#the boys are gone but the night nurse is just kind of hanging out with them on the house

[lutheban]

watching "dead patrol" again with context somehow feels so much more fucking insane

(spoilers obviously)

on the one hand you have Larry who was just going through THE breakup of his life with the negative spirit, who gets mailed his friend's bodies in boxes, then you have Dorothy, who just came back from the artic from burying her dad, comes back home to find the rest of her family dead on the dinner table and her weird mummy uncle having a mental breakdown over the fact that, well, their family is dead, THEN they supposedly ask Danny, the ambulance, on what to do next, and they promptly go all over the ocean to England to get crystal and the boys

ALL MEANWHILE the rest of the gang is having a chit-chat with their dead loved ones in the afterlife

and in the end Dorothy leaves with them cuz she needs friends her age and the ghost kids are the best you can get when you're perpetually 11 and live in this universe

what the fuck even is this show

[theunstuffedpepper]

I realized that I’ve never really documented my L&D experience with any of my boys. Memory fades, but anyone who has gone through it knows that there are some moments and aspects of labor and delivery that you know will stay fresh in your mind for a long, long time.

This will probably get lengthy - fair warning.

For a bit of background, my first and second experiences with labor and delivery were complete opposites in everything except arrival time; both boys arrived in week 38 (38+3 and 38+4, to be specific).

My first involved an induction due to preeclampsia concerns. I was working remotely and got a call from my doctor on Wednesday - I was 38+0 and they told me that due to the protein levels in my urine from my 37-week appointment, they wanted to induce me. That same day. After a bit of freaking out and calling B, we packed up and headed to the hospital. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday were spent passing the time, letting things... ripen. My body was NOT ready. By Saturday, though, I was ready for pitocin. I labored for about 6 hours and was still only at 2cm, so I requested an epidural. An hour after the epidural, my doctor came in to tell me that if things hadn't progressed any further, I'd be getting a C-section. She checked me and I was fully dilated +2. Thank god for that epidural. One more hour of pushing and he arrived. The whole experience was off, though. It wasn't a great labor and delivery experience for me, though I was very grateful because it could have been much worse and much harder, but it was only the start of a very, very difficult year of my life. PPD is no joke.

My second was quite the opposite. Again, I was working remotely at home, and I wrote an email to my boss the morning I started going into labor to tell him I thought I'd best hang up my hat. We called my parents to come watch Holden. They arrived to our house by 1pm, we got to the hospital at 2pm, and the baby was born at 4pm. It was wickedly painful - my water broke on the way to the hospital - and to this day, I've never experienced physical pain like that in my life. It progressed FAST and furious and my body told me when it was time to push, even before the doctors did. Two pushes and he was here.

I guess that brings me to my third and final labor/delivery experience. You may already know that we had a false alarm and spent the day at the hospital two days before the baby was actually born, frustratingly being sent home at the end of that day because I was still only 3cm dilated. That was Wednesday. Friday morning, my contractions woke me up at 4am and I knew in my gut that it was Actually Time. I woke B up, we woke up my parents who were already staying at our place that night, and we left. The hour-long drive to the hospital was stressful but we made it. We were admitted at 6am. After vomiting once and laboring for much longer than I wanted without any pain management, I was finally given the epidural around - what was it, 7cm? I think so. It was only about 75% effective, but it was certainly enough to take the edge off and it was a welcome relief. My labors move fast, apparently. The L&D nurse was so incredibly kind and encouraging - telling me I was doing amazing, that my pain tolerance is incredibly high, and that I was cranking out those contractions. When I was fully dilated, the midwife (who also saw me for my false alarm and who I had become very fond of by that point) told me we were ready to go. Let's push this baby out. Four pushes and there he was. He had arrived at 39+2. He looks just like Holden did as a newborn. He's healthy and happy and it's been absolute smooth sailing as far as his health goes, thank goodness. That's all I wanted.

So, with that, the family is feeling very complete. It was a scary thought, but now it's mostly just a welcome one. I won't have to go through the pain, anxiety, and trauma of another pregnancy, labor, and delivery again. That part of the journey is thankfully in the rear view. There was a time when I thought I wouldn't have kids - at that time, I never would have believed you if you told me I'd end up having three. Now, though, I can't imagine not having done it. Life has a way of doing that, I suppose.

[deathfavor]

@ofluminance said: FORGED / for hanma!

glimpses of the past drabble scenes FORGED for a scene from my muse's past that they think made them stronger in the long run

NOTE: Hanma genuinely doesn't feel like there's any 'special' incident that's made him stronger in any way. Hanma just...is. But this is more like a moment of confirmation to himself that he recalls that kind of dips into his self-reliance and reckless indifference to his own situation that he carries on later in life.

Hanma isn't surprised when he watches the front door swing shut without so much as a goodbye; he's nine and he's already used to nights being left alone. Maybe he should cry or rage. Other kids probably would. He doesn't. He's seen this happen dozens of times before The only thing noteworthy tonight is the fact he's just been released from the hospital after a fight gone bad. If you could even call it a fight. Hanma doesn't really think it counts as one, but it had been his first taste of defeat.

He'd beat up a boy several years older when he was starting fights and causing trouble just to feel something. Hanma had laughed at the older teenager too when he'd been sobbing on the alley floor nursing his wounds. Little had he realized the teen was part of a rather vicious gang of much older kids. But Hanma had even laughed then when he'd found himself cornered that night by the gang of teens seven years older than him because it was fucking pathetic. He'd stopped laughing when it hurt to much to breathe properly, let alone laugh, but his eyes hadn't stopped gleaming. He'd still stared defiantly even when he could barely move and had to drag himself out of the alley to the sidewalk. People had panicked; Hanma hadn't.

No one had visited during his hospital stay. Hanma didn't mind.

Now he was home after his stay at the hospital and his mother was already leaving. He didn't really care. He didn't need her comfort. She wouldn't offer any anyways. That was fine. He didn't care either. He didn't yearn for her love or attention the way most other kids on the streets just wanted someone's attention. Even in the face of his suffering, he doesn't need it. If there is one lesson Hanma has learned through this ordeal, it was confirmation of the fact that he doesn't need anyone. He can take care of himself. It isn't a bitter or sad thought, just an idle confirmation to himself. If he could handle this, then everything else should be easy.

Hanma slides off the couch and walks over the the fridge, letting the dim light fill the dark kitchen. He could cook - his grandpa had shown him a recipe he really liked before his hospital visit. But that was a lot of work and he didn't feel like it. Plus they probably didn't have the ingredients in the house since his mother hated cooking. So Hanma grabs the leftovers that appear most appetizing and pops them into the microwave to warm up. Once that's done, he carries the food into the living room and puts on a movie that he's probably too young for, but the blood and gore don't faze him. Maybe he's a little fucked up, but it'd be more surprising if he wasn't.

His grandpa calls, and Hanma has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He's fine, no he doesn't need to come over, no he's not sure where his mom went or when she'll be back, yes he'll remember to change the bandages. When his grandpa says to stay out of trouble, Hanma only giggles and says goodnight before hanging up. ( Maybe he feels a tiny bit bad for his grandpa's tired sigh, but it won't stop him. Like mother like son in being disappointments. ) Instead he puts on another movie and feasts on the carnage until he gets tired. Then he makes his way to his bed and passes out until the next afternoon.

When he wakes, it's just another day of trouble.

[casspurrjoybell-28]

The Alpha's Addiction - Chapter 33 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Home - Kao

Fortunately, the casualties sustained in the attack were relatively low due to Cyrus's quick response and the regular attack drills he made his warriors practice.

He doesn't accept praise of any kind for it, though, which is so him.

Not that I've gotten to see much of him lately.

I feel stupid and childish for crying and running off like I did.

I keep trying to find the right moment to talk things over with him but I chicken out every time.

I can tell he wants to talk to me as well but it's like whenever we're in proximity of each other Beau's pipsqueak ass has to barge in and cling onto Cyrus like a pest.

I've witnessed the awkward shake-off Cyrus does of the tiny omega multiple times by now, ever the gentle giant as he removes Beau from himself.

I understand that it's how Juliet raised him, not to lay a hand on omegas, but I wouldn't mind if he gave Beau a good smack at least once.

If he doesn't, I will soon enough.

The other day Beau was babbling on and on about how scared he was during the attack, nearly hanging off of Cyrus's arm.

"Oh, I was so worried for you, Cyrus but I just knew the Moon Goddess would bring you back to me, safe and sound," he batted his ridiculously curled lashes up at my Alpha and I swear I could have strangled him.

Morgan's been healing well, with Xavier refusing to leave his side.

The two newly established love birds can't keep their hands off each other.

Take it from me, who had to be there when the nurse advised them to avoid certain activities until Morgan was fully recovered.

From the mischievous giggle my friend emitted as Xavier covered his face in embarrassment, they totally fucked in that hospital bed.

The wounds Morgan sustained are thankfully not on his lower half.

Despite things looking up, I can't shake the feeling that I'm forgetting something about the attack.

I could have sworn there was something that didn't sit right with me but I can't for the life of me recall what it was.

I know that an alliance that the attacking Pack held with the Blood Pack unsettled me as well but this wasn't about that.

I sigh, brushing a golden curl out of Oliver's face as he sleeps soundly beside me.

He's almost nine already, having grown several inches since we arrived in this pack.

My baby boy.

He looks so peaceful like this.

No one would guess the horrors that he's been through.

I often spend my nights like this, relenting insomnia keeping me awake.

It's like my nerves haven't settled ever since the attack.

Being away from my mate certainly hasn't helped.

I keep remembering the regret, the pain flashing in his eyes as I started to cry but then I remember how he'd shouted, cursed at me.

Is all I am to him really an 'insolent brat' that he's drawn to solely because of our mate bond?

It's harrowing to even consider.

I drift off to sleep with these worries swirling around my mind, sure to plague my dreams.

********

I am on a battlefield.

It's deserted but the debris of the fight litters the ground, fallen warriors at every turn.

I'm overcome with horror, the feeling coiling in my gut and nearly consuming me.

Where is he?

Where is he?

I run from corpse to corpse, flipping them over or swiping their hair from their face, praying to the Moon Goddess above that my mate's icy blue eyes will not be revealed.

He can't be among the fallen.

With each dead body I go through, the dread inside me deepens.

I reach the last warrior, my heart seizing as I take in the male's large size and dark hair.

No. No no no no no no.

I sink to my knees at his side.

I turn the head that feels all too familiar, revealing the slack face of my mate as he stares lifelessly up at the sky.

Gone.

Taken from me.

There's blood.

So much blood.

My hands are covered in it as I lay them on his wounded chest.

I scream.

I scream and scream and scream, agony becoming the only thing I know and will ever know.

********

I gasp, awakening covered in sweat as tremors wrack my body.

I blink away a few stray tears, desperately trying to ground myself as the image of a dead Cyrus replays over and over in my mind.

Perhaps this deep-rooted fear of losing someone I care for so deeply is what made me disobey him during the attack.

I felt useless standing by while he was out there, prepared to risk his life for my and everyone else's safety.

I don't think that I could ever forgive myself if he died in battle while I didn't lift a finger to help his cause, to fight for the same thing as he but sneaking out backfired brutally.

Although I don't regret saving that young Alpha, I understand that I acted rashly and upset my mate.

I forgot that he is the Alpha here and has done so much to protect me, yet I threw all his efforts out the window because I stupidly wanted to 'prove' myself.

All I've proved is that he can't trust me with my own safety.

I can't do this any longer.

The avoidance, the unsettled tension between us.

I miss him so much it's killing me.

[free-for-all-fics]

Part 2 of 3 of the Crossover Prompt! This part is probably the longest, as this is where the meat of the story/prompt happens. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! ⚕️🤍

Although Louis, very reluctantly, returned to France as an acclaimed war hero in March 1918, his personal life soon took a turn for the worse. By the time he arrived at Madeleine’s house which he could no longer call home, she had already received a call from John’s family, telling her that they received a telegram from the War Department notifying them John had been killed in action. Enclosed with the telegram was John’s will. Despite their marriage collapsing, he refused to abandon her in her very fragile emotional, mental, and physical state.

Ever since she discovered she was pregnant, she lived the life of a recluse. She suddenly stopped going out in public one day and never left the house or accepted any visitors since. A boy delivered her groceries. Every week she left him money and a list by the back door, and gave him instructions to leave them by that same back door. She always waited until he went away before unlocking the door. She kept away from the front door and windows. She prayed every night that nobody would ever see her stomach before either John married her or Louis came home. When John’s family called to tell her the news of his death, she barely said anything before hanging up. When they came to the house and brought over everything John left to Louis and Madeleine, she didn’t answer the door. They waited a few moments, but she didn’t come. So they assumed she wasn’t at home and left the box of items on the doorstep. The door opened just a crack. Arms came reaching out from the darkness. They quickly snatched the box and brought it inside, then firmly shut and locked the door within seconds. John’s family didn’t notice because they were long gone by that point.

While she accepted Louis’ help and support, he could tell it was only because she had nobody else to turn to. John’s family could never know he fathered a child out of wedlock with a married woman. Madeleine’s family could never know she soiled their good name by laying with a man who wasn’t her husband and birthed his child. The scandal would break up their families forever, and that was the last thing she wanted. She didn’t have an alternative. She was far enough along that their only viable option by that point was to bide their time so that they could convincingly pass off the baby as Louis’. They’d likely have to fabricate a story about the baby being born premature. While she understood the risks that came with it, including the risk of either her and/or the baby’s death, she decided she wanted to give birth in the privacy of her home. It would be easier to lie about the baby’s birthdate and parentage if the only witnesses were Louis, a midwife, and maybe a wet nurse. She knew that. And he knew she knew that. But still Louis could see it in her eyes that she didn’t want him there, not really. Every time she looked at him, she probably thought about how it should’ve been John, the actual father of her baby and the man she truly loved, beside her throughout her pregnancy. Not him. Not Louis.

She often cried, as if the ferocity of it alone might’ve been enough to bring John back. As if by the sheer force of her grief the news would’ve been undone. He was her love, her husband-to-be, and he couldn’t be gone. Louis tried to hold her back, to calm her before she hurt someone or herself, but, in her hysteria, she was too strong, too wild. After whirling about, unable to look through her puffy eyes at the photographs on the wall, she tumbled out of the house onto the rain-kissed lawn in the middle of the night. As if she were desperate for a breath of fresh air, for a reprieve from the suffocating sorrow she felt trapped in. He watched her go, dissolved in the kind of despair that can take one's mind prisoner and never give it back. Her wailing carried in the damp air, freezing him in place. It was more than crying, it was the kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a person drained of all hope.

She sank to her knees in the middle of the backyard, not caring for the damp mud or wet grass that dirtied her clothing, staining it brown and green. The skin of her hands became stained with the same colors as she tore the grass from the earth and clawed through the dirt, as if trying to dig a hole for herself. Her tears mingled with the rain and her gasping wails echoed around the neighborhood. The pain that flowed from her was as palpable as the frigid fall wind and soon the only person at her side was Louis. He placed his hands on her shoulders. That’s all he could do. She struggled to keep her tears silent as she took shaky breaths and looked up to the watery skies. There were no stars that she could see that night. But she had to believe they were still there, somewhere just beyond her human perception, still twinkling in the soft darkness of nothing, in all of its shadowed velvet embrace. She had to believe heaven was just beyond that darkness. She had to believe John was safe up there, comfortable and warm. To look down at the earth would be to imagine him lying cold in a box, bereft of her cuddles and goodnight kisses. So she kept her head up.

Louis had to take her back inside before she caught her death of cold. She fought him, accused him of having done something to get John killed on purpose, motivated by possessiveness or jealousy. She called him many vile things he didn’t care to repeat, including a murderer.

“Never mind the epithets. You don’t have to swear at me to get rid of me.”

“I never want to see you again. Never, never as long as I live! Get out of here! Get out, get out, get out!”

“I’ll get out.”

He gave her the benefit of the doubt and pretended that she didn’t understand the full weight of what she was saying and didn’t actually mean it. He brushed it off as her just needing an outlet, something or someone she could vent to and take all her volatile emotions out on whenever she was feeling overwhelmed. If it had to be him, so be it. It wasn’t the first time she had an outburst like that. Ever since she learned of John’s death, it was a recurring behavior she exhibited. He summoned doctors, did everything they instructed him to do to help her whenever she had an episode. But no matter how bad things became, he’d never send her away. It was out of the question. No matter how many doctors or specialists recommended or suggested it, he’d never even entertain the thought. He’d never put her in an asylum. Maybe a sanitarium would’ve done her some good, but she never would’ve gone willingly, and he’d never deprive her of her autonomy by sending her someplace unfamiliar without her consent.

She belonged at home, so home was where she stayed. She wasn’t crazy. The war made her lonely, depressed, and traumatized, and her pregnancy only exacerbated her psyche. Even if he swore up and down John’s death was an accident, that it was the tragic outcome of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, that he did everything he could to try to save him, it wouldn’t have changed anything. He knew what she felt and what she thought every single day as her pregnancy progressed, even without her saying a word to him. And it was that it should’ve been John holding her hand as she pushed and brought her child into the world. Not him. Not Louis.

She gave birth to a son, also named John. She loved her son. She really did. She loved him more than life itself. But, less than a month after she gave birth, she refused to hold or nurse the baby. She told Louis to take John Jr. away from her before she did something she’d regret. They could get a wet nurse to feed him until he was weened. She couldn’t do it anymore. She wasn’t ready to be a mother. She was afraid of herself. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly had these horrible thoughts about hurting or killing the baby. They wouldn’t go away, even when she shut her eyes to go to sleep. She’d never ever do anything to hurt John Jr. if she was in her right mind. But she wasn’t in her right mind and she didn’t trust herself to be near her son. She went up and down, down and up. She wanted her mind to be quiet, to give her some semblance of peace and normalcy, but it wouldn’t.

She was so unpredictable at times that Louis kept a close eye on her just to be on the safe side. He wanted to trust her. He wanted to believe that she would never do anything to harm either the baby or herself, but he couldn’t be too careful. Although it was extremely difficult and painful, he did as she asked. He kept the boy away from his mother. Doctors who examined her said she was suffering from “puerperal insanity,” a condition with an unknown cause. They could only theorize that her moods fluctuated throughout her pregnancy constantly and now that the baby was no longer in her womb, her hormones were causing her emotions to go haywire to overcompensate for the emptiness within her body. She’d likely experience random spikes and drops in mood until her hormone levels normalized, and the doctors had no accurate way of knowing when exactly that would be. It could be weeks or, more likely, months. They prescribed her some medications. They helped, but they weren’t a miracle cure.

Louis was all too familiar with walking along the road to recovery. It was a long road ahead. And the road to mental recovery was much, much, much longer than physical recovery. She walked along that road. When he was on it, he never walked alone. He walked with you. He walked with Nurse Haydon. So he walked with Madeleine, went at her pace. Whenever she came to a fork in the road and was confused and didn’t know which way to take, he just put up a signpost that said, “Not that way. This way.”

Louis’ name was listed on the baby’s birth certificate as the father due to the presumption of legitimacy. Nobody but he and Madeleine knew that the boy wasn’t actually his. With John Sr. deceased, all they could do for him now was share custody of his son and raise him to the best of their ability. To make the situation more bearable, they told themselves it was what John would’ve wanted. They were brothers in arms, yes, but John had not only been part of Captain Renault’s regiment and under his command. He was his friend. And to Madeleine, John was so much more than her lover. He was her best friend, her soulmate, if such a thing existed. They each felt they owed it to him to put aside their hard feelings and do what was best for his child.

No matter what cruel or accusatory things people said behind their backs, Louis recognized and raised the boy as if he were his own. To him, he was his son in every sense of the word except blood. While he became disillusioned upon discovering Madeleine’s affair and the love he once had for her was long gone, he loved her son more than most things. Even if the boy didn’t resemble Louis at all, they’d make up convincing lies about how he took after a grandparent and would do anything else in their power to try to put a stop to the rumors. It worked…for a few months.

Near the end of the war in 1918, nurses and the rest of the world were suddenly faced with a large-scale flu epidemic. It was uncertain where the virus first emerged, but it quickly spread through western Europe and around the world— First in ports, then from city to city along main transportation routes. This epidemic was deadlier than the war itself and was responsible for a majority of the deaths involving nurses. During WWI, over two-hundred army nurses and thirty-six navy nurses died while in service. By the end of the war, nearly three-hundred Red Cross nurses had also lost their lives.

15 April 1919

More people are falling ill from this sickness and even more have died. I heard that many of the people who left France have since formed a new community space elsewhere to quarantine, hopeful that they’re a safe distance away and won’t get touched by the virus. I have my doubts. I hate to be so pessimistic, but I believe it has spread to the point where nowhere is truly safe. To believe otherwise would be to hang onto false hope. I can understand why they would choose to do so. I hung onto false hope once, and it kept me going for a time. Without it, I probably wouldn’t have survived as long as I did. I probably wouldn’t have survived at all. But I didn’t realize until it was too late that it only blinded me to the truth, prevented me from seeing what was right in front of me all along. It caused me much more grief in the end. Once the beautiful dream was shattered, dying greatly appealed to me. It would’ve been a much more bearable sensation than what I felt in that moment. But you saved me, sweetheart, by showing me how I could save myself. I imagine that, despite the epidemic, you’ve chosen to stay behind to care for the sick and the wounded out of a sense of duty and responsibility to save others like you saved me. You never struck me as one to show fear in the line of duty, even when faced with the risks of infection or death itself. I remember how you told me that if you were to die so that others may live, it was a sacrifice you were ready and willing to make.

I commend your courage, my darling, but please, do everything you can to keep yourself safe. I’ve seen the mortality reports. So many nurses have already lost their lives. Too many. I watch the news closely, hoping your name will never come up amongst the deceased. I don’t know what I would do if you were one of them. While I wish I could be by your side now, I have people here who need me. All I can do for you is send you letters and hope that they reach you. I hope that, wherever you are, you’re not under a quarantine that would prevent my words from reaching you. I eagerly await your reply. Please, write to me as soon as you can so I know you’re alive and well. I fear I’ll go mad with anxiety if I don’t hear from you soon.

Louis xxx

Tragedy struck when Madeleine had taken ill during the Great Influenza epidemic in 1919. John Jr., whom Louis lovingly called Johnny, was still only a baby by that point and at high risk of contracting the disease from his mother. Both she and Louis were afraid that she’d infect the very young boy. Inoculation was particularly successful in preventing flu and greatly reduced the number of casualties so, in an attempt to protect him from the epidemic, Louis kept himself and Johnny away from Madeleine upon her request. They agreed that keeping the boy away was for his own good. Nobody saw her except doctors and nurses.

Despite the best efforts of medical personnel, her malady only worsened, presumably exacerbated by her grief and desire to be reunited with John. Ever since his death, she kept a piece of him in a box under her bed along with his unfinished letter to her. The fires of the crematorium had taken John beyond her mortal touch yet the fabric remained, a faded brown jacket of no importance to anyone but her. It wasn’t the jacket from his military uniform. That one had been cut by the doctors when they attempted to save him. This jacket was one he used to wear often in the winter. In his will, he left it to Louis. It would’ve fit him; he and John were roughly the same size, the same build. But Madeleine refused to part with it ever since she found it in that cardboard box his family dropped off. It smelled like him. And even after his familiar scent dissipated, she still wrapped herself in it, its fleece lining offering her warmth and comfort that John couldn’t anymore. It protected her from her bad thoughts. It kept her nightmares at bay. Ever since she received that jacket, she never once thought about John’s blood spreading through his military jacket, staining it an even darker shade of brown not dissimilar to the coffee she used to make him in the mornings.

