sister in law has on as she complains to his brother when they leave.
"How come your mother didn't cry at our wedding, but she is at his?" Poor lad's in for it tonight.
Darius though? He feels like tonight will be heaven for him as he piles into the back of the car to head to the after party and you flash the garter at him with a wink.
He enjoys the food more than he thought he would. Your choice of menu was perfect. The cake looks perfect.
And the song you dance to? Love You to Death by Type 0 Negative.
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Saw that post about Nico and Annabeth being gamers and their fanbase trying to figure out, between Percy and Jason, which one the two were dating and ofc I had to polyam it because babes that is who I ammmm.
Anyway that post as is: but Nico is dating Percy and Jason (and he and Annabeth also have their own thing going on but it's very casual non-labeled, let's make Percy suffer type of thing because I am Percicobeth at heart), so after Annabeth posts the short video of her small wedding ceremony, everyone assumes that they've figured it out, until Percy passes by in the background of one of Nico's streams and calls him babe.
And everyone is just ?? At first they assume Annabeth must be back there or Percy said babe by accident or uses it at a catch-all term for affection or smth Bc Nico didn't even seem phased. And his fans prod, like, do you live with Annabeth and Percy, and Nico is just "yeah sometimes", which answers nothing for them.
In the middle of one of Annabeth's streams, someone asks her if she went on a honeymoon and she's like yeah, Percy's dad gave us a trip to *insert island of your choice* and she pulls up some photos she took to discuss the architecture behind the buildings. Percy is in the background of a lot of the pictures, doing a variety of poses that amuse everyone, until someone spots Nico in one of the pics - slightly blurred and out of focus but very much there, and they're all ??? "Did Nico come with you?" yeah. "On your honeymoon?" Yeah.
Annabeth shows a picture of Nico soaking in a tub of oatmeal with a scowl on his face because he got a really bad sunburn, and then goes back to lecturing about architectural design and how the structure of the buildings benefits them against the climate, etc etc etc.
Everyone is so confused.
Annabeth gets really into whatever you do in Minecraft and answers zero questions after that.
There become wild theories that Nico and Percy are cheating on their respective partners. Some people think that the obvious long-haul friendship between the four is what is keeping Jason and Annabeth from breaking up with them. Other people think that the two are completely unaware.
There are a couple polyamory theories but not as many people pay those any mind, because that's less dramatic.
Eventually though, after months of arguing between fans and a few probing questions that go ignored, the reality becomes obvious during pride month where Annabeth posts a few photos of her attending NYC pride. The whole friend group is in tow, and everyone is pleased to see more of the people that show up in the background of the two's streams/videos/monologues.
The second to last picture of the day is Nico sandwiched between Percy and Jason, the two of them kissing his cheek while he blushes. It sparks so much insanity that people dive to the comments without scrolling on and are greeted with reminders to look at the last photo.
Which is Annabeth pushing Percy away by his face while she kisses Reyna (who's got the lesbian flag on her cheek obvi), Nico hugging her from behind, face nuzzled into the crook of her shoulder and neck. The picture is obviously very lighthearted and teasing and cute. But people still go insane about it. What does it mean?? What did the other picture mean? Who is dating who? Did Percy and Annabeth break up? What is going on?
(the polyam suggestions once again go mostly ignored in favour of the drama)
Nico ignores all the pushing questions because he's really only ever on social media to post videos or stream, but they take up so much of the commentary (even with people getting booted out by mods or other people reminding them that they have a right to privacy and to stop asking) that Annabeth gets really frustrated because, ugh, this isn't what her channel is for. So she opens up on a stream with the clear cut facts. It's polyamory. It's always been polyamory.
(Polyam fans are thrilled they were right)
"I'm married to Percy. I have a girlfriend who lives in LA. Nico is dating Percy and Jason. We have our own thing going on too because sexuality is weird and Nico is cute and also Percy gets stupid about it, and that's always fun. It's been like this for years, we're doing fine. It's literally not that big a deal, move on."
People who keep questioning things get booted from the chat, and everything mostly dies down for the rest of the stream. Until nearish the end, Nico comes in to ask her what she wants for dinner and she's too absorbed in what's she doing to hear him, so he parks himself in her lap like he's done it a billion times because obviously he has and squeezes her cheeks until she starts paying attention to him.
Everyone goes fucking insane about it again.
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Main Masterlist ♡ Top Gun Maverick Masterlist ♡ Robert 'Bob' Floyd Masterlist ♡ Til I See You Again Masterlist
Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.
Warnings: Some swearing. Just a short chapter.
Gifs & photos do not belong to me.
Also the photo is just to show the outfit, not what I am picturing the reader to look like. Please imagine your gorgeous self in one these dresses or even in a dress you may want to wear for this event.
Robert 'Bob' Floyd's POV
Only one more day until YN officially becomes my wife. We are just getting married in the backyard of our new home.
Maverick was able to pull some strings that would allow us to do that.
My Parents couldn't make it on such short notice, but they will be watching it online along with some other people that couldn't come on such short notice but still wanted to be there, so we are streaming it.
Then we are holding the reception at The Hard Deck as Penny has so nicely offered it to us and will cater the whole thing as well. Her gift to us.
Then there was Hangman.
I have no idea if he is coming. I have no idea if he will even show up, but I do know for one thing that YN wants him there.
"Even though we are fighting, he is still my brother. I still love the jackass Bobby." Was all she said to me when I asked her if she was certain she wanted him there.
Rooster told me he tried to talk to him, but nothing came out of it. Phoenix told me she tried as well, but Hangman just ignored her.
But I have to try at least. I have to try and talk to the man who will be my Brother-in-law.
Speaking of the man, I saw him walk to the back of the building and I stood up from my spot to follow him.
Our friends were watching me as I followed him. I heard Fanboy say, "if he isn't back in five minutes, we will have to go and save him."
'You can do this Bob. Ask him to come. Ask him to be there for his sister.' I thought to myself.
"What do you want Bob?" Hangman asked without turning around to face me.
"I am asking you to come to our wedding Hangman."
"No." I felt defeated by that one simple word, but I wasn't going to give up.
"Look, I know YN and you are fighting but she wants you there. She needs you there."
Silence, but he did turn around slowly to look at me in the eyes, with absolutely no expression on his face.
"YN doesn't need me. She made that very clear when she ignored the one request I had for her."
"Jake, will you listen to reason. YN and I are getting married. We love each other. I love her so much. More than I love flying. We are starting a family together."
"I told her to stay away from you Bob, but she didn't listen and now look at her. Knocked up with a mistake and being forced to marry you."
Even though I knew he was angry and he didn't mean any of that, it shocked me to my core when I heard him say those words.
"No one can force YN to do anything and you of all people should know that and our daughter," I took a deep breath because I can feel myself getting angry.
"Our daughter is not a mistake. A suprise, oh yes but never a mistake. I never thought I would say this to you, but get your head out of your own ass and realise that the world does not revolve around you Jake. Do not show up tomorrow. Not unless you plan on apologising to not only YN but to me as well."
"Fat chance Floyd."
I could literally feel my hands closing into a fist. I had to hold myself back from punching him in the face.
I left Hangman standing there. Not bothering to turn around to even give him another look. Fanboy and Payback looked at me as I stormed past them, but they didn't say anything.
Which was smart of them, because I probably would of screamed and yelled at them. Taking my anger out on the wrong people.
~
Later on that evening I joined YN and our friends at the bar. We wanted to spend the night together before we got married.
"Fanboy told me you tried to talk to my brother." She whispered to me as I sat down next to her.
"Yeah."
"Didn't go well I take it?" She could tell by the look on my face.
"No. He said some things that I am not going to repeat but I am sure he will not be coming tomorrow."
"At least you tried Bobby and that is all that counts." YN kissed my cheek and snuggled into my side as we tried to have a good night.
Jake "Hangman" Seresin's POV
I was sitting at the table, with my laptop open and contemplating if I should even click on the link that YN sent out to everyone who couldn't make it.
When it was finally time, I clicked on the link and I could see and hear everything. The backyard looked nice. A simple wedding perfect for the two of them.
I saw Bob, Fanboy and Payback walk down the small aisle. I sat there wondering where the others were. I could see a few sitting in the seats.
But I didn't have long to wonder when I saw Rooster, Fritz and Phoenix was walking down down the aisle and stood opposite of the other three.
The music changed and the small group of people that were there stood up and looked at the backdoor.
My own breath seemed to have got caught in my throat when I saw my sister. She looked beautiful as did Penny, who was walking her down the aisle.
The dress was simple, but beautiful and it showed off her baby bump beautifully.
YN's eyes were only focused on Bob, who in turn was looking at her with so much love.
"Who gives this Woman away?" The officiant asked.
"I do." Penny said as she gave YN a kiss on the cheek and Bob kissed Penny's cheek and whispered something to her. She just smiled at him and cupped his cheek with her hand.
Bob took YN's hand and the two of them turned back to the Officiant.
The longer I watched, the more I realised how I messed up. I closed the laptop when they were announced as Husband and Wife.
I could feel the tears streaming down my face and I placed my head in my hands and cried for missing their wedding and for calling their daughter, my niece, a mistake.
I have no idea what the hell I am going to do to make it up to them.
Part 2 /Part 4
Tag List: please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list. @mavericksicybabe
#top gun maverick#top gun maverick x reader#top gun maverick imagine#top gun maverick x you#top gun Maverick x female reader#Robert floyd#robert floyd fic#robert floyd imagine#robert floyd x female reader#robert floyd x reader#Robert floyd fanfiction#bob floyd#bob floyd x you#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x female reader#bob floyd x y/n#bob floyd imagine#robert bob floyd
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source: My Old Man: Tales of Our Fathers by Ted Kessler
MY DAD HAS BEEN FAMOUS LONGER THAN I’VE BEEN ALIVE
Tim Healy by Matthew Healy
My name is Matthew Timothy Healy. I was born naked in north London in April 1989. I am told it was quite warm - which has been the case for most of my birthdays. I am an adult now, semi-clothed. My father spent those early years of my life working between England and Australia - back-to-back winters that had deprived him of the sun for almost four years. He told me he remembers my birthday being a bright and memorable time, golden-hued. He currently lives in the house in which I spent most of my childhood. In some ways it exists as a shrine to what once was - our family and what has been achieved. It is a feeling that is comforting and unsettling in equal measure.
My dad, at five foot seven, a baby-turned-milkboy-turned-welder-turned-comic-turned-actor, was born in the early 1950s to parents Malcolm and Sadie, in Birtley, Newcastle upon Tyne. He lived modestly up north, as a youngster and as a young man, with his brother, John, and their dog, Smartie (a dog that would later come to head-butt my dad in a moment of jestful play, resulting in him losing his bottom row of teeth. John once threw my dad over a wall, with the assumption that the drop on the other side was of equal height to that which he’d just hoisted his little brother over. It wasn’t. He landed right on his head and has had to wear glasses ever since).
He would work between various factories during the day and at night he would pursue his dream of becoming a stand-up comedian. He is a very funny man, my dad, whose charm and passion is articulated through his comedy, and his face exudes a type of warmth that one would expect from a northern English comedic actor. He laughs like Muttley off Wacky Races and whistles inane tunes that have never been heard before, for good reason.
My dad has been famous longer than I’ve been alive. He was at the height of his fame just before I was born, during Auf Wiedersehen, Pet. My parents being famous was always part of my reality: there are photos of their wedding with a crowd of a thousand people outside looking in, which is what their life has been like. I know nothing different, and it bled into the way I saw myself. My dad was a rags-to-riches character, so as soon as he saw a stem of creativity in me, he knew the importance of nurturing it so that I gained a sense of self. Me being creative was always emotionally, financially endorsed by my dad.
‘You’re John Lennon,’ he’s say, from the time I was six. He expected me to be a rock star, not in a superficial sense, but A Rock Star. Mark Knopfler from Dire Straits and Brian Johnson from AC/DC would occasionally come around to our house when I was growing up so it always seemed tangible. Rock stars walked among us. Welders, too. Dad has a dichotomy between being a working-class manual worker and a bohemian actor. I remember watching a Michael Jackson video with some of his welder mates when I was a kid and them saying he was from another planet. I thought, Yeah. My planet.
My parents always taught me that you get the good with the bad. So, if you want to live in a nice house and have nice holidays, then maybe Hello! Might have to come around your nice house or go on your nice holiday to take photos for their magazine. The Daily Mail and the Mirror went in a bit hard on my mum for a while, which was difficult for my dad as he’s not from the tabloid world that comes with being behind the bar at the Rovers Return. He had to deal with a wife who was clinically depressed, being hounded by the tabloids. What does he do to look after his wife? We got through it. And there’s stuff that people don’t know. We found a lot of security in that, knowing that they only knew so much.
I thought about this a lot when my band was breaking. My mum is on Loose Women. That’s not credible, that’s not cool. My dad is a credible actor but he’s well known too. Am I going to be perceived as an ITV boy-band thing? In the end I had to get over it. You can’t judge musicians by what their parents do. It isn’t going to work.
There are two things he always said to me, and always after a drink: ‘Be who you want to be.’ And ‘It’s in yer fucking bones, man!’ He empowered me. He acted in awe of me. Not in a sycophantic way, but as if I didn’t need his advice. If I had conviction, it would see me through - and that really rang true. Because I had a middle-class family I could get to twenty years old and still be working it out with the band.
I didn’t go to university. I worked in a Chinese restaurant, which stressed my mum out. ‘Is this band thing really going to become something?’ she’d ask.
My dad never questioned it. ‘Leave him alone, man, he’s fucking John Lennon, man.’ He believed in me unquestioningly from the moment I wrote a song called ‘ Robbers’ when I was eighteen. He bought us our first van. He converted the garage into a rehearsal space. His overt passion for us is instilled in our band. When our album went platinum all of the band made sure he got a disc. He’s the band’s dad.
The character he plays in Benidorm, who rides around on roller skates with a wig on and big boobs, is probably the one he sees the most of himself in. He told me he based it on a combination of Les Dawson and Tommy Cooper, which is my dad incarnate. If people ask me to describe my dad I say, ‘Combine those two. That’s him.’ The slapstick he plays is quite like his real persona. He’s a very, very good actor. It’s not strange to see my dad put on a wig and be someone completely different. When it looks and feels like my dad but there’s something else going on, that’s when it throws me. It’s the subtlety of my dad in the midst of a great performance that can really mess me up. If you’re involved in the physique and the aura and the knowledge of who that person is, when the minutiae of it change it’s quite alarming.
I steal a lot of lighters, which is something coincidentally I’ve stolen from my dad. We’ve stolen everybody’s lighter we’ve ever come into contact with. Superficially, I think I’m more like my mother. I’m quite erratic. I’m passionate and emotionally driven, whereas my dad is more subdued about those things. I think what I’ve got from my dad is my fear of not being proud of myself. Those are the times I’ve seen him at his lowest, when he regrets something he could’ve done, mainly from a creative perspective. I’ve seen him cut himself up over things that I wouldn’t have imagined he’d find that relevant or important. And then I find myself doing the same over a vocal take, or some small detail in a recording, and that’s when I feel him inside me. That’s when I know who I am.
Matthew Healy is the singer and guitarist with the 1975.
#matty healy#this essay is so sweet and I needed to share it with you all#the love he has for his dad is amazing#can’t relate#the 1975#ry.exe
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Popstar! Todoroki Shoto x reader
Warnings: Angst
From the start, everything was great, everything was perfect and sweet.
It felt like one of those classic love stories that people would see on tv.
Now, it felt like one of those bitter sweet stories that made people want to cry.
At the end, everything was terrible, everything was falling apart, and it was nothing near sweet.
You remember the moment your eyes laid on him, something sparked inside of you when seeing his two colored hair and star strucking face. You knew from the time your guys eyes met each others he was yours and after some time, he thought it too. It was a dream come true, but dreams weren't always meant to come true.
"What is this!" You screamed, showing the picture that was spreading all over the internet. A photo lied on the screen of your phone with the man you called your lover, holding hands with another girl. Todoroki widened his eyes, "I don't know, it's probably photoshoped."
"Really? Photoshoped, that's going to be your exscues?" You growled. Todoroki signed, rubbing his eyes, "I'm tired, can we talk about this another time?"
"You're kidding right?" You exclaimed with a brokon look. Todoroki placed his hands on your shoulders, "I don't know who that girl is, I've never seen her in my life. You know how my fans can be, someone just posted that photo to get into your head and it worked."
Looking at the photo, your eyes landed on the girl with short brown hair and big brown eyes as a smile lined her face. Your heart broke seeing the look on both of their faces, it was one the two of you used to share before all of this began to happen. Todoroki grabbed your face, holding it in your hands, "You need to get off of the internet more. Come on, how about we go watch a movie together?"
"Ok," You nodded, meeting his eyes that seemed distant.
Sitting in your room, bitter warm tears streamed down your face when another picture of your lover and a girl went viral. This girl had long green hair and a cute demanor, one that made your heart swell. A gentle hand was placed on your shoulder with them giving a tight squeeze. You looked up meeting the gaze of a green haired boy who had a look of worry.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself Y/n. You need to leave him," Deku mumbled. You shook your head, "I can't Izuku, I don't want to do that to them. You know how hurt they'll be if we were to leave. I don't want them to lose their father."
"They'll understand, for once in your life Y/n, think of yourself," Deku whispered. You swallowed a lump in your throat, "What would I even do? I don't have a job, we would be on the streets."
"You can live with me, there's plenty of room and it wouldn't be the first time the kids stayed the night," Deku exclaimed. You glanced at the picture on your bed side table that held a photo of your wedding day, one of the most happiest days of your life. You wished it could be like it was back then. You turned, "I want to give him one more chance."
"Y/n," Deku started, watching the broken look on your face. He signed, "Fine, but one more chance. After that, he's done and you're living with me."
"Deal," You murmured.
The heavy rain poured outside hitting your face hard as your feet hit the ground at a face pace, running through the streets of your home. You hoped that he could change, become the man he used to be, but the picture of him with the black haired girl stopped all hope. You tumed, staring at a familar house that held great memory in your mind.
"Izuku," You cried, falling into his arms. Deku widen his eyes when catching your fallen form, "Y/n? What happen, why are you soaken wet?"
He did it again, I thought he changed," You sobbed. Deku gulped, placing a band on the back of your head, "It's going to be alright, come inside, let's get you all warmed up."
'Pop star Shoto is caught kissing model Momo Yaoyoruzo. How does his spouse feel about this?'
'Pop star Shoto being divorced after all of his cheating scandals'
'Y/n L/n wins court case after fighting for the rights of their children'
'The fall of pop start Shoto Todoroki'
'A year later, Y/n caught having lunch with pop star Deku. Is there something going on there?'
"Please Y/n, don't go." Todoroki pleaded with tears in his eyes. You remained silent, holding the last bag of your belongings, giving him a look he's never seen before. Todoroki got onto his knees, grabbing your hand, "I'll change, I swear!"
"Don't take another step in my direction," You growled, "I can't be trusted around you."
"Please don't leave, I can't let you or the kids go. You're a part of my life, I'll be broken without you," He cried, shaking his head. You ripped your hands out of your hands, "You should have relaized that earlier. You caused all of this, you're the reason we're leaving."
"Please can't we just talk this out, I can't move on without the three of you in my life," Todoroki whispered. You scoffed, "You should have realized that before sitting back and watching our life burn." "What about my life, my career, my family, our hopes and dreams. You're throwing that all in the trash?" Todoroki asked. You snapped, "You already did that! You slept with all of those girls! You lied to my face and so many others! You broke our family! You ruined your career!"
"Please stop all of this, I don't want the kids to hear," Todoroki begged, standing up. You screamed, "Let them hear! Then, they'll know the pain and embarresment you've gave to this family!"
"Enough, what was I supposed to do? I didn't want to be kept here my whole life, I wanted to live!" He shouted. You stepped back, "And you couldn't do that with them? With me? What Todoroki, were we holding you back?"
"Yes!" He yelled. You chuckled, shoving him, "When will you learn that they are your legacy! They looked up to you! They loved you! If only they could see the real you, the one that hide behind for all of these years! You're just like your father!"
A deep silence filled the dangerous air of your old home as the two haired man stared at your anger filled face. You took multiple breathes, feeling a weight be lifted off of your back when everything was spoken, and now it was time to leave. You grabbed your last bag and turned, whispering one thing, "Fairwell, Shoto."
A/n - Thanks for over 30 followers, sorry for not updating much, I've been busy as of recently. Hope you guys enjoyed this angst oneshot, request are open for those who would like me to wrote for a specific character.
Guess the song I listened to when writing this and I'll give a shout out! :) I put a lyric from the song somewhere in the work.
#my hero acedamia#boku no hero academia#todoroki headcanons#todoroki shoto#todoroki shoto x reader#shoto todoroki#mha x gender neutral reader#x reader#mha x reader#anime x reader#Angst#midoriya izuku#izuku midoriya x reader#bnha deku#deku x reader
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Daily Devotionals for September 22, 2023
Proverbs: God's Wisdom for the Day
Devotional Scripture:
Proverbs 25:6-7 (KJV):
6 Put not forth thyself in the presence of the king, and stand not in the place of great men: 7 For better it is that it be said unto thee, Come up hither; than that thou shouldest be put lower in the presence of the prince whom thine eyes have seen.
Proverbs 25:6-7 (AMP):
6 Be not forward (self-assertive and boastfully ambitious) in the presence of the king, and stand not in the place of great men; 7 For better it is that it should be said to you, Come up here, than that you should be put lower in the presence of the prince, whose eyes have seen you.