When she heard the news of John’s death, death was all she thought about. She experienced suicidal ideation as she obsessively thought about her own death. Humans are so…so alone in the end. To die…it must be horrible. To be separated from the one you love, to walk all the way to the unknown, alone. John, Louis, all those men who fought in the war had more courage in their smallest finger than she did in her entire body…even the worst ones. She couldn't do it, she couldn't die. Not while a vestige of John was growing inside her. That little life still needed her. As she laid dying in her sickbed, she no longer thought of death. It was bitterly ironic, wasn’t it? It was difficult for the mortuary workers to remove the jacket from her grasp as rigor mortis set in, but they managed. Louis requested that she was buried with that article of clothing. Honoring his request, the funeral director had it neatly folded and placed in her casket at her feet. Just before the casket was closed, he asked for a few moments alone with her. He said his goodbyes and placed John’s final letter to her in the folds of his brown jacket so nobody would see it. Had he been able to stay by her bedside to hear it, Louis believed it would’ve been her dying wish to be buried with those mementos of John. Her heart always belonged to him. Louis hoped they were together, that they were free to love each other in death as they did in life, unburdened by the limitations of existence.

27 April 1919

I buried Madeleine today. I didn’t bring Johnny to the funeral. He’s so little and I didn’t want him exposed to all that mess. He was looked after by a neighbor while services for his mother were held. Of dry faces, there were none. The funeral was sweet sorrow. In the sorrow of death was the proof of love, of the bonds that existed beyond our reality, beyond the spacetime, matter and energy that made our world real. While everyone in attendance bore expressions of raw pain and silent anguish, myself included, the funeral was, above all, a celebration of her life and accomplishments. Memories about her were shared, stories about her were told, a few kind words about her were said, until the casket was finally lowered into the ground. The mourners departed soon after that. They offered me handshakes, half-hugs and pats on the shoulder, but none of them wanted to stay too long after they gave their condolences. Even the clergyman had gone. I couldn’t blame them. Death is a tragedy in the young and a right of passage for the old and so bring different kinds of mourning. Though it’s so intimately a part of life, death often makes people uncomfortable. While death is interwoven into every aspect of the human experience, it’s within our human nature to distance ourselves from it. I don’t know why, but I lingered. It was just me, the gravediggers, and her.

It rained the day before. Under my boots the squelch of the mud beneath the wet grass was as noisy as the static in my head. The grief surged with every expelled breath, always reaching higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by my long intakes of the damp spring air. Tears began to spill from my eyes onto the newly growing grass. She laid in the earth right in front of me and, as I watched shovels of dirt being placed over her, all I could think was, “I won’t return to a home where she both is and isn’t. I can’t. Though her body won’t be there, her presence will be inescapable. Her memory will cast its shadow over the entire house, permeating every wall of every room and the land immediately surrounding it. It’s not my house anymore. It’s hers. It always has been. It always will be.” I’m so sorry if my words frighten you, my darling. To be honest, they frighten me too. But I’ll be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. Please, write to me and tell me of something happy. Something that made you smile or laugh. I could use some good news right about now. I love you for forever and always.

Louis xxxx

3 May 1919

I’ve not yet had the courage to return to the house I once called home just yet, so Johnny and I have been living in a nice little apartment for now. It’s not much, but it’ll be enough for just the two of us until I can find something better. I know you’ll admonish me for it but, in the days following Madeleine’s funeral, I was so focused on looking after him that I neglected to take care of myself. I was able to uphold a routine of feeding, bathing, and dressing him, but I failed to remember to shower or make food for myself. I was running on autopilot. But this morning it suddenly hit me all at once, like the gravity of my situation finally set in. Before I sat down to pen you this letter, I took time for myself to get cleaned up, eat something, and just sit in silence and process everything that happened in the last few days. My ex-wife is dead. My friend is dead. John and Madeleine’s families can never know about Johnny’s true parentage lest they become embroiled in scandal from which they’d never recover. There’s no other family to care for Johnny but me. For better or worse, I’m all he has left in the world - aside from my sister and her family, of course. Poor little orphan. Those who are destined to live during times of war and social upheaval are victims of a cruel fate— unable to find comfort in the past or peace in the present. They are the spiritual orphans of the world. He’s still napping, but he’ll be waking up and demanding his breakfast soon. I envy him. He doesn’t know a thing about any of it.

Louis xx

Initially, despite the loss of Madeleine, Louis enjoyed a happy life following his discharge, hanging out with his military colleagues and enjoying social activities. Eventually, however, his life began a downward spiral. As the years passed and peoples minds cleared, some of Louis’ fellow comrades, in particular friends to the deceased, began to suspect that Stevenson’s death was no accident. Whispers began to spread amongst the war veterans, which turned to rumors, then speculation and eventually quiet suspicion. Especially as Johnny grew older and started to resemble John more and more. Such brave men in the battlefield became such cowards outside of it. None of them had the courage to ever confront Louis directly, nor did they have the courage to understand the difference between honorable self-sacrifice and murder. They saw only what they wanted to see. Ultimately, even though they had no proof of guilt, Louis’ reputation was ruined. Realizing what his fellow soldiers were thinking, he stopped attending the military reunions and, after noticing the strange looks that his neighbors were giving him, became less and less sociable. Madeleine and John were dead, yet they continued to influence everything and everyone around them.

Nurse Haydon was only partially correct when she said Louis’ hearing loss was temporary and would return. His hearing did return, but not to the normal she had described. When Louis got a second opinion from an otolaryngologist, it only confirmed for him what he already suspected. He suffered permanent damage in one of his ears from the artillery shell blast and, as a result, became partially deaf in one ear. He had to adapt and grow accustomed to his new normal. Despite this, he heard every word of what was said about him. There was a silver lining in that, based on how well he was able to listen and respond to people while engaged in conversation, nobody would ever know he had hearing loss. But even if people believed he couldn’t hear them, Johnny had ears too. Louis didn’t want any malicious gossip coming back around and reaching his son. He feared that, at his age, the impressionable boy would be taken advantage of and fed lies, bullied, harassed, or otherwise the target of revenge by proxy and punished for the sins of his adoptive father.

7 July 1919

Ever since Madeleine first fell ill, I’ve done a lot of thinking about the worst case scenario and what to do next in the event that she didn’t pull through. Retaining custody and raising her son wasn’t a possibility I took lightly. I considered my options and weighed the pros and cons of him having me, of all people, as a father. I thought about how growing up without a mother might impact him. I thought about a lot of what ifs. I did the same when I considered adoption or temporary guardianship. Now that the funeral is over, I’ve tried to think day in and day out of what would be best for her son, regardless of my own feelings. But my feelings kept getting in the way. I’ve finally come to a decision. I don’t have the heart to give him up or be separated from him forever, but I can’t leave him alone in an apartment or dump him onto the neighbors unannounced while I’m getting my affairs in order. The best thing I can do for him is place him into temporary guardianship with my sister. She and her husband have children of their own and she’s someone I can trust. They’ve agreed to look after Johnny, at least until I can find a house and a job and am ready to resume parenting.

While my life has taken some unexpected twists and turns, I believe that, in time, I’ll be ready to step up and act as a proper father to little Johnny. I’ll send you snaps of Johnny and I together soon. I won’t have him for a while, so I’d better take as many of him while I still can. He’s a handsome little devil. In all the time we’ve known each other, darling, I never once thought I’d have to compete for your love and affections. But when you see his handsome face with his chubby little cheeks, bright eyes, and even brighter smile, I fear he’ll steal your heart right out from under me. Sweet dreams, my darling. And all my love.

Louis xxxx

17 July 1919

Oh, my God. Oh, my... Darling, I can’t keep you safe from the epidemic. In this matter I’m powerless. To lose my friend, my wife, and my son… Must I lose you, too? I don’t know if I can survive it again. My dear, in such a short time I’ve already buried two people that I loved. I can’t go back there. Not again. Your death would destroy me. I fear I wouldn’t be able to survive it. You can’t— You can’t leave me. If I lose you, I'll have nothing. I'll have nothing. Please, don’t go where I can’t follow. If that were to ever happen, I fear I would do something terribly drastic and irreversible in my desperation to be with you. Dear God, What am I saying? I must be going half-mad. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean any of that. Ever since I sent Johnny away, the loneliness has been getting to me. I get sent pictures of him and letters from my sister occasionally, but— It’s just—

It’s so much harder than I thought it’d be. None of the attendees at the funeral saw me when I was laid up in hospital and first learned of her infidelity. They didn’t see how broken I was in mind, body, and spirit. But you did. Your mere presence served as a balm to many of the injured and dying, especially me. You put me back together again, piece by misshapen piece. When I thought I’d never recover from her betrayal, you... You took me through the worst of my grief, and I came out a better man because of it. You helped me pull myself out of a dark place then, and I believe you’ll do so again.

Your missives of encouragement will give me the motivation I need to keep going. Your sweet words will guide me home, wherever that may be. I promise I’ll take better care of myself as long as you promise me you’ll do the same. Please, look after yourself, my dear. Take a break and don’t feel an ounce of shame or guilt about it. I’d so hate for you to overwork yourself and make yourself sick. I love you and am thinking of you always.

Louis xxxxx

8 August 1919

I’ve been busying myself by cleaning out the old house and getting it ready to put on the market. How does that saying go? Don’t put off till tomorrow what can be done today. Well, I kept putting it off. I kept telling myself tomorrow, tomorrow for sure, but tomorrows kept coming and passing me by and still I didn’t lift a finger inside that house. I didn’t even turn the key in the lock! Now I have more work to do than I would’ve if I just mustered up the courage to go inside and sorted through everything within the month after she died. There’s so much to donate, so much to clean… It’s my own fault. I kept chickening out at the last minute. But It’s served me well as a daytime distraction…until night comes and it’s time for me to lay down and sleep. I’m once again alone with my thoughts and have to fight to keep them and my nightmares at bay. Sleeping in our once shared bedroom feels inappropriate, so I’ve been sleeping in the guest bedroom or on the couch. But I still toss and turn as I try to think of something else. Anything else. Ever since Madeleine’s passing, I’ve sometimes felt as if she were looking through the wall at me. I know it's absurd, but I feel as if I’ll never be free from her so long as I’m here. When I write, she never takes her eyes from my hands, and when I call on the telephone, she never takes her eyes from my lips.

Tonight it was even worse, as if she were threatening. She’ll haunt my thoughts like a restless spirit if I don’t leave. I’ll sleep tonight with your picture by my pillow, as I’ve done every night. Your face always helps ward off the ghosts. All I can do for her now is leave her to Rest In Peace. Once I find a house, I’ll pack up all of my and Johnny’s things and finally take him back. Never again will I step back into this haunted house. These next few weeks will be unpredictable. I might not be able to write you again for some time. But please, don’t let my silence discourage you from writing to me. Although I may not have time to answer your letters in the foreseeable future, I’ll read every single one of them. I’ll keep you posted and give you an update as soon as I’m able. I promise. I love you.

Your Louis xxxx

21 November 1919

My dearest, please forgive me for my letters being sparse as of late. Though I had given you notice beforehand and you were aware that this would happen, I can’t even begin to imagine how much my silence must’ve worried you the longer it went on. I’m sorry for whatever stress or anxiety I’ve put you through. But I can explain. So much happened in these last three months that I found little time to write. My days became sacrosanct and, by nightfall, I was too exhausted to even pick up my pen. My eyes were so bleary with exhaustion that I couldn’t see the blank page clearly in front of me, and my eyes wouldn’t refocus no matter how much I blinked. After many weeks of living in a hectic world, everything has finally calmed down now and I can tell you all the marvelous news, darling! I found a house and I’m settled in. While not everything is unpacked yet, I’ve just about finished. I’ve spent these last weeks doing nothing but finalizing details and counting down to the day when I could finally sit down to write to you.

Even better, I have Johnny back with me. I missed him so much. Words can’t convey just how much. Four months felt like forever. Now that I have him back, I don’t plan on letting him out of my sight. Though it’ll take him time to adjust to the change, he’s already developed an insatiable curiosity. He’s already exploring and I’ve taken the necessary precautions of baby-proofing the house, including blocking off the stairs. He’s tuckered himself out, so I put him down for a nap. I must take advantage of this time to write a much longer letter to you. Though it won’t make up for my long silence, it’s a start.

Being a father is absolutely terrifying. I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time or if I’m doing anything correctly. It’s strange how easy it comes, isn't it? Worrying. I don’t think it’ll ever go away. Not so long as I love him. And I love him so very much. I enjoy his company and hope that, as he grows older, our bond will be just as strong. The neighbors, especially the older ladies with grandchildren, have been nice enough to show me what to do and how to do it. They’re all too eager to help me and I’m so grateful. Though I don’t wear my wedding ring anymore, they believe me to be a widower whose wife died from the flu or childbirth. I don’t have the heart to correct them on a technicality. Nobody knows us. Nobody knows John Stevenson.

This is a new environment. Johnny will have the chance to pave his future here without the encumbrance of his father’s memory following him like a terrible ghost. I feel it will be better for him to have a clean slate rather than grow up where he would be constantly reminded that he’s the adoptive son of an “alleged murderer”. If we had stayed, John’s shadow would’ve loomed over him, darkening his every step, his every action, his every breath. Our old neighbors, John’s friends… They would’ve never let Johnny be his own person, with his own thoughts, interests, and talents. They’d take one look at him and only see John, his father. They’d hold him up to some impossible standard, unfairly subject him to competing with his father’s corpse, pressure him into being a carbon copy of the John they once knew.

As Johnny grows, I can see more and more of his father in him. He’s like John in so many ways. He has his eyes, he has his nice hands… but I don’t resent him for it. Quite the opposite. I hope he has his heart. Oh, it was a very good heart. A tender heart to be in such a rugged body. I just know what the people from our old church would say if we hadn’t left. They would say that he can thank God if he grows up to be like him but, while I’m proud that there’s a vestige of John that still lives, he’ll always be Johnny to me. Not John Jr. Just Johnny. He’s more than just his father’s son, and I want him to grow up knowing that. While John’s body returned to the soil, his spirit will watch over us and live in our hearts. It will bring sadness as we transform to this new way of connecting, yet this is part of living.

When you receive letters from me that are so brief they only take up a page or less, you can safely assume it’s because I was distracted or otherwise preoccupied with looking after a very active little boy who’s grown bored with crawling and now has to climb almost everything he sees. I can’t turn my back or my eyes away for a second. I’m always watching him, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself or get into something he isn’t supposed to. All my love.

Louis xxxxx

However, despite the change of scenery, during this period of his life, Louis became little more than a recluse who only left his house to go shopping, attend church, and take his son to school or friends’ houses and pick him up hours later or the next day. His life was nearly dominated by his guilt, not because of the rumors or speculation, but out of genuine remorse and regret over what he did or didn’t do. He often wrote to you that he believed it was his fault. It was his fault they were dead. Madeleine and John. He killed his family. He often thought about what ifs. If he’d done something a little bit differently, then maybe John would still be alive and…

You could tell he was heading down a slippery slope of self-hatred and you had to do something to snap him out of it before he succumbed to his survivor’s guilt. You had to help him realize that human memory was often unreliable, with or without the head trauma he suffered while in service, and that, no matter what happened in the past, he couldn’t let it consume him and suck everything out of him until there was nothing left but a despondent shell.

Due to what you called a family emergency, you had to quit your job and return home rather abruptly. Something happened in 1917. Something changed. Louis wasn’t sure what it was. During this period, you went radio silent and didn’t even have the chance to warn Louis of it beforehand. Your letters just stopped coming one day. His letters to you suddenly went unanswered or were returned to sender, and he didn’t know why. Did you move and live under a different address? Did you find someone else? Did you die? He couldn’t bear to think about it. You never called or sent a telegram or cable, nothing. There was no correspondence from you whatsoever for nearly an entire year. It was very out of character for you, assuming you were still alive. God, he missed you. He missed you terribly.

Eventually you returned to working as a nurse and you and Louis rekindled your romance as you resumed writing to each other in 1918. When he received that first envelope with your name on it, he opened it so fast he nearly sliced his hand open with the letter opener. In your first letter to him after you all but dropped off the face of the earth, he was expecting an apology and an explanation for your disappearance at the very least. It was with an unsteady hand that he slowly unfolded the sheet of paper and he realized then that he was afraid. Afraid that this letter would change everything. He began to read through its contents and… There was an apology, but no explanation. Your letter was brief as you told him that you were sorry for causing him to worry. You told him that “it” was over, but you weren’t ready to talk about “it” just yet. He didn’t know what you were referring to and, when he wrote back to you and asked for clarification, all you could tell him in your next letter was that “it” had nothing to do with him and didn’t refer to your relationship, but “it” was “a very bad thing”.

Your response confused him even more, but it was a good enough answer for him. It had to be, because that was the most he was going to get out of you. If he kept pushing, he would’ve only succeeded in pushing you away. He didn’t want you to retreat and close yourself off from him, so he changed the subject and never brought it up again. Whatever it was, you obviously weren’t in the right mental or emotional headspace to talk about it with anyone. But you promised he’d not just be the first person, he’d be the only person you’d tell, just as soon as you were ready. It was about five years later when that day finally came.

18 October 1923

That inner critic is a bit loud today, huh? It wants to save you from making mistakes but it's creating anxiety, doubt, and misplaced shame and guilt. I think you need a dose of self-compassion. Be as sweet to yourself as you are to others. Being kind should radiate inwards as well as into the world beyond. As a nurse, it’s my duty to see to the well-being of my patients. And that includes you, my dearest. You just tell me whenever you’re feeling glum or thinking such terrible thoughts, and I’ll prescribe you as many sweet words of affirmation as you need until you’re feeling better. You may believe yourself to be a monster, but the voice in your head that’s telling you such things is lying to you. It often comes out at the worst of times, when a person is at their most vulnerable. It gets especially loud during the changing of the seasons. When summer turns to autumn to welcome in the winter months, I’ve noticed a shift in the moods of patients. They too experience what you’re experiencing, and I promise that I’ll do everything I can to help you drown out that deceptive voice in your head.

If you still don’t believe me, let me tell you a story. When I was a young girl, I knew bad men. These men were the sweetest of men within our community, always ready to lend a hand and always quick with a joke, often followed by a generous laugh. Their words were to our ears what frosted cake was to our tongues. They were every wish come true that we never knew we should wish for. But if any of us had looked closer, maybe we would’ve seen how these men pulled back their lips and smiled through gritted teeth. These men were monsters in human flesh that only revealed their true nature behind closed doors. They fooled everyone around them. Every neighbor, every party guest. One of them even fooled me into marriage.

I knew Frederick Lannington since childhood. He was a friend and business partner of my father, closer to his age than my own. He was an American, though he owned properties all over America and Europe. Father was the last family I had left and, after he died, I thought I’d never recover from his death. But Frederick... He took me through the worst of my grief. He was a calculated distraction. If only I realized then how well-calculated it was…

“I'd like you to see my house. I think it will please you.”

“There can't be a place like it for one hundred miles.”

“One thousand. It's all been assembled with great care. There's only one thing that I've wanted that I've been waiting for for a long time, because I'm a perfectionist.” He kissed your hand.

“Nothing of value is gained easily,” you teased, before your eyes were caught by a beautiful vase, a true work of art. “How beautiful.”

“Isn't it? It needs a woman of your taste to appreciate its magnificent beauty. Here, look. Server, 1782. There are only two others like it in the whole world.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “Note the perfection of the enameling.”

“How lovely.”

“I had to wait for it for seven years. The man who presented it in Paris was a fool who let himself be outbid by a Frenchman.”

“But you were stubborn.”

“Yes, I waited. Finally, I learned through a contact at the French Sûreté that the sister of the owner was seized in Germany. It would take all his money and more to get the old lady out. So I made my bid.”

“And he had to accept.”

“It was a bargain.” He kissed the side of your face, but you pulled away and walked around, your eyes taking in the beauty around you. He followed you and stood so close that he nearly pinned your body to the wall behind you, his chest nearly pressed up against you.

“I never saw such a collection.”

“All my life I've believed that if you were willing to take the time and energy, you could have anything you desired. All my life I have sought perfection.”

“It seems perfect.”

“Now it is perfect.” He leaned in and, though a part of you was apprehensive, you let him kiss you. But you didn’t let him do anything more than that. When he kissed you, there was no spark. There was nothing. You felt nothing.

He proposed to me when I was only seventeen years old. He got me alone while I was at a party with some friends. A friend and I went outside to enjoy the fresh air. We were animatedly engaged in chitchat, and I was too busy catching up with her to notice anyone else around me since I hadn’t seen her in a long time. Then Frederick approached me and interrupted our conversation.

“Dear, may I have a few minutes with you?”

“I'm sorry, but I'm busy.”

“Please. It's important.”

“Oh, very well.” You turned toward your friend with an apologetic smile and promised you’d find her later to resume your conversation. “I'll have to claim you a little later.” You walked away with Frederick, wondering what he could’ve possibly wanted that was so important that he had to drag you away from your friend. “Well?”

“I asked you out here to...to explain about last night.”

“It seemed quite clear to me.”

“Dear.” He held your arm, but you pried it off of you.

“I'm afraid I have a bit of a headache for this sort of thing.”

“There was no such thing intended.”

“Sorry, I misunderstood. Now shall we go inside?”

“Please. Darling.” He grabbed you by the arms to stop you from moving away. “Why do you think I wanted you to see my home last night? Why do you think I asked you to come out here now? From the moment I saw you again for the first time after so many summers apart, I knew I'd met the one woman that I wanted to be my wife. They call me a great man. It’s the loneliest animal in the world. I need you extremely badly, my dear.” He buried his face in your hair, kissing the back of your head.

You pulled away. “I'm afraid the answer is no.”

“Why? Because of my manners?”

“They have been perfect.”

“Well, isn't my house as fine as those you are used to?”

“Far better.”

“What is it then?”

“Oh, Frederick, I’m not fashionable enough for you. You need someone who’s elegant and refined.”

“I want you. What is it, really?”

“Well, it's just that I'm not attracted to you.”

“What's wrong with me?” He suddenly tightened his grip on you, nearly hurting you. His demeanor changed so quickly and so suddenly that it frightened you.

“Let me go.”

“Answer me.” He grabbed your face to forcibly turn your head and kissed you, as if his kiss alone could sway you to give him the answer he desired. You pulled away and he kissed your forehead, suddenly remorseful of his previous actions. He didn’t mean to be so harsh with you.

He apologized for behaving very badly and swore to me that it’d never happen again. He gave me time and space to think about his offer, and I mistook this as him respecting me, giving me a choice. I was left to fend for myself when it came to making decisions, good or bad. I was so young and naive with no one left in the world to guide me, and I foolishly believed him and forgave him. I came around to him and, in 1906, I married him. I was a bride at only seventeen years old and my bridegroom was fifty-two. Once the ink was dried on our marriage license, all the promises he made to me died on the wind.

People think he left me for some woman in Arizona. That we separated after I learned of his infidelity. But that's not the truth. Frederick regularly entertained and, when we returned from our honeymoon, at the begging of the neighbors who loved the previous ones, Frederick decided we’d host a fancy ball in my honor.