Thought for the Day
These verses advise us not to exalt ourselves in the presence of important people, but to take a humble position. Humility is a virtue that we should strive to develop. Assuming honor for ourselves is unwise. It can cause humiliation in front of the people with whom we expect to impress. It is better to be invited to sit in a special place than to risk taking a seat reserved for another and then be asked to make way for someone in a position of greater importance. Jesus illustrated this principle in a parable: "And he put forth a parable to those which were bidden when he marked how they chose out the chief rooms; saying unto them, when thou art bidden of any man to a wedding, sit not down in the highest room; lest a more honorable man than thou be bidden of him; And he that bade thee and he comes and says to thee, Give this man place, and thou begin with shame to take the lowest room. But when thou art bidden, go and sit down in the lowest room; that when he that bade thee cometh, he may say unto thee, Friend, go up higher: then shalt thou have worship in the presence of them that sit at meat with thee. For whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased, and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted" (Luke 14:7-11).
Anyone who attempts to exalt himself in front of others will eventually be humbled. Allowing ourselves to become prideful, sets us up for a fall, according to the Word of God. "Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. Better it is to be of a humble spirit with the lowly than to divide the spoil with the proud" (Proverbs 16:18-19). Those who think they do not need God are the proudest of all. At some point, all people will come to the end of themselves and face the fact that they are not in control of all of their circumstances. We all need God, since without Him, we face an eternity in hell.
The same scriptures that warn against exalting ourselves, tell us that if we humble ourselves, we shall be honored in due season, and recognized by others. "Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you " (James 4:10). If we boast of anything, it should be our boast of what the Lord has done for us! Without Him, we can do nothing. "My soul shall make her boast in the Lord: the humble shall hear thereof, and be glad" (Psalm 34:2).
Prayer Devotional for the Day
Dear heavenly Father, thank you, Lord, for all of the wonderful things You have done for us! we do appreciate every one of them. Lord, we want to always remain humble, not only in Your sight but in the sight of men, as well. May we have the grace to be servants to others and not to think of ourselves more highly than anyone else, as every child of God is important in Your sight. Not one of Your children is more important than another. We are all important because we belong to You. Help us not to glory in that, but rather be humbled by that fact. We ask this in the name of Jesus, and through Him who humbled Himself to endure the cross for each of us. Amen.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA,
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#GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981
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Notes: And here we are, at the very end, aka Epilogue Two: Electric Boogaloo.
AO3
–
Forever
~~
???
When you think about it, the concept of ‘eternity’ is laughable.
Everything ends eventually.
Together with some other immortals, I watch the stars die. It’s beautiful, despite the sadness that comes with it.
Everything ends one day, including the universe.
“Can’t believe we’re going to die,” Lamb says gravelly. He burst into tears. He’s one of the few immortals who’s having a hard time accepting it. Tiffany rubs his back.
We’re all that’s left. We’re seated in a small reality bubble at the end of the universe. The end of existence.
There’s only ten of us left. Me, Tiffany and Lamb are the last vampires. The other seven are other species. For a couple of decades, the ten of us travelled through the universe to find a way out. We even tried to find another one, but it’s all in vain. Even if other universes are out there, we cannot find them.
We’re going to die.
I’m at peace with that.
I don’t know how long I’ve been alive. At one point, I stopped caring. Not only that, but metric systems, units of measurements and calendars have changed several times in my life.
At one point they gradually stopped using the Gregorian calendar that I grew up with and I tried using it for personal use after it fully disappeared, but that also felt useless after 200 years (of that calendar) or so. Quite frankly, it’s quite an achievement that that calendar stayed around for ten thousands of years, if I remember correctly. Most of them leave after 500 or so. Well, 500 years in current way of measuring time.
Really, so much has changed. I grew up in a time where we had seconds, minutes, hours and what not. By now I don’t even remember what they were.
In the end, it doesn’t matter anyway. All ‘systems’ had a concept of eternity, but that proved to be wrong, so who cares about which system was right.
We’re all trying to be as comfortable as possible. Most of our possessions have been long gone, but I managed to find a suit that I loved back when I was still in my hundreds. Tiffany is also once again wearing her medieval clothes. We all have our fangs out.
I watch another star collapse in itself. Every time a piece of the universe dies, it reminds me of a firework show. Merlin, fireworks. Haven’t seen those in so long, because they were impossible to make at one point. The collapse is gorgeous. Our bubble gets surrounded by the lights of the star.
Some others applaud. Lamb is still sobbing.
The explosions are coming closer.
“It won’t be long,” I tell the others. They nod, since they know I’m the expert. I’ve obtained a lot of degrees in my life, including one on the state of the universe.
Lamb’s sobs become louder. Tiffany sighs.
“Lamb, it’s over,” she says, trying to sound confident, but her voice wavers too. Lamb sniffs. “Please, enjoy the last moments you have.”
Others express their agreement.
Our reality bubble is about to burst and there’s nothing we can do about it. I take out the photo of Simon. It’s the last thing I have of him, since all other memorabilia have ceased to exist, even my wedding ring. It’s a miracle a photograph of all things survived. Everything else, even things of better material, got lost. That was the hardest part of realising the world was ending. I had gained and lost a lot in my life, but losing Simon’s stuff hurt the most, so I cherish this photo with my life.
I hold it close to my heart.
Simon. My Simon.
I’ve forgotten almost all other people from my early life, even my family and other friends. I know I had them, since I painted them, but all of that is gone. I once was naïve to think that I would at least remember them, but I don’t. I’m too old. They are too far away in my past.
But I still remember Simon. I can never forget him. At the end of existence, he’s here with me.
“I’m coming, my sweet love,” I whisper.
I sit back and I enjoy the show.
--
∞
I blink a couple of times. Or at least I try to. I don’t think I can.
I don’t think I exist anymore.
And that is fine.
Is this it?
It’s weird. I know I don’t exist, but I also instinctively try to move. I focus on the feeling and the sensation of… well, of existing. Of being corporeal. But I am conscious, or so it seems? Is eternity real after all, and is this it?
I stretch my shoulder.
Shoulders.
Huh, so does that mean I have them? So do I exist after all? I can feel them now, now that I want to have them. I test out my theory with more parts of my body and slowly I can feel myself exist again. Or maybe I don’t and I just think I am. There was this philosopher from the first or second millennium (I think?) whose name I’ve long forgotten, but his saying ‘I think, therefore I am’ definitely applies here.
Is this death?
Is this what Simon’s been living like beyond the Veil?
Nothing. Nothing. There is nothing.
My heart breaks at the thought of Simon being all alone here for so long, at least up until the moment I let him go. Well, my heart cannot break. I don’t have one anymore. Right? I am fine with not existing, but not fine with Simon not existing, even now.
I focus on having sight and the next thing I know is that I open my eyes. Or so it feels. This is so weird. How can I simultaneously exist and also not exist? Why does it feel like time passes rapidly, and also as if there is no time to speak of? Why can I hear my thoughts, even though there are no thoughts anymore?
‘I think, therefore I am’, but at the same time I also don’t think, so I am not?
I look around and I see nothing, which isn’t surprising, because there is nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing makes sense.
Until…
I feel something. A hand on my shoulder. Or at least that’s what it feels like. I turn around.
And he smiles at me. A gorgeous, blinding smile that makes me think of the light of the exploding stars. I see it all. Blonde curls, blue eyes. I don’t have time to ponder whether this is real or not, because I reach out.
I am at peace.
--
End notes: The end, part 2. I actually have some thoughts on both ending, and you can read them here. If you want to know what inspired this surprise second epilogue, then you can follow that link.
But yeah, oh my God, it’s the end! I started this fic in the beginning of 2021, and here it finally is! Thank you so much for reading and commenting (and for crying, oops, is it bad that I am proud that I made some of you weep?) (am I evil?). Also a shout-out to the people who have been following the process on this blog through the Six Sentence Sundays and the WIP Wednesdays. Your comments on those posts also kept me motivated!
If you enjoy the vibes of Simon being dead (are we evil?), I highly recommend the “Simon dies in the White Chapel” fics: @cutestkilla‘s What’s Left, @artsyunderstudy‘s The Mirrors that Hold Us and @facewithoutheart‘s On Love’s Light Wings.
Thanks for reading, and happy continued fic reading!
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Why You're F#cking Amazing
Pick-a-Card
How to play: pick one of the photos below using your intuition. You can close your eyes and meditate for a bit or just take a few grounding breaths while thinking of the topic. Feeling drawn to more than one is fine! You might have messages in more than one pile
Pile 1 (x) Pile 2 (x) Pile 3 (x)
My pile numbers always go from left to right, then down to the text row (if applicable)
Pile 1
Cards: The High Priestess, Five of Swords, Seven of Pentacles, The Moon Rx, Five of Rods, Ace of Pentacles
You are so intuitive! You're either very in touch with your divine feminine or are working your way there right now. Something about you is severe in the most beautiful way. You can take things seriously when they need to and the way you command a room with just your presence is unmatched. Maybe you're also a tarot reader or involved in spirituality/divination in some way. Maybe you really like Pick-a-Cards.
Something beautiful about you is that you never give up on a fight, especially when you know the end is worth it. Your ambition is strong and you will fight for what you love and what you want. You are not weak-willed by any means.
This also makes you so unique! You work so hard and put so much labor into your love even if you know it will take a long time to come to fruition. The times that you feel discouraged by a lack of results are few and far between. If for some reason you do find yourself wistfully hoping for faster results or an easier path, you can easily remind yourself of why you started in the first place.
You might have moments where you think of yourself as sneaky or like you're hiding a part of yourself from others, like your true self would be too much for them. I'm here to tell you that your intensity is exactly what make you such a beautiful person! You thrive in competition and in adversity. It gives you a chance to show off your quick thinking and survival skills. Others look at you with envy of how you can make an opportunity out of seemingly nothing!
If you need help improving your self-love, Spirit says to stop comparing yourself to others! You are amazing and beautiful and unique all on your own! Throwing yourself into the fray to compete against others who are nothing like you will only fim your inner shine. And you really do shine! When I asked for a card about why you are beautiful, nearly half the damn deck flew out!
Sprit loves you and I love you so please take care of yourself and keep making those amazing opportunities to improve your physical surroundings. (I feel like you have a very clean room/home)
Pile 2
Cards: Nine of Rods, the World, King of Cups, Three of Rods, Ace of Rods, Two of Cups
Ahh the Loona pile!
Similar to Pile 1, but much more fiery! You are resilient! Taking time to collect yourself before pushing forward with a renewed sense of energy and purpose is such an amazing and useful trait. You maybe aren't as commanding of a presence but you have such an inner strength that no one can deny.
You got the World for the reason why you're beautiful! Maybe it's related to physically being very beautiful and possibly exotic-looking. You might have very specific features associated with a certain area of the world that stand out where you live. You also have such a wonderful understanding of the world and where it's currently at. Things can seem negative or like hope is lost but you still seek out the beauty and share it with others. You see opportunity where others do not and feel a sense of peace and connectedness with all of humanity. Wow!
Your uniqueness shines in your emotionality and compassion. You might be a natural born leader who makes sure to understand all under your rule. You lead with kindness and, most importantly, by example. You don't have any desire to use you position for ill-gotten gains. Power to you does not corrupt, it solely provides a tool for you to do good in the world and really make a difference in the lives of others, whether it's on a large or small scale. You are probably the kind of person who makes sure to give money to those who need it when you pass a begging mother and her children, or buying a homeless man a bottle of water on a hot day.
Your card for why you think you are not perfect actually came out quite positive. Maybe you don't have a very low self esteem, but I can see a few possible scenarios here. You might be constantly planning in your head, waiting and watching for the next move to take but never actually getting to the action part. Maybe you're planning for your future and have so much planned out that you're excited for, but haven't made the practical plans on how to actually get there. This could make you feel bad about yourself especially on days where you're reminded of others moving ahead in their lives while you're still planning. Visualisation is very important in manifesting your desired reality! If you are moving slower than others around you, remember that it is okay to not be where "everyone else" is. Life is not a race or a competition. Taking your time to get to where you need to be when you need to be there reminds me of the story of the tortoise and the hare. Quick does not necessarily mean better.
You can improve your self-love by creating! Using your creativity and passion to make something! Create art, whether it's physical/digital art, music, writing, inventing, anything that uses those creative muscles of yours. It doesn't have to be good! Just creating something will help burn up that excess energy you have that's trying to rush you somewhere. Self-expression this way can be a wonderful hobby even if you don't consider yourself as a creative person.
Your kindness really shines through. You care so deeply about the people around you and your spiritual team cares just as deeply about you. You are loved and watched over and protected by Spirit. Others around you also see your sparkle and appreciate and admire you, even if they don't show it. Know you are beautiful and amazing and bringing a light into this world that needs to be here.
Pile 3
Cards: Six of Rods, the Hierophant, Four of Rods, Six of Cups, Ten of Swords, the Hermit Rx
Damn, who are y'all!? You've got some mighty power and pull in this world. Maybe you're a public figure or have some kind of platform, like a social media with many followers. You could also be well-recognized within your field of study/work. Whoever you are, people see you and look up to you. They celebrate you and how amazing you are! Spirit loves this about you and you really shine in the spotlight. Your achievements deserve all this pomp and celebration!
You are naturally authoritative. People listen when you speak and take your words to heart. You might also be a religious person or someone who enjoys organization and the comfort of hierarchy. People will willingly follow you wherever you lead them because they trust you with all their hearts. "A merciful ruler" (lol) You hold your position with grace and dignity befitting a king or queen.
You are unique in ways the public recognizes, but we knew that already! You might be someone who likes to entertain and you throw the greatest parties and get-togethers. Maybe you've planned a wedding and everyone had such an amazing time! You know how to relax and have fun when the time for celebrating arrives. You can out down your guard and bit and let loose. Not many people with such responsibility can let go of the reigns like that, but you don't seem to hold on to control too tightly.
Your past might be a source of anxiety for you. Maybe you're worried that what you've done when you were younger will catch up to you and ruin what you've got going on now, but it's important to remember that the past is the past. It cannot be undone or wished away. Taking time to accept what happened and recognizing that you've moved on to bigger and better things is important here. Whatever happened, take time to heal your childhood wounds and forgive past actions.
Ending this cycle will bring much more self-love to your life. Old habits and patterns being out to rest is the way forward. It might be a painful ending and something you don't necessarily look forward to, but it is something that needs to happen to clear out old energy and welcome in everything new. You can't expect to move on if you're still repeating old actions or ways of thinking. It's time to set these things to rest and evolve. Leave behind what no longer serves you.
Your understanding of yourself knows no bounds. You've taken the time to inquisit yourself and learn all of the shadows that lie there. Self-reflection might be a favored pastime for you. Through this knowledge of yourself you are able to see truths that many struggle to see all their lives. Your light can cut through the fog if bullshit and see the true source of something. Use this knowledge of yourself to become the best version of yourself that you can be! I know you're already on your way there and it's amazing to see! Spirit is so proud of you and loves you so much!
#pick a card#pac#pick-a-card#tarot reading#pick a pile#pick a picture#free reading#free tarot#tarot#divination#spirituality#positivity#free tarot readings#oracle reading#tarot cards#oracle cards#why was formatting this so difficult omg#i tried to add a read more break but it kept messing up my images#but when i fixed the images the read more disappeared 😫#so i guess it's just a long post#sorry everyone who doesn't want to read it and has to scroll past#oh maybe i finally got it#yayy for the beta editor
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let's make babies |
pairing: Harry Styles x Actress!Reader
summary: you and harry are doing a live on instagram, you've drunk a lot of wine and now the world knows that the future Mrs. Styles is ready to make babies.
warnings: mostly cute, but the title tells you what you need to know 🤪
"What is your favorite song from the Fine Line album?" Y/N read aloud, twirling in her right hand the second glass of wine of the evening, the one already halfway through. "Adore You and Watermelon Sugar, of course."
Harry giggled, rolling his eyes upon hearing his fiancée's statement.
"Y/N will always choose Adore You because it was obviously written for her." He accused. "She wouldn't give that answer under different circumstances."
The comments climbed up the screen continuously, most fans gushing about how cute Harry Styles and YN/LN could be while the other part was concerned with wringing even more information out of the slightly inebriated couple who had decided to do a surprise live one early Sunday morning.
As expected after being away for some time to begin filming Don't Worry, Darling in Southern California, Harry enjoyed a lazy weekend in the house he shared with his fiancée and her pets. The days were filled with late naps and relentless Netflix marathons, sublime and ethereal evenings, marked mostly by unexpected declarations and rounds of sex that used to last until the beams of light were shyly coming through the linen curtains. They were not a monotonous couple, so this order could easily be changed.
"Watermelon Sugar is nothing more than about my love for watermelons, don't get too creative." Harry replied to a fan while sporting a corner smile, the message standing out among the rest for its dozens of emojis and large print, questioning the singer about erotic content behind the lyrics of his latest hit. "I really don't know what you guys are talking about."
Y/N laughed, shaking her head before leaning it against her fiancé's chest, propped up on the soft white pillows that were spread practically all over the bed. The air conditioner was on at a minimal temperature and a light rain whipped on the panes of glass camouflaged by the cream-colored curtain, that being the projection of Y/N's favorite nights.
"You can tell them, I'm not shy." She joked, nudging her fiancé's waist.
"You know what it was written about and who it was written for." Harry replied, raising one of his eyebrows. "That's what matters."
It went without saying that much of Harry's newest album, as well as some of his earlier work, had been done in exclusive dedication to his future wife. Y/N had been the muse for a vast repertoire of romantic songs, and even though the singer preferred to keep the story behind his more explicit compositions a "secret", the relationship the two had shared for more than three years was already solid and known enough for the media and fans to distinguish hidden messages in small details.
"It's a song about what usually comes before the act of making babies." Y/N laughed as he pointed at the display. "Honestly, you guys are impossible."
"No, we make babies every day." Harry joked, making a funny motion with his eyebrows. "I would spend my entire career writing just about that."
"Harry!" The actress exclaimed incredulously, slapping her fiancé weakly on the chest. "Children might be watching this."
"You don't want to have babies with me?" He asked falsely offended, accepting the cup that Y/N offered him. "Because I want some babies with you."
Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes as she watched the internet freak out at the dialogue that had suddenly emerged. Since the beginning of the quarantine, it was kind of inevitable that the couple of artists would not become the darlings of all social media; they were fervently active with photos, videos, and lives that depicted step by step daily life in isolation, gaining more and more followers and making the media more and more fascinated by the relationship they both shared.
The wedding was scheduled for the summer of next year and it was perhaps the most anticipated event in the tabloids. Bets about what the model of Y/N's dress would be and lists presuming who would be selected for the short list of guests stood out among countless news stories about the famous people influencing pop culture today.
The possible arrival of a Styles baby was an inevitable topic in interviews. Harry and Niall were the only members of the ex-boyband that had not become fathers yet, and because they had maintained a solid relationship and were seen as one of the most enviable couples during the last four years, Y/N and Harry had gotten used to all this openly asked questions. They didn't mind, they even had fun with the montages and all the anxiety that dominated the whole internet, often mentioning the fandoms' efforts to represent them as such "cool" parents in perfectly edited pictures.
"No, guys, I'm not pregnant." Y/N amusingly clarified the doubt of dozens of new comments. "Please don't believe so many controversial news stories that appear out there. I was on twitter last week and saw several people theorizing about a possible pregnancy, most of the arguments based on a website that used photos from the set of How to Get Away with Murder in the season where I was actually playing a pregnant woman as Laurel." She laughed. "It's so funny! I know you guys love to guess these things, but we won't hide something so special when it actually happen, I promise."
"Especially because Y/N can hide absolutely nothing from anyone." Harry accused, leaving his drink on the corner table before settling into a comfortable position for the two of them. "Anyone who's a Marvel fan knows that. That's one of her most characteristic quirks."
"They gave me a fake script for the last two movies." Y/N agreed, shaking his head. "For me and Tom."
"We agreed to keep the engagement a secret for a while. The plan was to travel to Holmes Chapel to break the news to my family in person, but guess who got a call at ten o'clock at night from an angry Anne because she learned of her son's engagement from an interview Y/N gave the next day?"
Y/N gave a guilty smile, winking gracefully at the camera. "It was all James' fault! I'm sure he already suspected something, those questions were very suspicious."
"Of course the questions were suspicious, babe. You literally said you had a secret that involved both of us but that you couldn't tell because it was important that our families knew first."
"I thought he would think about a pregnancy or something!" The actress defended herself, feeling very convincing in her intonation bordering on obviousness. "That's a mania I can't get rid of, it's in my genes."
"Did you all hear that? Further proof that you guys don't have to worry about guessing when Y/N's pregnancy will be, I'm sure our baby will make sure to tell you everything while still in the womb, mom's genes will make sure of that."
"You are so funny, Harry Styles." Y/N sarcastically stated, holding back a giggle as countless messages with laughing emojis were frantically up. "Yeah, I know I talk a lot and all, but you have annoying quirks too."
It was obvious that live would be news the next day. Although they were completely open about matters concerning their relationship, nothing seemed better than receiving so much exclusive information from a Harry and S/N drunk on expensive wine.
"You wake up in a bad mood and you're dangerously sexy, that should be illegal."