“The Lannington ball always was the show of the year. Top dog.”

“Grand site, the mansion all lit up. I love fireworks.”

“It does sound a little daunting.” Your voice was laced with the uncertainty and doubt of a new bride. You were still trying to find your place in the world and, after you married, you felt like an outsider in the world your husband belonged to. Everything was so different and new from what you knew and grew up with, and you were suddenly tossed into the middle of it without any warning or preparation.

“Oh, you’ll carry it off.”

“You wouldn’t have to do anything alarming. Just receive the guests and dance the night away.”

“Yes, my God. Whole county getting drunk and making fools of themselves.” Frederick nodded his head sarcastically as he picked up his glass of wine.

“Frederick always groans and he always enjoys it in the end.”

“Do I?”

“That’s a yes!”

“I’d like to help organize.”

Frederick shook his head. “Oh, no no no. You leave all that to the servants. They know the form.”

“Quite right. Never volunteer, my dear. You just have fun.”

As the day of the ball approached, Frederick became more and more stressed. And he took that stress out on me. He noticed my hands were stained. I still had small spots of charcoal or ink on them. He wasn’t pleased. Back in those days, women were discouraged from writing because it would ultimately create an identity and become a form of defiance. I realized that writing became one of the only forms of existence for women at a time when they had very few rights.

“What's that? Writing again! What about your duties?”

You, confused, looked down at your hands and wrung them together. You didn’t dare wipe them on your dress as you knew doing so would provoke your husband’s ire even more. “I... I finished them.”

“Oh, really? Did you tell the servants to make the beds? Sweep the floors? Weed the garden?”

“Yes.”

“Beat the rugs? Wax the table? Polish the silver?

“Yes, dear.”

“Wash and mend my clothes?”

“Hilda folded and put them away.”

Frederick turned and went up the grand staircase, but stopped halfway when one of the treads squeaked offensively loudly, the sound grating on his ears. He turned towards you. “Listen to that. You're supposed to keep the house in perfect order.” 
“But I didn't know about—”
“It's your job to know!” He went up the stairs and didn’t even glance back at you as he said, “I've taken care of you since your father died, and this is how you thank me? By frittering away your time, writing? This is atrocious.“

We were married for about five months when the evening of the party arrived. It took so many weeks of planning and, in between it all, Frederick either couldn’t or wouldn’t stop working. He was often called away, so it was hard setting a date that worked for the both of us. We wanted to celebrate our nuptials with our friends, some of whom couldn’t make it to the wedding. They were more Frederick’s friends than mine. I didn’t have very many friends to begin with, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let me invite any of them.

“I've asked a number of guests to dinner tonight at 7:30 to welcome you here.”

“Hilda told me you had. It's very nice of you, dear.”

“These people are very important friends and associates, and I won’t have you embarrassing me in front of them. I’ll be wearing my very best tonight. Diamond cufflinks and all that. I want you to do the same. Wear only what I had the maids set out for you in your bedroom.”

“But what if I've lost or gained weight since we saw each other last? Whatever new dress you bought for me, what if it won't fit?”

“Oh, don’t be stupid. It’ll fit. I've hired a seamstress for you. We can have all your dresses refitted to suit your new size if need be. I've asked her to stay late tonight, in case there may be any minor alterations necessary. I won’t have my wife caught dead wearing an ill-fitting dress.”

“You've thought of everything, haven't you, darling? If you'll excuse me—”

Ball guests arrived. They were milling about, the men in white tie, the women in long dresses and long silk gloves. The unmarried ladies were all dressed in virginal white, the bachelors in summer dinner jackets. Frederick was standing with me while I overlooked the party from the banister. The most important thing to remember was that I had to look impeccable at all times. My hair, my makeup…flawless all the time. Frederick got very upset if he saw people looking drab or unkempt or unmade up, so I had to look good at all times. Heels were a must. He didn’t want to catch me in Kedettes or, God forbid, sneakers. So heels had to be worn at all times.

From the corner of my eye, I watched him as he glanced me over, no doubt scrutinizing me, trying to find any microscopic flaw in my appearance so he could have an excuse to send me to my room. But there were none, so he said nothing. From my vantage point at the top of the stairs, I could see through to the drawing room. It was equally full as the foyer. People were moving in and out of the buffet where servants were serving champagne punch. Beyond the dining room, the terrace had a number of small tables laid out. There was the sound of loud chatter and music over the whole scene. The dancing was in full sway. An orchestra was playing a waltz. The older guests retired to the sidelines.

“It's a very nice party, isn't it?”

“Oh, yes, it's a wonderful party.”

“You’ve done it wonderfully well. I'm very proud. Shall we?” Frederick interlocked his arm with yours. With your arm laced around his elbow, he led you both down the stairs.

We nodded our greetings and shook hands with the guests that were standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for us. The hallway was thronged with the guests of the evening. Frederick left my side just for a moment to greet more guests but stayed close, standing only a few paces away from me. He was chatting to another man who was just leaving him. The front door was closed and the footman was still standing by. My face wore an expression of concealed anxiety as I looked furtively toward the front door, as if trying to will it to remain that way. Frederick came over to me and laced my arm with his. The great mansion blazed with light from every window. Frederick and I returned to the ballroom. The first dance was finishing. Gradually couples joined, including us. All the couples were talking as they were dancing, as they spun in the waltz, at the heart of the scene.

“Well, I think we might join the rest of the party now. I think all our guests are here.” As Frederick said these last words, he gave a glance toward you. Your face broke from its slight anxiety and you nodded acquiescence. He led you away into the main part of the hall and you were soon lost among the crowd.

The doorbell rang and the footman admitted a late-comer. His attitude was genial and breezy. He asked something of the footman, and the footman indicated the crowd in the main part of the hall. He got lost in the crowd, threading his way through the people, looking for me. I caught sight of him, and my face that once held concealed anxiety turned into restrained relief. My heart wanted my surprise guest to be there, but my brain wanted him gone as soon as possible.

It was Henri Freycinet, another friend of my family. I hadn’t seen him in years. We had been pen pals but, after he confessed that he loved me from the moment he met me, we were lovers for a time. Though our dalliance began in the autumn of 1905 and ended by the summer of 1906, shortly before Frederick proposed to me, we enjoyed our courtship immensely. As brief as it was. He wanted us to get married. We once spent three days and three nights sharing a hotel room, but our weekend in sin was just part of his plan to persuade me to accept.

“No. Henri. Henri, don’t. Henri. We have to talk about this reasonably.”

“I have loved you since the moment I clapped eyes on you. What could be more reasonable than to marry you?”

“We’d kill each other!”

“Nonsense!”

“Neither of us can keep our temper.”

“I can. Unless provoked.”

“We’re both stupidly stubborn. Especially you. We’d only quarrel.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“You can’t even propose without quarreling.”

“Mon cœur…” He kissed your forehead. “I swear I’ll be a saint. I’ll let you win every argument, take care of you. I’ll give you every luxury you’ve ever been denied. You won’t have to work. Unless you want to. Father wants me to learn how to fly, in England. Can’t you see us flying over London?” He took your face in his hands and kissed you.

But I refused his proposal. I said no because, when it came to it, he wasn't right. At least, not for me. We wanted different things.

“Henri, please don’t ask me again.”

He slowly lowered his hands from your face and turned away from you. He picked at the skin of his palms. He didn’t say anything at first, but he didn’t push you away when you tried to hold his hand and hug him from the side either.

“I’m desperately sorry. I do care for you with all of my heart. You’re my dearest friend. I just can’t go be a wife.”

“You say you won’t, but you will.”

“I won’t, I won’t!”

“One day, you’ll meet some man. A good man. And you will love him tremendously. And you will live and die for him.”

“Henri, please—”

“You will. I know you. If only I could be a fly on the wall and watch such a love unfold before my very eyes... While I hoped against hope that I could convince you to change your mind and consent to be my wife, your refusal won’t make me think any less of you or stop me from loving you. There are many different forms of love, after all, none of them any less meaningful or valuable than the romantic variety. Thank you, my dearest friend, for loving me and making so many beautiful memories with me. I’ll always treasure the time we spent together and everything we shared. That’s what you’ll be to me from now on. Mon trésor. I hope we meet again.”

I wanted to spare him from having to read a Dear John letter, so we called it quits and parted as friends. Even after we amicably ended our calf love, he kept writing to me from England. I knew he was still in love with me, but I cherished him as a friend and confidant even more than I did when he was my lover. Last I heard, he had just recently acquired his pilot’s license and was now Captain Freycinet.

“Bonjour, mon trésor. Remember me?” He tried to kiss your hand, but you wouldn’t let him. You felt your husband’s eyes on the back of your head, so he was probably standing just a few paces behind you. You only outstretched your hand to allow Henri a firm and impersonal handshake in greeting. You were quick to pull away after your hands met for just a moment, as if his touch burned you.

“Why did you come here?”

“This week, mademoiselle, we offer one red rose with each year's subscription...to the aviation magazine.”

“Oh, no. Please, you've got to go.”

The maids were whispering and gossiping amongst each other as they went about the room serving the guests. They tried to keep their voices low and cover their mouths with their hands, but Frederick could still hear what they were saying as they stood giggling by a table and filled their serving trays with finger foods and drinks. It looked to them like you and the man were flirting.

“The Mistress’s friend is a very attractive man, isn't he?”

“I heard from Jimmy that he’s an old family friend of hers. If you ask me, I think he’s an old beau who’s come back to rekindle an old flame. If she doesn’t take him, I will!”

The maids quickly went back to their duties but smiled as they discreetly watched the dancing in the ballroom.

Frederick purposely ignored their reference to your uninvited and unwelcome guest, but hearing the word “mistress,” even used in proper context, made his eye twitch and his fists clench like a nervous tick. He turned away to greet a guest. “Madame Estorik - I'm so glad to see you. The party seems to be going off very well, doesn't it? I must say my wife has managed wonderfully.”

By the way Frederick gave a half glance back again, I could see that he was doing everything in his power to maintain his composure. He was so tense that I worried he’d squeeze the wine glass he was holding until it shattered to pieces in his hand. His face was expressionless, the perfect mask of impassivity. But the look in his eyes only added to my uneasiness about him, as if he was warning me through his eyes alone not to test his patience. His attention had been distracted for a moment by two other guests, but not for long. He turned in our direction, his attention now fully on Henri as he followed our meeting.

There was a look of ungovernabie fury on Frederick’s face. He turned and moved toward the French doors. He started shoving his way through the dancers, blind to their presence, jostling one young couple. Hands were applauding wildly, the sound of the palms meeting was magnified, almost immediately augmented by the sound of many other hands clapping. The effect was a nightmare rather than realistic, the crowded dance floor and the guests applauding the end of a number. The party was clearly approaching its climax. The young people on the floor continued to clap, their applause rapidly being transformed into a demand for more music. The bandleader shook his head, half bemused, half anxious. Then, shrugging helplessly, he grinned, turned to his band and, as if suddenly caught up in the young people’s wild enthusiasm, led them into an impossibly fast Charleston. Some of the older guests seated at the edge of the room viewed the proceedings with increasing bewildermant and a little apprehension. That rug, that stupid old filthy rug, had seen more dancing shoes than a ballroom. It was where we all twirled, everyone with everyone, the music escaping from every open window and door.

“Well, my dear... I see you have a guest even more special than our other special guests. Come in, sir, come in. We mustn’t lurk in doorways. It’s rude.” Frederick’s voice and demeanor was cordial as he and Henri shook hands. “Any friend of hers is welcome.”

“Thank you. It was nice of her to invite me. I must apologize for arriving late.”

Frederick knew for a fact that you hadn’t, because he put himself in charge of making the guest list and sending the invitations out. He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “We both invite you.”

“Please leave. Please leave.” Your quiet pleas went either unheard or ignored.

Frederick put his arm around you, squeezing your shoulder. To anyone else, it would appear as a loving gesture. To you, it was a warning not to do anything stupid. “Don't be so inhospitable, my dear. As host and hostess, we must see that all our guests are fed…and amused.” He shook you in a way that seemed playful, then turned his attention back to the much younger man. “We’re pleased you are here. Did she tell you that we're flying East tonight?”

“That's why I'm here.”

“Indeed. We're to have the pleasure of your company?”

“No. I don't know how to say this, and I hope you understand, but you're not going to have the pleasure of your niece’s company either.”

Frederick paused, his eyes glancing off to the side questioningly. “We'll explore that remark over a drink. Come along. Won't you sit down?” He took your close friend and former lover by the elbow and walked with him over to the tables where there was food and drinks. “The wine is to the left. Highball? Or won't that mix with what you've had?”

Henri took a seat and made himself comfortable on one of the couches. “That'll be fine, thanks.”

“And where did you two meet? At the drugstore tonight?”

“Oh, no. We've been seeing each other every night.”

A lie. A blatant lie told to make himself look better in front of your husband, whom he mistook as your uncle. Henri only ever saw Frederick from afar or in passing, and he was always in your father’s company. The men were never properly introduced. They never actually met. It was an easy assumption to make. But you shuddered as you dreaded how such an assumption would cost him dearly. If you could’ve, you would’ve put your head in your hands in that moment. You wanted the floor to open up underneath you and swallow you whole.

“Seeing each other every night? Lovely. So you must be the young man.”

“Mr. Lannington, there's no sense beating around the bush. I'm in love with your niece.”

“That's quite apparent. Well, that's quite...romantic, Mister...” Frederick purposely trailed off, and Henri was foolish enough to take the bait and give him his full name, his real name.

“Captain. Captain Henri Freycinet.”

“A Captain? Uh...not a very substantial career, as yet?”

“Well, I think we can manage to get along without any help from you, if that's what you mean.”

“It is what I mean.” You tried to speak, but Frederick coldly interrupted your attempt at interrupting him. “Be quiet. Do you mind being not quite so demonstrative in my presence?“

“Mr. Lannington, I wanna marry your niece.”

“I wish you'd stop calling her my niece. She happens to be my wife.”

Henri instantly went white. “She's your wife?”

“Yes, Captain. Oh, I concede the conspicuous difference in our ages. She married me for my money. I married her for her youth. We both got what we wanted, after a fashion.”

Henri got up and stepped around you. Still holding his glass of highball in his hand, he finished the drink like a shot and leaned over slightly to put his empty glass on a table, which worried you.

“Where are you going?”

“I think I'll go out and get some fresh air.”

“Not without me.”

After he left, Frederick questioned you, his voice cold and calculated. Alone in the parlor with no witnesses, there wasn’t a need to put on airs anymore. The facade instantly dropped. “Does he bother you very much?”

“No, darling. He’s trying to drown his sorrows.”

“I don’t blame anyone for being in love with you, darling. I just hope that nothing will happen to give him any false impression.”

“Let me talk to him. I can convince him to leave and never come back. Just give me a chance. Please.” Your expression conveyed your desperation to get rid of your former lover and best friend before he got himself into more trouble, as well as veiled anxiety to get away from Frederick in that moment.

He stared at you for a minute, as if debating whether or not he could trust you. With a wave of his hand, he let you go. You didn’t waste a single second as you took advantage of the opportunity that he was giving you to clean up your mess yourself. You left in search of Henri. You knew that if you didn’t fix it in time, Frederick would.

Henri walked around the terrace, behaving quite casually and puffing away at his cigarette as though he had come out to enjoy the night air. Behind him was a faint impression of a glass door, faintly reflecting the moonlit garden. Suddenly a flood of light appeared from one of the side doors. As he straightened up and turned around, he approached the few steps leading to the side door, when you appeared and opened it, causing him to collide into you. Without a word you took him forcefully by the arm and dragged him inside, across to a corridor that led to the wine cellar, allowing him to pass through as you looked anxiously about you the entire time. You pointed to the back door at the end of the passage. He could leave quietly and discreetly through there without any of the other guests seeing him. You were struggling to keep it together, a disturbed and almost impatient figure as your hair raised from the back of your neck and chills raced down your spine. The more he dawdled and stubbornly refused to listen to you, the more time you were wasting. Soon it would run out, and you dreaded having to witness what would happen when it did.

“The fireworks are ready, sir. Timed perfectly to discharge directly after all the party guests are escorted outside.”

“Whatever you have planned is not good enough, Jimmy. Make them bigger, longer, brighter! Our guests must be captivated.” Frederick then gathered all the guests together within half an hour. The indistinct overlapping chatter quieted down as he grabbed their attention, everyone’s eyes turned towards him. “Everyone, outside. I have a surprise for you all! Just over there. The real celebrations will begin shortly.”

The fireworks were chaos and unpredictability, their explosive gifts finding their own time and space to own. As they did, the party guests were captivated spectators watching their blazing trails arc above. Frederick turned and looked across in the direction the two of you went. The party guests were too captivated by the popping of the bright colors lighting up the night sky to notice that their genial host slipped away. Frederick opened the side door leading to the wine cellar. As his silhouette darkened the doorway, your face held apprehension as you looked up. Words couldn’t even begin to express how disappointed he was in your failure to do something he thought was the most simplest of tasks. His short sigh filled you with dread. You knew the confrontation that he held over your head like a looming threat was now inevitable. A consequence of your actions. Or inaction, rather, depending on the point of view. From his point of view, it looked as though you and Henri were laughing. You insisted that your attitudes were casual, as though you were just enjoying some inconsequential joke. But while your physical attitudes were broad and gay, your voices were low and intent, which made Frederick all the more suspicious.

Some of the pages of your letter were blank, and Louis knew that you used invisible ink. A secret communication. He flicked open his lighter and used the flame to warm the blank pages, and hidden writing started to appear. It was a confession from you, meant for his eyes only. You loved Louis so very much. His happiness was the only thing you wanted in the whole world…but you did a bad thing to make certain of it. A very bad thing that you kept locked away in your heart for nearly five years.

Henri’s flirting with me, you know, a little buzzed. Then Frederick comes down to the wine cellar…

“I'm sorry to intrude on this…tender scene, but I saw you come this way.”

“Frederick, not here. We’ll talk alone.”

“You’re afraid to speak in front of him?”

“No. I couldn’t help what happened. He’s been drinking. Can't you see he's had too much to drink?” You protested, wanting this nightmarish scene to end.

“Yes, I can see it. He carried you down here?” His voice was laced with sarcasm and skepticism. It was a rhetorical question, and you knew that. He then turned his focus onto Henri. “Forgive me. My analytical mind again. You said something moments ago in the parlor that got me thinking. You’re still in love with my wife, you’ve made that point perfectly clear. So let me ask you one simple question: Is she in love with you?”

“Well, hasn't she told you?”

“As a matter of fact, no. She has not. She never even mentioned you.”

“Frederick, please!”

“You love him.”

“No. Absolutely— No. Not in the way you think. You're being foolish, Frederick. I came here because he threatened to make a scene unless I'd see him alone.” You turned toward Henri, one last desperate plea as you implored him to leave. “Please go!”

“For what it's worth, as an apology, she’s telling the truth. It’s funny. You say she didn’t mention me to you? She didn’t mention you to me. Just before I shipped out, I thought she’d wait for me. I realized I was mistaken when she told me she’d prefer it if we parted as friends before I left. She wanted to spare me the heartache of a Dear John letter. When I got leave I came back here, hoping against hope that I could win her back. But no. It seems I’m once again mistaken. It’s too late. I only had her for a short time. But in that time, I knew her better than you, made love to her better than you… And, if I had married her, I would’ve been a much better husband to her than you.” He glanced at you from over his shoulder and shrugged. “Sorry, darling.”

“Please go!”

“It’s time you get back in line, Captain.”

“If that’s how you feel. I believe I’m done here. Good day.” He turned to leave, but Frederick blocked the path to the door, physically stopping him from leaving.

“We’re done when I say we’re done.”

You had your chance to get him out, but you took too long. Now Frederick had to take matters into his own hands, and he had a point to make. Captain Henri Freycinet, so haughty and naive, became involuntarily involved in the domestic dispute and suddenly found himself in the thick of it, all because your husband was bitter, jealous, and ironic. Frederick pressed his fingers so hard onto Henri’s chest that the Frenchman left a bruise forming. “Appealing, isn't she?”

…and he grabs this poor man and just beats the shit out of him.

You watched in horror as Frederick beat Henri with a fireplace poker. A fireplace poker that he grabbed from the parlor before going outside. He knew you’d go to the wine cellar. He timed the fireworks so that nobody could hear the sounds of a struggle, any thwacks, thumps, and screams drowned out by the loud gasps of awe and thunderous applause from the party guests gathered outside. No witnesses. It wasn’t just a crime of passion. It was premeditated. First he hit him in the stomach, then the face, nearly stabbing him in the right eye and gauging it out with the sharp, pointed end of the iron rod. Henri fought back. But he was a pilot, so hand-to-hand combat wasn’t his forte. Regardless, he didn’t want to hurt your husband. He knew that if he did, even in self-defense, he’d be punished for harming him under a corrupt system that listened to money over justice. He knew he was screwed either way.

Using his strength, Frederick held him immobile on his knees. “You’re gonna learn, Captain.” He brutally punched him in the face, knocking him to his stomach on the floor. He kicked him in the face, then picked him up by the back of his jacket and slammed his face into a wall. “And if you ever even think of sassing me again—” Frederick threw him onto a wooden table. The table splintered and collapsed from the weight of Henri’s body and the force of the impact. He was bleeding heavily and barely conscious. Your husband stopped and noticed blood that splattered on his suit, staining the fabric. Blood that wasn’t his. His voice was laced with annoyance as he tsked, “Ah. Look what you did to my suit!”

You tried to stop him and act as a shield, but getting between the two men only resulted in your earring getting torn from your ear in the ensuing struggle. You’re still not sure which of them did it, but you were sobbing as you held your earring in your hand and pressed a handkerchief to your ear to stem the bleeding. Frederick didn’t stop until Henri struck his head on the concrete floor and was knocked unconscious. He nudged him with the fireplace poker, but the poor Captain didn’t move a muscle. Frederick checked his pulse and there was still a steady beat under his fingers. With Henri out cold, Fredrick didn’t see a point in continuing his lesson. Both the party and his fun was just about over. Captain Freycinet was as revolting as Frederick believed he should’ve been. He wanted the outside to repulse you so you’d never want to set eyes on him again. He was grotesque. Already his eyes were swollen over and bloody spit drooled from his slack jaws.

Frederick scolded both Henri and himself. “Oh, come on, that's a custom made Sartori rug! You idiot! I should’ve put a tarp down first.” With a wrinkled nose Frederick took a step backwards. He was tempted to whisper something in Henri’s ear. The Frenchman was broken and lying in a heap on the floor. He won, and he wanted to gloat. But what was the point. Henri would be lucky to remember his own name. Taking great care not to step in it and stain the bottom of his expensive shoes, Frederick walked over the bloody mess that had once been a man but was reduced to little more than an unrecognizable pile of mush. He dialed for an ambulance himself. Maiming a burglar who attempted to intrude upon his home through his wine cellar wouldn’t bring down nearly the same heat as killing one. And this way his disfigured face would be a living reminder to you of what happened to those who dared to cross Frederick Lannington and emasculate him by making public declarations of love to his wife in his house. He wouldn’t tolerate such audacity. With smooth hand movements, he wiped Henri’s blood from the fireplace poker with his cloth handkerchief.