Harry laughed, holding his fiancée's waist a little tighter as he felt her tumble a little further to the side, getting closer and closer to the edge of the bed. Y/N was dangerously weak for drinks, and the singer knew that the actress' body was already near its limit.
"You're the only sexy person here, love." He declared with a corner smile, evidently finding the whole situation funny. "Do you want to go to sleep now?"
"No." Y/N shook her head. "Can we watch some movie? Can we watch Sweet Home?"
"Of course, love." He murmured, giving the woman a quick kiss on the forehead.
Even though Harry knew that his fiancée was unlikely to make it past the five-minute mark of the episode, he made sure to restart the korean series at exactly the scene where she had stopped, the first chapter still halfway through after Y/N realized that it would be impossible to watch such a macabre work without a drop of alcohol in her blood.
She had been so excited by the taste of Argentinian wine and the idea of updating her fans after a few weeks away, that she had forgotten the main purpose of the live. Harry and Y/N had been apart for a few days due to the new movie the Brit was shooting in North America, all happening in an unrestrictedly careful manner due to the restrictions caused by the pandemic.
He was slowly migrating towards acting and the future Mrs. Styles couldn't be prouder. Y/N had felt on cloud nine when Harry had given her the news of his upcoming job, but her only pronouncement on the subject had been a succinct post on instagram. Just a photo of the couple on a trip to Germany with a simple heart emoji didn't seem enough for the actress' exhibitionist soul, and coming to that conclusion was the main reason she decided to invite him, already relatively changed, for a live appearance. Y/N wanted to go on and on about how much she loved that man and work on that whole honeyed speech that would bring her (once again) the title of "cutest bride of all time," but of course Harry had to come home from his trip with his favorite red wine and poison her with those sweet caresses that took her out of orbit, turning the degree of alcohol content into the least of her problems.
"You're going to kiss Florence." Y/N exclaimed suddenly, as if only now realizing that her fiancé would share the screen with Florence Pugh, one of her closest friends in that industry. "Kiss on the mouth."
The MacBook was still open and hundreds of new comments were going up every second, but Harry didn't bother one bit to warn her about the possibility of her becoming a meme the next day. He was having too much fun with the situation to worry.
"Are you jealous?"
"Yes." She stated with a pout. "I am jealous, I just don't know if I'm more jealous of her or of you."
"But you kiss me every day, babe." Harry laughed. "And you've been kissing other people's men for almost ten years." He joked.
"But I only think about you, I already told you that."
Harry shook his head negatively at the camera, knowing he was sharing with the fans the funniest side of his fiancée.
"I know that, honey." He assured, lightly stroking the actress' back. "I think we'd better turn off the TV and go to sleep now, I'm sure you'll have a terrible headache tomorrow."
The brit planned to bid his audience goodbye and put an end to that recording, but Y/N was drunk and her sense of right and wrong had already gone to space. Harry should have been quicker, however, because his fiancée's speech would be cause for new tags and the only subject for the interviewers for at least the next few months.
"I don't want to sleep, how about we make babies?"
That's what Watermelon Sugar was all about, after all.
#harry styles imagine#imagine1d#imagine harry styles#harry x reader#harry styles x reader#fluffy imagine#harry fluff#actress reader
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all she want is payback for the way i always play that shit
characters: dabi | todoroki touya
genre: smut + angst
notes: aaaah yikes, sorry it’s so long???? the first part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you wont make it back; touya + reader have been fooling around for just under six months, our innocent lil good girl reader is the teeniest, tiniest bit more firm now. jealousy makes people crazy, yk how it is. touya is marginally softer for like, a second or two. | title credit: save that shit by lil peep
warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), public sex, cheating, drug use, generally toxic relationship (possessiveness, jealousy), size difference, dubcon if u squint i guess???, the tiniest bit of cumplay
words: 11k
synopsis:
Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.
“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.
“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.
“You have me, baby,”
“All of you,”
His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”
✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰
In early February, your parents finally tie the knot.
“Now it’ll be official,” you remember Touya whispering in your ear, the night before. “I will officially be your niichan,”
The wedding is gorgeous—elegant and classy, just like Rei herself. A wintertime wedding is so beautiful, you tell Rei as she’s busy being fawned over by several stylists, adding the finishing touches to her hair and make up. She’s absolutely stunning, a lacy ivory dress clinging delicately to her small frame, accentuating her natural curves. It glitters gracefully in the pale sunshine streaming through the large bay windows, sparkling any time she moves.
Touya doesn’t sit with his family. Their eyes sear into your flesh, although Touya keeps his stare pointedly in front of him, glaring at the alter. But you can feel their gaze on your skin, can feel their eyes travelling up your body slowly, critically, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It makes your skin crawl, both of your hands curling around Touya’s, a tangled knot of fingers resting in your lap.
You’ve never seen his other siblings before. Rei talks about them sometimes, but never when Touya’s around. You know that once every month, the three of them join Rei and your father for a family dinner, but you’ve never had the pleasure of attending.
You’d missed the first family dinner by fluke, held up late at the library studying for midterms. But every occasion after that, Touya had made absolute certain that you weren’t there. You hadn’t thought much of it the first time it happened, too enraptured and tangled up in Touya to care, grinding desperately against him in the backseat of his car as his tongue forced its way down your throat. But then it happens again, and again, and it becomes too coincidental to ignore.
“Why do we never go to those dinners with your siblings?” you’d tried to bring it up subtly the third time you guys skipped out on dinner, heart thudding in your chest and gentle voice quivering slightly.
Touya sighed, raking a hand through his hair roughly, eyes not straying from the road ahead of him. It’s complicated, he told you in a quiet voice, and you were so startled, so shocked by his sheer, unadulterated honesty, that you couldn’t find your voice, rendering you incapable of replying. Touya didn’t bother looking over at you, didn’t need to, to know that his response surprised you.
The other Todoroki’s are all strikingly beautiful—not that you expected any less. The one with pure snow-white hair and gunmetal grey eyes captures your attention the most, looking as if he’s around your age. He smirks at you when he catches your stare, giving you a small, polite nod—though you can see that tiny glint of mischief in his eye, the same glint you’ve seen in Touya’s a thousand times before. Choking on a surprised gasp, you rapidly avert your gaze, eyes snapping back to the pile of hands in your lap.
Touya notices, of course, because Touya notices everything. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes yours tightly, just a little too tight to be comforting, as his eyes dart to his siblings across the aisle, glare losing most of its heat when it meets his brother’s stare.
Tense shoulders relax, falling slowly with the measured breath he exhales as he turns back to glower at the alter.
You know other guests are staring at you—you can feel their eyes, too. You know the pair of you look more like a couple than siblings, know you should both probably put some distance between yourselves, at least try to keep some semblance of normalcy, some masquerade of a typical sibling relationship.
But Touya’s knee is bouncing, and he seems…unsure. It’s unsettling, really—Touya always seems so confident in himself—and you can almost feel the tense anxiety rolling off of him in heavy waves. So instead of scooting away from him or untangling your hands, your other palm finds a spot high on the thigh pressed tightly against yours, small fingers beginning to knead the flesh.
Sapphire eyes find yours, and he gazes down at you with an odd sense of fondness in his stare, the tiniest smile ghosting across his lips. It makes your chest swell with pride, makes you want to grab his face and crash his lips against yours, forces a tingling warmth to spread through your veins. It shouldn’t, but it does.
He barely lets you leave his side that day, keeps you glued to his body, an arm wrapped tightly around you. He’s a constant, looming, protective presence, glaring at anyone who dares to look at you for more than a second.
“Touya-nii,” you laugh a little while leaving the ceremony, watching as one of your cousins immediately averts their eyes. “That’s my cousin,”
“And I’m your brother,” he says flatly.
You suppose he has a point.
The two of you find your parents and the rest of Touya’s siblings—yours too, now, you guess—standing around a limousine, beckoning you over.
Rei begins to explain their protocol for pictures—and yes, you both have to come—but you aren’t listening. Their eyes are on you again, you can feel them, gliding up your skin, taking sharp note of the way Touya has you pressed flush against him, the way your arm is wrapped firmly around his waist, little fingers twisting in his suit jacket as your heart begins to speed up.
Touya can feel it, too, and he looks down at you in concern, his thumb caressing your shoulder, before he meets the stares of his siblings with a glare so ferocious you’re surprised it doesn’t turn them to ash on the spot.
They offer for you to ride in the limo with the rest of them, Touya cutting them off as he curtly declines their offer—no thanks, you’ll take his car instead and meet them there.
Rei tries to reason with him, but the pointed look he gives her causes her to trail off mid-sentence, holding his eyes for a moment before a sad smile settles on her face, nodding once.
✰ ✰ ✰
Shinjuku Gyoen is nothing short of stunning in the wintertime. It had snowed this morning, around six AM, blanketing the garden in a soft layer of pure white powder, glittering delicately in the early afternoon sun.
Wide eyes drink it in as your face presses against the glass of the car window, your breath fogging it up. There’s something so whimsical and dreamy about snow, you think, about the way it softens even the sharpest of edges, the way it makes everything look prettier.
“You’re so cute,” Touya remarks, watching you from the corner of his eye, a hint of teasing in his voice.
“I’ve never been here during the winter,” you murmur in response, still captivated by the grounds.
Rei and your father are immediately whisked away by several photographers to do their photos alone, leaving the rest of you to litter the parking lot.
But the moment they disappear from view, Touya’s got you trapped between his body and the cold metal of his car, lips moving against the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises, things that force soft whimpers from your lips, things that make your legs feel like they’re about to give out as heat pools deep in your belly. He knows, of course, smirks and teases you even more when he feels you squeeze your thighs together helplessly, tells you you’re his perfect little slut and vows to reward you for being so good as soon as he can.
His other siblings are staring, you try to tell him in a quiet, broken whine.
“Oh yeah?” he breathes, pushing his hips harder into yours, practically grinding his hard cock against your waist. “Let ‘em. I bet they’d love to watch me fuck you stupid, huh? What do you think about that, baby? You want them to watch?”
A pathetic sound hitches in your throat and you bury your burning face in his neck, a low, wicked laugh rumbling deep in his chest.
He doesn’t let up on the absolute filth spilling from his mouth until he can hear your father hollering in the distance, calling for the kids and waving the five of you over.
✰ ✰ ✰
Pictures take too long, and Touya’s antsy by the end of it, picking anxiously at his cuticles as his knee bounces. He’s hauling you out of there the moment you’re officially released, a strong hand wrapped tightly around your wrist. You can hear his mother calling for him, and you look back at her desperately, mirroring her worried frown.
He doesn’t even wait for the rest of them to pile into the limo and leave, immediately rooting through his pockets the moment he’s in the safety of his own car, pulling out a little baggie of white powder. He can feel your wide eyes on him, watching his every movement, but his hands are beginning to shake, and panic is starting to rip viciously at his throat, and he just needs it all to fucking stop.
“There’s no way I could endure this shit sober,” he explains as he searches for something in the powder, cursing when he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for. Frantic cobalt eyes dart around the car, landing on the glovebox, and he leans over you, hastily pulling a reflective object from the compartment.
It’s a mirror.
A tiny, circular mirror that he uses to tap out a line, fingers unsteady and breathing slightly laboured. The gentle sounds of his platinum credit card colliding with glass echo throughout the car.
Hovering over the small mirror, he pauses, a finger pressed to his nostril. He almost wants to tell you to look away, almost does, but he knows you’d disobey either way.
He doesn’t like doing drugs in front of you—you’re too precious, too pure and innocent and he doesn’t want you around anything that could potentially tarnish that. But he also can’t stand that look you get in your eyes, almost like you’re scared of him, on the rare occasions that you have caught him.
He nearly snaps at you when you quietly ask if you can help, if he needs someone to hold the mirror steady, currently balancing on the center console compartment, but you’ve got that goddamn look in your eyes, wide and terrified.
No, he says sternly, telling you that he doesn’t even want you near this stuff, much less touching it.
But cocaine highs don’t last long, he explains to you when you ask about the little round white pills clacking together in his pocket. You’re positive he shouldn’t be mixing drugs like that, positive that your apprehension and disapproval are written clearly across your face, based on the simmering look he shoots at you.
Don’t fucking start.
So you don’t. You swallow down your worries and sit nice and pretty and good for him, just like you’re supposed to.
✰ ✰ ✰
He only leaves you twice, briefly, throughout the entire night. The first is almost immediately after you enter the reception venue.
Depositing you near the head table, he tells you to stay put before he hurries away. You know where he’s going, what he’s about to do, an odd ache taking root and throbbing deep in your chest.
He’d scold you if he could see you, able to read your expressions like a fucking book, would tell you not to cry for him—he doesn’t need your pity. The words cut through your mind in a snarl, and you work hard to rid your face of the frown marring it; he’s already having such a difficult time today, and the last thing you want to do is upset him more with your concern.
Distraction, you need a distraction. Wide eyes scan the extravagant ballroom, all shimmering golds and beiges and crystal chandeliers, searching in a frenzy for something—anything—to rid your mind of images of pretty boys with inky hair and white, white, white.
You swear you hear your name, then Touya’s, hissed out in a sharp whisper, and your gaze lands on a small group of people not too far from you, with snow and fire for hair—the other Todoroki’s, huddled in a loose circle.
The air around you just feels off, you catch his sister saying in a low but frantic voice, eyes darting between her brothers. She sounds worried about you, you think, and it makes you feel weird. She shouldn’t be worried about you; Touya takes fantastic care of you. It isn’t any of their business anyway, you can almost hear Touya sneering in your head, and he’s right. You know he’s right.
Her brothers don’t look too keen on discussing the subject, especially the youngest, who keeps pulling at his collar and fidgeting with his cufflinks.
“Well, why don’t you go and tell her that yourself,” the one with white hair says, grey eyes connecting with yours. She whirls around quickly, mouth snapping shut when she finds your face. Her lips morph into a smile half a second later, and she waves you over.
You avert your eyes, hands tangling nervously in front of you. No. You shouldn’t go. You really, really shouldn’t go. Touya told you to stay put, and you can’t bear to think—don’t even want to consider—how furious he’d be if he found that not only had you moved, but you had moved to talk to his siblings.
You must spend too much time deliberating, though, looking back up to find them advancing towards you, only a few feet away. Your heart’s pounding almost violently in your chest, breath accelerating with each step closer.
“Hi,” she’s saying warmly as she reaches you, causing you to subconsciously take a step back. “We haven’t had a chance to meet. I’m Fuyumi,”
You want to say your name, to introduce yourself politely, but your lips are sealed shut, only able to manage a small sound of affirmation.
“Shouto,” the youngest says, cold heterochromatic eyes glancing at you for a moment before looking away. “M’Shouto,”
“I’m Natsuo,” the man with white hair smirks down at you, eyes burning into yours.
Some of your anxiety melts away as you meet his stone eyes; there’s something comforting about the way that he has Touya’s smirk, Touya’s mischievous glint to his gaze, Touya’s playful lilt to his voice.
You feel like you can breathe again when you’re looking at Natsuo, so you keep your stare directed at him as you stutter out your name, gazing up at him through your lashes.
“You always miss the family dinners,” Natsuo accuses with a knowing smirk, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Y’know, eventually, our parents are going to catch on,”
Your blood turns to ice in your veins, chills crawling on your skin. He knows?
And he says it so nonchalantly, so casually, as if he’s discussing the weather and not the fact that Touya deliberately kidnaps you to fuck your brains out in his car every single time they gather for one of those dinners. Fuyumi and Shouto look over at him with brows furrowed in confusion, but you choke on a gasp, coughing a little and nodding.
Touya returns then, saving you from having to respond.
“What’s wrong?” he’s asking immediately as his hands find purchase on your hips, pulling you back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you lean on him, heart finally beginning to slow.
“N-Nothing, niichan,” you wrap your arms around his, hugging them to your chest, and he squeezes you in reassurance.
“You sure, baby?” Sapphire eyes search your face as you tilt your head back to look up at him, scanning for any sign of distress.
He shouldn’t be using that pet name here, not in front of his blood siblings, not loud enough that any of the passing guests can hear him with ease.
He shouldn’t.
But that doesn’t stop it from sending sparks skittering up your spine, heat beginning to coil in your tummy. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said you didn’t get some sort of twisted satisfaction at the loud gasp that leaves Fuyumi’s chest, or the sharp intake of breath Shouto chokes on, coughing as he tries to cover it up, all at the drop of that one, simple, four letter word.
Touya loves it, too—you can see it in the way his smirk grows into a full smile, a grin big enough to crinkle the edges of his eyes, can see it in his gaze, in the way his cobalt eyes almost sparkle at their reactions.
Your gaze flits back to the three people standing in front of you—your step-siblings, your mind corrects—eyes gliding over their faces slowly.
Natsuo looks thoroughly entertained, a stupid little grin stretched across his face, amusement dancing in his eyes. Fuyumi and Shouto, on the other hand, look thoroughly uncomfortable, shifting a little in place, their faces screwed up with poorly masked disgust.
Touya’s smile drops the moment he looks back at them. Azure eyes scan the faces of his siblings cautiously, giving Natsuo one quick, sharp nod of acknowledgment before his gaze lands on the youngest. And the glare Touya gives him is nothing short of terrifying, practically snarling at the boy, a rough, dangerous sound that gets lodged deep in his chest. It makes the boy cower away, shuffling ever-so-slightly closer to his sister, who shakily glares back.
Lips tugging down into a frown, you look up at Touya, forehead creasing in confusion. He’s still glowering at the kid, eyes narrowing just a little before he huffs and turns away, leaving without speaking a word to any of them.
“Don’t you ever talk to them again,” he’s murmuring as he whisks you away, something malicious in his voice. “You’re my little sister,”
You nod obediently, promising him that you won’t, reassuring him that you didn’t even want to as you relay the entire situation. But he can see it, the curiosity swirling in your eyes, a question dancing on your tongue.
Because although Touya appears to be on seriously awful terms with his younger siblings, Natsuo seems to be some sort of exception. From the interaction you just witnessed, you’re able to deduce that something, some line of communication, must be present between Touya and Natsuo, evident in their shared looks and swift, discreet nods.
He sighs, irritation coating his voice as he demands that you spit it out already.
It makes you jump a little, but the words come tumbling out of your mouth the moment he commands them to, powerless to disobey a direct order.
“Does that include Natsuo?”
Your voice is so tiny that he barely hears you, brows knitting together. There’s an odd look in his eye as he observes you—something that isn’t quite jealousy, but close to it—nose twitching a little as he considers.
“Alone, yes,” he finally says. “With me around it’s fine, I guess. But you are not to speak to him alone, do you hear me?”
Yes, niichan, of course, niichan.
✰ ✰ ✰
Dinner is absolute torture, and the two of you can barely keep your hands off of each other. It starts innocently enough, discreetly enough, with palms on thighs, fingers brushing down arms, hands interlaced under the table. But the need to touch grows, and grows, and grows, these simple actions too teasing to satisfy that dull burning in the pit of your stomach, flaring a little more each time his fingers press into your thigh, or his thumb runs across your knuckles.
And you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t start acting up now, not while the two of you are seated at the head table, looking out amongst the guests—a few months ago, you would’ve never thought to do something so indecent, so dangerous, in such a public place. But you just can’t help it, you’re getting restless now, brain going hazy with thoughts of him as your fingers trail up his thigh and ghost over his lap.
“Getting bold, are we, princess?” his hand catches your wrist, holding your palm in place and grinding up into it. His voice is low, head tipped towards you, sapphire eyes dark. A breath catches in your throat and he smirks, an evil little quirk up of his lips, raising an eyebrow at you in expectation.
You’re lucky they’re seated in a straight line instead of a circle, he murmurs in your ear, Natsuo snickering beside him. “Imagine what your daddy would think if he could see you, acting like such a desperate little slut in front of all of these people,”
A soft, broken moan escapes your lips without your permission, thighs squeezing together in an attempt to combat the heat pooling in your panties. Someone down the line of the table says something, but you’re too enticed by Touya to hear them, your father writing off whatever the remark was with an easygoing smile.
“Oh, those two are always in their own little world,” you hear him dismiss, voice sounding muddled and distant.
“Be a good girl and sit still,” Touya growls in your ear, grip tightening to near bruising.
“But niichan,” you whine, much too loud, gazing at him with glazed, blown eyes. “Niichan,” you repeat, leaning forward to whimper in his ear, fingers flexing around the bulge in his trousers. “N-Need you,”
“If you can’t behave, niichan won’t let you cum later,” he breathes, though his voice is stern, heavy with the weight of the threat.
A pout forms on your lips as he releases your wrist, firmly placing your hand back in your lap and holding it there for a moment, a silent warning for your wandering fingers to stay put.
But he’s up and out of his chair the instant dinner’s over, moving so quick his seat wobbles a little as he grasps your hand tightly in his, practically yanking you up and dragging you along behind him.
The best thing about these fancy venues, he’s telling you as he strides through the halls, cerulean eyes searching for something, is that they have single person washrooms.
The granite is cold on your cheek as Touya shoves you up against the wall, head bouncing a little as it whacks against it.
You whine and he laughs, a cruel, piercing sound echoing off the walls.
“Aw, baby,” he coos contemptuously. “Did that hurt?”
“Y-Yes,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut against the throbbing pain radiating through your cheek.
“Poor little thing,” he hisses, lips against your ear as his hands begin to bunch up your dress, gliding over your silk covered thighs, hands fisting in the material as he goes. Pushing it up around your waist, he leans back, hands travelling over the globes of your ass and kneading hard enough to make you cry out.
“You’re a slutty little brat, y’know that?”
Deft fingers hook in the waistband of your thong, all delicate baby pink lace, Touya snickering about how much of a whore you are, wearing such skimpy, slutty panties, as he lets the elastic snap back against your skin.
A little shocked gasp escapes your lips as he begins tugging the dainty fabric down your thighs—you had expected him to merely push them to the side, but he forces you to take them off entirely, stuffing the soaked material in his pocket.
“You think you can just tease niichan like that and get away with it?”
“No,” you whisper, shaking your head against the wall.
“No,” he murmurs, hips grinding against your bare ass. “Good girls don’t tease their niichans without delivering, do they?”
“No,”
“On your knees,” he orders, spinning you around and stepping back just enough to allow you to sink to the floor. “Get my cock wet,”
Little fingers work quickly, eager to obey, as they undo his pants, practically salivating as you free his cock from its confines.
“Your cock’s so pretty, niichan,” you breathe, eyes glittering with pure, potent desire as you take it in your hands, tongue darting out to trace the prominent veins.
“No teasing,” he growls, a hand knotting in your hair. “I wanna see you choke on it,”
You nod as best you can, mouth instantly falling open, reduced to nothing more than a wet, warm little hole for him to stuff.
And then he’s shoving it down your throat, the hand fisted in your hair holding your head still, and you gag around it almost immediately, working to force you jaw open even more.
“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he rasps out, voice echoing off the walls of the washroom.
The praise has your heart soaring, has you sucking hard around him as he thrusts into your mouth, coating his cock in thick saliva and desperate to hear more. It’s intoxicating, every quiet moan you manage to pull from him, every breathless good girl that falls from his lips, makes you feel lightheaded and heady and dizzy for more.
His hips pump a few more times before he’s pulling you off his cock completely, devious smirk forming on his lips at your whine of protest, and commanding you to go bend over the sink.
Calloused hands are bunching your dress up around your waist again, toe of his shoe kicking at your inner ankles and forcing your feet further apart.
He doesn’t bother stretching you out, not because he doesn’t have the time to, but because he simply doesn’t want to. It’s truly one of his favourite things, to see tears fill your eyes while his cock stretches your cute little pussy, and he knows you love it too, don’t you?
Yes, niichan, of course you do.
His cock glistens with your saliva, sufficiently wet that it slides in easily enough, with minimal pain for him. And the soft groan he lets out as he watches your little hole struggle to take him, paired with your sweet little whimpers of his name, is nothing short of gorgeous.
It has your pussy fluttering around him, pulling a breathless chuckle from his lips as he fills you to the hilt, hips pressed against your ass.
And then doesn’t fucking move.
Your brow furrows, eyes meeting his in the mirror. You try to fuck yourself back on him, but he’s too quick, hands stilling your hips immediately and tutting in disapproval.
“Niichan,” you whimper. “N-Niichan, please fuck me,”
“Do you think you deserve it?” he’s asking, tongue tracing the shell of your ear as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “After the way you behaved at dinner?”
“M’sorry,” you whine, wiggling back against him, his fingers digging into your flesh as he stops them, grip tightening. “Couldn’t help it, wanted you so bad,”
“Of course you couldn’t,” he smirks, hips starting to move slowly, teasingly, stilling after only three simple thrusts. A hand reaches down and finds your clit, forcing a gasp from you as his thumb brushes over it, back and forth, back and forth, featherlight grazes that have you arching back into him, trying to press further into his touch.
“Think you can cum just like this for me?” he asks, beginning to thrust shallowly again, just enough to have the head of his cock dragging against that spot buried deep inside your cunt, that spot he knows so well, then nudging your cervix. “Hmm?”
“Mhmm,” you nod, breath starting to come out in short little pants.
“Then do it,” he demands in a whisper, eyes still holding yours. “Show niichan how pretty you look, cumming all over his cock,”
And the combination of his deep, rough voice rumbling against your back as praises tumble from his lips, his thumb and cock, and the fact that anyone within a fifteen foot radius of this washroom could probably hear you, has you cumming within minutes with a sharp cry of Touya-nii!
Touya laughs at how pathetically quickly you came, about how easy it is to have you creaming on his cock, heat seeping into your cheeks as you try to look away.
“My turn,” he breathes, yanking your head back up by your hair, fingers finding root in the intricate updo that has begun to fall apart. “And I wanna see your face as I fuck you, so keep your damn head up,”
And then he’s slamming into you with enough vigour to propel you forward, face pressed against the mirror, toes barely touching the ground. Every moan and whimper and mewl he forces from your throat fogs up the glass, leaving tiny glistening drops of condensation as they fade.
You’re trying so hard to keep your eyes open, to watch him as he fucks you, because he always looks so damn pretty.
He’s stupidly attractive, with his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, first few buttons undone and collar popped, revealing his sharp collarbone, smooth ivory skin stretched taut across it. Ebony hair clings to his forehead and neck delicately, coated in sweat, and he’s emitting the most glorious noises, heavy pants and little broken whines, peppered with praise.
Nails bite into your flesh as he holds you in place, hips snapping relentlessly, your fingers curling around the porcelain sink.
“You want niichan’s cum?” he growls in your ear, eyes burning into yours. You whimper in response, nodding against the mirror. “Yeah? Then fucking beg for it.”
Pleads are spilling from your lips immediately, nothing but senseless babbling as he pounds into you.
“Please, niichan, please, need it, your cum, stuff me with your cum,”
“That’s it,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “I want every single person in this godforsaken hall to hear you, I want every single person to know how much of—” he cuts himself off with a shuddery curse. “—How much of a slut my baby sister is,”
“Pretty please,” you whine out the words, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fill me up with your cum, niichan, I-I want it,”
His hips still just as your cunt clenches around him, cockhead pressed tightly against your cervix as he fills you with hot, thick ropes of cum.
He pulls out a few moments later, and you uncurl your fingers from around the rim of the sink, wincing at your appearance; lips bitten raw, hair beginning to fall from it’s elegant style, body covered in a thin layer of sweat.
You look back at him to find him already staring at you, expectantly, impatiently, hands jittery as he quirks his head towards the door.
“We can’t leave together,” he says, as if it’s obvious, even though you stumbled into the washroom together twenty minutes ago.
He needs more.
You nod, slow and dumb, staggering a little on your trembling legs. Grasping the doorknob you pause, turning to look at him again.
“What?” he asks as he searches through his pockets, not bothering to glance at you. He can feel your eyes on him.
“Um...” you shift nervously from foot to foot, lip caught between your teeth.
He looks over at you sharply, brows rising as if to ask why are you still here?
“M-My panties, niichan,”
Oh.
A wicked smirk spreads across his face, eyes twinkling, brows relaxing.
“What about them?”
“Well, I—I can’t return to the reception without them,”
“Oh, and why not?”
You pause, blinking a few times, at a loss for words. Why not? Because you can feel his cum beginning to trickle out of you, mixing with your juices and dribbling down your inner thigh?
“Exactly,” he says, when you take too long to reply. “Now be a good little girl and go. I’ll be out soon,”
✰ ✰ ✰
You don’t go back into the ballroom, terrified that you’ll be ambushed by his—your—siblings again. Collapsing in one of the plush chairs, you cross your quivering legs tightly in a desperate attempt to keep the cum oozing out of you from getting on your dress.
People are looking again, probably think you’re drunk based on the way you teetered over to the seat, or the way your hair’s begun to come undone from it’s intricate updo, wispy strands framing your face.
He returns from the washroom only a few minutes later, eyes finding you immediately. There’s a stupid, smug smirk on his face, thinks it’s so cute that he fucked you so good you can’t walk, can’t even get up, that you need your niichan to help you.
A pout forms on your lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Not funny,”
“Very funny,” he chuckles as his hands snake under your armpits, hauling you to your feet. You stumble a little, bumping into him and he laughs again, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and propping you up against him.
“Alright, let’s get this over with,”
“Oh, niichan,” you murmur and he pauses, glancing over at you. You reach up, your thumb swiping across his nose to collect excess white powder.
“Thanks,” he breathes, winking at you. You hum noncommittally, about to rub your thumb across his white dress shirt to clean it when he catches your hand, bringing your thumb to his lips and licking it instead.
It isn’t discreet. It’s slow and deliberate, tongue sticking out of his mouth, flattening it against your thumb and dragging it up, from base to tip. You’re sure someone saw that, but you can’t be bothered to care, not when another bout of intense heat rushes to your core, forcing you to squeeze your legs together, trying in vain to keep Touya’s cum from seeping out, from your juices traveling down your leg. A soft whimper leaves your lips, breathing beginning to accelerate as your eyes bore into his, now half-lidded and dark. He holds your gaze for a moment before something snaps.
“We need to go,” he says, voice firm with no room for negotiation. “Now.”
And, God, his voice is rough and raw and fucking dripping with desire. It’s got you nodding before he’s even finished speaking, a flock of butterflies invading your stomach at the downright sinful grin he gives you in response. Such a good girl for him.
Despite the fact that you’ve barely recovered from your previous orgasm, you nearly moan at his look alone, the urge to kiss him burning through your veins and alighting your entire body in direct juxtaposition to the shivers his eyes just sent rippling across your skin. The insatiable need overwhelms your senses, and it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous, how captivated he has you, entirely wrapped around his slim finger and hanging on his every word, how you’re positive that, in that moment, you’d do anything he asked.
You wobble awkwardly in your heels, legs still shaking and having trouble keeping up with Touya’s swift pace. You’re about to ask him to slow down just a little so you don’t break an ankle, when you bump into your father.
Who just so happens to provide you with the perfect excuse to leave early. You can practically see the gears clicking into place in Touya’s mind, sapphire eyes glittering as a sinister smirk spreads across his face.
Your father’s eyes widen as he observes your appearance, strands of hair sticking to your clammy face and eyes half-lidded, chapped lips beginning to crack, leaning heavily against Touya and seemingly too weak to stand on your own.
“Hi dad,” you greet hoarsely, wincing a little at how grating your voice sounds.
He frowns immediately. “Jesus, sweetheart, are you feeling alright? You look…” he trails off, forehead wrinkling with worry.
“Oh, she’s not feeling too good,” Touya says softly, smoothly, just the right amount of concern and compassion in his tone.
“Oh no,” your father breathes, frown deepening. “That’s terrible,” he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. “Do you think you’ll be able to tough out the rest of the reception?”
You begin to croak out an answer, but Touya speaks over you.
“She’s burning up, sir,” he informs him, and it isn’t a lie—not exactly, anyway. Technically, if your father were to feel your forehead, your body temperature would be above average, a result of Touya fucking the absolute life out of you a mere ten minutes ago.
Touya looks down at you with painfully sympathetic eyes, but you can still see that little glint of mischief, buried under all of that artificial benevolence.
“Maybe I should take her home?” Touya muses, looking back at your father, mimicking his anxiety effortlessly.
“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “I think that’s the best thing to do,” his eyes dart to yours. “You really don’t look well,”
Oh, you’re sure you don’t. Resting a little more against Touya, you play up the symptoms a bit, whimpering quietly as little fingers twist in his shirt, nuzzling your face against his side. A soft noise of endearment sounds at the back of his throat, large hands readjusting your body to support you better.
Another whimper falls from your lips, but this time it isn’t from pretending you’re ill. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, slimy and cool as it drips down your inner thigh, and a sick thrill shoots through your body, abused cunt throbbing greedily.
Rei comes up behind your father then, wrapping her arms around his midsection and resting her chin on his shoulder, eyes flitting between the two of you carefully.
“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
“I’m gonna bring this little princess home,” Touya explains, nodding his head at you in indication as he speaks. “She isn’t feeling very well, poor thing,”
And it’s scary, scary how terrific he is at lying, how easily he slips into that niichan role, the one painstakingly crafted and flawlessly maintained around your parents, the one he’s perfected at this point.
Rei doesn’t say much, only cooing in sympathy, remarking that it’s such a shame, but your father’s eyes soften. “Such a good big brother,” he praises, clapping a hand on Touya’s shoulder.
Touya has to consciously work to smother the smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he responds.
“You have no idea,”
✰ ✰ ✰
Your parents don’t come home that night, opting to go straight to the airport from the venue, embarking on their honeymoon immediately.
It’s nice, playing house with Touya, having the entire place completely to yourselves. He’s been home an awful lot these past few weeks, more than he ever has in the past, and you get to experience things you never could before.
Every morning and every night, you cook breakfast and dinner together. You go grocery shopping together, wash the dishes together, fold the laundry together, all while stealing kisses in between; little domestic things you didn’t really do with your parents around.
You spend every night that they’re away in his bed, being fucked into his mattress, surrounded by the smell of him—campfire and Marlboros and expensive cologne—absolutely full of him in every sense.
You wake up in the mornings with his hand between your legs, playing with your cute little clit, or his cock pressed against your ass, grinding until you wake up. You have sleepy, slow morning sex while you’re both still half asleep, and it’s the most gentle he’s ever been. It consists of lazy, sloppy, messy thrusts against each other, hips meeting halfway—just grinding until he gets too impatient, though he usually lets you cum two or three times before he finally flips you over, trapping you under his body and slamming his hips into you, growling and grunting, your legs pushed up and folded on either side of you.
You get to fuck in the kitchen—not that you hadn’t before, but this time you get to take it slow. He eats you out while you sit on the counter and then fucks you into oblivion and it’s nasty, it’s disgusting, it’s so good. He cums so much that it’s leaking out of you, onto the counter, his chest heaving as he observes it with an odd little smile and a soft “fuck,”
And you get to fuck in the bathtub, that big jacuzzi in your parents room, water and bubbles sloshing around as you bounce on his cock, loud cries echoing off the walls.
It’s going great, until the last weekend of the honeymoon, a mere few days before your parents are supposed to return.
✰ ✰ ✰
A party.
Keigo tries to talk him out of it, tries to at least talk him out of letting you stay.
“She shouldn’t be here,” you hear Keigo hiss under his breath as guests begin to fill the house, Touya snorting in retort.
Keigo doesn’t think you should be around any of this at all—there’s no reason you should have to witness this shit, you catch him growling, gold eyes blazing. No, not a poor innocent babygirl like you, this isn’t the place for you.
But Touya’s too stubborn, too selfish to let Keigo take you out for the night. He knows he’s right, would rather not have you around these people, but he doesn’t have a fucking choice. The thought of you being out of his sight, out with another man, has anxiety rising in his throat, panic clawing at his chest.
As a result, you spend the entirety of the party being passed between Touya and Keigo. There are so many girls here, so many people you don’t know, wide eyes scanning the living room as your fingers twist in Keigo’s hoodie.
Niichan’s busy, Touya tells you, when you ask why you can’t just stay with him, when you ask where he keeps disappearing off to. Niichan’s working, don’t you know? Be a good girl and stay with Kei.
You can tell that Keigo isn’t happy about it. He coos softly when you timidly ask if he’s upset that he’s stuck babysitting you all night, in the middle of an apology when he cuts you off.
“It isn’t your fault, songbird,” he murmurs, gentle fingers tracing the curve of your face.
He’s even angrier at Touya when he takes that first girl back to his room, because the look on your face—the way it crumples accompanied by a soft, hurt sound caught at the back of your throat—kills him.
And it isn’t like you don’t know about his side whores. You do. They’re customers, he had snapped at you, the only time you had ever asked about it. But it’s an entirely different thing to actually have to witness it with your own eyes.
You can’t help the flare of jealousy that rises in your chest every time he takes a girl by the hand and leads them to his bedroom. It stings, burns, feels like a fire’s been lit in your chest, filling your lungs with dense smoke and making it hard for you to breathe.
Keigo tries his best to distract you, gentle fingers on your cheeks turning your face towards him, golden eyes softening in sympathy. He keeps you as preoccupied as he can, but it still isn’t enough. Your eyes are drawn to Touya every time he’s in the room—an automatic, instinctual reaction you couldn’t control even if you wanted to.
And every time you watch a girl giggle into his ear, or hop up with him, that fire smoldering in your chest blazes, rages, has you wheezing and hissing and pressing a palm flat against yourself, a desperate attempt to get the pain to stop.
Tomura’s here, too, though he’s sitting in a shrouded corner on his phone, the light from the screen reflected on his pale face, colours flashing intermittently. He looks absorbed with whatever he’s doing on there—probably playing a game, Keigo tells you, but why are you interested, anyway?
You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t exactly put it into words. He terrifies you, but he sparks a morbid curiosity in you, too. He’s so silent, private, almost inobtrusive; and yet Touya never lets you anywhere near him. Your eyes keep flitting his way, as if trying to will something to happen, staring at him longingly and hoping he’ll look up from his phone for a split second and catch your gaze, that he’ll somehow magically get the hint that you’re desperate and dying to talk to him, and take the first step.
But it doesn’t happen.
Touya is thoroughly unimpressed each and every time he finds you sitting on Keigo’s knee or lap, leaning back against his chest as he speaks with that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, but there isn’t much he can do. The third time he returns to take you from his friend he can tell you’re beginning to get tired, can see it in your eyes, in the way you’re cuddling into a warm chest. He debates sending you to bed right then and there, but you protest, little hands tangling in Keigo’s hoodie.
“Aw, she’s alright for a little more, isn’t she?”
Touya’s sharp jaw clenches twice and he exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darting between your faces.
“Fine,” he says, although it doesn’t seem fine.
And you are exhausted, straddling Keigo’s hips, face pressed into his shoulder and hot breath evening out softly against his neck. Fingers ghost up and down your spine nonchalantly as Keigo talks softly to the people around him, his laugh vibrating against your chest and filling you with an odd, tingly sensation, a warmth that seeps through your body. You snuggle a little closer to him and he coos, readjusting you in his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you tightly to him.
“Don’t wanna go to bed with him,” you whisper, words muffled by his skin.
Keigo hums in question, squeezing you once. “Who, songbird?” he presses his lips to your ear as inconspicuously as he can, lidded gold eyes lazily scanning the room for your brother. “Touya?”
You nod sluggishly, little fingers curling in his hoodie, a silent plea not to let you go.
“Aw, don’t be like that,” Keigo says softly with a small chuckle, but it sounds off to your ears—sad, even.
“Don’t wanna,” you repeat, pout evident in your voice. “Wanna stay with you,”
You wouldn’t have noticed the way his chest hitches at those four words if you weren’t pressed flush against it. But you feel it, feel his breath getting caught in his throat, reverberating against you as he clears it quietly. Unexpected guilt sours your mouth, makes your stomach turn to a block of heavy lead, weighting your body down.
“You know you can’t, sweetheart,” he finally responds, voice cracking just a bit, right on that last word. “Don’t hurt your niichan like that, he loves you,”
No he doesn’t, you want to say, but you can’t seem to force the words from your mouth, opting to shake your head instead, eyes shutting tightly against the burn of tears.
“He does,” Keigo says, more sternly this time. “Don’t doubt that,”
But you’re not so sure. If Touya loved you—really loved you—would he have disappeared no less than three times tonight, each with a different girl, leading them into his bedroom with those dark glittering sapphire eyes while they gaze up at him like he hung the fucking moon himself?
Honestly, is that even a question you want answered?
You keep your face buried in Keigo’s chest to block it out, to keep yourself from watching your big brother as he flits around the room, handing out discreet baggies in exchange for ridiculous wads of cash and talking in hushed voices, in code, to men who look much too old to be at a house party.
Eventually, Touya returns to retrieve you, bending down and speaking softly.
“It’s time for bed, princess,” A hand pets your head, and you flinch away.
“Hey,” you feel the couch dip beside you as he sits down. “Look at me,”
You’re shaking your head, trying in vain to press even closer to Keigo, but that doesn’t stop Touya from reaching out and gripping your chin, forcing you to face him.
Crystal eyes search your face carefully, wide and alert—he always works sober, you found out. He can tell you’re upset, can see it written plain as day across your face, eyes glassy with your lips set in a deep pout, eyebrows pushed together. Exhaling harshly, he closes his eyes, fingers rubbing at his eyes in exasperation.
“C’mon,” he says lowly, wrapping a hand around your bicep and tugging as he stands.
“No,” you nearly growl, shaking your head and viciously pulling your arm from his grip.
Touya stares at you for a moment, like he cannot believe you just had the audacity to tell him no, before he speaks, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “What did you just say?”
Keigo’s sitting up straighter now, more alert as your body subconsciously curls into his chest, cowering away from your big brother. “Y-You heard me,”
Snorting in disbelief, Touya raises his eyebrows as his tongue runs along the front of his teeth, huffing out the remnants of a chuckle before his smile drops completely, blue fire blazing in his dark eyes.
“Get up,” he snarls, hand in a vice grip around your arm as he yanks harshly. The force of it has you practically falling off Keigo’s lap, though Touya catches you roughly before your knees hit the hardwood, hoisting you up by your arm to stand on unsteady feet.
“Move.” He instructs, giving you a shove in the vague direction of his bedroom. “Now.”
His chest bumps into your back and you stumble forward, yelping softly. He keeps pushing like this, strong hand clasping your shoulder so tightly you’re sure you’ll have five little bruises in the shape of his fingerprints in the morning, driving you to walk with the sheer force of his body.
“No,” your whispering, trying desperately to turn back and look at him as you approach his door, tears flooding your eyes, frantically shaking your head and trying your damnedest to plant your feet, heels digging into the floor in an attempt to stop him from pushing you forward.
“You really gonna say no to me a second time tonight? In less than fifteen minutes? You think that’s wise, baby?”