“He kissed you.”

“I couldn't stop him. I tried.”

Then he tells me to go back to the party and see to our guests. He was so nonchalant about what had just transpired mere minutes ago. As if nothing had happened at all.

“We’ll talk about it later. Your guests are upstairs. Please join them. The ambulance is on its way. I’ll stay with him until they arrive, in case he wakes up.”

You heard what your husband said, but you couldn’t will your body to move. You were frozen, petrified. His patience wearing thin, Frederick forcibly grabbed you by the arms, squeezing so hard he left bruises as he shook you to snap you out of your shock. You were thankful the dress he gifted you and made you wear had long, opaque sleeves. Your movements were jerky. You were unable to move with any grace. You didn’t want to leave Henri alone with your husband, but you knew that staying behind would only anger Frederick and make an already very bad situation even worse.

When the paramedics arrived, everyone gathered around and gawked, barely giving them room to breathe. Everyone was told to back up and keep the area clear as Frederick, who conveniently divested himself of his bloodied suit jacket and stashed away the fireplace poker and bloody handkerchief so they’d remain unseen, hurriedly led the medics to where the injured man, unrecognizable in his current state, still laid unconscious, his voice laced with worry. He was a well-practiced actor and liar. He never faltered or slipped up once while questioned by the police and paramedics about what happened. His account was plausible and there were no contradictions or inconsistencies that they could detect, so they had no reason to suspect that he, a man of his wealth and social standing, would ever lie. He told the police that he didn’t want to press charges, believing the man, whoever he was, had suffered enough and wouldn’t dare to come back to try again at a later time.

His face was damaged almost beyond the point at which recovery was possible. There was a cut above his eyebrow, and the scarlet blood flowed into his eyes. Or rather, eye. Singular. By the time help arrived, the left eye was still swollen, but the right eye looked like it was on the verge of bursting out of the socket. His body didn’t appear to be too bad, until the paramedics cut away his clothes and the blooming purple patches told of internal ruptures, likely organ damage. They had looked at him with encouraging faces but were utterly ashen when he couldn't see them, giving involuntary shakes of their heads. Although he would live to see another day, it was uncertain if he’d die in hospital or not. even if he made it, those scars would be forever. And all the while there was you crying in the background like your heart had snapped in two. The hall was soon deserted after that, save for the last guest who moved, a bit unsteadily, out of the door. You and Frederick turned away from the last guest. There were signs of the end of the party. Footmen and maids were beginning to clear up.

You were worried about Frederick’s attitude.“Frederick, I’m really sick at heart over what happened.”

He looked at you and a new expression was on his face. The jealousy and pain were gone. In their stead was a curious urbanity. He would seem whimsical were it not for the underlying tension of his manner and the unexpectedness of his new attitude. “My dear…” He took your hands. “I shall never forgive myself for behaving like a stupid schoolboy.”

“Then you believe me.”

“Certainly, my dear. The incident isn’t even worth mentioning again.”

You started toward the stairs. Your voice was quiet as you told him, “Thank you, Frederick. Are you coming up?“

After that, we didn’t host or attend anymore parties. Frederick was a bad, bad man. Although he didn’t say it outright, I had my suspicions he wanted me out of the house so he could bring in other women. He married me because I was the only kin Father had left, so he left me everything in his will. He wanted control over my inheritance, all my money and my assets. Once he had that, he wanted to be free of the encumbrance of a wife. He’d send me away as soon as an opportune moment presented itself. Then Russia declared war on Germany. It was just what he needed. It was perfect. In 1914, in the face of opposition from the restrictive social code for affluent young women, he enrolled me in a training college under my maiden name so he could get me onto a course to start my training as an auxiliary nurse. He warned me it may be something of a rough awakening and asked me if I was ready for that. I’d have to learn how to make my own bed or scrub a floor, for example. Or what about cooking? He asked our cook if she could give me one or two basic tips, such as how to boil an egg or how to make tea. When I started my course, he didn’t want me to be a joke and thought it might be useful for me to know a little more than nothing.

After two months I finished my course and set off with a team of women to assist in nursing the wounded men from the war. I saw all sorts of gruesome and gnarly illnesses, injuries, infections, and loss of life and limb. It wasn’t what I thought it would be. It was more savage and more cruel than I could've imagined. But I felt useful for the first time in my life, and that must’ve been a good thing. I wouldn't go back to my life before the war. I could never go back to that again. As I learned about medicine and patient care, I learned to finally let the fake smile go. I learned to let all of my masks go, the ones I wore for others and the ones I wore for myself. Fake smiles simply said I was scared or uncomfortable. A real smile or neutral lips felt almost foreign to me and I realized how long it had been since I last sported a genuine one. I finally let my face do what it did naturally. I smiled with my eyes even when my lips were still.

Masking fear can be good or bad. It's all situational, right? If you defend yourself or others, it's good. If you cut yourself off from yourself or others, deny your vulnerable self the chance to breathe and cry, then it's bad. Masking fear was a survival essential when I was married. So much so that I didn’t feel fear as others did. I processed it differently. I thought that if I ignored the anxious thoughts as if they were some distant radio and got on with doing things that were right for me, in time they’d lessen and disappear. Now when I’m anxious, I vent with a person who loves me, one who has real wisdom and life experience to offer, one who’s the calm and not the storm. I can assure you with full confidence, my love, that you’re a far cry from those monsters and storms. You don’t even come close. My dear, ever since I became a nurse, I’ve taken great care to only see the goodness of those around me. And you, though imperfect as I am, as all living things are, have more goodness in your smallest finger than most people have in their whole body. Nothing you could tell me would ever stop me from loving you, my dearest. I love you. I’ll say it as many times as you need me to. I’ll keep saying it until you believe me, and then some.

Your nightgown transformed into your evening gown from that dreadful night. You looked down in bewilderment as you registered the transformation of your dress. The ballroom was empty and silent. You turned wildly to your right and, as you heard the music and the first sounds of gaiety and laughter, your face broke into a smile. Your smile was the silencing of the clocks, it was both the cage and the ever open door. You looked down at your hands, holding a cream-colored handkerchief. You started to turn your head very slowly, as if you were afraid that whatever was happening around you might suddenly vanish. You heard the door swing open more loudly than usual. He made his entrance late. You didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge him. He was late and you didn’t play nice when guests didn’t show up on time. Then he spoke. You knew it was him but his voice was all wrong, like he was speaking while being choked. You turned. The figure of Henri melted away and transformed into Louis. And then he vanished into thin air before your very eyes. Where did he go? You had to find him. It was a game. The game of hide and seek.

You remembered playing hide and seek when you were a child, but you were never any good at it. Oh, the delicious thrill of hiding while the others came looking for you, the delicious terror of being discovered, but what panic when, after a long search, the others abandoned you! Those early experiences taught you that you mustn't be too good at the game. You mustn't hide too well. The player must never be bigger than the game itself. You’d always make enough noise so your friends would be sure to find you. But that only made you lose the game. You didn’t have anyone to play those games with anymore, but now and then you made enough noise just in case someone was still looking and hadn’t found you yet. When you went looking for Louis, you were playing a desperate game of hide and seek, fearful of what you might find, most afraid that you would find nothing. Love had a way of cheating itself consciously, like a child who played solitary hide and seek. It was pleased with assurances that it all the while disbelieved. Was life always like that? A game of hide and seek in which you always found the person you were longing for but only occasionally found the person you wanted to be? You wondered. Should Louis hide in your heart, it would not be difficult to find him. But should you hide behind your own shell, then it would be useless for anyone to seek you out.

The chandeliers were just beginning to go dim and you caught a glimpse of something from the corner of your eye. Slowly, very slowly, you turned to look toward the French doors. Louis stood in the open doorway, smiling as before, evidently waiting for you. True love was not a hide and seek game. In true love, both lovers sought each other. The lights were noticeably dimmer. You smiled and ran to him. Coming to a position just in front of him, you made a deep curtsey. He bowed to you and held out his hand. The scene around you remained static until the moment your hand touched Louis’. At that, the music burst forth again, the dance resumed and the ballroom echoed with laughter and gaiety. Louis swept you along into the waltz. You and the man you truly loved whirled around among the other dancers. The music swelled up. As Louis and you continued to waltz, oblivious of everything except each other, the other couples began to melt away, until finally, Louis and you were dancing on your own, still unaware that anything was amiss. Until you noticed that the hand with which he held yours was bloody.

“Louis, you’re bleeding—”

Your words were cut short when you looked up. Your expression froze into one of sudden terror. In one shattered moment your heart and breathing stopped, just stopped. Your mouth opened, but no sound came from it at first. A silent scream. He was a mess, drenched in his own blood. His nose was smashed and eyes almost shut with swelling. His arms were wrapped around his guts like he was holding them in. He was beat so bad that he could’ve been. The music slowly began to fade. Noticing this, Louis faltered and, as he turned to look at you, the music died away completely. He stopped and reacted first with uneasy bewilderment and then with fright. He disengaged himself from you and started to back away towards the French window, his eyes riveted on something behind you. You turned to follow his gaze. The dancers melted away to the very edges of the room in order to clear a path for Frederick, who stood by the open doors of the ballroom and stared at the both of you in a smoldering rage.

Without a word he began to advance on you. You turned to look at Louis, but his eyes were now riveted on your husband as he backed away even further, staggering out into the night. Suddenly, with a cry of fear, he turned, burst open the French window and fell out to his death. You stared into the darkness of the night for a moment and took a few steps forward, as if to chase the vanished apparition, then stopped. His body was gone, leaving behind only bloodstains on the concrete pavement. There was plenty of room for another body. You looked down and your cream-colored handkerchief was wrapped around a concealed knife. A pristine blade, it glinted in the moonlight, waiting to be stained and tarnished with the blood of a man. You clutched at the handle for more purchase as you turned to face your husband. As he advanced on you, he ran into your knife. The knife only did what it was told to do, so you were sure to give it good instructions. You stepped aside and Frederick staggered forwards, taking the knife with him as he fell out of the window onto the exact same spot Louis had been. His body didn’t disappear. As if he was meant to be there when Louis wasn’t. His once brown eyes became hazy as they clouded over with a milky white, translucent film. Your experience as a nurse taught you that this happened after death due to lack of oxygen and circulating blood to the eyes. There was a saying, “Those who die with their eyes wide open deserve it.”

You gasped as you jolted awake, your body covered in a thin layer of cold sweat. There was silence. You were lost, frightened. The light from the hallway flickered and you looked down. Your evening gown turned back into your nightgown. Another nightmare. You could barely move when Frederick was so close to you in your shared bed. Every muscle seized up. Your brain was struggling to recover, to repair the damage of what you witnessed. On each of your arms there were great purple welts that would only deepen over the coming week. Against your ghostly skin they were grotesque, but you knew you were lucky not to have broken bones. Though Frederick never once laid a violent hand against you, the shadows of the beating he inflicted upon Henri were on your skin and heart. The knowledge that your husband could do such a thing just broke something inside of you, something that would remain long after Henri’s skin and bones were healed. It was a sadness in your eyes, a heaviness, an unyielding sorrow that slowed your speech and robbed you of your once easy smile.

Once the color of the night sky with its threads of blue and gold, that Sartori rug told a tale of fear and jealousy once it was stained with splotches of red that, over time, became brown. Frederick could’ve easily replaced it, brought in another. The cost of doing so would’ve been like sparing pennies from his pocket. He could’ve hauled it to the best dry cleaners in the country and have it washed as best as they could. But instead he kept it as it was, wanting those dried bloodstains to serve as a grim reminder to you of the consequences for impertinence.

When you first saw Henri in hospital, you almost didn’t recognize him. His clothes were an utter mess. He was more purple than any human should’ve been. His face still bore congealed blood. He was missing his right eye, which was covered by bandages. His left eye was still swollen. He couldn’t be seeing a thing out of it and he wouldn’t for a while yet. Until his left eye healed, he was blind and had to have nurses keep him steady and guide him. His gait was all wrong. He walked like a scarecrow more than a man. As he neared, your heart was caught in your throat. You were already running. You couldn’t face him just then. Even if what happened wasn’t your fault and you were just as much a victim of Frederick as he was, you couldn’t stop the immense guilt that overwhelmed you and held you in a chokehold. Maybe it made you a coward, maybe it made you selfish, but you couldn’t face him while he was like that.

Due to the extent of his injuries, Captain Freycinet wasn’t expected to make it. But he was a fighter and, miracle of miracles, his emergency surgeries were successes and he pulled through. When questioned by hospital staff about the incident, he could never recall how long the beating had gone on for, only the final kick to his ribs and the sound of the iron bar clattering on the concrete as his assailant dropped it. He laid in the hospital bed, his eye fixed on the window until you walked in. He turned his head to face you. He looked better than when you first saw him. Still bad, but better. He knew already what face you would make, and you did. Your eyes got that wide look, your bottom lip trembled and you hurried to sit by his bedside. Your eyes walked from one injury to another, taking in the gore that was your friend. He could see the conflict already, your wanting to be strong for him and the raw need to weep welling up. He tried to say your name, his cracked lips failing at the first syllable due to dehydration, but he didn’t need to. So instead he croaked,

“It's all right. You can cry.”

It was all the permission you needed. With your head down on the white woolen blanket, minutes passed until you could speak his name. You fetched him a cup of water and he tried to make light of the situation by telling you that he had far worse while in active service and, despite Frederick’s best efforts, he was healing rather well and his appearance wasn’t ravaged. Even with the eyepatch, he was still devilishly handsome. Crisis averted. With his left eye intact, he’d still be able to look at himself in the mirror and admire just how handsome he was. He made bad jokes and puns about how, since there were women who were sexually attracted to men with scars, maybe there were women out there who would be sexually attracted to him now that he sported an eyepatch. Glass eyes didn’t appeal to him, but the eyepatch, now that could be fashionable. He’d also still be able keep an eye on you. Get it? Keep an eye on you? Eye? Singular? The jokes fell flat, but you still appreciated the effort. You smiled wanly at each other.

Henri knew it was easier said than done, but he told you to stop feeling guilty over what happened. He had a lot of time to think about it while laid up in hospital and, looking back on the night of the party in retrospect, he realized that you did everything in your power to protect him. He didn’t blame you one bit for what Frederick did to him. It would take time, but he believed he’d be able to recover and walk away from this, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. A scar may still be there, but he believed that it would gradually hurt less and less until it didn’t hurt at all anymore. He was hopeful and optimistic that, with the right support, he’d heal. He wanted the same healing for you.

After Henri lost his eye, he gave up on ever falling in love again. All jokes aside, in all honesty, what woman would want a man who wore an eyepatch due to his missing eye? But he was okay with it because he already was fortunate enough to experience romantic love once with you. You and he would always have those winter and spring months, those nights in the hotel room. No woman on earth could ever take your place in his heart. And nothing and nobody had the power to take those memories away from either of you. Even after you ended things, he was so grateful to you for continuing to love him platonically.

He reminded you of your time spent together in the hotel room all those years ago, what he said to you about love and what he saw in your future. He still believed his words to be true and made you promise him that you’d at least try to find love, real love, with another man. You had your entire life ahead of you and still had time to move on. When the opportunity finally presented itself, he wanted you to take that chance to leave Frederick and find a man who would treat you as you deserved to be treated. Maybe it wouldn’t come tomorrow, and maybe not next week, but he hoped it would come for you soon. Though you weren’t right for each other, he still believed there was someone out there that would be right for you. Frederick’s beating of him hadn’t changed that. If anything, it only reinforced his beliefs. And even if he was wrong and you never found romantic love, even if the both of you lived out the rest of your lives single and unattached, it didn’t mean either of you would be alone. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. Love presented itself in many different forms. It could be found in friends, found family, a pet…but the most important love of all was the love you held for yourself.

Frederick tried to rip that love out of you in his endeavors to break you down and mold you into the wife and woman he wanted you to be, but he failed. You thought you lost your ability to love yourself, but you found it in 1914 and brought it out when you met Louis. It was greatly damaged and weakened, but it wasn’t dead. It was still there, nestled deep inside of you somewhere. It went into hiding again in 1917 when you were forced to quit your job, but it was still there, just waiting to be let out again. You could feel it. It was tucked away somewhere safe, somewhere Frederick could never reach it. He could very well try again, but he couldn’t kill it. And that which couldn’t be killed could only be made stronger.

One of the last things Henri said to you before you returned to the mansion you considered your gilded cage really resonated with you. His words inspired you, gave you strength:

“Make dread dead, not buried but in an open casket, for we need to be realistic in order to both grieve and make good choices about our next step. Dread is a fear flag, it’ll give you a chance to reflect upon the opportunity arriving and find real reasons to be at peace with whatever change comes to you.”

I’d always hoped Frederick would give me a divorce, that he’d never miss me as long as I left him with his money. For a time, he led me to believe that he was open to the idea. Only to pull the rug out from under me and tell me he changed his mind instead. He wouldn’t give me a divorce. Not ever.

While you were in the middle of helping a patient, one of your fellow nurses fetched you to tell you that you had a phone call. She said that it sounded important, so it was best not to keep him waiting. She took over for you and stepped in to help the patient you were with while you picked up the phone. Although he obviously couldn’t say who he really was, you knew it was your husband calling as soon as the other nurse said “him.” It couldn’t have been anyone else. His call was unexpected. He never once called or wrote you before. You enjoyed nearly three years of no correspondence from him, so why did he call you now? What did he want?

“Hello, Frederick. You're calling very early. What time is it in California? Heh. Frederick, you shouldn't have nightmares. Wrong? Of course not. Oh, but that isn't true. There is something, not wrong, but... Well, I had intended to write to you about it. I hardly know how to tell you. Something quite overwhelming has happened—”

Frederick interrupted you, not caring to listen to whatever you had to say. What he had to say was much more important. He wanted you to give notice and come back to him. When you dared to ask him why, the reason he gave was that he tried living on his own but didn’t like it, so he wanted you to resume your duties as his wife and mistress of the mansion at once.

“And what about my work? What you’re asking is impossible, Frederick.”

“What work? Bringing hot drinks to a lot of randy officers? I’ve already notified the hospital and am sending a driver to pick you up and take you to the airport. You will come home at once.”

The line clicked.

“Lannington. Lannington? Lannington?”

He had hung up without letting you get another word in. Of course he did. He always had to have the last word.

Having no choice, you made plans to return to your husband’s mansion. You wrote as soon as possible, informing the staff that, since you were coming home to take up your duties again, neither a nurse nor a secretary would be necessary. As Frederick’s wife and mistress of the house, as well as a fully trained auxiliary nurse, It would seem redundant to keep on other women and pay them to do your job. You wrote that they were dismissed, effective immediately. You expected their bags to be packed and for them to be gone by the time you arrived. You knew there were others before them, just in-and-outers, but these women lasted a whole month. They must’ve been Frederick’s favorites. If your husband wanted you to act as a wife, then so be it. You’d comply with his wishes. And you wouldn’t care how frustrated and angry it made him.

“Hello, William… Yes, William, it’s me.”

Your butler had been staring at you in silent awe, as if he couldn’t believe it was you. You were a completely different woman from the one he knew. You changed. For the better, it seemed.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Lannington.”

“Thank you.”

“Your husband is waiting upstairs in his room.”

“Yes. Well then, we’d better not stand here gabbing. When he waits, he gets mad, and when he gets mad, that means rush the smelling salts. He has ears like a cat, and he heard that bell as sure as preaching. I’d better hurry right in.” You walked into the bedroom. Your husband was sitting in an armchair by the window, waiting for you like William said he was. You walked over to give him a kiss on his cheek. “Well, Frederick. Hello. Frederick, you're looking wonderfully well. Hilda told me you'd been ill, but—”

“Hilda knows nothing about me. Step over there where I can see you. Turn around. Walk up and down. It's worse than I was led to suppose. Much worse.”

“If you'd like me to go...”

“Don't go. I have things to say to you. Sit down. I’m aware that you dismissed the last nurse and secretary without any input from me. They both left this morning before you arrived, as you ordered.”

“Well, darling, your past nurses all told me that you’re fit as a fiddle. You have a heart. You deny it, but you have one. But at your age, who wouldn’t have? It’s nothing serious. Ought to last you for years if you don’t get excited. It sounded to me that a nurse hadn’t ever been necessary, and that you mostly used them to fetch and carry. And now that I’ve come home to take up my duties as a wife again, I didn’t see the point in keeping either a nurse or a secretary since I’m more than capable of fulfilling both roles. You personally saw to that, darling.”

Frederick said nothing, but you could tell he was seething. You were right, of course. He practically forced you into marriage. He forced you to attend countless etiquette lessons. He forced you to attend nursing school. Through his mandatory teachings, he equipped you with a unique set of skills. Then he forced you to quit your job and come back home. Why wouldn’t you fire his nurse and secretary? You were a dog that learned to bite back. And it was his doing. You were right. And he hated it.

“Be that as it may, I've become used to having a room occupied on the same floor with me and, in view of my heart, I agree it is a wise precaution. You will occupy the master bedroom with me from now on. I had William move down all your things yesterday. Your furniture, books, and everything.”

“But, Frederick... You had no right to move my things.”

“No right in my own house to move what I see fit? I'm not surprised you blush. I was in the room when William took the books from the shelves, and let me say that what we found hidden there was a very great shock to me.” He pulled out an all too familiar box and began reading from one of the first letters Louis ever wrote to you, his voice laced with thinly veiled disgust at what he thought was excessive and unnecessary schmaltz. His face was ablaze with annoyance and contempt.

…Sweetheart, I love you. There. I said it. And if you meet me tomorrow, I’ll say it again. And again. And keep on saying it till we’re old and gray. So, as soon as the war is over, let’s do it. Once everything is settled, let’s get out of Europe and go someplace far away, where war can never again touch us. I know it’s risky, but so’s staying here. The last few months have been hard, but they’re always a little easier when you’re there. As soon as I write you again to give you some sort of signal or sign, leave your boat and meet me at the hill overlooking the old bridge. Bring whatever you can carry. We’ll make do without the rest. Don’t be late.

Louis xxx

“Do these words sound familiar? They should since they’re love letters addressed to you. From another man. Don’t waste your breath trying to explain yourself, my dear. And don’t insult my intelligence by trying to deny it either. I’ve seen you for what you are. I should throw you out, as is my right as a husband with a pretty little cheat for a wife.” Frederick scoffed, “Amazing creature. To have deceived me so.”

“Don't talk like that. You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Why not, my pretty cheat? I'll talk as I please. I've been thinking about this miserable business all night. You’re insane and you must be humored. We must be reasonable and we must be realistic. I gave you a great deal.”

“I know,” you lied through gritted teeth.

“I wonder if you do.” Frederick inhaled deeply. “You're lucky it was only me and William that saw the letters. Be grateful that I don’t burn them in the fireplace or rip them to pieces. I still could change my mind about that. I have it in me, wife, to remove this impertinence.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Then don’t provoke me. I’ll only ask you once. Who is he?”

“Very well. I didn’t want to tell you this way, but you’ve forced my hand. If you must know, he’s someone I've known for nearly two years. Someone I love very much. I can't help it. How else could I say it? However I'd say it, it would be wrong. You must think I've messed this up terribly. But I’m not sorry. You want me to feel ashamed and humiliated for what I feel, for what I’ve done, but I don’t. I’m glad to have finally told you. Do you hear me? I’m glad. You dare to call me a cheat?” You scoffed. “You're one to talk. What have you given me? Love? Affection? Care? The only thing you've given me is an empty house and a marriage that leaves me thinking everyday how much I'd like to slit my wrists!” You snarled.

“Oh, darling, even before we were married, I’ve treated you like a princess! I’ve given you everything! It’s you. You’re nothing but an ungrateful little-little- You’re a little witch! When I think of-of-of all the years that I’ve worked to give you the life you have so you would never know what it is to live without the latest luxury, and this is the thanks that I get? You’re spoiled. Not just because you’re behaving like an ungrateful brat, but because you’re damaged goods. Were there others in between Captain Freycinet and this Louis? Or aren't you the kind that tells?”

“Oh, you mustn't think too harshly of my lovers. They were very kind and understanding when I came to the hospital after a hard day at home.”

“Wife!”

“Well, what did you expect? Do you think I ever would've looked at another man if I'd received one grain of affection from you? You wouldn't allow a dog in the house. Of course, you didn't need one with me around. I was petted, admired, but never loved. After nearly ten years of marriage, you still think my love can be bought with fur coats and diamonds. At least Captain Renault—”

“So that's his name? Renault?”

Your spine stiffened as you realized your mistake. In the heat of the moment, you let your mouth run away with you and gave Frederick a name to go off of. Without a doubt he'd be like a bloodhound with a scent until he found out exactly who Louis was. And when he did…you feared he’d murder him and cover it up, make it look like an accident or suicide. Or even worse, that he’d make Louis disappear altogether, erase him from history as if he never even existed. An unperson. Before you were married, you’d never figured Frederick to be the jealous or violent type. Until that horrible display in the wine cellar… You were all too aware of what Frederick was capable of when in a jealous rage. You made the mistake of underestimating him once, but you never did it again. Any retort died on your lips as you listened to Frederick’s cold and calculated voice, his tone laced with barely concealed anger and jealousy. The mask he had so carefully crafted was once again slipping. But you didn’t retreat. You pressed on.

“What happens in my love life is none of your business!” You hissed to him. “In ten years of marriage, you never cared. Why should you care now? I don't think you do. You just want everyone around you to be miserable.” You were about to end the conversation there and turn your back on him to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“That's where you're wrong. What should happen if you fall with child? By law that child would legally bear my name. And should that child resemble his or her father? You and I both know all the repercussions that would happen should that child's lineage ever be revealed. You and I both know that those whispers would forever follow that child around no matter where he or she went. There would be nothing you or I could do to protect him or her. Nothing, my pretty little fool. So, if you’ve been sleeping with another man, I have a right to know.”

“You dirty minded fool. I’m sick of listening to your filthy accusations. What about your bed? You want to act all high and mighty by telling me you never took a mistress, but what about your secretaries? What if any of them fell pregnant with your child? What would you do then? Leave me for one of them? Convince her husband to let his wife leave him for you? Why don’t you call on Margo? She’s available, you know. Jeff Cameron is a broke and poor psychiatrist, and Margo probably would leave him in a heartbeat for you and all your wealth! She warmed your bed for weeks while I was in training. Did you think I’d never find out about that? What makes you so much different than me? Maybe I want my bed warmed and maybe I want anyone but you warming it!”

“My dear, I've a dreadful headache for this sort of thing and—”

“I'm sorry, but I have a headache too, and I think mine precedes yours by quite a few years.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter whether you answer me one way or the other. Your bags are packed. If you want him, you can have him. After all, why shouldn't you have a husband? You have him, my dear. Hmm. Have a dozen of them. Sooner or later you'll come back to me. You'll realize that nothing matters but money. Everything passes but money. And me. Only first, you should know what you'll be getting yourselves into. There may come a day when it’s too late to repent and I won’t be there to save you from ruin. You can leave to be with him, that's true. Up to a point. I have an early flight to catch tomorrow, so I better pack my bag. We’ll discuss…this…further upon my return.”

During this period you couldn’t write to Louis at all because Frederick was watching you like a hawk. It was a mercy that he let you keep Louis’ letters and didn’t make you watch as he burned them all in the fireplace. Even when Frederick wasn’t physically there, he still had eyes and ears all over the mansion. While he was out doing God knows what with God knows who, he had the servants act as spies, watching your every move, listening in on your every word. Even if it appeared as if you were alone in a room, you could never be sure that there wasn’t an indoor servant lingering behind a door or an outdoor servant peering in at you from a window. Any behavior regarded as strange or unusual would be reported back to him and used against you, so you had to be discreet. Very discreet. You couldn’t trust anyone. Not even your personal maids. The periodic phone calls you received from Frederick didn’t help matters either. You had no choice but to answer them. Missing a call or failing to return a call within what he thought was a reasonable timeframe only meant trouble for you down the line.

“…I’m being kept a prisoner and you want thanks?!”

“A prisoner?” Frederick laughed, his voice sending chills down your spine as it crackled and distorted over the receiver. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit melodramatic, dear? Silly child, our house isn’t a prison. It’s…a castle, a beautiful castle in the middle of a wooded area that’s like an enchanted forest. There are millions of women who would give their right high teeth to live in a place like we do. Why, you’re surrounded by luxury and just look at the view from any of the balconies. Darling, where are you ever going to find a view again like that?”

“Oh, I don’t care about the view! I’m bored with it! Sure, it’s pretty, but after a while it all seems the same. It’s boring and I’m bored being here all by myself, cooped up surrounded by servants but no one to talk to, no one to share with!”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t you worry. Don’t you worry. I’ll be home soon and I’ll keep you company every day until I have to leave again. Every day.”

“But I want a friend.”

“Your own husband isn’t good enough for you anymore?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that I want someone new and exciting to come into my life.”

“And take you away from me like those Frenchmen almost did? Never! No, it’s out of the question!”

“But Frederick—”

“No, no, no! You’ve fooled me once, you’ve fooled me twice, but I will not let you do this to me a third time!”

You knew you would have to wait for an opportune day when everyone was out of the house except for you, when all the servants were off while Frederick was on a business trip or otherwise gone. You couldn’t just dismiss them all for the day outright. That would look too suspicious. So you came up with a plan that would ensure the servants were kept silent and distracted. You gathered them all in the foyer and told them that you wanted to host a surprise party for your husband to welcome him home when he returned from his business trip overseas. With everyone sent out on errands for a big and important event, you were finally able to have a moment alone. You made just one phone call.

“Mrs. Lannington, this just came by air express from New York.”

“Thank you.”

“The seamstress is here about the dress. Do you want her in?”

“In a little while.”

“Yes, madame. I'll get another blanket and bring your clothes up as soon as I get a chance.”

“No, thank you. You needn't bother.”

“Yes, madame.”

Frederick returned from his business trip in America much earlier than originally anticipated, but all of the servants and party guests knew that he would. You were ready for him. As his wife and mistress of his great house, he always told you that you needed to learn to expect the unexpected. No matter how late it was in the evening, he still expected you to greet him when he came in. But you purposely weren’t there to greet him that night.

“Quiet, everybody. Here he comes now.”

“Surprise!” The crowd shouted simultaneously in a cacophonous uproar of excitement.

“Who thought up this torture?”

A woman took him by the arm to lead him through the crowd. “Oh, Frederick, dear, you are surprised, aren't you?”

“Horribly.”

“You see, your wife did remember you would be coming home today, so she wanted to throw you this welcome home party.”

“A party indeed.” He went around shaking the hands of the guests and giving them a well-practiced smile. “Madame. How do you do? Thank you. I'm delighted to see you, sir.” But after exchanging pleasantries and idle chitchat just long enough to not seem rude, he asked, “If you’d be so kind as to tell me where I can find my wife?”

Frederick didn’t bother to knock as he opened the door to the guest bedroom. You were powdering your face and putting in your earrings, but you saw him through the mirror’s reflection as he stood in the open doorway. “This is quite the welcome home party. Well, I hope I'm welcome, my dear. You look as if you were seeing a ghost.”

“How did you get here so quickly?”

“Quickly? I have the impression I'm too late. That object on my dining room table, I presume, is a cake. Champagne, all very fitting. I infer a lover. Make me acquainted with him.”

“He’s not here. It’s just a small gathering of our friends. After all, we don’t want a repeat of what happened at the last party we hosted, now do we, darling?”

Your small gathering of friends turned out to be a full house with well over a hundred people. And, since you were in charge of the invitations the second time around, it had an even larger turnout than the last party you hosted when you were newlyweds. You knew that, and he knew that too. Whatever game you were playing at, Frederick wasn’t amused.

“What are you doing in this room?”

“I'm going to sleep here.”

“Didn't you understand I wished someone to sleep on the same floor with me?”

“We can get one of the maids, Frederick, or perhaps we can get a dog.”

“‘We’? So long as I pay the bills, I'm running this house. Please remember you're a guest, my dear.”

“Well, if I am one, then please treat me like one, Frederick. Your guest prefers to sleep in this room, if you don't mind.”

“This is no time for humor. As it so happens, I do mind.” He gestured to a case of camellias on a side table. “Where did these flowers come from?”

You turned to him and spoke with the false spontaneity of a liar. “From Switzerland.”

“Who sent them?”

“I've forgotten the name of the florist. I think it's on the box.”

“I've seen it. I had the box brought to me. You know perfectly well what I mean. What person sent the flowers?”

“There wasn't any card.”

“In other words, you don't intend to tell me.”

“Frederick, I don't want to be disagreeable or unkind. I've come home to live with you again, here in the same house. But it can't be in the same way. I've been living my own life, making my own decisions for a long while now. It's impossible to go back to being treated like a child again. I don't think I'll do anything of importance that will displease you, but, dear, from now on you must give me complete freedom, including deciding what I wear, where I sleep, what I read...”

“Where did you get that dress?“

You were dressed for the occasion. You had changed into a dress that was very Italian, very chic, and exceedingly becoming. And not handpicked by your husband.

“I had it shipped in from New York today.”

You customized your dress with the camellias sent by your not so secret admirer, wearing them proudly close to your heart. When your monstrous husband clapped eyes on your new look, he was horrified. Desperate to re-assert his authority and to prevent his now glamorous wife from stealing the limelight, he told you to put on one of your old frocks for the party. After all, this party was for him, wasn’t it? If he was the guest of honor, shouldn’t his opinion have been taken into consideration?

“It's outrageous. Where's the dress I bought for you from Nassau?”

“I gave it away to Suzanne, the niece of a French stockholder. She was so grateful. Frederick, please be fair and meet me halfway.”

“On my first day home after such a long absence, and you behave like this. How much did that dress cost?”

“It was frightfully expensive. I'll tell you about it in the morning.”

“To whom did you charge it?”

“To whom I've always charged my clothes, Frederick.”

“And you expect me to pay for articles charged to me of which I do not approve?”

“Well, I could pay for it myself. I've saved quite a little money. I have about $5000.”

“$5000 won't last very long. Especially if your monthly allowance were to be discontinued. I'm sure you've always had everything in the world you want.”

“I haven't had independence.”

“That's it. That's what I want to talk about. Independence. To buy what you choose, wear what you choose, sleep where you choose. Independence. That's what you mean by it, isn't it? I make the decisions here, my dear. I'm willing you should occupy your old room. One of the maids will occupy the guest room next to the master bedroom for the time being and will perform a wife’s duties as well as a nurse's if you will not. That will give you a good chance to think over what I've said. I'm very glad to give a devoted wife a home under my roof and pay all her expenses, but not if she scorns my authority.”

“Well, I could earn my own living, Frederick. I've often thought about it. I could resume my job as a nurse and work in the hospital again or—”

“You may think that very funny. But I guess you'll be laughing out of the other side of your face if I did carry out my suggestion.”

“I don't think I would. I'm not afraid, Frederick.” As soon as you said it, it finally dawned on you. “I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid, Frederick.”

“Wife, sit down. I find all this very distasteful. Your dress isn’t what I wanted to discuss with you at all.”

“All right, I'll listen quietly. What do you wanna discuss with me?”

“I want you to know something I've never told you before. It's about my will. You'll be the most powerful and wealthy member of the Lannington family, if I don't change my mind. I advise you to think it over.”

As Frederick kept speaking, you understood the implications of his words, his thinly veiled threats of blackmail. You could leave and be with Louis, that was true. But he refused a divorce so you’d never be able to marry Louis so long as he lived. And if you left, he’d not only write you out of his will, he’d use his connections to expose Louis’ secrets regarding Stevenson’s death and the true parentage of the boy he publicly recognized as his to every newspaper across both America and Europe. It didn’t matter if any of it was true or not. It was the word of a millionaire with all the influence in the world against the word of a poor soldier. And money had such a persuasive way of talking. Every newspaper and tabloid, no matter how trashy, would pick up such a story, and bored housewives would be more than eager to spread such hot gossip in their circles, desperate for a break from their monotonous lives even if it meant living vicariously through the lives of others. Word would get around to men’s clubs and more, and It wouldn’t take long to destroy Louis’ future, as well as that of the boy. Of course, he’d keep silent if you would. He’d give you his word, only if you’d give him yours in return. Realizing that you had been tricked, you were fuming and seething. Your husband had you right where he wanted you, and you could do nothing about it. And he knew that.

“Tonight, when you came back, you told me I could go away with him. To get my hopes up. You had all this planned out from the beginning. Oh, you swine!”

“That is a very coarse expression coming from so smartly dressed a young woman. I'm referring to that handsome coat hanging neglected in your wardrobe.”

“Take it back then, you...” You took it off the hanger and threw it at him, but he was unfazed as it hit him. Your eyes were alight with indignation and hatred.

“I seem to remember the dress too! But restrain yourself, my dear. A servant might come in.”

“I never loved you. I tell you, I never loved you!”

“Of that there was never any question, my dear. But I can assure you, you’ve had many very good reasons for being grateful. So you're conceding to my terms. Well, I think that's wise. A scandal can be quite damaging to a career…and to a personal life.”

“You don't think that's why I'm agreeing.”

“The point's irrelevant. I can only hope that this shameful episode in your life is completely past. We best go down to your guests, Mrs. Lannington. You can have your fun tonight, enjoy your little party, but I’ve just decided I’ll be leaving for America on an impromptu business trip next week. It’s a good thing your bags are already packed, because I’ve also just decided you’re coming with me.” He wasn’t asking you. He was telling you. Before you could turn and storm away, Frederick reached out and grabbed your wrist in a tight grasp. A warning. “You know, darling, I'm very fond of you. And I might never have taken this step at all, if I hadn't discovered that… Well, after all, darling, a penniless French officer? I thought you had learned your lesson the first time a Frenchman came to this house uninvited. But it appears not. While I’m disappointed, I can’t say I’m surprised. First Captain Freycinet, and now this Captain Renault. You seem to have developed an…acquired taste for poor Frenchmen in uniform. You and your little two-timing heart. I can forgive you having an affair, but I can’t forgive you having such low standards in the men you take to your bed. Your taste in men, aside from me, is abysmal. Of course your being married to me made no difference to them. It never has.”

“Frederick, please do try to be fair.”

“Fair? Was it fair giving yourself to men like that?”

“That isn’t true. I was with Henri before I was with you, and he didn’t know I was married when he came to the house that night. Louis didn’t know either. He still doesn’t know.”

“You’d say that. You’d say anything to protect him.”

“Please don’t talk like that! Don’t you see it’s something none of us could help? He doesn’t know. He asked me to marry him—”

“He’d say anything to get his way.”

“You’re wrong. You’ve got to believe me!”

“Oh, I don’t blame you. I know that you were sincere. But Renault!”

“Frederick, Frederick! If you harm him, if anything happens to him, I shouldn’t care to live. I wouldn’t live. If you do anything to hurt him, anything at all, I will kill myself. I will turn my death into a grand public spectacle for the world to see. And then you’ll have a scandal worthy of your name.”

You wouldn’t let history repeat itself. You wouldn’t let Frederick lay a hand on Louis the same way he did Henri. If he so much as touched a hair on Louis’ head, you would follow through with your threat. Your suicide would get splashed on the front page of every major newspaper all across America and Europe, ensuring you’d have one last laugh over your husband from beyond the grave. His name would get dragged through the mud and he would be ruined into obscurity. His power over you hinged on his carefully constructed reputation, his public persona. His social influence was determined based not just on his money, but on what the public thought of him too. If you killed yourself in such a grandiose manner, you’d destroy everything he had painstakingly built over his lifetime within mere seconds, whether or not you left a note. Especially if you left a note. He’d lose everything. He’d have nothing. You’d ruin his life and reputation even in death. As Frederick stared into your eyes, there was a fire in them that he thought he distinguished years ago. He could tell you weren’t bluffing. He had no choice but to back down.

That year when your wife passed, I was thinking of going to the funeral. Frederick said he’d rather see me dead than hanging around Louis Renault again. Something about that woke something up inside of me. Because when we went our separate ways, it was fine because it was us, but who was he to keep us apart? So that night, I fought back.

You stood up for yourself and defied Frederick by knocking your party guests dead with your new look. As you went around the room and socialized, you grabbed some hors d'oeuvres from passing servers and didn’t care if it looked unladylike as you stuffed your face and asked William to replenish your depleted champagne glass whenever it was getting low. You were in a mood of determined gaiety as you watched and even joined in the merriment.

Then came the big finale a few hours later. Drawn in light upon the starry-black of night, fireworks interrupted the black, spreading pops of color as if the sky were a canvas awaiting ink of brilliant light. Right next to Heaven's stars were those blossoms of rainbow light. With the party guests once more enraptured, their eyes half closed against the minute points of dazzling reflections and accepted only by the kaleidoscopic shuttling of prismatic color, nobody paid attention to their hosts of the evening as they stayed behind. Partially obscured by the crowd, you appeared from the darkness, backing towards one of the white pillars of the terrace so that your face remained hidden as you stood next to your husband.

“Well, if we do have to leave, at least we gave a memorable farewell party,” Frederick said in a hushed tone, sipping from his champagne flute.

“I gave a memorable farewell party for you. I've instructed the maids to pack up all your things. Your essential things, at least, with enough money to get you on a boat back to America and out of my life.” Your voice matched his in volume, but your tone was firm. Final. Uncompromising.

“I thought I told you that we were leaving together.”

“No. You are leaving. Alone. And it’s clear to me that you don’t care about me at all, so I’m sending you away with your favorite person. Yourself.”

“This entire mess was as much your fault as was mine. If not more.” He raised his voice, now laced with agitation, but only slightly. Still nobody but you could hear him.

“Do you honestly expect anyone to believe that such a confident, well-spoken man needed a woman to help him manage his estate? A woman who’s a victim herself, having been a loving wife while her husband couldn’t keep his affairs in order and was embroiled in chronic infidelity that took place in her own house, in her own bedroom. There’s a record of it, husband. From now on, I’ll be the sole beneficiary and take full ownership of whatever’s left of my inheritance, as well as a fair share of your money to support myself. And I had Velma forge a signature on a document stating that since neither you nor I have any male next of kin, the estate shall pass to whomever I deem your successor, should I outlive you. Velma has excellent penmanship, you see. Your society, of course, will be infuriated to discover that you have abandoned me, your wife of many years, to run away to America with your money and your mistress.”

“You viper!”

“Never touch me again. You’re welcome to try to explain it to them, now that they're all gathered... And you’re not leaving any worse off than when you arrived. With nothing. Nothing but your cold hard cash, just as incapable of loving you as I am.”

“You’re making a terrible mistake.”

“I made my mistake years ago, when I married you.”

He chased me out of the house and into the woods. He was the one who brought the knife. It’s funny, Frederick’s the one that made me go to nursing school. That’s why I knew where his femoral artery was. Not sure if I hit it, but I left him out there. His body was never found. Maybe he crawled somewhere for help, maybe he died in those woods and was eaten by wild animals. You say you killed your family? I hope I killed mine. I hope you don’t hate me for what I did. I hope you can forgive me. I’m sorry I kept this from you for so many years after the fact, but I only just learned to come to terms with it and forgive myself.

Eternally yours xxxxxxx

It wasn't anything like what Louis expected. The farther down he read, the more his face showed his heart breaking for you, until it got to the point where it was excruciating to have to witness your suffering through your own words. What he experienced while reading your letter felt like a thousand tiny paper cuts in comparison to the living hell you endured. He couldn’t even begin to imagine it. You, locked in an ivory tower, subjected to daily cruelty which included punishment by scourges and flaying, the scourges being your husband’s tongue and the flaying being done by his hand. And then to have to go through it twice! You experienced it firsthand once and relived it again, all so you could relay your story to him through writing. By the time he reached the bottom of the page, his grief was joined by something else. Though he was shocked at your confession of killing a man, your own husband, he understood the position you were in and why you referred to it as “the very bad thing” in your previous letters. You were a victim of years of marital abuse and, though it wasn’t physical, it left scars all the same. Scars that took years to heal. And though those scars didn’t hurt you anymore when you thought of your husband, they were still there. They always would be. He thought back to when he received that phone call from you out of the blue years ago. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what you were saying or what your call meant. Everything about your voice felt…off. There was no better way to describe it.

“Hello? Yes?”

“Hello? Hello, Louis.”

“Darling! Oh, thank God. You’re alive. I’ve been so worried, your letters stopped coming and the hospital either couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me anything about you or your whereabouts and I thought— It’s been so long since I last heard from you. How did you get my number? Is there anything wrong?”

“I know. I’m sorry. The short of it is, I was forced to quit nursing. I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I can’t explain any of it now, but I promise I will. Someday. I know I can’t see you, but I just had to hear your voice. Oh, Louis. My sweet, darling Louis. I just wanted to hear you speak to me. I wish you could come to see me. I'm so lonesome here.”

“Sweetheart? Your voice sounds strange. Are you hurt? If you’re in any danger or difficulties, I cou—”

“No! No. No, I’m— Well, I’m not okay, but I’ll manage just fine on my own for now. We made our pact, and I still want us to live up to it. Darling, tell me now, have we lost our chance? Have you moved on and found someone else?”

“No, never.”

“You're not angry with me?”

“No. Only with myself. I was a cad to make you care for me and then, because of some noble sense of duty, to leave you to get over it the best you can. And there isn't a thing I can do about it. Madeleine still depends on me more and more. She's ill and getting worse. And there's Johnny. Even if I could chuck everything—”

“But I wouldn't let you, Louis. Louis, what's the feminine for your word? That's what I am. I knew you were married, and I walked right in with my eyes wide open. But you said it would make you happier.”

“And it has. I've found love again, and it's due to you.”

“I've been hoping you'd say that.”

“I have more understanding for Johnny. I'm even kinder to Madeleine. So don't blame yourself.”

“Then don't you.”

“It's different.”

“It's not. Shall I tell you what you've given me? On that very first day, a little bottle of perfume made me feel important. You were my first friend. And then when you fell in love with me, I was so proud. And when I came home, I needed something to make me feel proud. And your camellias arrived, and I knew you were thinking about me. I could've walked into a den of lions. As a matter of fact, I did, and the lions didn't hurt me. Please take back what you said.”

“If you can marry me and we can have a full and happy life someday, I will.”

“I'll try.”