You don’t—of course you don’t. It’s probably one of the stupidest things you could do, in this situation.
But even though you know, know this isn’t a smart move, know you shouldn’t be testing him like this—challenging him like this, especially in front of so many people—you’re powerless to control the words that tumble from your lips next.
“I don’t want to sleep in a bed that’s been infested by your whores,”
They come out as a hiss—you don’t mean for them to, but they do, voice quivering under the combined weight of your fury and fear.
That gets him to stop, entire body going rigid. Icy dread rushes through your veins, panic clawing its way up your throat, forcing uneven breaths through your parted lips. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you brace yourself for the impact of his bellowing voice, shoulders tensing in anticipation for the blow, for him to really snap.
Except then he starts laughing, his hand relaxing around your shoulder, spinning you around to face him as he backs you up against his bedroom door, caging you in with his body.
“That’s what this is about?”
Eyebrows furrowing, you blink twice in disbelief, prompting hot tears to finally spill over. “I—Wh-Why are you laughing?”
“Because you’re being silly, princess,”
It hurts, stings like three massive spikes just shot through your heart, causes a tiny whimper to sound from deep in your throat, chest hiccupping with pathetic little half-sobs.
“Sil…Silly?” Time feels as if it’s slowed, your sluggish brain having trouble comprehending the situation unfolding.
His lips pull down into a frown, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards you with extreme precision. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds far away, muffled, like you’re underwater and he’s speaking to you from above the surface. “Hey—”
Your head’s shaking again, in slow, delayed motions from side to side. “No,” you whisper. “No.”
You feel nauseous, and the proximity of his presence is only making it worse, making you feel like you could hurl at any moment. Little hands find purchase on his chest and push, stomach lurching painfully as your head spins.
He catches your wrists easily, holding them together in one large hand, his other coming to grip your chin and force you to look at him.
Thick silence settles between the two of you as Touya’s eyes study your face slowly, noting the tears flowing steadily down your face, the way your breath stutters with sobs you’re so desperately trying to hold back, the way your entire body trembles.
“Are you seriously upset over this?” he asks, laughing a little.
Your gaze holds his, tears casting a thick, gleaming screen across your eyes.
“Yes, Touya,” you whisper, wishing your voice didn’t sound as small and weak as it does. “I’m seriously upset,”
That’s the first time you’ve used his first name—just his first name, void of any honorific—in a long, long time.
It gets him to pause again, his usual and well-worn mask of passivity melting away for just a second as shock crosses his face. Then his features are hardening again, brows knitting together and creasing his forehead, eyes narrowing into near slits.
“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he spits harshly, the words cutting into your flesh. “You know none of them mean a thing,”
“Then why do you fuck around with them?” you shoot back almost immediately, voice fading into a whisper.
He glares at you, as if you’re wasting his precious time with such childish questions when he’s told you this already, and you can see the blue fire simmering in his eyes.
“It’s late,” he says curtly, voice sounding off to you. “You need sleep.”
You try to fight him on it, but he’s too quick, reflexes too swift, and he shoves you into his room, door slamming shut less than a second later.
Tears obstruct your vision as you stumble around, finally finding his desk chair and collapsing heavily. You don’t even bother trying to open the door, know it’s locked without having to hear that soft click! as the lock turns into place.
He’s right—it is late, well past three in the morning, and you are utterly exhausted, drawing your knees up to your chest and curling up in the plush chair.
But no matter how tired you are, you absolutely refuse to sleep in his bed. The party’s dying down, you can hear Touya’s muffled farewells as guests begin to leave while you fade in and out of consciousness.
You think you might’ve heard Keigo say something, might’ve caught the word stay, might’ve detected the annoyance laced in Touya’s voice as he responds, but you’re too worn out to reflect on it.
At some point in the night, Touya reenters his room, chuckling a little at your antics and carrying you to his bed.
The move wakes you, and you weakly protest—no, you don’t want to be in this bed, please, just let you go sleep in your own bed—but Touya ignores you entirely, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tightly to his chest.
It’s then that the tears start up again, salt staining your puffy cheeks, head beginning to throb from dehydration.
“Shh, baby, shh,” he hushes you, nimble fingers combing through your hair. “I’m here, right here,”
If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Touya over these past few weeks, it’s that he becomes marginally softer in the middle of the night. Your fingers twist in his t-shirt, trying in vain to pull yourself impossibly closer, Touya making a soft noise akin to a coo in the back of his throat.
“I’ve got you, niichan’s got you,”
You hate it. You hate that he’s the only person you want comforting you right now, as you lay in his bed, surrounded by the smell of cheap perfume and clinging in desperation to him, needing him close, needing his body heat warming you and his hands on you. You hate the way your sobs come harder the more he soothes you, the heavy ache in your chest almost bruising, crushing your lungs and making it near impossible to breathe.
But you crave his comfort nonetheless. It’s a special kind of comfort, one that’s difficult to describe, one that only comes from the love and adoration and protection of a big brother.
Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.
“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.
“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.
“You have me, baby,”
“All of you,”
His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”
There’s something in his voice that makes you stop, pause, his words reverberating in your mind. He sounds almost like…like he’s upset over this fact, like he wishes that you didn’t have all of him.
You want to press for more, to probe and prod and pick away at it, but exhaustion finally claims you, rendering you incapable of speech, your tongue moving sluggishly in your mouth as you desperately try to form words.
✰ ✰ ✰
It’s grey when you wake, only a few hours later, eyes sticky and dry from lack of sleep. Your head is pounding, feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, lips cracked and dry from dehydration, and a painful lump forms almost immediately in your throat when you get a whiff of sickly sweet artificial vanilla, then another of intense, synthetic citrus.
The tears are starting up again, collecting in your eyes and clouding your vision. It makes you nauseous, makes your skin crawl and your chest burn as your throat fills with acid. The tears sting, but you blink hard to keep them at bay. You will not cry, not in front of him, not in his bed surrounded by the remnants of those other girls, not again. You refuse to give them the satisfaction.
You spring up quickly, halfway through climbing over Touya’s body when a strong hand latches onto your wrist.
“No,” Touya mumbles, face half buried in his pillow. “Stay,”
“No,” you whisper, pulling yourself free from his grasp and hurrying out of his room. You can smell them on your clothes, on your skin, and it makes you want to scrub your body under scalding water until it’s raw.
Everything hurts—it hurts so much it feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself, like you can’t breathe, gasping for air as you stumble onto the porch, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stop and realize you have nowhere to go.
Touya has cut you off from all of your friends at this point; any spare time you had was now claimed by him.
And that’s exactly why he doesn’t bother rolling out of bed to follow after you, isn’t worried about you going anywhere, knows you can’t leave him, no matter how badly you want to. No, not a precious little girl like you, with nowhere to find refuge.
You sit down heavily on one of the front steps, vision so blurry with tears you’re barely able to make out the figure advancing towards you. They’re finally escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you blink twice, trying to clear them. Your chest stutters under the force of a sob you’re desperately trying to hold back, clapping both hands over your mouth in an attempt to silence it.
“Hey—oh no,” Keigo breathes the moment your watery eyes look up at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, causing more tears to leak out as your shoulders shake, whole body trembling from the force of your sobs, poorly muffled by your palms.
“No, no, no, sweetheart,” he’s saying as he rushes to sit down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders tightly.
Keigo’s the closest thing you have to a friend now. And really, you should be embarrassed by the way you practically fling yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as your hands form fists in his t-shirt. He’s a little startled by your borderline violent reaction, but he recovers quickly, arms encircling your body and pulling you against him.
“It’s okay,” he says softly, one hand rubbing your back while the other pets your hair. “Hey, it’s alright, I’m here,”
And you hate the way his words almost directly mirror Touya’s, the way his low sultry voice turned gentle and soft as he carded deft fingers through your hair echoing almost painfully in your head. But Keigo lets you cry, lets you stain his t-shirt with salty tears and saliva until you’ve got nothing left, never stopping his compassionate motions.
“You…Stayed the night?” you pull back a little, the fact that he’s still here, blonde hair all mussed up from sleep, finally dawning on you.
“Well, yeah,” he says, a little bashful as he looks away and ducks his head. “Wanted to make sure you were alright, s’all. Last night was…” he trails off, frowning. “What happened?”
Golden eyes search your face, his forehead crinkling in concern. A beat of silence passes.
“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but…” kind fingers move to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll feel better if you let it out, promise. And, not to brag or anything, but I’m preee-tty good at this kind’a stuff,” he chuckles a little.
“Got in a fight,” you whisper, eyes staring intently at the brick wall behind his shoulder as your chin trembles slightly, memories of last night flashing through your mind.
“A fight? With Touya?” Keigo moves his head a little, forcing his face into your field of vision and catching your face with tender fingers when you try to look away.
“Yeah,” tears are beginning to well up in your eyes as you think about it, the sheer fact that you’re in a fight making your heart feel like it’s ripping itself to shreds. A chaotic storm of emotions brews in your chest, switching mercilessly and swirling together so quickly that you can’t even tell what they are. Your insides feel all jumbled up, and trying to decipher what the heck’s going on only makes your head ache more.
They torment you, a deep sense of anguish finally settling at the core. You’re confused, livid at Touya for being such a jackass; jealous, because you want him all to yourself; heartbroken, because you want—need—his approval, desperate to hear him tell you that you’re his good little baby girl.
You want to be his good little baby girl.
But it isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Get used to it, he had told you once, when you had complained about something so silly, so simple as him eating the last ice cream cookie sandwich (he made it up to you, of course, telling you he wanted to taste your cream—such a cheeseball—and making you cum three times before taking you out to buy more).
No, it isn’t fair, but you don’t care. You want him to be yours, too.
Keigo tsks, bringing your attention back to him, mouth set in a hard line as sad eyes watch you. “What was it about?”
“I-It…H-He—” a shuddery breath cuts you off, and Keigo draws you into his arms, holding you against his chest as the sobs start up again, sobs that make it feel like your body’s about to tear apart, desperately clutching Keigo to try and keep yourself together.
“Oh, songbird,” he coos, rocking you gently. “Is it…Um, the other girls?”
“Yes,”
“But you know you’re his favourite, right?”
“D-Does it even matter, if he’s still fucking them anyway?” you ask, pulling back suddenly as hot anger flashes through you. “Why does he need them? Am I—” a sob cuts you off, but you swallow it, persevering. “Am I not good enough?” your voice breaks on the last word, fading into a whisper, big teary eyes scanning his face almost frantically, seeking an answer in his expression.
Keigo blinks, surprised by your sudden brashness, then gives you a small, sad smile. “Only he can answer that, sugarplum,” he whispers, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray tear and wipe it across your cheekbone. “But just because he’s fucking around, doesn’t mean that you can’t, too,”
Your head tilts to the side, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
“Give him a taste of his own medicine,” Keigo shrugs, leaning back a little. “He definitely deserves it, for making an angel such as yourself so upset,”
You sniffle a little, wiping at your nose with the paw of your sweater as you consider the prospect.
“Y’know, it technically isn’t cheating, since you guys aren’t in any sort of official relationship to begin with,” Keigo reminds you gently, nudging just a tiny bit more.
It isn’t right—you know it isn’t. You’ve never been one to fight fire with fire, often preferring to avoid conflict and drama, but you’re so hurt; you’re so angry at him—angry at the way he reacted, as if it was you in the wrong, angry at the fact that he doesn’t even seen to care about your feelings on the issue, because he knows you’ll come running back either way, angry because he’s right, as evident in the way pathetically clung to him last night—that all you want to do in that moment is cause him a shred of the pain he’s causing you.
It’s an impulsive decision that has you pulling out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts, thumb jabbing at Tomura’s name—Touya had given you his number for emergencies only—before you have time to think it through, before you have time to regret it.
Tiny thumbs fly across the keyboard, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline accelerates your breathing.
Hey. Let’s hang out.
Keigo inhales through his teeth next to you, and your eyes dart to him in surprise, as if you had forgotten he was there.
“Well,” he begins, though his voice sounds odd to you—unlike his usually nonchalant, happy-go-lucky manner. “That’s, uh, definitely one that’s gonna hurt him, songbird,”
You look back down at your phone to see Tomura typing a response.
Yeah, definitely. Pick a day.
“Good.”
#dabi x reader#dabi x you#dabi smut#todoroki touya x reader#todoroki touya#no idea how this MONSTER grew so much???#big apologies#part two is DARK and it is coming tomorrow!!!#tw pseudo-incest#tw toxic relationship#tw dubcon#tw drugs#tw cheating
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All You Had to Do Was Stay (Post Reveal/ Pre Relationship) (1/4)
Thanks to LNC for the title!
Summary:
Three years ago, Marinette revealed her identity to him. Three years ago, he promised to wait in a hotel room for her. Three years ago, she opened the door to find it empty.
Now she's expected to play nice with him, since she's the maid of honor and he's unfortunately the best man. But old habits die hard, and old feelings die harder.
"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette."
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Things that need to be done before Alya Cesaire could marry Nino Lahiffe:
1. Designs combining both Martinique culture and Réunion style needed to be made for the whole wedding party. Everyone should get to have a say in what they wear.
2. The video of Alya dancing overenthusiastically to the cupid shuffle needed to be removed from Lila Rossi’s Instagram, lest Nino’s nana see and wonder what type of woman he’s marrying.
3. The cake tasting needed to be had. Marinette needed to make sure that her parents didn’t go overboard and keep the couple for the whole night. Even if Alya was practically their daughter.
Even if they begged.
Even if papa cried.
4. A totally unique and unreplicable combination Bachelor and Bachelorette party needed to be planned.
And, lastly… The most difficult of all:
5. Marinette somehow needed to be able to stand in a room with Nino’s best man, Adrien, and hold a conversation for more than five minutes. Even if, three years ago, he found out her identity, left Paris, and broke her heart.
“Easy,” Marinette groaned, sinking further into her barstool as she closed her notes app, her head touching the counter of the bar. She’d already crossed off the top two of the list items, and yet…
“I’m not asking for a miracle,” Alya began, obviously knowing what she was thinking about. She was the one to ask Marinette out that night, wanting to find out her progress… and also to check in on her wellbeing. It was obvious that she felt bad, she knew how things went between the two and how Marinette originally thought they would go. But she couldn’t just ask Nino not to have Adrien be his best man. “Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking. Just five minutes in a room together. You quickly plan the bachelorette party, since we know that you’re far too organized not to, give him the run down, and then leave. Back to your life, back to doing whatever it is you do now.”
“Sit at home. Alone,” Marinette supplied.
Alya grimaced. “It’s for the best that Luka got married, Marinette. You couldn’t keep playing that game. All that kiss and tell was gonna kill you some day.”
Marinette groaned, somehow sinking further into the wood of the bar. Anymore and she’d become part of the grain.
“Plus, Juleka’s in a better mood with you now,” Alya said, obviously looking at the other young woman as she undoubtedly danced on the floor with Rose. Marinette’s habit of coming back to Paris and making out with her brother had obviously put a strain on their relationship, even if Luka insisted that things weren’t committal and he was totally fine with only seeing her twice a year. “Who knows, maybe Nino will have a handsome cousin and you’ll fall madly in love.”
Marinette raised the side of her head to cast Alya a glare from one eye.
Alya didn’t falter. “So, he’s back. After spending three years in New York, Milan, Hong Kong, and Tokyo. I get it, it’s life changing, it’s world ending, it’s all the things you don’t want and more—especially after how things ended,” Marinette groaned, Alya carried on, “but, you know who else is back? Max, Rose, unfortunately Lila, and Kim. Good old Kim. All your friends, everyone who you’ve known for years, everyone who has missed you as you flitted in and out of Paris! Sure, you found out that Adrien was Chat Noir, went to his hotel room, thought you were finally going to get together, and then opened the door to find it empty—but you know, life happens! And when you least expect it, it keeps going on and on and on and on!”
Marinette turned her face back to the wood.
“I really did try to get Nino to change his mind,” Alya said flatly. “I begged.” Marinette doubted it, but…
“Why couldn’t he just stay in New York?” Marinette mumbled.
“Because Nino is his best friend.”
“Why couldn’t Nino go to New York,” Marinette said, “or Adrien done a zoom call for the wedding.”
Alya snorted. “Okay, that’s it,” she said, grabbing Marinette’s arm. “Adrien’s landing today, nothing’s going to stop it, you just have to clear your head and power on.” She leaned into Marinette’s view as her friend finally turned her head, insistently stating, “you were Ladybug for god’s sake. Even if no one else knows it, you do. I do. You gotta suit up, lovebug, and face the day, lest another evil butterfly come flying by.” Never mind the fact that there hadn’t been an Akuma in years.
Not since Gabriel Agreste was arrested.
Marinette rolled her eyes, finally lifting herself off the bar.
“There’s my girl,” Alya said. “Now, finish your dirty shirley, order another drink, and come do karaoke with me. I’m a hundred percent certain that I saw Say You’ll Be There on the song list, and you know that I’ve been singing Spice Girls since I was in diapers.”
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Marinette stumbled into her apartment at one am. Not drunk, she didn’t get drunk, not out in public at bars. In friends’ apartments, maybe. She was still a bit tipsy which was, in its own way, dangerous. But she could fight through it, maybe.
Kicking off her heels, she looked at it, the studio she called home and had once been so proud of a few years back, the same studio she’d lived in ever since she was a fashion design student. The same one in which she’d left Chat knocking on her balcony door when she struggled to stay asleep, and eventually relented to let him in time and time again before he knew who she was.
“Someday, I’m going to move,” she grumbled, beginning to pull the bobby pins from her hair. She wouldn’t, of course, not for a long time. Rent-controlled apartments were rare, and while she pretended that the history that practically stained her hardwood floors was something she would rather forget, she was a nostalgic young woman. She’d be there for at least another five years, or until she was finally well and truly over Chat.
Five years would probably come first.
She passed by the photos washi taped to her walls, the ones where fourteen-year-old kids gave toothy smiles and eighteen-year-old young women gave winks while leaning into blond young men. If she was so concerned about history, she’d have to get rid of those first.
She sighed, finally removing the last bobby pin from her hair and letting it fall down her back, placing the black pin in one of the many bowls around her apartment placed for that very reason. Adrien would be in Paris by then, she was sure. He was probably sound asleep in the Agreste mansion.
“Welcome home, kitty,” she said sarcastically, beginning to climb the steps to her lofted bedroom, a space that was not unlike her childhood room.
This wasn’t how she expected things to be.
Of course, this wasn’t how anyone expected things to be. If you asked anyone, they told you how the story ended. Ladybug and Chat Noir finally got together, they were hiding in Paris somewhere, they were in love. They probably had kids, a dog, a hamster—normal jobs and normal lives. That was what the people of Paris wanted. She thought that that was the ending they would get.
She thought that when she went to the hotel room that night, he would be there. She thought that he was happy to know who she was. She thought that he loved her.
She thought wrong.
Marinette always thought wrong.
She thought she could get over him. She thought making out with Luka was a solution, one that she could keep trying every time she went to Paris. She thought that she would miss Adrien more than Chat, the promise of love more than sitting in her bed and watching subtitled anime while he mouthed the English translations.
By now, she thought she’d be waking up to someone else. That maybe she’d have a steady life, someone to wrap their arms around her in the morning.
Adulthood hits hard.
“Adrien Agreste,” she said, flopping back in her bed and pulling open her phone. She wasn’t above social media stalking.
There he was. Gold hair, tanned skin, too many muscles to know what to do with. Landed in Paris four hours ago, his Instagram posted a picture of him with his arm around Nino. His eyes were still kind, his smile still flawless. Her heart still pounded.
“Jerk,” she muttered, letting her phone fall down beside her. “I didn’t need you anyway,” except for all those times she did. Like when she put the earrings back in the box and said goodbye to one of her closest friends. She could have used him then.
She could have used him a lot of times.
Her eyes stayed glued to the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with every breath. There was no sound, no doting kwami, no laughter from her parents, and no Alya playing with her hair. Just her.
“Now I’m going to see you and fall in love with you all over again,” she said, wishing she could steel herself against the inevitable.
#adrienette#lovesquare#adrien agreste#marinette dupain cheng#miraculous ladybug#post reveal pre relationship#post reveal#pre relationship#mlb fanfic#miraculous fanfiction#my fanfic
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“your turn”
Harry Styles was a romantic. He hated weddings. Rori Williams was practical. She hated weddings, too. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue.
A story of two semi-strangers to lovers with weddings, drunken confessions, and girls with two names.
gif has nothing to do with it but he looks fancy and i like it :) tpwk
Hi! this is for @meetmeinfleetwood to lovers fic challenge! and it’s a little cruel of me to post it today after those wedding pics came out but i have been working on this for awhile and tomorrow’s the deadline so if it’s too soon im sorry and if its just what you need enjoy! I used prompts 12 and 15! It’s my first ofc story which is a little strange for me but i wanted to use a name for this, but besides her hair and eye color and a name she’s pretty generic,,, idk thank you all for always reading and all of that. lmk what you think and reblogs are always really appreciated
Word Count: 9.3k | Warnings: drinking, swearing, implied? smut (couldn’t bring my heart to write any my apologies), harry being a silly drunk, mentions of being afraid of someone taking advantage of someone under the influence but ofc no! actual any misconduct -- a SITCH wedding!!! so cute ::))
Harry Styles was a romantic.
He loved love songs that professed their undying love for their significant other. He loved romance movies, rom coms especially, because they were happy and in love and he got to cry and laugh all in one. He loved writing his own songs about love and he loved spreading the idea of loving and treating others with kindness. He loved first dates and the relationships that sometimes sprouted out of them. He loved reading books about love and how to make it last. He loved poetry that waxed eloquent about love. He loved love.
He hated weddings.
Well, he hadn’t always hated weddings. In the beginning, they were like every other aspect of love, he loved them. But slowly, as he kept receiving announcements of engagement and wedding invitations and he kept not sending out letters of his own, his aversion grew.
Sure, he still loved going. He still wept for the happy couples when they committed themselves to each other. He still clapped profusely and danced to the dj or live band. He still tried to enjoy it. But with weddings he had a nagging sense in the back of his head reminding him that he still hadn’t found it yet. Each of his relationships had fallen short in some way as to not lead him to this destination. So when he sat at his assigned table at these various gatherings, he held a bit of apprehension, a bit of envy, about everything going on. He knew that his smiles were all a little forced and his laugh not quite genuine. His thoughts always managed to be controlled by his green-eyed monster that he always attempted to keep locked away. But at weddings, especially when the alcohol started flowing, he had a harder time controlling it.
Seeing all his friends getting together, getting married, and having children wore on him. Wore him thin more than he ever let on to anyone but his therapist. And his therapist couldn’t seem to give him a better answer than to be patient and not give up hope.
By 2021, Harry had decided that maybe he was just meant to be alone. Love was something he could admire, but it wasn’t meant for him. He could chase it, but it would never let him have it. He was unlucky in love and by Sarah and Mitch’s wedding in the Spring, he had come to terms with it.
He had even been optimistic for it, being Mitch’s Best Man and all had gotten his hopelessly romantic heart all aflutter. He was introduced to Sarah’s Maid of Honor, Renee Williams and she had been lovely. She was 31, a little older than Harry - but age wasn’t something that deterred him, and she had worked with Sarah in Los Angeles before Harry recruited Sarah for the band. They were best of friends and Sarah had known for a long time that Renee would be her Maid of Honor.
When Harry met Renee, he was sure that she was meant to be his person. She was beautiful and hilarious, her beauty mark at the side of her lip was so utterly unique he called her a “right Marilyn”. She insisted she was not a Marilyn Monroe type at all and had laughed. Harry had charmed her with his expert flirting and claimed that just because she was a brunette didn’t mean she was a Marilyn. She had smiled and bantered through the rehearsal dinner with him at her side. He was entranced, it had to be Renee, he had been so sure of it.
When Renee had walked down the aisle just before Sarah, Harry had been sure of it. When Renee had smiled at Harry as Mitch slipped on Sarah’s wedding band, Harry had been sure of it. When he had hooked his arm around hers as they walked down the aisle and into a foyer, Harry had been sure of it. When she laughed at his jokes while they waited for their wedding party photos to be taken, Harry had been sure of it.
When Renee walked up to Harry at the reception with another man wrapped around her, Harry wasn’t so sure of it anymore.
“Harry, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Corey,” Renee smiles giddily between the two men.
Harry’s eyes widen slightly at the word ‘boyfriend’ and he swallows harshly before blinking and putting on a sweet smile. He thrusts his right hand out for Corey to shake.
“Hullo, mate,” Harry says happily.
Corey greets Harry, extending his hand to meet Harry’s with a warm smile and a “how are you”. Harry laughs boisterously and takes a sip of his champagne flute. They shake hands with a firm up and down motion.
“Planning on getting really drunk,” Harry says in response to Corey’s question. “Have a great night, you two,” he finishes and stalks off for a refill.
Renee watches him go with a little bit of a confused look on her face. She sees him tilt his head back and finish his drink before turning to face her boyfriend and peck his cheek. She mumbles to him, “He’s a really nice guy, wouldn’t stop chatting my ear off the past few days. All these people must make him antsy.”
He nods back to her, “They must.”
Harry sidles up to the open bar, discarding his empty flute and exchanging it for a much stronger drink.
“Tequila. Neat...Please.” He sighs and runs a hand through his curls that are slowly becoming less and less coiffed. His fingers slide to the collar of his shirt and tug, attempting to loosen it a little.
“Rough night already?” Someone asks from beside him.
His face turns to them and sees a smiling brunette. Her eyes are big, larger than most eyes he’s come across. They’re brown with tinges of gold and green, likely making them hazel by her standard since most people prefer saying hazel eyes to brown. Her smile is bright and clean and if Harry hadn’t already heard her speak he would assume she was American from that smile. It was perfect, too perfect - the teeth both straight and blindingly white.
He raises his eyebrows at her and thinks about his response. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them parted, but he remains silent when the bartender hands him his tequila. Harry wraps a specifically less ringed hand tonight, he had forgone his ‘H’ and ‘S’ rings as well as the rest of them actually on his left hand. His right hand still had two: the large flashing lavender gemstone encrusted in a gold casing from Stevie Nicks on his middle finger and then a clean gold signet ring with little crosses on the sides on the adjacent ring finger. Every other finger was noticeably empty. So when he picks up the glass there is no familiar clink which draws the attention of himself.
The woman doesn’t pay any attention to his hand, she’s still waiting for him to respond to her question, as well as waiting for her other drink to be made. She was taking advantage of the two drink system and getting two for herself right now, so she didn’t have to come back until much later.
“You have no idea,” is how Harry decides to respond and then turns to leave. He forgets about the woman and sits at his assigned table for his entire drink, talking casually with the people who come to speak with him.
When he's finished, he goes back to the bar to order a second tequila. He thinks about the girl who had stared at him with her big brown eyes. How she had seen him and thought to ask how his night was when it seemed to be going to shit. And how he had blown her off with barely a glance. God, he could be such a prick. After he receives his drink, he forgets yet again and continues to drown his sorrows in the golden liquid that helps him numb the pain that he had once again missed out on his fairytale love story.
The girl Harry had run into sat in the corner of the ballroom for the majority of the night. She settled on just having that first round of drinks for herself and one glass of obligatory champagne during the toasts. Other than that, she had promised herself she wouldn’t get drunk and go off with a random stranger. This was not a wedding for that. This wedding couldn’t be for that. She just needed to keep her head low and try to have a semi-pleasant time.
When she was nursing her champagne through the toasts, the man at the bar caught her eye again. She knew who he was. He was the Best Man after all. Sarah talked about him a lot, even Renee after the past few days, but seeing him at the bar had been the first time she’d ever seen him up that close. It was strange, he was so human. So tangible in that moment. His shoulders shook with each breath he took. His fingers tapped as they waited for his drink. His green eyes blinked and darted around as he took in his surroundings and even looked at her. He simply was and it had startled her to see him in a slightly bewildered state at the bar, but again, she wasn’t one to judge.
Get through the wedding. Try to have a semi-pleasant time.
It was time for the Best Man’s speech. Renee had just given the Maid of Honor’s and now Harry was up. He stood up and wavered a little as he tried to stand up straight. The neat tequila likely makes his stance a little harder to maintain. Mitch looks up at Harry at his side and smiles fondly.
Harry raises one hand in an awkward wave while the other is planted firmly on the table.
“Hullo,” he starts, “I’m Harry and I’m the Best Man, but I’m sure you knew that already.”
The entire group of guests laugh wholeheartedly, taken by the talented young man.
“To start,” he stutters, his words slurring slightly from the alcohol he’s had, and his smile slithers into a smirk. “Let’s hear it for the bride and groom, the lovely Sarah and Mitch Jones!”
Queue the laughter again. Harry laughs too when Mitch slaps his arm playfully, he turns to look at him with a mock ‘what did I do wrong’ expression.
“I had a speech written out, took a week to write, made it nice and poetic for these two lovebirds, but it seems I’ve misplaced it,” he pats at his pockets and sighs before rubbing his forefinger at his bottom lip. “I hate weddings.”
Everyone laughs again, thinking he’s joking. Harry grimaces but it passes as a smile even though she can tell it doesn’t meet his eyes.
He rambles on for a few minutes about love and commitment, how this is just the beginning for Sarah and Mitch and everyone laughs at the appropriate times and just when he’s wrapping up, successfully stumbling through his messy mind, everyone begins to clap.
“To the happy couple…” queue applause, but she sees him say something else, it’s drowned out by the crowd cheering and clinking glasses again.
He sits back down, downing his champagne glass that’s been refilled twice already during the speeches. Mitch leans over and whispers something in Harry’s ear as he twists a hand through his hair. Harry shifts away from Mitch and gives him a look, telling Mitch that he’s fine.
The party goes on, a few more speeches, a few more glasses of champagne for Harry, a few more sighs from the girl in the back of the room.
She watches the first dance of Mitch and Sarah but once that part is over she slinks off. She’s got half a drink left and all she wants is to be alone. Tired of the party, tired of the people, tired of having to try to have a good time. The Rowland-Jones Party had rented the entire place out, so she wanders out of the main room and down a hallway until the music is a faint buzz in her ear. The air grows colder as the amount of people dwindles from over a hundred to one.
There’s a door to her right that has an intricate golden handle that she pulls down on. It opens quietly onto a similar ballroom that is slightly smaller than the one the party was going on in. It’s quiet and spacious, her steps echo as she enters on heeled feet. The clicking of her satin stilettos resonate against the linoleum. She walks to the center of the room and turns around herself, lifting her head to the light in the room. An ornate chandelier is still above her, it’s the same gold as the handle that let her in. Her eyes travel to the walls that contain swirls of gold as well, everything was encrusted in gold and splotchy vintage mirrors. It was beautiful and she saw herself in the reflection of one of those splotchy vintage mirrors and actually felt beautiful in that moment.
No one else saw her but herself and she thought she was beautiful, a fleeting thought as she watched her body move. No one to watch as her reflection swayed with her. Her lavender dress swished back and forth, the end of it brushing around her ankles. The tulle fabric climbed her torso, cinching at her waist and draping over her breasts. The sleeves fluttered over her shoulders and ended midway down her upper arm. The somewhat sheer material made her tan skin look all the more carmely in the golden light of the chandelier. Her pendant necklace was silver and glinted in the light as it sat evenly over her exposed clavicle and decolletage.
In the corner opposite of the door there was a single table with three chairs. It seemed whoever was meant to put things away had grown tired and left these out. She wasn’t complaining as she crossed the floor to take a seat. It was the perfect escape. It was quiet and not too cold in the room, which was especially nice since she had left her jacket in the coat room. What wasn’t so nice is that her phone had died and she had nothing to do in the room. It wasn’t horrible though, she had wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She just feared what would happen if she sat alone too long with no escape of the internet to drown those thoughts.
That contemplation was squashed with an unwitting solution not ten minutes later. She had been sitting at the table, sipping her drink occasionally and staring at the chandelier. Sighing with content that it was finally silent beside the clink of her melting ice cubes. The house mixed drink was strong, but with each passing second it grew more and more diluted. She considered herself completely sober.
She only questioned that when she noticed a second person in the room. She hadn’t heard them open the door, but she heard their loud footsteps shortly after.
He all but stumbled in and was entranced by the chandelier like she had been. He walks to the center in a similar fashion and twists around, only this time his balance isn’t as good as hers. He ends up on his ass, legs splayed in front of him and hands behind him only cushioning his fall a little. He lets out a huff, “Fuck.” He runs a hand over his face before bringing it down to look around the room again. His eyes are foggy with alcohol, everything hazy and slightly blurry. It feels like he’s moving with superspeed but as she watches him with a tilted head she wonders why he’s moving so slowly.
He squints while looking around after a moment, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair. His tongue comes to wet his lips, but this time it's for a touch too long like he’s genuinely tasting the liquor on them. She raises her brows, observing him, her presence seemingly unknown.
“Oi, you!” He slurs the words and points lazily at her reclined in her chair. “Are you real?”
She half smiles and replies with a simple ‘yes’.
“I like your dress,” he says merely like he was stating a fact rather than giving a compliment. His hair falling into his eyes again despite him just pushing it back.
“Thanks.”
He makes his way to standing, his process rather ungraceful. He twists onto his hands and knees and begins to push himself up. He slips once before making it to full standing, he sways slightly and looks around again like he’s forgotten why he stood up. His eyes land on her again and he decides to make his way over to the table.
“You should probably sit,” she says, watching him splay his arms around him to keep his balance. She had seen him an hour and a half ago and he seemed fine, but now he seemed absolutely and utterly pissed.
“Thanks, mum,” he says as he thunks into the seat beside her, his hand waving off her suggestion.
Her brows raise at the slightly rude comment, but she leans back in her seat still observing him.
“Why do you hate weddings?” She asks once he’s settled and has his head propped up with one of his hands. She takes a sip of her drink as she watches him scan her face again, trying to see if he recognizes her.
His mind must come up empty, a vague memory of the bar slipping away without a second thought.
“It was a joke,” he shrugs.
“No it wasn’t,” she replies easily.
His eyes narrow and he leans forward a little shakily, “Who are you?”
“Aurora.” She licks at her own lips, a stray bit of liquid lingering on her lips.
“That’s a Disney princess name,” he says, unconvinced, how most drunk people were when you told them the truth.
“And my great-grandmother’s and mine,” she responds, a grin playing on her lips as she watches him think it over. “It’s wild how multiple people can have the same name. Did you know people can share a last name as well?”
He leans back in his chair now, unhappy with her snarky response.
“Isn’t that why we’re here, two people joining together and sharing the same last name now?” He threads his fingers as he speaks, mimicking something coming together.
“Yep,” She perks at the question he poses. “You still didn’t answer my question.” Her brows raise once playfully.
“What?” Harry seemed to have lost the plot, his fuzzy drunken brain choosing to forget the first thing she asked him while in this private ballroom of theirs.
“Why do you hate weddings?” She repeats, louder and with emphasis, the words echoing this time.
“Oh,” he looks up to the ceiling and blows air past his lips harshly, “S’ a long story.”
“We got all night,” she offers, and raises her glass to her lips once again.
“A night wouldn’t even cover half of it,” he ponders seriously, his mind reeling. “I’d rather talk about you.”
“Why me?” She laughs like she’s just received the most delightful surprise.
“Because,” He starts and then sits quiet for a moment before leaning forward, elbows on the table as he peers at her, “I think I’m in love with you.”
“You only just met me,” she responds. “Not to mention, you’re drunk as fuck, Best Man. Just minutes ago I watched you stumble in here and truly fall on your ass.”
“Then tell me about yourself and I’ll explain my hatred for weddings.”
“You’re awfully good at bargaining for being this inebriated.”
“I never lose my charm, no matter how pissed I may be,” he smirks and gives a sloppy wink, hair falling in his face yet again.
She scoffs, but she is rather amused and intrigued by the man beside her. His tie now completely loosened, hair falling every which way, and his green eyes set on her. The shiny shoes he wore slipped around on the ground as he shuffled his feet below him like a child wanting to go play. She figured it was just his drunk brain trying to amuse himself or something. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue. She at least had to entertain the foolish notion that maybe he actually was interested in getting to know her. If anything, it would help pass the time until she could go home.
“I’ll bite,” she relents.
The smirk doesn’t leave his face, it only widens, “Only if I can, too.”
“I wasn’t saying-”
“Shush, sh-sh-shush. I know that,” he holds a hand up at her, trying to get her to be quiet. He sways again, even in his seat he looks as if he could fall over at any moment. She wondered if he might not remember this tomorrow. “I was bein’...” he licks his lips in a pause, “suggestive.”
She laughs again, knowing his sober brain probably would have chosen a more articulate and suave word since ‘suggestive’ was rather tactless and more straight to the point. If she learned anything from all the conversations she overhead about him, Harry was definitely one for tact.
“You were something, that’s for sure,” she wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist, she draws the hand down from its hovering state and lays it against the table again. She withdraws her own hand back to her glass, her drink almost completely gone now.
He smiles, pleased with himself, but unaware that his charms had worn off with his exorbitant amount of alcohol consumed. At least on this girl they weren’t working. She had never been attracted to people who were too drunk to help themselves and she always hoped that’s how others felt too. She was thankful he had stumbled in on her rather than someone who didn’t feel the same way. It made her sick to think of what someone with evil intentions might do if they came across a babbling drunken version of Harry. Pushing those thoughts away since that wasn’t the case, she decided to pat his hand once just in reassurance to herself and him that this was really happening.
“I’m twenty-five.” She states.
Harry nods, a small smile on his lips now rather than a smirk as he watches her again. He liked how smoothly she moved rather than the rest of the world in his drunken eyes, everything else was choppy and fast. She was elegant and fluid, calming even.
“I love love,” Harry says, eyes remaining on hers, no trace of a joke in his tone, “And it hates me.”
“That can’t be true,” she squints at him, a frown gracing her face for a moment at the sadness she sees in his watery eyes. Not crying watery, just watery from his drunken state.
He says nothing, waiting for her to offer more information about herself before he says anything else. This was the deal after all. She quickly realizes why he isn’t responding and sighs, conversation with drunks was tedious already, but Harry seemed determined to make it even harder.
“I’m from California.”
“They always are,” Harry mutters to himself. He ignores her hum of a question, asking what he just said with a simple sound. “All my friends, they’re either getting married or they’re already married and got kids on the way or whatever. They all found love and I’m just here with fuck all.”
She sincerely doubts what the drunken man is telling her right now, but she knows how to play the game now to get more information. “I hate my job,” she states.
“Sometimes I feel like I'm cursed, like I fucked up one too many times and now I’m doomed to never find love.”
Her eyes widen at this, he sounds so damn sad and she wishes she could take his pain away. She knew what a good guy and she couldn’t imagine why he would deserve to feel this way. No one deserved to feel like they weren’t worthy of love. His sad state truly almost brought her to tears. She’s there in a stunned silence and Harry is confused why she hasn’t said anything more about herself. It was her turn.
“What’s something else about you?” He asks, his hand fiddling with itself on the table. She notices once again that there aren’t as many rings on his fingers as what she thought was usual.
She licks her lips and reaches her hand forward. She grasps Harry’s fiddling hand and stops his movement. “I feel sorry that you feel this way, no one deserves the kind of pain you’re inflicting on yourself. I’m very very sorry for you, Harry.”
“That’s not really…” He trails off, losing his focus on her face and instead looking at their hands touching. The feeling is so intense in his buzzing body. Her touch was so calming compared to the electric feeling in his body. It felt nice.
“Can I ask you a different question and then I’ll tell you something no one knows about me?”
He nods eagerly.
“And you can’t dodge the question, you really have to answer it, okay?”
“Okay.”
“What did you say at the end of your speech? It got drowned out by applause, but I saw you say something.”
“You noticed?” He asks kind of surprised, then scratches at his eyebrow. He sees her slight glare and knows to get to his answer. “Asked when it’d be my turn…like to fall in love, y’know.”
She sighs, saddened yet again by his words. “Okay, well, here’s my secret... I hate weddings, too.”
Harry’s eyes light up, maybe he really was in love. She purses her lips and pulls back from him.
“I think you’re my soulmate,” he breathes out, again making a false confession. His drunken brain wants it to be true. He’s desperate for his search to be over, for her to be his person.
She smiles that same sad smile that she keeps getting when he says these sad things to her.
“I assure you, I am not, Best Man.”
He looks at her confusedly. She was beautiful, she was clarity to him. Her brown hair was straight with a little wave in it, like it was straightened for the occasion but never truly that way otherwise. It flowed around her head and shoulders, but she had it tucked behind both ears. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, she just simply was beautiful. Her sun tanned skin looked soft under the golden glow and Harry was sure she was an angel or something.
“Why not?” He insists, leaning forward.
She stands up from her seat. He follows clumsily behind her, standing as well. He was still taller than her even in her high heels. He smiled like a lovesick child down at her, his eyes as big as the moon. She bites at her lip as she sees him look at her so lovingly, so misguidedly. Then she leans up towards his face, up on her tiptoes and past his lips. Her hands hold him straight with them curled in his suit’s lapels. She presses a sweet and gentle kiss to his cheek, closer to his jaw than anything.
“Good night, Harry,” she whispers against his skin before pulling away.
His eyes flutter open, his looks at her confusedly, slightly unaware that he had closed his eyes at all.
“Good night…” He had already forgotten her name, something with an A...or was it an O? He’d have to ask Sarah and Mitch about the girl who had talked to him in the empty golden ballroom, the girl he had fallen in love with. He was certain. She was the one - if only he could find out her name. If he remembered this at all or if he just thought it was a dream.
She leaves the room before him and as she leaves she wonders if she maybe should have made sure he was alright, but she figured their talk was sobering enough. The night was ending and she had a sneaking suspicion that there were plenty of people here tonight looking out for him.
-
Harry forgot about the girl in the ballroom. Or at least he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality. He had woken up at Tom’s place where he had said he would stay after the wedding reception so he hadn’t gone home with a girl. He couldn’t remember her name so he couldn’t really ask anyone about her and he didn’t exactly have a lot of people he could ask. He wanted to ask Sarah and Mitch, but they were already off on their honeymoon and he was one of those people who would never bother a couple on their honeymoon. He was too embarrassed to ask Renee and anyone else for that matter.
So, instead, he forgot. Harry forgot about her for three weeks until Sarah and Mitch returned. He had called them for a hike and lunch the moment their plane had landed. He had missed some of his best friends. It was a lull in the year, where he wasn’t touring or in the studio, just living and writing when he felt like it. So maybe he was in need of some inspiration.
“Ah! The Jones’!” He exclaims as he walks up to their parked car at the head of the trail.