After reading your letter, suddenly your past behavior made sense. Your reluctance to accept his proposal, wanting to wait until the war was over before you gave him an answer…your disappearance and cryptic letters… You must’ve been so afraid. You probably lived day in and day out in fear that your past would catch up with you and you’d be booked for the murder. You could’ve told him that you were widowed. You could’ve gone your whole life without ever telling him what transpired on the night of your husband’s death. You could’ve gone your entire life telling him you were unmarried and never mentioned Frederick at all. Whatever your story was, he wouldn’t have pried any further than what you told him. He didn’t need details about what happened or how Frederick died. You told him the truth about what happened that night because you trusted him with your deepest and darkest secret. You didn’t need to ask for his forgiveness for keeping this from him for so many years. There was nothing to forgive. It was your secret, and it was up to you to decide if you wanted to tell it or carry it to the grave. Just to be safe, he burned your incriminating letter in the fireplace. It would be kept between just the two of you. Nobody else would ever know. Not even Johnny or any other future family members.

Though reading your letters kept him sane and helped him to cope with his trauma and snap him out of his self-inflicted spiral of self-torture and rumination, he regretfully told you that he couldn’t be with you until his son came of age. He felt he had a duty to John that he needed to fulfill. He needed to focus on giving Johnny the best future he possibly could. Before Louis could allow himself to remarry, he needed to raise Johnny to be someone John would be proud of, a better man than even himself. He couldn’t explain his reasonings beyond that. He knew if you stood in front of him at the courthouse and married him now, he’d never be able to keep his hands off you. If he had the future with you that he wanted, he was certain you’d conceive a child before your first anniversary. As much as he wanted a child with you, he just wasn’t ready.

He knew that if you became pregnant, he’d be unable to love you and your child in the way that you both deserved to be loved. He wouldn’t be able to devote himself to either of you wholeheartedly, because he still felt like half of him died when John and Madeleine did. He made a promise to John, to Madeleine, to himself, and to Johnny. He needed to see it through. He couldn’t even think of romance or marriage until then. He wrote to you and reiterated that, while he wasn’t choosing to do this as a form of punishing either you or himself, he didn’t blame you if you couldn’t understand him or his reasons for purposely keeping himself away from you. He didn’t blame you if you didn’t want to wait for him. A long distance relationship was too much for most people to bear. He knew he was asking a lot from you by asking you to wait until Johnny was at least eighteen years old.

He was open and honest with you. He told you in no uncertain terms that, while he wouldn’t commit himself to or love any other woman apart from you, it was highly likely that he’d sleep around from time to time. He couldn’t survive on oxygen alone. He had to be surrounded by women. Although he’d sleep with them, he promised you that he wouldn’t lead them on. He’d take every precaution to ensure he didn’t father a bastard child with any of them. None of the women he’d take to his bed could ever hope to hold a candle to you. They’d be a means to an end, a distraction, a way for him to cope with his trauma, survivor’s guilt, and loneliness. He acknowledged that it may seem ironic and hypocritical of him, given how much his wife’s infidelity hurt him in the past. But he told you that, while Madeleine kept John like a dirty little secret, he wouldn’t do the same to you. He wouldn’t keep any secrets from you, no matter how long you were apart.

If you wanted to take other men as lovers, you were more than welcome to. Louis knew that, like himself, you couldn’t live on oxygen alone. You had to be surrounded by men. You could sleep with whoever you wanted and didn’t need his permission. He told you that, since you were so beautiful and so witty, all you’d have to do was just sit, and they’d come to you. You could have a line of lovers in zero time flat. Besides, he thought you’d handle them very well. He joked that it’d save him the trouble of sending flowers and candy. Louis was so open to it that he playfully encouraged you to write to him and tell him of your dates and outings, all your little erotic escapades. In return, he promised that he’d tell you about his. For you and Louis, your little dalliances with other people wouldn’t mean anything and you’d both make sure all the intimate partners you had knew that.

But he added that he’d understand if this was something you weren’t comfortable with and couldn’t agree to. He didn’t want to make you feel as if you were held to some obligation to him. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel as if you were wasting your life away by waiting around for him. You were still young, you could marry any man of your choosing. If you wanted to move on and find another man to spend the rest of your life with, he’d respect your decision. He didn’t want to be selfish and rob you of the chance to get pregnant and have children of your own if that was what you wanted. He wanted you to be happy, even if you found that happiness with another man. It’d hurt for a good long while and, although it’d never leave him completely, the pain would eventually numb until it became bearable. Not pleasant, but bearable. While he wouldn’t find another love after you, he’d want you to find love again even if it couldn’t be with him.

5 June 1924

…Bereavement, grief, comes in waves. Though it ebbs over time it sometimes still feels as if my soul needs to bleed an ocean through my eyes. Eyes that never blink, only watch the world continue in this numbing sense of sorrow. Sometimes when I think Madeleine and John have settled into my memories for another year, content to be silent, invisible, they come back, unannounced, to the forefront of my mind. Guilt will do strange things. Lock the truth in a cage and warp love into something strange and awful. Loving him meant I would have traded places in a heartbeat, fought until we either both lived or died. And so, for me, the mourning period didn’t offer me the catharsis I hoped for. Bereavement has been my companion these past few years, a shadow that, in time, has lessened until it’s all but gone. It doesn’t hurt anymore but it’s still there, transformed into something else. Where it once was, holding my hand like a vise, I find the flowers of happy memories with you instead. Where there was pain, so much pain, there’s now a form of joy and pride for whom John and I were and what we achieved together. While France is healing from the war, I’m healing alongside her, darling. I love you.

Louis xxx

12 August 1928

…I believe that when you meet your soulmate, the universe will show you the price of what you wish for. The real deal is never cheap. Those who will pay the price of emotional pain can learn what love is, can feel the blessing of true love. So, I ask you, is our love worth it? I believe it is. But do you? When I first met you, my darling Louis, I saw what was on the table and knew what the cost of your love was. But I didn’t balk or turn away, because I knew then that you were the one for me. While I’ll admit you aren’t the first man I’ve ever loved, I can promise you that you’ll be the last. While it wasn’t love at first sight and I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, there was a moment where I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.

Our pathways may come together and separate again for months or, as you say, years. The kind of love we have is something we must pay for with personal struggle. Through no faults of our own, fate has asked us to wait for each other. Those who won't wait for their soulmate or take on any struggle can't have “the one”. But I’m willing and ready to wait for you because, sweet Louis, when we’re finally married, everything that we are will be shared just as it is now. Your struggles will be my struggles, my pain will be your pain, your joys will be my joys, and my happiness will be your happiness. So is it really so different than what we have now? Though I don’t have a ring or a signed piece of paper, in so many ways, I feel as if I’ve been your wife for years already. It comes down to whether or not you love me, and whether or not I love you. That’s it. The rest is just detail. And I do love you. So very, very much. And I know you love me in a way you thought you’d never love again. So we’ll be all right in the end. I’ll send you snaps and enclose them with my letters so you can see what I see, feel what I feel, love what I love. I hope you’ll show me the same courtesy. All my love, sweet Louis.

Patiently yours xxxxx

15 February 1932

It’s the day after Valentine’s Day. I’ll kiss this crisp piece of paper I’m writing on and stain it with my favorite shade of lipstick so I can send you all my love and kisses, darling. The neighbors think I don’t hear them as they whisper and gossip about me. They think I'm a fool to wait and spend my days like I do. Eyes set to the horizon, arms resting on the cold metal rail, sitting alone on a park bench with my nose stuck in a book or my eyes downcast and scribbling away on sheets of paper as I write to you. I do so much more than just fritter away my time pining after you, my dearest. But they don’t see that. The way I see it, they're missing the greatest mysteries of life as they chase the mundane and trip over the minute details of existence. Waiting here gives me time to let my mind escape the boundaries of the ordinary, to think beyond the offerings of modern living. I ponder the threads that bind one person to another and the wounds that separate. I think about the origins of goodness and what humanity really is. Waiting here while others do important things is such a gift, a blessing of time. I would give up an eternity of tedium to simply solve a great mystery. All my love, sweet Louis.

Patiently yours xxxxx

17 July 1936

It's sunny today, around eighty-five degrees. Sky’s blue and clear and beautiful. I took a walk through the botanical garden. Followed the same path Henri and I walked down when we were all young and in love. It made me laugh thinking how nervous he was. His palms were sweating so bad I'd thought he was going to pass out! He was just too cute. Well, I'm sure you're tired of that story by now. I just keep thinking about that walk and what it would be like if you were the one beside me. I'd give anything to go back there, to show you all of my favorite spots. The sun doesn't seem as bright without you today but, when I close my eyes, its warmth makes me feel like you're here with me. Don't worry about a thing. Just think about the big hug I'll be giving you when you and I meet. I love you with every breath, my wonderful Louis.

Patiently yours xxxxx

[wardingoffevil]

Bobby McKenzie as a Dad

Omg this is one of my favorites! Bobby as a dad gives me brain rot. Fatherhood was meant for Bobby. I wanted to save him for last but I couldn’t wait. I finally finished this

Note: Please don’t attack me if we have differing opinions. Be respectful or don’t interact.

🧁 It was a rollercoaster ride for Bobby when his kids were born. He definitely tried to get the mom, nurses, and doctors to laugh while putting on the gown, gloves, mask, and wrapping a stethoscope around his neck. He may have tried to lighten the mood but inside he was a nervous wreck. Bobby’s a crier. He sobbed for each birth. Full on ugly crying.

🧁 Bobby wants a lot of kids, I’d say about 3-4, if not more than that. It doesn’t matter if they’re all girls, all boys, even number of both, odd number of both, he’s happy regardless. A baby around his chest, a toddler wrapped around his left leg, a seven year old putting icing on the fresh cupcakes out of the oven—that sort of chaos is Bobby’s bliss.

🧁 All of Bobby’s kids inherited his pretty freckles.

🧁 There’s no Bobby as a girl dad or a boy dad—he’s the same dad to all his kids: energetic, lovable, silly, and supportive. He’s just happy to be a dad. Period.

🧁 Bobby is the child-at-heart type of father. The type of father that loves to see his kids use their imagination, their creativity. The type of father that doesn’t see “weird” or “eccentric” kids. He sees children being children. He may be an adult, but his childlike sense of wonder and curiosity still flows through his veins.

🧁 Bobby’s eldest daughter’s named Paisley.

🧁 Chelsea designed the nurseries. Bobby helped a lot with ideas and quirks. They’re an amazing interior design team and Bobby thinks he may have a future in it if his bakery fails (it won’t).

🧁 Bobby has no problem at all checking on the baby during the night. He knows the drill. Even if he gets home late, even if he has to be up in three hours. He’s making sure his children are alright.

🧁 He named cupcakes after his children at his bakery.

🧁 Nap time isn’t just for kids in the McKenzie house. Bobby likes to join in because it gives him an excuse to watch cartoons and nap.

🧁 Bobby calls Gary a lot asking him for advice, telling him what curse word he taught his toddler to say, planning their next “dad’s day”, etc. They were best mates in the villa and it remained the same outside the villa. If they’re not texting, they’re FaceTiming.

🧁 You’re insane if you think each of his kids don’t get their own unique boops from him, complete with sounds.

🧁 Bobby makes all the kids’ lunches every day before school. Something different every day, too. Complete with a cupcake/cookie and a smiley face Post-It note from dad.

🧁 There’s always some kind of music playing in this house at all times, the genre varies from day to day.

🧁 Bobby sings “You Are My Sunshine” to his kids. With a guitar or without.

🧁 Bedtime stories are reserved only for Bobby. Sometimes he’ll read their favorite books, sometimes he makes the story up on the spot. But his favorite story to tell is “The Adventures of LongBob Cupcake.” He tells the kids that it’s based on true events.

🧁 The McKenzie’s (including his parents and sister) do go to Jamaica, once a year, to visit Bobby’s nan. Everyone looks forward to it.

🧁 Bobby never gets mad at his kids for throwing parties while he’s gone. All he cares about is the kitchen not getting trashed.

🧁 Bobby’s another loud and proud dad that attends every single activity for his kids. Definitely can hear him shouting over all the other dads, and he’s always front row center when taking videos. His social media accounts are flooded with his kids’ things.

🧁 Gary, Rahim, and Noah still hang out with Bobby. Bobby loves when everyone comes to visit because it gives him an excuse to bake and to try new recipes out on them. Gary eats anything, so really he tests the recipes on Rahim and Noah.

🧁 Bobby is the father that every kid dreams of having. He’s so loving, so accepting, so supportive of his children. He is never NOT proud of them.

There are so many Bobby pages on here that are amazing, but one in particular sticks out the most: @ravenadottir (currently on hiatus), and it can be found here. There’s all sorts of information/route guides/headcanons for Bobby. She even has an amazing fic for him as well (Paisley Cuddle is a must-read if you haven’t yet). 🖤

[ltbarnes]

With a Little Help From Your Friends

[Stark U #1]

Summary: You just wanted a quiet moment to yourself, rid of your four hectic roommates and their hookups—frat boys aren’t your kind of people. Natasha’s one night stand proves your reluctance correct.

Pairings: college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader, college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: sexual harassment/assault, language, mild injuries, ridiculously sweet Sam Wilson playing doctor, mild violence, allusions to rougher forms of violence by protective friends, mentions of sex and one night stands

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

With a sigh you lean against the countertop, looking out over the moonlit town outside of the large window that still haven't really gone to sleep. It's Friday night, so it makes sense, but you can't for the life of you understand why you would want to roam around town at two in the morning when you're standing here on the verge of sleep.

It's quiet in the loft, now that everyone has gone to sleep. Even Natasha and her mysterious man seems to have settled down for the evening. Thank god the walls are thick enough to shut out the sounds of some guy moaning obnoxiously while you try to focus on the pages of your trashy romance book. Natasha has that kind of impact on most people it seems like. Not once have you heard her beg for a man the way they plead for her to give them more. It's funny.

It's usually the talk amongst the inhabitants of the loft, the morning after. Sam tries to bully her for it, but it never really works. It always ends up with him smiling sheepishly and turning away his head to avoid you spotting his embarrassment. Yeah, she's feisty and if it wasn’t for the three young men in your apartment you would be the recipient of it.

You met Natasha freshman year on the first day, lodged into the dorms opposite of each other. Both of you hated your roommates and they seemed to have an equal distaste for you both. Nat was described as sketchy and cold, you were weird and laughed too much. A month into the term you ended up switching. Best decision of your life.

Steve stumbled into you with his coffee after a three hour long seminar in the middle of freshman-spring term that left a nasty burn on your hand. He apologized for an hour straight as he took you to the campus nurse, and you launched an invite to hang out with you and Nat his way as pay back. Inseparable ever since.

Unfortunately, though miraculously, inseparable with Steve meant inseparable with his best friend Bucky. Year above you, engineering major and major flirt temporarily disabled by his post-losing arm depression. Pain in your ass and great cuddler. Great way to scare away people when you're not in the mood to interact with anyone. You love him with all of your heart.

Natasha caught a model plane in her hand while on a walk to her programming class, crushing it between her fingers before it had the chance to crush her nose. It belonged to Sam Wilson, psychology major, future social worker and anything-that-can-fly-nerd in the year above you. Instead of either one of them apologizing they asked each other out. One date and a good hookup later they concluded that it would absolutely not work. He just hung around after that despite the rejection. Nobody knows why.

Fortunately, though you love them very much, nobody else seems to be nocturnal tonight. Sipping on a glass of water with a little peace and quiet in the kitchen is wonderful and does not happen very often, unless the owls are out and running. Five people with different personalities in the same loft can get a bit rowdy, more so than you enjoy, but it's absolutely amazing.

Catching sight of your favorite mysterious couple in the apartment building opposite of you, a smile creeps up on your face as you see them swaying in each other's arms back and forth. They do that once in a while, you have found. Sam named them Muriel and Ernie, though you doubt a couple in their thirties' are named after 19th century farmers. They're very sweet and sometimes not, when you unwillingly become a witness to their sex adventures. It happened a few too many times.

Their dancing distracts you to the point where you don't notice the sound of Natasha's door opening, or feet padding across the wooden floors towards the bathroom. You don't notice either when the person comes back from the bathroom, stopping in his tracks in the doorway to the kitchen as he catches sight of your half-dressed figure. You don't notice, because you thought everyone was asleep and you're stuck in your own little world where only you and that dancing couple exists.

So when the clearing of a throat sounds from behind you, your startled self jumps around to come face to face with a tall man in his early twenties. A confident smirk and lean against the counter comes into view as your wide eyes drag their way up and down his body. Dude is ripped. And so Natasha's type it's nearly laughable.

"Hi," you breathe out, wiping away the water you spilled from your chest with the back of your hand.

"What's a girl like you doin' up in the middle of the night?" He asks, once again proving that frat boys have two sentences they can speak to a woman only. That, and texting a 'can I join?' everytime someone mentions they're in a shower.

"I, uh, was drinking a glass of water." You pick up your half-full glass from the counter in front of you. "What are you doing roaming around our apartment at—" you glance up at the clock. "Two in the morning?"

"Couldn't sleep. Had to check myself out in the mirror, you know. Guy things," he says with a smile that says he knows exactly what kind of guy you think he is.

He manages to get a chuckle out of you, shaking your head as you glance down at your bare feet. Self-awareness? Is he even in a frat or did you misjudge him terribly?

"Glad to know the male part of the population is doing well," you say, looking up at him again. His dark-blonde, curly hair looks effortlessly messy, like it always does in movies.

"Well, you know. We usually are when we're talking to hot girls in their kitchen in the middle of the night," he shrugs. You stare at him for just a second, contemplating how to react to that answer.

He gave you a compliment. That's nice. He also just slept with your best friend. Not as nice. Well, you're sure the sex was great and you're very glad your friend is enjoying herself. It's the instantly seeking out another girl right after part that irks you.

"Oh, uh, yeah. That makes sense," you answer, taking another sip from your glass. His torso is right in front of your eye-sight and it makes it very hard to not look at it even though it makes you just slightly uncomfortable staring at someone's abs for so long. It leaves you glancing back and forth as his burning gaze forces you to stay still and not squirm.

"So...Nat didn't tell me she had another girl stuffed into her apartment," he says. "Pleasant surprise, of course," he adds, holding his hand out in front of him like the prior comment would somehow make you offended.

"Well, she is a woman of surprises." You raise your brow with a quirk of your head, looking down at the floor.

"Sure is," he whispers under his breath as his eyes travel down your stomach.

A few moments of tense silence is shared between the two of you. You turn slightly torwards the window, longing for the time a few minutes ago when you were alone in the kitchen. Clinging onto your glass of water desperately, you curse yourself for drinking it so quickly when there's nothing left. You're not good at making conversation with guys, at least not with men who show some kind of interest in you.

The warmth of his body coming closer to yours makes you turn your head to meet his gaze. It's hooded, head tilted down just slightly as he looks up at you through his lashes. You gulp as he stands right in front of you, sending you to press up further against the counter.

"What are you doing?" You breathe shakily as his forehead comes resting against yours. There's not much space to inch back anymore.

"You're so fucking pretty," he says under his breath. Your eyelids fall shut, breathing out of your nose.

"Hey, this isn't...you just hooked up with Nat," you whisper, putting your palms on his chest to push him away from you gently.

It's too gentle, maybe, because his mouth lingers just right over the crook over your neck as his hands come to rest on your hips. It sends shivers down your spine as his lips presses softly against your skin.

"Don't—please," you say through a frown, tilting your head away from him.

"It's okay. No one will know," he grunts, hips pressing you further into the counter.

"No. It’s not that. I don't want to," you whisper.

"C'mon, baby," he pleads as he rolls his hips into yours, latching onto the skin just below your ear. His teeth scrapes across your skin, biting down and you flinch.

"Stop," you say, hands once more attempting to push him away from you.

Your wrists are encased by his hand, a low growl emitting from his chest as you feel his hard length pressing into your thigh. You jerk your body, sending the two of you stumbling into the cupboard behind you. His nails dig into your skin, slashing a cut across your collarbone with a hiss from your lips.

The lack of balance makes his hold around you tighten, your wrists still in his hand and the other palming your breast through the fabric of your bra.

"Please, stop. I don't want this," you say. It's humiliating and scary, and the tears are quickly pooling in your eyes. How far is he going to take this, while surrounded by four other people sleeping in their rooms?

"Baby," he sighs as he bites down on your earlobe.

"Don't call me that," you whimper as the first few tears start to fall down your cheek.

He inches back just slightly, leaving you the opportunity to push him away from you enough to get out of his grasp. You only get two steps away before his hand grasps around your neck, dragging you back into his chest before he turns you around.

"Don't run. Know you want this," he grumbles before crashing his lips against yours. Your salty tears mix with his saliva as you thrash against him. He's strong, too strong to fight against, and now you don't think him being ripped is something good anymore.

Biting down harshly on his lip, he inches away from you with a hiss. "What the fuck, man—" he seethes while bringing his fingers up to his now bleeding lips.

"Hey, what's going in here?" The voice of Sam speaks up from behind you as you thrash your way out of the grip the guy has on you, using the surprise to your favor.

Sam glances between the two of you before he catches sight of the stream of blood trinkling down from your collarbone, tears running down your cheeks as your hands are trembling. He's never seen you like this before, on the brink of breaking down and he nearly reaches out for you before he sees the guy's expression.

He's avoiding Sam's stern gaze, wiping away the blood from his lip with a tent in his pants that forces him to look away. Sam doesn't know what happened but he knows he doesn't want you in the near fucking vicinity of the guy.

Without breaking his glare from the guy, Sam reaches out for you gently, slinging his arm around your shoulders before leading you behind him.

"You okay?" He whispers, glancing down at the blood seeping from the red cut. You don't answer, trembling behind him with a distant gaze in your eyes.

And then he sees the fucking hickeys. The marks he put on your skin. Sam's hand comes up to his mouth, rubbing his chin before he does something he's going to regret. He's not a violent guy and doesn't want to be perceived that way, and he's mindful of the state you're in right now. You don't need him to punch the guy down for laying his hands on you, you just need him to get out of there.

Sam releases you, striding up to the man who had the nerve to attack you in their own kitchen. Hand coming up to his back, he pushes the guy out into the hallway.

"You don't ever come the fuck near her or Natasha ever again, or I'm not gonna be so considerate like I fucking am right now. You're damn lucky Y/n is still in there," Sam seethes as he opens the door behind him.

"Fuck you. She's not fucking worth it, that bitch," the guy snarls.

"Man, don't piss me off more. You get the fuck out of here or I call the police," Sam says before pushing the guy out, still bare-chested and lip bleeding.

He tries not to slam the door shut, still aware there's people sleeping in the loft. He can hear your quiet sniffles from the kitchen, silently walking across the hallway until he sees you with your face in your hands.

"Hey, baby," he whispers as he presses you into his chest, letting your tears soak his shirt. "We gotta get you cleaned up, okay?"

You nod, face still buried into his chest. Releasing yourself from his hold, you wipe away the tears with your palms before he leads you to the couch in the living room.

Sitting next to you, you lean your head on his shoulder as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "I'm sorry for waking you up," you whisper.

"Oh, no, Y/n. We're not doing that," Sam sighs. "I wished I would've woken up sooner. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I just...I didn't know what to do." The words come out broken, marred by the tears and hoarse throat.

Sam pulls you closer to him, throwing your legs over his lap. "You didn't have to do anything. It wasn't your fault, no matter what you said or did," he says into your hair. You nod.

He rubs your legs in comfort, sitting silent with you for a few minutes before he lifts your legs to stand up. "That cut is not looking good. 'M just going to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, okay?" Sam says.