Sarah laughs and Mitch rolls his eyes, half-heartedly since he’s just as happy to see Harry as Harry is to see him.
“I missed you,” Mitch says as he brings Harry in for a hug.
“Don’t let the missus hear that,” Harry tuts while he sends a wink over Mitch’s shoulder to Sarah.
“It’s all he could talk about for the past few weeks,” Sarah jokes as she goes in for a hug with Harry. “How do you think Harry is? Hope he’s eating? I miss Harry.” She mimics Mitch’s voice.
Mitch shakes his head shyly, a smile spreading on his face after a moment. “That. Is not true at all,” he assures Harry, “But you do look a little thinner. What have you been eating?”
Harry elbows him with a grin, “I’m fine. Been bored so I’ve just been filling the time with working out.”
They start their ascent up the hill and into the canyon. Mitch nods, his worry for his friend subsiding momentarily before he says something strange.
“I’ve been wanting to ask, but you’ve been gone, about a girl at the wedding.”
“Oh?” Sarah gives Mitch a knowing look.
“Yeah, well the thing is, I’m not sure if she was real or not. I think she was real, but I was so drunk, there’s so many bits missing in my memory.”
Sarah and Mitch both laugh. “You were very drunk, H,” Mitch confirms.
Harry ignores him, “I even asked her if she was real and she said yes, but y’know people can lie in dreams. All I remember is she was amazing and she had a princess name, I think.”
Sarah thinks about the guest list. “No princess names that I can think of. What did she look like?”
Harry squints ahead of them, his sunglasses pushing his curls back on the top of his head. “She had straight brown hair, not long or short. She said she was, uh, twenty-five. She was in lavender, I think.”
“You think a lot,” Mitch interjects which earns him a glare from Harry.
Harry thinks about this part that he remembered vividly, how she had been so confident that he wasn’t. He adds, “...And I told her I was in love with her.”
“Oh god, Harry,” Sarah sighs.
Mitch gives Harry an apologetic smile.
“She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t run off either. We talked for awhile.”
“Maybe it was a dream,” Sarah says.
“Okay, let’s see,” Mitch grows to be the leader of the investigation, wanting everything for his best friend to find the love he knew he deserved. “Twenty-five year old brunettes at our wedding who are single. C’mon there weren't that many people there.”
Sarah thinks about it again. “Renee’s sister is twenty-five. I don’t remember what she was wearing, I hardly saw her all night,” she pauses, “Which is strange since she wasn’t on the job for once.”
“What do you mean ‘on the job’?” Harry asks curiously, remembering his girl saying she hated her job.”
“She’s a wedding planner,” Sarah says, glancing at him because she was almost sure that Renee’s sister was not who Harry was talking about. “But she had referred me to someone else for the wedding, she consulted sometimes and got us a discount, but said she didn’t like working with people she knew personally.”
Harry nodded, how could Renee’s sister be his girl? How could a wedding planner hate weddings? And wouldn’t it be all the more awkward if the girl was Renee’s sister? Renee’s little sister, could it be? He had no clue.
“I don’t think it’s her, though,” Sarah gives a half-smile, “She’s not super...uh, how do I say this?”
As Sarah says “touchy-feely,” Mitch interjects.
“She’s pretty cold-hearted. She’s relatively nice, but what makes her such a good wedding planner is she doesn’t get caught up in the sentimentality of it, she just understands other people’s emotions and knows how to make them feel amazing.”
“That’s a little harsh,” Sarah looks at Mitch with a strong glare. After all, he was talking about her best friend’s little sister.
“Well, what’s her name?” Harry insists, semi-off put, but knowing her secret made him think it was possible for Renee’s sister and his ballroom girl to be the very same.
“Rori Williams, think it’s short for something else, but I don’t know, as long as I’ve known her she goes by Rori.” Sarah gives Harry a sad smile and it reminds him of his mystery girl.
“Do you think I could meet her or something? I just want to know if it’s her.” Harry says as they reach the first peak on their hike. He looks out at the view from there, Los Angeles was green for once, but he knew it would quickly fade to brown and tan as the spring plants died off again from the summer heat.
“Pretty sure she’s off working on some destination wedding right now. She doesn’t like being bothered when she’s working,” Sarah gives Harry a look for two reasons as she says that. One, because she knows his next question would be to contact her anyway. And two, she’s saying how he is exactly the same, hates being contacted when he’s busy with work. “I can text Renee to see what’s up.”
Harry nods, “Please…” He begins to imagine Rori as his ballroom girl and mutters to himself, “A June Wedding…” getting lost in a silly little daydream.
-
“Harry Styles is asking after you,” Renee snickers over the cellphone line.
“What is this? The 1800s?” Rori sighs, as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She tries to brush her hair from her face with a flick of her head, which makes for a rather silly sight as her head and shoulder move awkwardly. “People don’t ‘ask after’ anyone anymore.”
She was in Hawaii, Maui specifically, steaming a sneaky last crinkle out of the latest bride’s wedding veil.
“Well, he still is doing it. You know how he is.”
“I actually don’t,” Rori responds, easily, ignoring the memories of her two encounters with him. “What does he want?”
“Wants to meet you or something,” Renee says easily. “Thinks he met you at Sarah’s wedding, obviously impossible since I know you scampered off half way through the reception and he was falling down drunk at the half way marker as well…” she trails off.
Rori knows her sister well and expects the next thing to come out of Renee’s mouth.
“Oh my god! Did you hook up with him?!”
Expecting this, Rori responds quickly and calmly, “No, we did not hook up, I would never... I did watch him fall on his ass, though.”
“So it was you!”
“What was me?” Rori squints her eyes at her sister over the phone and finally straightens from her steaming task. She feels like she’s only half paying attention to the conversation, especially since she had no intention of meeting up with Harry. He had been so sweet and sad, and she truly wished him the best, but she knew she wasn’t the answer to his problem.
“You!” Renee all but yells into the phone, “Are his dream girl! He’s been wondering if you were even real for weeks.”
“I’m real,” Rori sighs and crosses the room she’s in to sit at the desk she was using as a work space. She flicks through the planner she was using for the Hearst wedding, set to take place tomorrow. “But I’m certainly not his dream girl...I told him that when he said he was in love with me.”
“He what?!” Renee exclaims and hears her sister sigh once again, she knows Rori is growing tired of the conversation and is ready to offer an excuse to hang up any moment now. “Nevermind that, I’m going to tell Sarah to give him your number and the date you get back to Los Angeles. Keep next weekend clear.”
Before Rori can open her strawberry pink lips to reply, Renee is squealing a goodbye and hanging up. She felt her shoulders sag with the empty line, she reclined into the nicely plush swivel chair. This is why she stayed out of love and relationships when they didn’t relate to work, they were exhausting. Too much ‘he said, she said’ going on at all times. Color palettes, seating arrangements and menus were simple, they made sense, they could be arranged and put into place. Relationships were messy, the actual event of a wedding could even be messy, but when she planned them out, for a single moment everything was orderly and simple. She was in control. She knew she couldn’t be Harry’s dream girl because she knew she couldn’t control that situation.
-
Upon arriving back in the continental United States, at the end of June, Rori ubered immediately to her apartment in Silverlake. Well, it was a converted garage behind a house of a friend of Renee’s. Like most apartments in Los Angeles, it was funky, but it was Rori’s until she decided where she wanted to move. She never wanted to buy in LA and she never wanted to upgrade from the place she had called home for the past four years.
Almost immediately after dropping her pink work tote bag and worn backpack on the floor next to her medium sized navy suitcase, her phone rang through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ setting with an unknown number. A New York number. Possibly a new client, she picks up quickly and shuts the window-paned door behind her. The days were long, the longest day of the year had almost arrived, yet the sun was still beginning to set in the sky and turn the light blue into a painting of oranges pinks and purples.
“Hello?”
“Is Rori Williams there?” A British voice asks, almost timidly.
“Who’s asking?”
“...Harry.”
“I was told you’d be calling or something along those lines,” she smiles to herself.
Harry sat in his room, chewing at his lip, still unsure if the voice on the other side of the phone call was the woman he had talked to previously.
“Can we go for a drink sometime? How’s tomorrow?”
“Someone is quite enthusiastic.”
“It’s just...I’m trying to figure something out.”
“So I’ve heard,” she chuckles slightly.
“So you won’t tell me whether you’re the girl I talked to at Sarah and Mitch’s wedding will you?”
“What would be the fun in that?”
“So it’s a right Cinderella, if the shoe fits situation,” he mumbles, slightly to himself, but she hears him clearly.
She laughs.
“I don’t really care for Cinderella, I’m not really one for Disney princesses at all, actually.”
His breath catches, a foggy memory of something having to do with princesses tries to break into his mind. He couldn’t remember still and he vowed time and time again that he would never get that drunk again. Too much time lost.
“Alright, Harry. I’ve just gotten home from a work trip so I’m planning on a bath, some wine, and some terribly raunchy TV to get my mind off of my life. How about you pick a time and a place for drinks and hopefully I will show up? Great! Goodnight.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, just clicks the red button that hangs up the phone and goes on with her professed plans. Harry sits in stunned silence for a few moments, whatever he had gotten himself into was going to be a ride of a lifetime.
-
At a quarter past six, Harry sits anxiously at the bar top of a semi casual, semi fancy, totally cool bar he loved. It was private so he wouldn’t be bombarded with people, but it was still lively enough that it wouldn’t be dead silent if conversation lulled between him and Rori. That is, if she showed up.
His foot begins to tap, ever so persistently against the silver footrest at the bottom of the bar. His eyes shift from right to left, not wanting to order a drink before she arrives, but also not wanting to wait much longer and not order a drink. He’d waived off the bartender twice already.
She walks in, right on time, Harry had just arrived early. Her lips part into a happy smile at his anxious stance at the bar, he mirrors her expression at the sight of her.
She’s wearing a billowy white button down, the sleeves cinching perfectly at her petite wrists, cinched beneath a brown corset-like tank top. Her breasts showed their true size today in this outfit. She had the collar pulled out and the corset made it so that her cleavage was perfectly sculpted just beneath the crisp white cloth. Her pants were sleek and black, understated to draw more of a focus to her top as well as the lavender jewel inlaid pendant hanging just above the swells of her breast. Harry’s eyes dipped to that level for a moment, but quickly recovered to focus on her face. The night of the wedding had been blurry, but he was sure Rori’s face was the one of his mystery girl.
He’s shy tonight and a little more reserved than last time. He’s out of his comfortable bubble, what could anyone expect from a man so constantly watched. He fidgets with the top most button of his shirt that was buttoned and thinks about unbuttoning it to reveal a little more of his chest, but he refrains. At a friend’s wedding he feels safe, but in public he’s always watching, always aware of the possible prying eye. But like he had said drunkenly to Rori, he always maintained his charm, no matter the circumstances.
“Lavender was gorgeous on you, but this…” he gives a graceful sweep of his hand to gesture at her outfit tonight, “is extremely enchanting.”
“So you remember me in lavender? I thought you couldn’t remember me at all.” She grins as she stands directly beside him, similar to the first time they had chatted at a bartop.
Harry clears his throat at her tease, “I knew once I laid eyes on you, I would know. So now I know.”
She smirks at his reasoning and orders a vodka cranberry, both not wanting to get off her ass or look any certain way. Vodka cranberries were acceptable mature drinks, but not overly pretentious in any way. Harry tells the bartender to make it two. She looks at him with a discerning eye.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” She asks as she slides into the bar seat that seems to be trying to look vintage but was likely made no less than five years ago.
Harry sits too, more easily since his legs are longer than hers. “We met in the ballroom for the first time, did we not?”
“No...we met at the bar in the reception room.” Her hand splays to feel the stone of this counter, cold unlike the wood of the previous one. “We were about this close after you’d rudely stepped ahead of me and ordered before I could...not that you noticed. I asked if you were having a rough night and you pretty much dismissed me.” She bites her lip as she tells him the story, her eyes widen as she watches the distress roll over his features at what she says.
“Oh god,” One of his hands reaches to grab her hand to emphasize his apology, “I’m so sorry, that’s so rude. I was having quite a rough night as you would eventually see.”
He stares at her face, trying to meet her eyes, but she’s glued to the sight of their hands intertwined. He was so smooth and it was making her melt, making the walls she had purposefully put up for this date weak. She had rules, especially for guys like Harry - not that there was anyone that compared to him in her life, but she had them and she knew she couldn’t just be swept off her feet by his sweet voice and gorgeous face that has the most puppy-dog look on it.
She knows she shouldn’t but the extra ice she had added to her personality melts away, her eyes going slightly moony as she watches him visibly relax again. “No worries, I enjoyed your company upon the second meeting, even if you didn’t even remember my name after it.”
“Well,” he finally catches her eye, “That’s where I have a bit of a bone to pick.”
“Oh?”
“You didn’t tell me your real name...gave me some fake name I can’t even remember, but it certainly wasn’t…�� His eyes shift to her pendant again and he looks back at her brassy eyes in the bar’s lighting. “If your name is Rori Williams, why is your pendant an ‘A’?” He says slowly, another foggy memory trying to break the surface of his knowledge but still failing.
She finally feels in control of the situation, calm and assured of herself, which was maybe unfair since it seemed Harry really had a hard time remembering that night and she could really fuck with him if she wanted to, but she wouldn’t - couldn’t - with those earnest eyes looking at her.
“I told you my real name the first time we talked, Harry. It’s Aurora,” she retracts her hand from beneath his grasp and touches at the necklace, “I go by Rori both socially and professionally, but officially it’s Aurora and this had been my great-grandmother’s. I don’t go anywhere without it.”
“Almost as beautiful as its wearer,” he smirks, his gaze stuck on her face, attempting to convey something specific. She thinks she knows what he’s saying with his look.
“You’re quite the flirt,” she rolls her eyes playfully before specifically choosing to take a sip of her drink through the little straw the bartender had put in it. It draws Harry’s attention to her lips, and after a moment they were wet with a bit of excess vodka cranberry and Harry felt himself grow a little hot at the tips of his ears when her eyes meet with his. She had caught him staring, but he recovers easily.
“I remember telling you I never lose my charm, it’s true is it not?” Harry inquires, head leaning closer to her as he takes a sip of his own drink, making a show to lick his lips after removing them from the edge of the lowball glass.
Her laughter is loud but not overbearing, Harry thinks it’s the best laugh he’s ever heard even if she’s laughing at him. She’s true in that laugh, she’s not trying to make him fall for her with that laugh, it’s just her enjoying herself.
She responds with something sweet and the two begin the back and forth of a successful date. They both drink around three drinks as the night persists, but it’s enough for her to feel the burning pull inside the pit of her belly for Harry. His hands stay relatively to himself besides a few subtle touches at her hair and hands every so often, his feet are the ones to blame. At one point in the night, he hooks his loafer covered foot around her ankle and she is quick to lean into it, reciprocating the footsie with ease. Each brush of his leg against hers is electrifying, every nerve in her body was beginning to go crazy. She was buzzing in a way that she hadn’t when she had first encountered Harry. Tonight he was more suave, but with a tinge of timidness that made him irresistible.
Harry made sure he wouldn’t get drunk tonight, ordering only as much as Rori. He didn’t want to be the fool who couldn’t remember their time together, again. Plus, he didn’t want to forget any of their time together, he wanted to remember it all. Everything about her was amazing, the feeling he had about her, the nagging desire to meet her was for a reason, he was sure of it. If her voice was a melody, then she was the most beautiful love song he had ever heard.
At 11:30, he leans in close to Rori, his nose brushing at the hair tucked at her ear and asks her if she wants to leave. She looks at him confused, the warm feeling in her stomach falls because she thinks he wants to end the night.
“Oh,” she says dejected, she swore it was going well. “Right..That’s it.”
Harry’s brows crinkle at her sad face.
“No, love, I was saying,” he raises his brows, “Y’know.”
“Oh! Right! You just sounded so...I don’t know, serious.” She sinks in her seat, realizing her presumptions had been wrong.
“I was trying to be,” he twists his lips trying to find the word, as blush rises on his cheeks. “Seductive.”
The two of them are quickly realizing they can’t pretend with each other. Rori can’t keep up the harsh facade against love with him, he sees right through it. Harry can’t play his old tricks with her, she sees right through them.
She laughs again, “Well, it just sounded like you were bored. Sometimes your moves fall really flat.” She offers a sweet wink in consolation for his failed attempt at trying to really get her weak in the knees.
They were a lovesick mess together as they clambered off their bar seats and exit the bar that had gotten increasingly loud.
“So what’s next?” She asks on the warm summer night.
He steps closer and takes the liberty of fiddling with the strap of the corset she has on. His head is tilted down as he towers over her. “You know me Rori, I’m a hopeless romantic so I desperately want to take you out for dinner sometime and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but,” his breath fans over her face now as he shifts impossibly closer, “I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me. Just tell me what you’d prefer and it’s all yours.”
Her breathing has become a slight pant as his words wash over her. His nose brushes over the ridge of hers and she takes the moment to put her hands on his shoulders and pull him onto her. They were in the alleyway beside the bar, away from prying eyes except a few people too drunk to recognize Harry's face that is all but hidden in Rori.
“Harry,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as she makes the decision to cross them into the point of no return. She wants this too much. She hadn’t thought this would be how her night would go, thought she would brush him off and never see him again, but god, she needed his warm body everywhere. Needed him to touch every part of her.
“Rori,” he responds.
“I want the second one first,” she whispers, feeling a little too eager, but feeling Harry press excitedly against her reassures her.
His lips press a searing kiss to her and she makes a sound of happiness at the contact. Her hands fist at the fabric of his shirt as she presses her lips feverishly back onto his. Harry’s quick to grip at the back of her neck and the small of her back, keeping her tight to him as he licks into her mouth.
“Can still taste that last vodka cran,” he notes before kissing her again.
Their tongues rub against each other, sloppily but with a tenderness hidden there as well. She snorts at his words which makes him smile and they’re kissing is becoming more silly as they try to contain their laughter. He pulls away, finally giving up trying to maintain the kiss while they both laughed.
“Would you like to come back to mine?” Harry asks as he leans his forehead against hers.
Rori’s eyes flicker open and stare into his, the focus only on his eyes and the sprinkle of light freckles and beauty marks below them. She nods her head, making his move with it. They both smile, trying to contain their laughter once more.
She presses her lips against his once more for a small peck and then lowers her head into the crook of his neck. The skin warm and smooth against hers as she whispers happily to him.
“It’s your turn now, Harry,” Rori says blissfully.
She had been the answer to all his questions.
-
#to lovers fic challenge#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles oneshot#harry styles fan fic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fan fiction#harry styles x ofc#harry styles x reader#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#harry styles smut
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can you please write a fic where youre aizawas' wife and you're pregnant with twins, and while he's in the middle of teaching at UA you go into labor and you call him, and he leaves in the middle of their class, (the class dosen't know he's married and obviously dosen't know he's about to become a father) and the class thinks that something's seriously wrong because they saw panic on his face for a slight second when he got the call, so they end up following him to the hospital only to see him sniling and holding two newborn babies that look just like him and the woman who is on the hospital bed (you) and theyre in shock when they find out that you're his wife and those are his kids, but what shocks them most is the big smile on his face when he was holding his babies 🥺 idk i thought it would be cute
“did he steal two babies?”
pairing: shouta aizawa x female reader
cw: language, fluff
word count: 3000+
a/n: i live for domestic one shots, i might write some more depending on how i’m feeling, hope you guys like this have a happy new years eve people, the stupid tags arent working so if you could reblog it it would mean a lot
summary: in which you’re aizawa’s secret wife, aizawa gets a call in the middle of class that you’re going into labor and eventually leaves, the class being noisy pricks follows him to a hospital, feeling worried they continue to follow until they see him holding two babies with a smile at his new family
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Eight months, eight full fucking months of carrying Aizawa’s little spawns. Having spent your last term of pregnancy on bed rest, it had been the worst term ever, you would rather have taken the puking up last nights dinner then staying in bed. Even Aizawa had gotten annoyed with how frustrated you had got, you craved how he could get up and leave for work. You hadn’t gone into work since your maternity leave started and you were annoyed, being a pro hero it had been worse.
As soon as you told the agency you were pregnant, you were desk bound, unable to go on patrols. It was fucking annoying and you hated every second of it, and all Aizawa could do was smirk at your frustration. “I’m due any day now, just leave work and stay with me.” You plead grabbing the material from his neck, you wanted him to hold you. You already felt gross staying in bed 24/7 but now you didn’t have your husband beside you 24/7.
“Kitten, this is my last day, I’ll spend the rest of the pregnancy with you.” You were grouchy letting go of him and turning your head to face away for him. “Y/n.”
He tried to gain your attention but ignored him, “you should’ve gotten pregnant as well you’d understand.”
He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head as he crept his arms around your body, his hand resting on the baby bump. You shuffled closer to his body, before turning your head to see him softly rubbing back and forth across the bump.
“Be patient, my love.” It was a whisper which brought you comfort.
“If you’re not home by 4pm then I’m locking you out of the house.” You threaten.
He looks down at you with your fiery eyes, “sure you are.” He kisses the top of your head; you pout wanting a proper kiss. He looks at how perfect you looked with his babies, when you both found out you were having twins, the small apartment you had called home since dating. Had gone and a house in the country close enough to UA and still for you to do pro hero work was where the both of you had situated.
Your relationship have been very secretive, a small wedding ceremony which had been perfect with your family and friends. Of course people had noticed you had gone MIA but one day you’d come out and tell the world how you and Aizawa were an inseparable family.
He moved to capture your lips, grabbing his face you wanted to just drag him back to bed. But he quickly moved out of your grip, “patience Y/n.”
“Shouta.” You whine like a child would.
“Seems like ill be raising three babies now.” He mocked putting the scarf around his yellow goggles.
“I hope you break your goggles.” You huff again, he doesn’t speak only kissing your temple after the small peck he had given to your lips.
He starts to walk out the bedroom, your wedding photo situated on the cabinet. You were perfect back then and now with his kids inside of you, you became somehow even more perfect. He had never thought that the woman he had met all those years ago, who had showed of her quirk to the whole world would be the one he fell in love with.
He looked back at you, you were grumpy due to hormones but once the babies were out you knew you’d go back to being yourself (and both of you could fuck properly, but that was just a bonus.)
“Make sure to walk around the house.” He warns.
It was your turn to raise an eyebrow, “and what if I don’t, will you come home early?” Your extra clinginess melted his insides, he knew how bored your loud self was and being cooped up inside had took a toll on you.
“I’ll come home early.” The sound of your squeal lifted his spirits, it was adorable, and he loved how easily your mood changed. Your face was full, and you had something to look forward too as he left the room.
The day for Aizawa had been smooth sailing, having asked to leave at 2pm and being able to, he had been with the students whilst they were training. He could imagine teaching his kids everything to do with this world, he couldn’t wait for his own leave, to spend time with his future babies but also with his loving wife.
The sound of Bakugo shouting was something else he had gotten used to; how could a 16-year-old boy be louder than the babies he had heard on those stupid pregnancy videos you made him watch. You had shown him a woman giving birth and to say it was the weirdest thing he’s ever seen; he’d happily watch stuff go inside of you but the other way round was another issue.
He stood watching over them, they had gotten a lot stronger in the months and the events that had occurred. It was another reason for the secrecy, having to hide your relationship to prevent disaster from happening. He watched the time tick away; another two more hours and he could leave and spend the rest of the trimester with you.
The sound of running caught his ears, he looked up and saw Principle Nezu walking towards him. “Agh Aizawa, we got a call from your wife’s mother.”
He hadn’t checked his phone, but if your mother had been calling it must’ve been something serious, the class had noticed the principle and had gotten quiet even Bakugo who wanted to know why the principle was here.
“Finally, you answered, she’s going into labour.” He heard on the other liner, he was in shock, his phone dropping to the side.
“Sh…She what?” It was early, of course you both knew about early pregnancies but this he had just spoken you a couple hours ago and now here you were about to go into labour.
“In labour, her water broke whilst I came to see her.” He could hear you screaming on the other side, how you must’ve been in pain, he knew you had been dilated a couple days ago but this, this was sooner than he had expected.
Nezu got the hint that something had happened and so had the class, a flash of worry across Aizawa’s face. “We’ll send the students back to the dorms.” He was calm and Aizawa quickly rushed out of the gym, leaving nothing else to say. He needed to make it to the hospital as quick as he could, in an instant he called your mother.
“Is she okay?” He had ran outside going to his car to quickly rush to the hospital.
He heard screaming which he assumed was you, “she’s grouchy…”
Before he could hear the rest of what your mother said, he heard you shout, “if that’s my idiot of a husband tell him to get to the fucking hospital.” It was a wail and he regretted not taking the day off.
“Y/n.” Her mother scowled, “we’re at the hospital, I’ll text you the room.” Is all her mother said before hanging up. Aizawa was stressed to say the least but what he hadn’t seen through the chaos was class 1A following him.
The class had seen the worry and panic before he jolted out of the room, “you all are dismissed for the day.” Nezu spoke before leaving.
“What do you think happened?” Momo questioned worried.
“He seemed in a hurry; it was probably something important.” Kirishima retorted back.
The class watched him on the phone the question of ‘is she okay?’ being heard. “Who do you think he’s talking about?” Mina asked.
“Why do you lot care so much?” Bakugo angrily said pissed that training had been cut early.
“He’s our teacher, what if something bad happened Kacchan.” Midoriya answered but it just fuelled Bakugo’s anger.
“We should follow him.” Denki suggested. “It might be serious and if people need help, we can help.”
They nodded, all assuming it had something to do with hero work, seeing Aizawa in his car, they started to follow him on foot, “we should’ve taken one of the buses.” Bakugo scowled following.
“We cant drive.” Kirishima muttered back.
Bakugo huffed following them all on the long walk, it was easy enough to keep following due to the mass traffic occurring. Aizawa having got the room number, he didn’t care for his surroundings, his eyes fixated on the road.
He finally saw the sign for the hospital and breathed out hoping you hadn’t gotten into labour yet. “Why is he at a hospital?” Ururaka questioned, “do you think someone got hurt?”
“Maybe we should go back.” Momo said not wanting to intrude on something that could have no villainous intent.
“Shut up extra’s, we’re already here.” Bakugo muttered walking to the entrance, they all followed the angry boy who glared at the children coming out of that ward.
“When did you care about the injured?” Kirishima questioned the blond.
“I don’t, you dragged me with you so now we’re staying.” For one thing the boy was persistent.
Across the hospital, Aizawa had ran to the room and saw your eyes filled with fury, your mother holding your hand as he could see how much pain you were in. “Look what the cat dragged in.” You scowled in pain.
“You can take over now.” Is all her mother said, going outside and waiting. He took her place and in an instance your hands had grabbed his.
“You must be the husband, I’ll be helping your wife, can you wear these?” The doctor spoke passing the blue overall type to keep his clothes covered, Aizawa obliged still holding your hand. “Mrs Aizawa you’re about 9cm dilated once you get to 10cm I’m going to tell you to push, okay?”
You were breathless and felt dreary, it would’ve been fine if it wasn’t for the fact you were having twins. You knew you’d go through even more pain then normal and in that moment felt scared.
“Hey kitten, look at me, you’ll do amazing.” Aizawa tried to be encouraging but even he was scared for all three of you.
“It hurts.” You tried to hide the tears, but it mixed in with the sweat.
“I know kitten, but you can grab onto me as hard as you want.” He smiles moving the strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead.
“10cm’s.” One of the nurses spoke out, the doctor nodded before looking at the angry you and calm husband.
“Mrs Aizawa you need to start pushing.” The pain was excruciating, you tried to push your grip on Aizawa’s hands becoming tighter. It was the worst pain you’d gone through and you’d been stabbed before.
Aizawa gave words of encouragement but all you wanted to do was tell him to shut up, tears cascaded down your face whilst pushing. “I see a head.” The doctor spoke, “keep pushing.”
You pushed a long with what the nurses had told you, in time to make sure you weren’t just randomly pushing. Aizawa was the first to see it, first to see the baby come out, it was quiet before wailing out loud, it was his turn to cry. The baby being placed on your chest before the doctor continued, “one more push, let’s get the other one out.”
You felt the first baby on your ski grabbing your neck as you kept on pushing, “I don’t want too.” You cried out but seeing Aizawa and how he looked at the baby on your chest you knew you needed too.
“Come on kitten, one more push.” He spoke a loud, you suppresses the tears before feeling another hard push come and the head of another baby erupt out of you. The doctor but the second baby on your chest, both their crying having stopped.
They stayed on you, you let go of Aizawas hand as the doctor told him he could cut the umbilical cord, he happily obliged before looking at the two babies that you both had created. They were smaller then normal and there eyes were tightly shut clinging onto their new mother.
“We need to weigh and clean them.” The doctor spoke as two nurses took the babies ready to put tags on them, the oldest had been a boy and the youngest a girl. You missed there touch and hold wanting to hold them again but watching them being taken out.
“We did it.” You spoke sleepily as you felt yourself being cleaned up and ready to be moved into another room.
“Yeah, we did.” Aizawa spoke going in to kiss your temple, “we’re parents.”
Tears brimmed his eyes; this normal dry flat facial features had become happier and all he could think about was how you looked with his two children. How he had gotten a family that he had never expected to have had.
Being moved to a different room, Aizawa followed sitting on the chair beside you. You saw the two babies come back to you both, in an instance they were placed back into your arms. “You can hold them?”
You had seen Aizawa’s hesitance to even touch the babies, but he knew how to do it and with ease they both were situated in his arms. You could hear your mother outside, she seemed to be talking to some people, but you ignored it watching at how Aizawa’s eyes welled up at the two babies.
“Where are my grandchildren?” Your mother spoke a loud before having heart eyes at how Aizawa was holding your babies.
“Mum, please be quieter.”
“Hey, I had to handle your screams, let me be happy, they look adorable with their father.” She spoke moving to the bed.
“They really do.” You both watched him look at the two children, a tear falling from his face.
Your mother turned back to you and she smiled at you, “I’m proud of you.” You give a nod holding her hand before she speaks, “have you two got any na…”
Before she could continue you hear the door open with the doctor coming in, “it seems you two have more visitors.”
You were both confused on the matter, nobody really knew you had gone into pregnancy except your parents and his and your father was still at work whilst his parents were out of town. It was unexpected but your eyes widen when you see the group of 16-year olds.
“They were wondering around the hospital.” The doctor speaks, Aizawa hadn’t noticed his students, but you and your mother had.
The kids were in shock at seeing a pro hero in a hospital bed but there eyes went to Aizawa’s he had been looking at his babies, unaware of his surroundings.
Nobody spoke instead just watching Aizawa interact with the two new-born babies, a smile placed on his normal flat self. “Did he steal two babies?” You hear one of them whisper, you instantly begin to speak after that.
“Shouta.” You whisper.
“Yeah.” He was so out of dazed but once he turns to face them all, he’s in shock as well.
“I’ll leave you to handle this.” Your mother leaves not wanting to have to explain this scenario.
Aizawa was still in shock, you reach out for one of the babies, he passes you the youngest, who starts to grab at your fingers. He sits holding the boy, before the class start cascading you both in questions.
“Are they yours?”, “How do you know Pro Hero Y/n?”, “Who is she to you?”
Aizawa looks at them and then at his family, you nod a sign that he could tell them everything, “This is my wife, and these are our new kids.”
It was a simple but effective, the class in shock that there homeroom teacher who seemed to be detached had you the loving pro hero as a wife, but even more now had two kids.
“Congratulations.” They all spoke a loud. It was rehearsed and you could tell that it all came out due to shock.
“What are you doing here anyway, I thought we said go back to the dorms.” Aizawa scowled.
“Baby, it’s fine, it’s good they found out anyway, since you wont be teaching them for a bit.” You calmed the man down.
He shakes his head at how easily you calmed him down, “you’re an amazing pro hero.” Midoriya spoke a loud, you thanked him before they didn’t know what else to say.
“I’ll go call Nezu, he can get you back to UA.” Aizawa muttered handing you the other child as he left the room.
“You married Aizawa.” Mina spoke a loud everybody looked at her, “what? We were all thinking it?”
You laugh looking at them all, “yes I did.”
“And you slept with him.” Mina continued with ever more eyes growing wider.
You continued to laugh, “that is how I got pregnant.”
“What are their names?” Ururaka asked coming towards the two kids.
You sat upright, letting them have a closer look, they all came forward even Bakugo who saw children as devils spawn. They were fresh out and anew, so pure and innocent as they tugged onto your hair.
“We haven’t decided yet.” You said looking at the two kids, you notice Aizawa at the door looking at the class as they surrounded you and the babies. The way they were quieter than they had ever been around two new-borns, they spent time asking questions and looking at the two babies. Before being dragged back to UA, all smiling happily at having spent the afternoon with two new-borns.
“They look like you.” You mutter sleepily, the two babies being put to sleep on the other sides of the room. “We made them.”
“I love you.” He whispers kissing you softly, you kiss back, happily at the new family you had and Aizawa finally realised what his happiness was. You and your two babies were all he ever needed now.
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Remember Us - part 2
Double feature this week. Here we go with part 2. Rowan takes another step on the path of recovering his life.
Also, we get to meet the kids <3
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When Aelin got home that night after her shift at the hospital, she was tired and not just from the long hours spent in OR. She was tired in her soul. Aelin had managed to keep her thoughts at bay while operating, but as soon as she was out they came back. It had been hard to fight the urge to go and see him again. He wanted space. That was clear so she just went home instead.
Once she crossed the threshold, laughter welcomed her. Her kids sounded happy.
She shed her coat and removed her shoes and followed the happy sounds.
Walking into the kitchen she found her mother cooking and Thomas helping her setting the table and little Freyja banging her plastic cutlery on her high chair. She was a shy girl but would become alive and loud when she was hungry. Just like her mum.
“Mama!” Shouted her daughter as she spotted her.
“Mum,” Thomas echoed his sister and ran to her, hugging Aelin at her knees “hi my darling, how are you?” She kneeled at his height and ruffled his blonde hair.
“Helping grandma cook.”
“Food.” Shouted Freyja who got agitated trying to get the attention of her mother. Aelin went to her daughter and lifted the wee girl in her arms “hi my love,” and she snuggled her head against her mother’s chest.
“Hi mum,” said Aelin to Evalin. The woman stirred something in the pan and turned to her daughter “welcome back, darling.” She said and her gaze turned worried at her daughter’s tired expression.
Aelin shook her head, knowing what her mother was about to say “later,” she added. She did not want to talk about Rowan in front of the kids.
“Come on Tom, sit at the table. Dinner is ready.” On his grandma’s orders the boy climbed on his chair and started eating his meal.
Aelin joined them a moment later, all changed in house clothes and sat at her daughter’s side.
Thomas was three and had just started learning how to use a fork properly. They would cut the food for him and he would try to use the utensil. Rowan had been teaching him. A pang of sadness hit her and pushed back the tears, now it was not the time. She would feed Freyja who was only eighteen months old.
“Did you help grandma cook?”
The boy nodded while taking a bite from his fork and gave her a big smile. His green eyes lighting up with joy. Eyes just like his father’s.
“Aelin, let me feed Freyja. You have your dinner. You haven’t touched it yet.”
Aelin shook her head “I am fine. It can wait.”
Truth was… she felt nauseous and that feeling had nothing to do with being pregnant. It was fear. Terror of losing Rowan. Terror that he would never recover his memories and her kids would be left without a father and her without her soulmate. She almost lost him once. She would never forget the day she got the call from the hospital. Those horrible moments were forever etched in her memory.
Later on that night, once the kids were in bed Evalin joined her daughter on the sofa and brought her a chamomile tea.
“The kids are asleep. What’s troubling you?”
Aelin sighed and her hand went to her stomach “Rowan woke up.”
“Today?”
She nodded in confirmation and leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder “I had just left the OR when I got a page from his doctor. I went to his room and he was awake,” a loud sob broke from her lips “he does not remember me or the kids.”
Evalin pulled her daughter closer and hugged her knowing the pain she had been feeling for the past month “Yrene had told you it might happen.”
Aelin nodded slightly “I didn’t think it could hurt that much. He had no idea who I was. He doesn’t remember our kids.” Her sobs turned into proper crying “I am so scared, mum. So, so scared.”
“I know, darling.” Evalin kissed her daughter’s head “you will have to be strong a bit longer. Does the doctor think he will regain his memory?”
Aelin gave her a small nod “but it might take time and what if he realises that he doesn’t want us in his life anymore?”
“Rowan loves you and the kids madly. The road ahead might be bumpy but he will come back.” A ragged breath escaped from Aelin. She hoped her mother was right, because if she was not she doubted she would survive loosing him a second time.
*
Rowan woke up the next morning with an horrendous headache. He had a fitful sleep and his thoughts had been stuck all night on her. Aelin. His wife. At her side two small shadows representing their kids. In his mind he had this picture of him holding someone, the smell of lemon and verbena strong around him. But he was sure it was more a feeling than an actual memory. He had woken up all of a sudden and hadn’t been able to fall asleep properly since. His body recognised the other one.
A nurse brought breakfast and of one thing he was sure. He hated hospital food. Which led to another series of questions. What did he eat for breakfast? Was he a good cook? What was his favourite food?
Reluctantly he finished the food on his tray and decided to kill the boredom by watching tv. According to the news it was January and the meteorologist were warning all the citizens of Terrasen of a snowstorm warning.
He was so bored watching the news that he felt glad when Aelin knocked on the doorframe “Mind if I come in?”
He shook his head “is tv always this boring?”
Aelin chuckled and for a second she saw a glimpse of him. He always hated tv. The only reason they had one in the house was because she had pestered him about it “yeah. You find reading more interesting.”
He switched off the television and faced her “I am…” he sighed “yesterday… I was overwhelmed. It was… it still is too much.”
“I know,”said Aelin trying to suppress the instinct to touch him. Not until he was okay with it.
“Tell me something about me, about my life. Us… anything.” He started, eager to know more. He needed it “do I like breakfast?”
Aelin laughed “you do, and you are a great cook. On Saturdays you always make us pancakes and let Thomas help you flip them.” She smiled at the image. Thomas on his knees on a chair beside his dad.
“You are a healthy eater so you tend to scoff enormous quantities of fruit and veggies while complaining about my crazy dietary habits.”
She was dying to show him pictures of the kids but decided against it. One step at a time. Let him become familiar with the idea of being married first.
“You are a lawyer. A kickass one at that.” His green eyes were trained on her “you and Lorcan opened your own practice. After graduation you two got a job in a fancy company but eventually got tired of dealing with rich bastards and opened a firm that deals mostly with family law but also offers legal support to us common human beings.” She had been so proud of him. The big job had left him miserable and with very little time to live. He had been stressed and after two years he had realised that the huge salary was not worth it. Lorcan had followed him and together they had started their new adventure. They had started small snd simple, but slowly as they took in more cases they had to start hiring more people and the firm had gotten bigger and successful.
“You love hiking, nature in general and winter. We are both in love with theatre and on our first date you took me to a play.”
Rowan looked at her and that tug in his chest came back for a visit.
“We have been married for seven years and you proposed at my best friend’s wedding. We were dancing and you asked me what if we were the next ones to do that? Then you went on one knee and asked me to marry you.”
He kept listening, adding some more pieces of info to what he had gathered so far. And the more Aelin spoke the more that connection he had felt the day before grew stronger.
“What type of doctor are you?”
“I am the chief of paediatric neurosurgery and I work two floors above this.”
Rowan took a deep breath and asked a question that had been burning in him since she has appeared “do you have any photos of us, of the kids?”
Aelin felt like crying and extracted her mobile phone and scrolled through her huge quantity of photos “This is Thomas. He is three.”
Rowan looked at the boy and saw a blond mop of hair just as golden as his mother’s and two striking green eyes just like his. In the photo the boy was laughing while he held him in his arms.
Aelin swiped and the image of a little girl appeared and he gasped. There was no doubt that she was his daughter. Her hair was silver as his and even her eyes were the exact copy.
“She is so much like you.” He noticed the smile appearing on Aelin’s face. While she talked about their life her face had lit up and in front of him he had the most stunning woman he had ever seen. Probably. He wasn’t sure but Aelin took his breath away.
“Are we happy? As a family?”
Aelin nodded without even thinking about it. They were, she had no doubts about it “Yes. We wanted a family, kids. It was our choice.”
Rowan nodded and wanted to believe her, needed to believe the passion and the love in her voice.
“I need time.” He said quietly, averting his gaze from hers for just a brief moment “This is a lot that I need to process. I will need time but I want to hear more.”
Aelin sobbed and grabbed her backpack and extracted another mobile phone “this is yours. It survived the crash because you used a military grade protecting cover. I just charged it. The password is 0305.” She gave him the mobile “it has photos, texts. Everything is still there, maybe it will help.”
Aelin looked at her watch and stood “I have to go, I have a surgery in two hours.”
Rowan nodded.
“You can text me if you want. My contact is under Fireheart.”
He looked at the phone and then at her “will you come back?”
Aelin took a step toward him and kissed his silver hair as she did the previous day and then nodded.
She waved at him and disappeared through the door.
He moved his attention to the phone and tried to figure out how to switch it on. Once he did it asked him a pin code and he entered the digits she had told him.
Once the phone was unlocked he was welcomed by a picture of him, Aelin and the kids on a beach. He had Freyja on his shoulders and was laughing as she patted his head. Aelin was holding Thomas potato sack style and the boy was grinning. With his fingers he traced her face and then went looking for the photo album. Before opening he hesitated. His life, his memories were there and he was scared.
There were picture of his wife. Plenty of them and she always had an amazing smile. Of one thing he was sure:Aelin took his breath away.
Photos of their kids and he spotted one of what he suspected was a newborn Freyja. He held the little bundle in his arms while Thomas was at his side staring at his sister. He saw happiness, he saw joy, but most of all he saw love. Deep love that bound the four of them. Aelin had not lied. They seemed happy. He found photos of what he assumed were friends but he could not tell who they were, he hadn’t covered that part yet. Accepting the idea of a wife and kids was hard enough. He was not ready yet to add more people. The mere idea made him feel dizzy.
He was getting tired again even if it was only morning, but he pushed through and found the app with the text messages and went to look at the ones from Aelin and he read the last one she sent him go and win your case and then tonight I will show you how proud I am of my sexy lawyer.
He scrolled back through the thread and read random texts between them until he went back a few months and saw a text with a picture attached.
You are away for work and I miss you. I went for my first proper check-up and I am proud to share with you the picture of the new member of our family. The image was greyish and grainy but the message was clear: Aelin was pregnant again.
He placed the phone on his lap and closed his eyes calming the sense of panic overwhelm him.
And with his eyes closed he tried to remember.
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