"I'll be right here," you sniffle through a small smile.

"Yeah, you better be, little shit," he throws over his shoulder.

It barely takes half a minute before he's back, kneeling in front of the couch as he roams around for the rubbing alcohol and band-aids. "Mom always used to patch me up with the whole first aid kit whenever I came home with as much as a scratch. I'm a full on medic now, thanks to her," he mumbles as he pours the alcohol on a cotton pad.

You chuckle quietly, drying under your nose. "Who even has nails like that?" You mumble, glancing down at the cut.

"Yeah, that's some impressive shit right there. It's pretty deep." He squints before pressing the cotton against the wound.

You hiss, flinching back as the alcohol's stinging pain overtakes you. Sam's right hand lands on your thigh. "Stay still, woman."

"Sorry," you mumble, watching as he carefully dabs it across the entire length of it. He's precise, like it's a job craving the utmost level of attention.

"Okay, all done," he says with a grin while applying the band-aid, leaning back on his feet until he presses himself up.

"Thank you." You glance up at him with red-rimmed and swollen eyes. He flicks you on the nose, eliciting a nose-scrunch and a sweet giggle.

"You tired?" He asks, setting the first aid kit down on the table. You hum in answer, leaning your head back on the couch.

You're exhausted and wound up at the same time, still trembling slightly from the event. The thought of sleeping alone in your room with all of your thoughts does not intrigue you in the slightest.

"Goodnight, Y/n," he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead before he heads towards his room on the other side of the loft.

"Sam?" Your frail voice speaks up from the couch. He turns around, leaning his hand on the wall. "Would you stay?" You ask, glancing up at him with those doe eyes that could get any person to give in. He's just a man after all. No damn human in their right mind could resist you when you look at them like that.

"Yeah, of course," he says while walking back, floor creaking under his footsteps.

The couch dips when he slouches down, tugging your frame into his body while laying down. Embracing you from where he lays pressed into the back of the couch, your head resting on his arm, he strokes your hair gently while you hum contently.

"You're a good guy, Sam. More than you give yourself credit for," you whisper, eyes closed.

His warm breath hits the back of your neck. "I try," he answers. "Go to sleep, shithead. It's late," he mumbles and you know his eyes are closed shut as well.

"Goodnight."

Natasha lets out a guttural groan as the sun rays start to shine into her room, blinding her with the morning sun before she has a proper chance to wake up. It's horrible. Whoever forgot to shut the blinds is on her bad side.

She expects to wake up to Joshua beside her, but she's met with his side cold and empty. It's for the best, really, because he was at most a mediocre lay and kind of douchy, even though he seemed to be very pleased with his own performance. Although Nat is exceptional at ushering her own and other's hookups out of their apartment, it's not something she looks forward to especially much.

It's only 8 in the morning, and after many long winter months the sun is finally starting to peek up a little earlier. This particular day it's not welcome though. Any other day Natasha might have been in a better mood.

She drags herself out of bed, running her hands through her hair as she takes a look in the mirror. Throwing on sweatpants and a tank top, she heads out of her room with a pounding headache and sullen mood. Her plans for today consists of having your head in her lap as she stares at the tv. Definitely bullying Steve into getting the ramen from the shop just around the corner for dinner.

It's too quiet in the loft, she notices. Usually Sam is clashing pots and pans in the kitchen making his breakfast by now. Bucky has a strict morning routine of watching reruns of Formula 1 at 8:10, if he is awake by that time, that is. You tried to remind him one time by waking him up. It didn't end well. You got his alarm clock in the head when Bucky thought it was Steve waking him up.

She finds the reason for it, probably, once entering the living room to the sight of Sam acting as the big spoon to your sleeping figure. With an eyebrow raised in question, she stares at the very unusual sight before heading towards the kitchen.

Steve and Bucky are eating their breakfast, a paper in Steve's hand and a phone in Bucky's. Like usual, except it's so quiet it's nearly uncomfortable.

"Hey, soldiers," Natasha smirks as she saunters in, immediately reaching for the coffee pot.

She's met with angry glares from both of the men, silently telling her to lower her voice. "Don't wake them up," Steve whispers.

"Right, father," she mumbles as she pours up the coffee in her cup. Steve rolls his eyes, returning his gaze to the newspaper. "Anyone know what the deal is?" She asks over her shoulder, making sure to keep her volume on an acceptable level.

"No," Bucky mutters without looking up from his phone.

"I heard some commotion in the kitchen 'round two. Think it was jus' one of them getting hungry or something though," Steve says with a shrug.

Natasha slides into the chair opposite of him with an intrigued smirk. "Yeah?" She asks. "Commotion, you say."

Steve glances up from his paper with a pointed look her way. He knows very well what she's thinking, but he doesn't like conspiring behind people's back. Unless the two of you comes forward with it yourselves, he'd rather not think about it. Especially if the two of you were fucking in the kitchen.

The three of them falls into comfortable silence. Sipping coffee from their cups and partaking in the media outlet in their own ways, the minutes pass by in an unusually peaceful morning in the loft.

Though the living room is just as quiet as the kitchen, Sam blinks his eyes awake in the warmth of the couch. He glances down at you, sees you're still sleeping and letting out small puffs of air with each breath. But fuck, he really has to go the bathroom. As much as he wants you to rest, he is not willing to sacrifice his bladder for it.

As gently as he can, he slips out from behind with much difficulty. He never imagined it would be this hard getting out from a couch, but add a sleeping and possibly traumatized girl to it and it becomes a job fit for Tom Cruise.

It's a miracle when he glances back at you and you're still sleeping soundly, burrowing further into the pillow with a soft sigh coming from your lips. The band-aid plasters to your skin, covering up the nasty cut but failing to hide the purple hickeys and bite marks on your neck. Draping a blanket over your body, he looks at you for a second before padding away to the bathroom.

Three minutes later and he saunters into the kitchen without a word, finding the remaining inhabitants around the dining table suspiciously silent for the trio. He appreciates the gesture more than they could possibly know. Their kindness comes out in weird ways sometimes, but it's there.

"Do you have any knowledge of how Joshua suspiciously disappeared from the loft this morning?" Natasha asks with a smirk, lifting her coffee cup to her lips for the last few drops while Sam sits down opposite of her.

He breathes out a puff of air through his nose, clenching his jaw while shaking his head to himself. "Kicked the jerk out a few hours ago," he answers while reaching for the cold slice of toasted bread Bucky never got around to eating.

"Why?" She asks, quirking an eyebrow in curiosity. She's not particularly mad or irritated. He saved her a chore, after all.

Sam swallows, running his hand down his face. Finding the right way to phrase what he's about to say is hard. He doesn't really know what happened either, except that asshole trying to have his way with you on the kitchen counter and leaving you bleeding.

"Joshua put his fucking hands where they didn't belong. Got Y/n bleeding and cryin' in the kitchen until I caught him pressing her up against the counter. So yeah, didn't want him in the loft any longer," Sam says, on the verge of seething out the words.

It's silent. Wide eyes staring at him with shocked gulps and knuckles tightening under the table, newspaper crumbled under Steve's grip and coffee cups put down. Silent.

The chair scrapes across the floor as Natasha pushes it out, coming up to her feet quicker than humanly possible with a scowl on her face. She's so angry. And hurt. For someone to have the nerve, especially a douchy one night stand, to touch her Y/n.

"Wait, Nat! She's sleeping," Sam calls out for her, to no avail as Natasha's already out of the kitchen.

Quick and determined steps take her to the living room, to your soundly sleeping figure on the enormous couch. Any other day she would scowl at anyone else who woke you up, but quite frankly your sleep is not her highest priority in the moment.

Throwing herself down on her knees in front of you, she pulls you into a bone crushing hug that wakes you up when the lack of air starts registering in your mind. You nearly let out a shriek over the suffocating wake up, but the scent of Nat's perfume still lingering from yesterday lets you know whoever is currently trapping you.

"Nat," you call out, voice mumbled by her hair.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry," she breathes out frantically, tightening her grip around you even though you thought it impossible.

"You're suffocating me," you wheeze.

She lets you go, resting her hands around your face instead as her concerned face appears in front of you. "Fuck, I'm so sorry he did that to you. I knew he was a dick but I didn't think he would go that far," she says.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes awake as you try to take in her pleading apology. You know what it's for, but you don't know why.

"Nat, why are you apologizing?" You ask through a teary smile.

"I brought the douchebag into our home. Oh, I want to break every bone in his body for touching you," she seethes. You can see the way she retreats into her own mind, where she's planning out the scarily intricate plan to murder Joshua using one of the 73 ways she knows how to kill a man without getting caught. She's always been scary.

"Nat," you whisper softly, tugging at her braid. She stares at your collarbone, seeing the band-aid on your skin before she runs the pad of her finger over it. "It's not your fault. You have terrible taste in men, but unfortunately you have no control over what they do."

"Goddamn right it's unfortunate," she mumbles under her breath.

A moment passes by before she flings her arms around you again, eliciting a gasp from your mouth before you answer to it. "Are you okay, baby?" She asks, lowering her voice until it's that smooth rasp people tend to fall in love with.

"I'm okay," you whisper. "I'll survive."

Crawling up to the couch, she doesn't let go of you for a second as she maneuvers you two until your head is resting on her shoulder. She breathes in deeply every other second.

"You're staring at me. Stop staring," you mumble as you catch sight of the three men in the doorway to the kitchen.

Steve runs his palm over his chin, hand resting against the top of the doorway with a sigh. He looks so painfully sullen, you might even wonder if he's more upset than you are.

"Sorry," Bucky mumbles with a shake of his head.

He turns around towards the kitchen, remaining with his back turned for a second before he glances over at you once more. He's hesitant, you realize. The doubt soon blows over when he abandons his prior plan to walk over towards the couch you're sitting in.

Leaning down, his lips linger on your forehead until your eyes close to relish in the feeling. Cold hand encasing your face, he wipes away a tear you barely noticed had formed from your cheek.

"Glad you're okay," he mumbles before walking back to his own room.

Bucky's not an affectionate person. Not openly, that is. He shows his love in different ways, secret ones. He already knew everything about Joshua five minutes after he stepped into the apartment. Bucky makes it his mission to do so about everyone stepping inside their home. It’s not going to be hard finding him, neither will it be hard leaking the pictures of him vandalizing the campus football court from two months ago. He has a feeling the guy won’t be a student much longer.

You let your eyelids remain closed, head still resting on Natasha's shoulder as her hand rubs up and down your arm. You thought you were done crying about it before you went to sleep, but water still leaks from your eyes.

The couch dips down beside you with a sigh. Broad arms steal you away from Natasha, leaning your back into his chest while his chin rests on top of your head. You breathe out, deeply, once Steve's warmth encases you. He's just always warm, no matter what weather or season. It's to your disadvantage in the summer, but in moments like these it's safety. Security.

Natasha looks at Steve with a glare. Admitting you look very sweet in his arms is not in her dictionary. And she was first. Finders keepers, right? She almost opens her mouth to protest when she sees Steve’s distant stare.

Steve leans his head against yours, letting out a deep breath. “Do you want to report the guy?” He asks, running his hand up and down your arm.

The question throws you off. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind, and quite frankly you don’t know what you want. Making it into an official case comes with a level of vulnerability and attention you don’t want, at all. But are you really going to let him get away with it?

“No,” you whisper after a minute of thought. You feel Steve tensing up underneath you, but you knew he’d disagree even before you opened your mouth. “I just want to forget it. Just maybe…spread the word around that girls should look out for him.”

“Are you sure?” Natasha speaks up from beside you, putting a hand on your leg.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Besides, Bucky has already left.”

“What? When?” Steve cranes his head towards the hallway, even though the door isn’t in sight from where he’s sitting.

“A few minutes ago. I’ll let him be the judge this time,” you say quietly while looking down at the chipped nail polish on your nails.

Steve groans behind you, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch. “That punk. He’s gonna bust his knuckles again.”

You smile, eyes closed and relishing in your friends’ presence. God knows what you would have done without them, but you’re not sure you’d want to find out.

Natasha turns her head towards the two of you with a smirk. “Something tells me he won’t use his right hand this time.”

“Sure as hell he isn’t,” Sam chimes in as he enters the room, a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

He sits down on the opposite end of the couch, setting down the cup in front of you. “Is this for me?” You ask, glancing up at his brown eyes.

“It’s not for Steve, at least,” Sam answers.

“Thank you. So much,” you breathe out on a shaky voice, emotions heightened and unsteady and you can’t help it when you get just a tad bit teary-eyed.

The hot liquid warms your sore throat, both hands wrapped around the cup Steve made you in his pottery class just a month after you had met. You know all of them are looking at you intently, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Maybe it’s a little embarrassing that there’s hickeys all over your neck, but their gazes are well-intended.

You lean back against Steve’s chest with a sigh, setting the cup down in your lap. “I really love you guys. You didn’t even doubt me for a second,” you say. “That—it means a lot. That you’re here for me without questioning.”

“Of course we are, honey. I would never doubt you. Ever,” Natasha says, leaning forward to look you in the eyes. You nod, keeping your eyes downcast.

“Love you, little one,” Steve mumbles against your hair. You resist the urge to tell him that he’s younger than you, only by a few months, but still.

“Y/n, look at me,” Sam says, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You mean a lot. To all of us. And god, I can’t believe I’m gonna say this,” he sighs. “Nobody messes with the people we care about.”

A moment of silence passes before he opens his mouth again. “That sounded lame,” he mutters under his breath while you smile at your friend.

“No. No, Sam,” you shake your head, leaning forward to take his hand into yours.

Your sincere heart-to-heart gets interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing gently, shoes being toed off in the hallway. The four of you sit silently, in wait for your roommate to come back into the living room. He never comes.

“Bucky?” Steve calls out. No answer.

“Bucky, please come here?” You say, leaning against Steve’s shoulder.

Soon enough you can hear soft footsteps padding across the wooden floor until the sight of Bucky in a hoodie and leather jacket on top of it comes into view. There’s a small cut on his cheek, accompanying his slightly brooding expression.

“What were you doing?” You ask. You have a few good guesses already, but there’s no harm in asking.

Bucky grunts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as all of your stares are locked on him. “Was out,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze.

“Told you he was gonna bust his knuckles,” Steve whispers into Nat’s ear.

“Well, he is right-handed,” she mutters.

“Your hand is bleeding,” you say, eyes zoning in on his cracked knuckles.

His eyes flicker down to his hand, fingers straightening out in front of him. Sure enough his knuckles are cracked open, seeping blood onto his fingers.

“What did you do, Bucky?” Nat asks with a knowing smirk, snatching your tea cup from the table and putting her lips to it.

He glances up at the four of you all sitting with expecting gazes. “He could still talk,” he mutters in defense.

You decide to leave it at that. After all, you’re okay. A little bruised and it’s going to take a while before you can lay your trust in men you don’t know again. But you have them.

Thank god.

I’ll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm & I Hit My Peak at Seven [one-shots that take place in the same AU]

[luveurmilk]

Tsunami.

The tsunami was now receding, leaving irreparable destruction and debris all within a matter of minutes.

or; Will Byers confesses to Mike Wheeler his last night in Hawkins.

Words: 3.5K

WARNING! A section of this short-fic contains two homophobic slurs. The section is marked with a series of asterisks like this (********) in the beginning and the end of the short section. Please skip if necessary, a description will be placed in the author notes at the end of what happens.

Thank you for reading, and please be kind. It is my first fic! :)

Will feels that he should be embarrassed or guilty, but he wasn’t. Infact, his heart was soaring as he buried his face into Mike’s pillow. His best friend was kind enough to lend him his bed to nurse a headache that had suddenly come about and the rest of the gang followed; only talking in quiet voices out of respect. On the other hand, his heart ached. A deep ache because this was their last night together. In the morning, Will was leaving Hawkins to get away from all the horrors the town brought to him. His mom, Jonathan, El, and himself were heading out west where the weather is warm and there isn’t a threat of a demogorgan, a mind flayer, or the Upside Down. Or so they hoped. 

Will was brought out of his thoughts by a disgruntled Lucas as he slapped the radio, fiddled with the antenna, and then grumbled lowly about how crappy the signal in Mike’s room was as the static sounded louder than the actual music playing. Just as quick as the static appeared, it was gone again, and the mood returned to its general happiness. “Apology accepted.” Mike huffed as his eyes shifted back to the magazine he was currently invested in. The cover was some rock band that Will had never heard of, but the faces matched the poster hanging up in his best friend's room and the cover of several cassette tapes scattered across his nightstand. 

“I think we’ve bugged Will enough. We should let him get some rest.” Max said as she and El stood to their feet together, said goodnight, and left the room. Dustin and Lucas agreed and followed suit not too long after. Will then sat up and gave a stretch as he figured him and Mike should head to the basement anyways where they all had sleeping bags set up just like old times. “We can stay here a little longer.. You know, until your headache goes away.” Mike said quietly and it made the shorter boy’s pulse jump because it had been ages since it was just the two of them. How could he ever pass up an offer like that considering this will be the last time he sees him for months, possibly longer. “O-Okay, yeah. That’s fine.” He pulled his legs up and got situated once again and they fell into a comfortable silence that was occasionally interrupted by the turning of a page from Mike’s magazine.

Will’s brown eyes took in the multiple drawings of his scattered along the walls of his friend’s room and he was able to pinpoint each time he had drawn them and given them to Mike with such excitement. He loved the way his eyes lit up and the compliments strung on for days after it was put on its permanent spot on the wall in this room or in the basement. It only made him think of the drawings that Mike will never get to see; drawings that were locked away in a moving van sitting outside of the Wheeler house at this very moment. A pang of sadness rushes through him and fills every crevice in his body as he recalls said art pieces that were filled with silent love confessions to his best friend. Will had very heavily considered giving him one the morning he left and that would be it. Mike would know how he felt and he wouldn't be around to listen to the disgusting things he would say about him to other people nor would he be able to watch their years of friendship crumble to the ground within a few seconds. He could hand the painting over through his open car window just before his mother put her foot to the gas. He had it all planned out, and yet there was this stirring feeling in his gut that it would fail miserably because Mike was never good with context clues or reading between the lines. 

So, Will settled for this. He settled with the faint smell of Mike’s cologne filling his nose making his heart jittery and the subtle brushing of their knees from where they sat sending waves of goosebumps throughout his frame. It wasn’t like he wasn't used to this, anyways. 

Suddenly, Mike gave a grunt and slammed the magazine shut, crumpling its pages as he carelessly tossed it aside on his bed. “This– All of this fucking sucks,” was all he said as his chin landed in the palm of his own hand and eyes focused on the desk before them. Will could only give a nod in agreement because, well, it did suck . Everything leading up to this moment sucked, and Will wishes he could turn back time and somehow change it all. A warm hand landed on his knee that burned and he swore his heart skipped a beat when it gave a subtle squeeze. He could feel his brain short circuiting and a flush forming on his cheeks. Damn these teenage hormones. “Promise me that we won’t lose contact.. Promise me that you’ll always write to me or call me?” Mike was looking at him now with such soft eyes and a furrowed brow, raw emotions that Will swore was only saved for him. He gathered himself and nodded quickly before placing his hand down onto Mike’s and squeezing. It was a selfish act, really, but it was enough to ease whatever panic that was brewing inside of Mike’s mind. “Of course I’ll write to you. You’re my best friend, and I'm not going to give that up anytime soon.” The grin that spread across the raven haired boys' features eased them both and Will was now hyper aware that their hands were still touching. 

The brunette gave another soft squeeze and pulled his hand away and noted how Mike let his touch linger a minute longer before he was also pulling away. “Just think of all the fun things you’re going to be able to do in California. From what Max has said it sounds so much better than Hawkins.” Will sighed and shook his head, giving a frayed smile. “Yeah, I guess, but it’s not going to be fun without the rest of the party there. I mean, sure, El and I will have each other, but it’ll be entirely different.” Mike turned his focus to Will again and the latter noted how his bottom lip was trapped between his teeth. A little habit Mike did when he was thinking too hard about something. “Hawkins won’t be the same without you, and.. And I’m going to miss you very much.” 

Will was sure hell froze over because Mike never expressed his feelings out in the open like this. He’s always closed off and he chooses to bottle it up until something tips him off and it all comes barreling out at someone or something. “ Hotheaded, ” Nancy had once said. He was too afraid to meet his gaze because he knew the moment he did words of adoration and years long of pining would come rushing out like a tsunami towards a shoreline. Fast, messy, and destroying everything in its path that took years to build. Every nerve was screaming at him, “ Tell him! Tell him now how you feel!”  

“Mike.. Mike, I need to tell you something. I need to tell you and I understand if you hate everything about me after it, but I can’t hold it in any longer.” His voice shook and his bottom lip wobbled as hot tears threatened to fall from fear and wishful thinking. God, his head ached, but he pushed it off as his blood pressure rising from the panic and stress of confessing bubbling up inside of him. Mike opened his mouth to say something, probably to protest how nothing could make him hate Will, but he shushed him. “Wait until I'm finished, please. If I don't say anything now, I may never be able to.” 

With a deep, bated breath Will released what he and his heart had been concealing all these years. Thoughts and feelings that had been under such lock and key not even God himself could pry open. “I’m gay, Mike. I’m gay and I like you.. No, I love you. I love you more than a best friend. I love you the way Jonathan loves Nancy or the way mom loves Hopper. You make me feel happy and you make me feel like I’m not a mistake. When I'm with you I have a sense of belonging and you’re the only thing that kept me alive when I was alone and scared in the Upside Down. I knew that.. I knew that if I could just get back to you I would be okay. And there were these moments where.. where I could hear you talking and they were the moments I just wanted to give up but you.. You kept me going.” There it was, the tsunami, barreling, flooding, and tearing down the walls his heart has built for years. With it came hot, fat tears that burned his eyes and stung his skin as they fell. This was his most vulnerable state, he thinks. He was now raw and out in the open and he just couldn't stop the multitude of confessions pouring from his mouth. His chest screamed for air but he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He needed to tell Mike everything all at once and as fast as he could. 

Will’s chest finally heaved as he sucked in a wet breath, tears stained his face and he felt like years of oppressed relief was finally here. “You are my safe space and you understand me the most and I am so in love with you everything within me aches.” 

The silence after was terrifying. It was long and Will felt his heart racing, but he couldn't look at Mike. His hands wrung themselves as anxiety now creeped in. The high that coaxed him through his confession was now fizzling out and his brain was catching up to his heart as he realized what he had just done. The tsunami was now receding, leaving irreparable destruction and debris all within a matter of minutes.

                                                                  ******** 

Will braced himself and turned his head to look at Mike and he was met with a face of pure disgust, and eyes that were a comfort to him were filled with an indescribable amount of hate. “Disgusting. You’re disgusting, Will.” Mike spat as he stood up from his bed to face him and he seemed to be seething. For once in his life, Will was terrified of Mike Wheeler.  “You’re not fucking normal, Will. You’re a fucking fairy. I tried to ignore what everyone said about you but it’s true. You’re a fag !” Will could feel his body trembling and every nerve he had seemed to scream at him to run, to save him from whatever words that were going to come next, but he was frozen. It even felt like the room was now colder from the mood shift. 

“Mike.. Mike, you don't mean that. You don’t!” He cried as he tried to convince himself that this wasn’t happening. That this was some sick dream his mind was coming up with because he swore he could hear someone screaming at him that wasn’t Mike. “I do! I mean every word. You, Will Byers, are fucking fairy and I want nothing to do with you!” Mike was closing in on him now, stalking towards him like a predator does its prey right before going in for the kill, and all Will could do was back up on the bed. 

                                                                ********

“Mike, please – You’re my–” He stopped. As his ‘best friend’ drew closer, his face seemed morphed and his eyes were off. “You’re not Mike.” And just like that the scene around him was changing into a place so familiar and a place that still brought nightmares to him to this day. He was still in the Wheeler house, but it wasn’t the Wheeler house. The walls were covered in thick vines and the whole place was cold, dark, and horrifying. He was in the Upside Down again. And what Will thought was Mike morphed and changed into a man that seemed to be completely made up of vines that were scattered across the Upside Down. 

“Watching you suffer is such a pity when I can make it all go away.” The man said and Will finally found the courage to bolt. He sprang from the bed and headed to the basement; screaming for Mike, his mom, Jonathan, anyone. The basement was empty, looking as it did all those years ago when he scoured the Upside Down in an attempt to get home, and covered in sickening vines. Will felt like a small child all over again. He let out a frustrated scream and slammed his hand against the wall, against the vines, that recoiled and let out a quiet shriek. In a quick second, he felt his body seize up and he was being pushed back against a pole as the scenery around him changed for the third time. The basement melted into a place unknown that looked like broken construction and clocks. Clocks were everywhere. Some broken and some in perfect condition. The sky was red and was brewing an ugly, unforgiving storm that was slowly covering the rest of the Upside Down with flashes of angry lighting and loud rumbles of thunder that shook his insides. 

Will struggled against the thick vinery winding around his body and pinning him to the pole behind him. “Let me go!” He wheezed and flailed, fighting a losing battle as the greenery squeezed him tighter. The unknown man was walking towards him until they were face to face and the younger boy was able to see just how ugly this thing was. “You would be better off here, with me.” The man says when he was close enough. “It’s time for you to join me, Will.” The man, the creature, said. Will called out for Mike again in a heavy sob as the vines curl around his neck like a vice and restrict his airflow. “He can’t help you, Will. Do you really think he’ll ever feel the same way about you? You’re eaten up with jealousy, aren't you? You hate Eleven. You hate that she has the potential to steal Mike away from you. You hate that you’re not like your friends and that keeps you awake at night. It eats at you and sometimes you wish you died here those years ago. Don’t you, Will? ”

He lets out another sob, heavy with hurt and pain as he realizes that this was it. He was going to die here and some selfish part of him didn’t care because maybe if he caved and gave in; the threat of the Upside Down would go away forever and his friends and family could move on and live in peace. It was like the thing before him could read his thoughts and the faintest, satisfied huff sounded from his nasal holes. He lifted his hand above Will’s head and closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. Whatever he was doing caused pain to erupt through his frame and he whimpered out, but gave up on struggling long ago. He just didn't have the energy to fight anymore.

“Will!” Someone called out. “Will, please!” The voice cried with such emotion and intensity it gave Will the strength to open his eyes. A gate was open and he was watching himself float in Mike’s bedroom with the entire household surrounding him, but what stood out to him was a sobbing and distraught Mike that was gripping his leg. “Will, come back to us, please. I can’t.. I can't be without you again, please.” His words were mixed with sharp, ragged breaths and hiccups as his body tried to regulate everything that was happening and every emotion he was feeling. He’s lying. The man’s voice rang out through his head. He’s just telling you what you want to hear. “Please don’t leave me alone again. Will, I love you. I’ve always loved you and I need you here with me! Please come back to me, to us!” 

This was enough to have Will struggling just enough that his hand broke free from the vines and he ripped one, nails digging into the slimy hive mind creature that caused just enough shock to have them loosen immediately. He fell to the ground with weak limbs and dashed as fast as she could towards the gate that seemed to be closing. He closed his eyes and jumped and prayed that he made it before it sealed. The next thing he felt was warmth and several frazzled voices swarming him, and hands all over him. Then the pain hit, his body felt like he had done hours of exercise and every muscle was screaming at him with every move he made. His vision was blurry but he was able to make out the face above his, he would know that face and touch even on his deathbed. “Mike.” He rasped and a hand was in his hair and then cupping his cheek as an ugly sobs left him. “I'm here. I'm right here. I have you.” The raven haired boy assured him and Will let himself relax as he weakly clung to his best friend's sweatshirt. “I love you so much.” Was all the brunette got out before everything faded to black as his body finally succumbed to all the stress it was just put through.  

The next time Will woke up it was morning. He could tell because sunlight was pouring into the room he was in, illuminating the walls and floor. He blinked his eyes a few times and looked around. Everyone was packed into Mike’s bedroom, and speaking of Mike; the boy was wrapped around him in a grip so tight he didn't know how he was still breathing. “Will, honey?” His mom said loudly, unable to conceal the happiness in her voice and slowly everyone else woke up as well to only surround him in a hug. “We thought we lost you!” El exclaimed and hugged him tighter. “I checked. You were sleeping.” She smiled softly as she pulled away, and Will was confused because there was still a grip around him. His head turned and it was Mike, who looked visibly tired even as he was sleeping. His face was puffy and cheeks were stained with tear tracks. “He did not sleep. Kept watch.” El said before moving aside and letting everyone else have a turn in hugging him. He then explained what happened to him and where he went, but left out some details to save face and to not hurt El’s feelings. “So, this thing is from the Upside Down, can read minds, and possess people from the Upside Down?” Dustin asked as his face blanched when Will nodded. “He said he wanted to put me out of my suffering and made sure to hit every insecurity I had.” He added on and swallowed thickly. “He can make you see things that aren’t there. He had a hold of me before I even knew.” 

Will thought he saw a flash of realization fill El’s visage for a brief second but she gave a subtle shake of her head to cancel out her own thought. “Mrs. Wheeler passed out when she saw you.” Lucas said quietly, “Your mom explained to her and Mr. Wheeler everything that had happened with us, you, and the Upside Down. I don’t think they’re believing it yet, but your mom is trying.” Will could understand that. If someone came to me and told me about other worldly monsters and an alternate dimension; I’d have a hard time believing it too.” They all shared a chuckle and Max punched his arm, lovingly, but still a punch. “Don’t do that again, Byers.” She warned before wrapping her arms around him in a hug. He willingly hugged her back and gave a reassuring squeeze that maybe, just maybe, whatever evil this was would be that last. “I’m going to check on the others. Do you guys want to come?” She said and gave Will a knowing grin before ushering everyone out of the room. 

Now, it was just him and Mike, again. His aching body laid down beside his best friend and took in his sleeping features before raising a shaky hand and running it through the mess of raven curls atop of his head. I love you. I’ve always loved you! Kept running laps in his mind. Was Mike just saying that? Was the tendriled man right? It seemed like the creature knew every button to press and every heavy burden to stirr up to make him weak and fragile, but it had been Mike again who pulled him from the depths of the Upside Down. 

An arm was tightening around his waist and he was pulled into the warm embrace of Mike; his heart. WIll curled right in and the tight squeeze was a signal that they would talk about this later, but for now.. 

For now, Will’s heart was soaring as he buried his face into Mike’s chest with the thought of leaving Hawkins far behind.

A/N: In the marked section, Will had been taken over by Vecna without realizing it. After Will confessed, the fake Mike said not nice things to him, making his worst fear come to life that Mike hates him. It's based off the scene in Vol. 2 where Max and Lucas are in the Creel house and Max had been possessed without knowing.

[erwinsvow]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐚𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬

a/n: hey everyone! hope you enjoy these college headcanons! part two can be found here! warning for nsfw in jean's, and mentions of alcohol/partying throughout!

jean kirstein

jean shows up to college thinking it’s gonna be high school part two, and quickly gets put in his place

his old antics (for both school and girls) won’t fly anymore, so he tries his hardest at both

i personally see jean as not the smartest, most gifted kid (in college!) but definitely one of the hardest workers

this man comes in pre-law and changes to sports management real quick

he definitely plays some kind of club sport, lacrosse or basketball or maybe even both and he is way too into it

like club lacrosse is his life.

he 100% has eyes for cheerleaders, because he loves idea of someone rooting for him, and if you are one, then it’s instantaneous

he notices you at one of his games, giving a shove to conny and asking if he knew who you were

which is met with “what do i look like, a phone book?”

he builds up the courage to ask you out eventually, to which of course you agree, and it’s pretty much a happy ending after that

makes for a lot of sweaty, post-match sex, with him still in his jersey and you in your uniform hiked up

reiner braun

frat bro reiner is a business major with a focus on finance

reiner is the guy who dedicates 100% of his time to school during the weekdays, and the weekends are for the bros

he’s the first in the library, last to leave lecture because he stayed behind to get clarifications, and pretty much aces everything

halloweekend, he decides to drag annie and bertholdt to a party, because they are in desperate need of letting loose

probably dressed up as something mildly douche-y that didn’t require a lot of thought: a foot ball player jersey with eye black improvised by annie

he is a heavy-weight if you’ve ever seen one, probably on his fifth cup of cheap beer and not even slightly buzzed

annie and bertholdt are sloshed, so he keeps one eye on them to make sure they’re alright

you, on the other hand, are serving as designated-driver for the night and sipping on soda

i think any kind of sweet, innocent costume (angel, fairy, woodland creature) would get his attention immediately

he goes over to you to try to make conversation, and finds himself stumbling over his words even though he just swore he wasn’t tipsy yet

but you find it cute, and given how you have seen him before around campus, studying all the damn time, you’re pleasantly surprised to find a sweet, interesting guy making conversation with you at a halloween party

eventually, your friends take off with their hook-ups, and reiner is left behind alone too after making sure everyone had a safe ride home

with no one left besides you two and his passed out friends, you offer him and his roommates a ride back to his dorm

after dropping annie off, you arrive at the dorm and help lug a blacked-out bertholdt to their room

you say goodnight and as you leave, feeling bold, you leave your number on the whiteboard hanging on their door

so that then turns into coffee-and-studying dates, and eventually a relationship before too long

armin arlert

i think we all know what armin is like in college: marine biology major and history minor

this is an effortless genius, so unlike reiner, he doesn’t have to spend all his time studying

i think armin would be the kind of guy who has school and life figured out, and he slowly realizes a healthy relationship is the one thing missing from his life

there’s honestly plenty of people who want to date him, if he had ever cared to return any of their gazes

i honestly see him being oblivious, so when a fellow classmate asks if he wants to study together, he goes “oh, sorry, i wasn’t really planning on studying, but maybe eren wants a study-buddy, i’ll let him know for you!” instead of realizing that was someone flirting

so it’s the same for you

you’re taking the marine sci class as a last resort, everything else was completely filled up, and you just had to get out of that physics class

but all this talk about oceans and sea-creatures is even worse, somehow. to put it short, you’re struggling, and armin is the kid who raises his hand at every question without so much as jotting down a note during lecture

you know mikasa through a friend-of-a-friend type situation, and ask her if armin would be willing to tutor you sometime

doesn’t matter that part of the reason you’re doing so poorly is because you’re staring at the back of his head most of class

armin and you get together to study on a saturday evening, and what began as a recap on the history of the ocean quickly turns into laughing, talking, and then “you wanna go grab something to eat?”

for someone so smart, he’s really dense

he thinks you’re being friendly and doesn’t want to assume you’re thinking this is a ‘date’ even though you’re internally screaming

it takes you leaning in for a kiss after he’s walked you back to your dorm for it to click

needless to say, he wasn’t quite so oblivious after that

eren yeager

eren was determined to get into the same college as armin and mikasa

my man is undecided, and then sociology after he’s forced to pick

not exactly a fuckboy, not exactly a stoner, just somewhere in between

procrastinates doing work and submits every thing a day late, even though he probably would have gotten full marks if it was on time

him and mikasa decide to take a marine bio class with armin, and he ends up falling asleep during lecture

i don’t see him going for a goody-two shoes type that wants to reform him, because he just wouldn’t want to deal with that

it’s not a toxic relationship, but pretty close to one

on again, off again ever since the two of you met in a dingy frat basement, absolutely hammered, and hooked up

this boy does not want to admit that he’s caught feelings, but eventually it comes to that because he is very much the jealous type

catches you engaging in polite conversation with reiner and he is seeing white in seconds

he realizes he has to make you his

marco bott

the most wholesome nursing major with a minor in english because he is a sucker for lit

i don’t think there is any shortage of girls who want to be with marco, just given how sweet and genuine he is

that being said, i feel like the few time he’s wanted to pursue a relationship with someone, they haven’t reciprocated/just saw him as a friend

which isn’t the easiest thing to deal with, but because he’s a mature angel, he doesn’t hold that against anyone

instead, he kind of succumbs to this false idea that people want to be his friend, and not his girlfriend, which he’s a little insecure about

that’s why i think you and marco would have idiot best friends to lovers, featuring everyone around you knowing how head over heels you both are except the two of you

you two meet in a particularly challenging class, and not recognizing anyone, you both turn to the friendliest face in the room to make study-buddies with

over a whole semester of late-night cramming (and talking), scribbling smiley faces on flashcards, and good luck texts before the exam, you realize how much you’re gonna miss constantly hanging out with marco

and on his end, he’s complaining to jean about how after the final, you two won’t have any reason to keep talking

“so ask her out then, you idiot”

“she probably doesn’t think of me like that…”

“are you blind?” jean says, with a roll of his eyes

after the class has ended and you’re both headed back home for winter break, you work up the nerve to text marco one last time

“let me know if you ever need help studying for another class :)”

you have no idea that he’s over the moon, and that finally brings an end to your friendship, and starts your relationship

bertholdt hoover

mister bertholdt is structural design and architecture major

there’s basically six of those total in your entire college, so he definitely gets a bit isolated/lonely sometimes

he basically came to college with reiner & annie, and figured he didn’t really need more friends than that

so when they’re busy, he’s just by himself

annie definitely makes fun of him for not spreading his wings and flying out of the metaphorical nest, but he’s comfortable with how it is

not a huge fan of the party scene, and prefers a quiet night of studying

i feel like you and him would be the last two studying in the library most nights, and sometimes walk out together after the librarian reminds you both the building is closing

so, when reiner and annie drag him to a party one weekend, he’s shocked to see you there too with outgoing friends of your own

he’s used to seeing you in the bright fluorescent lighting of the library, so this dim, hazy room after the shots have already gone to his head is hard to take in

you two eventually end up talking after your friends push you towards him

“funny seeing you here.” “i could say the same to you.”

he already has a crush (you do too, but he doesn’t want to accept that) so the alcohol inhibits his usual caution

a little bit of dancing, a lot of sitting on the pavement outside while looking at the moon, stars, and each other, topped off with a first-kiss starts your relationship

levi ackerman

teaching assistant levi is a staple of your college

almost infamous, really

you count your lucky blessings that he’s still a year or so away from graduating with his ph.d. in molecular biology and that he’s ta’ing this microbiology class

you’ve definitely heard all sorts of rumors, but you really don’t know what’s truth and fiction

he definitely hasn’t slept with a third of his students (right?) but the lingering way he looks at you isn’t helping quell your thoughts

technically speaking, teaching assistants and students are not allowed to date, interact, etc

until the semester in which you are their student is completed, at least

it doesn’t take long after that for you two to constantly run into each other

“how’re your new classes going? any hot ta’s?” he asks, sipping his tea from the bookstore cafe. you choke on your hot chocolate.

all this being said, you’re an upperclassmen about to graduate, possibly start a ph.d. or masters program yourself. i see him teaching upper-level courses exclusively.

it’s not long after that you admit your feelings to each other, since after all, there’s no time to waste

erwin smith

you’re a second year masters program in the history department. your specialization is military history, so of course professor smith is assigned as your thesis advisor.

i mean, he’s only written several textbooks on the subject

on first sight, you can’t believe he’s a professor. because certainly, this is a some cruel twist of fate. he’s closer to your age than some of his colleagues.

you both try to keep it strictly professional

at first least. this gets gradually harder and harder

there’s a certain chemistry there neither of you can deny.

having a mutual interest in the same subjects doesn’t help too much either. suddenly, you guys are spending hours pouring over topics for his next textbook and your thesis.

the conversation continues over chinese food in his office, long after the rest of the building has cleared out for their friday evenings

“well, i won’t keep you any longer. i’m sure you have much better plans on a friday night than talking military policy with me.”

“there is no where else i’d rather be.”

hope you all liked it! :)

[storyofmychoices]

All I Need

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist]

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley (F!OC) Book: Open Heart  (book one) Word Count: <1,100 Rating: General: fluff

Prompts: @choicesfebruary2022challenge : bubble bath; @choicesmonthlychallenge To Be: a single rose

Synopsis: After a long day at the hospital, Olivia is ready to head home to sleep, but Bryce has other ideas. (early in their relationship)

A small folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor as she opened her locker. If she hadn't been so tired and been more engaged in the conversations with her fellow interns, the little slip may have gone unnoticed. But right now, her only focus was getting her things and heading home after a long double shift.

She bent over, retrieving the curious object. Carefully, she unfolded it revealing a simple note: See you at 8. My place.

The weary lines around her eyes relaxed as she traced his handwriting. A night with Bryce—she sighed softly to herself—it would be nice... if it hadn't been such a long day; if she hadn't had to tell a family their child was positive for lymphoma; if she hadn't had to restrain a violent seizure patient...she rolled her shoulders back, shifting her neck, trying to relieve her aching muscles.

She took out her phone. It was almost 8 already. As much fun as she had with him, a hot shower and her pillow were calling her name.

"Got your note ❤️. I'm exhausted. Raincheck? 🥺🙏 "

His reply followed quickly. She hadn't even finished gathering her things. "I'll make it worth your while 😏 ."

Her face fell in her palm as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. A quiet cry of exhaustion rumbled on her lips as she exhaled not wanting to disappoint him.

Another text followed, "Look behind your sweater."

Her shoulders slumped at his cryptic text. She just wanted to relax. She lifted her sweater off the hook, revealing a single red rose and another note: Hey beautiful! I hope this made you smile. See you in a few.

She held the fragrant flower to her nose, its soft sweet scent calming her and leaving a smile on her face.

Her eyes closed as she worked up the energy to be her cheerful self just for a little longer. She took a deep breath, forced a smile, and changed quickly. She sent one last text as she left the locker room, "On my way!."

She checked her reflection in the cool silver of the elevator doors as they closed behind her, carrying her to Bryce's apartment. The pads of her fingers tidied the worn makeup beneath her tired eyes.

A vibrant red blur caused her lips to curl as the reflection of the rose reminded her of him.

The things we do for love, she thought to herself. The last word repeated as a warmth spread through her. Love. Her nose scrunched as she attempted to temper her spreading smile. She did love him, and she hoped he loved her too. She thought he did, but it was hard to know for sure. He was different with her, kind and gentle, but he still had his party-boy flirt reputation. He never strayed from her, but it was hard to ignore the other interns' and nurses' ogling gaze. She hoped his feelings were as deep as hers, and she was more than a booty call after a successful day of surgeries.

The door swung one a few seconds after she knocked, revealing Bryce standing shirtless, his grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

Olivia chewed the corner of her lip, her eyes raking down his toned, tanned physique.

He chuckled softly, his fingers curling beneath her chin, lifting her gaze. "Like what you see?"

Before she could respond, his lips brushed gingerly over hers. "I do, too!"

Her cheeks warmed under his tender greeting as he slipped his hand in hers, guiding her into the apartment and closing the door behind them.

Without another word, he led her toward the bedroom.

Olivia wanted to protest, to ask for a proper greeting before jumping into things, but her eyes were too busy, tracing down the very pronounced v-shape between his lower abs and obliques. She was having a hard time remembering why she ever considered saying no to this detour.

"I know you had a long day—" Bryce's tender voice pulled her thoughts back. He gestured into the warmly lit bedroom illuminated by candles. The bed was adorned with pillows, blankets, and towels; massage oils sat nearby. "I thought you deserve a night to relax and be spoiled."

"Bryce—" His name slipped from her lips as her fingers covered her mouth. All other words to convey her gratitude were lost.

"You give so much of yourself to your patients. Those kids are damn lucky to have you, and I am too!"

Her eyes welled with unshed tears at the kind gesture. No one had ever done anything like this for her.

He slipped her bag off her shoulder and offered to remove her sweater. "There's a warm bath waiting for you. Extra bubbles because I know you love them. Take all the time you need. I'll be waiting here to spoil you when you're ready."

She shook her head to the sides in disbelief. "I can't believe you did this for me. You didn't have to do this."

"I know, but I wanted to." He cradled her jaw in his strong hand, his thumb gently caressing her cheek, collecting the tear that slipped out. "You mean the world to me, Olivia. I hope you know that."

She nodded, attempting to hold back her tears of joy at his affection. "I do now. Thank you, Bryce."

He guided her head forward, brushing a kiss to her forehead. "Go relax in the bath; then, I'll treat you to the world's best massage."

"World's best, huh?"

"Mhmm." A sly grin played on his face. "Don't forget, magic hands!"

"How could I forget?" She laughed, turning her face to press a kiss to his palm.

"Go," he encouraged, taking a step back and gesturing to the bathroom. "Can I bring you wine or tea?"

She shook her head, taking a step forward. Her body craving the relief being submerged in warm water would bring. "No, thank you."

"Anything else I can get you then?"

Olivia paused in the bathroom doorway in complete awe of the relaxing scene he had created just for her. "Um, actually, yeah."

"Anything. Just name it."

She turned back, extending her hand to him, her warm smile meeting him, "You."

"Are you sure? I know you've had a long day. If you need to be alone—"

"No, I'm sure." She entwined her fingers with his once more. "All of this is beautiful, and I am absolutely taking you up on the world's best massage, but all I need after a long day is you."

This has been a WIP for so long I don't even remember what I had planned originally, this wasn't it (I don't think?) Who knows 🙈

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. Thank you so much for reading. I truly appreciate the support. Likes, comments, and reblogs are so greatly appreciated.

Tags in a reblog, please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed 💖

[80s4life]

You Take Good Care Of Her Pt.1

Word Count: 1,416

Status: Not Requested!

Fandom: The Expendables {1-3}

A/N: So this was one of my writings I have on my Wattpad, and decided to have it brought over here to Tumblr. This isn't my best work, but it's okay I guess.

Relationship: Lee Christmas x Reader 

Summary: Y/N and Barney Ross are half siblings. With their lives not being easy, the only people they had were each other, Barney raising her as his own.  But, that all changes when she decides to serve our country, earning many scars outsiders will never see.  When she returns however, she might actually get the happy ending Barney and her have always dreamed of.

Warnings: language, a little bit of angst

Masterlist The Expendables Masterlist Part Two

{Not my gif}

For the next few years, with Barney's extensive training and knowledge with hand-to-hand combat, how to quick draw a weapon, and how to know how to use it, Y/N had become a strong woman.  Y/N never understood how or why he knew these things, but yet again, she never doubted her brother for a second.  Barney has always been there for her, as he was now, teaching her self defense in the best way possible.

After Y/N had graduated high school, she joined the army, starting out as a nurse but quickly changing ranking when a horrific war came in, needing her well hidden skills.  Barney was proud of his little Gumdrop, the nickname he had given her from the day she was born, but he would be lying if he didn't say he was the least bit nervous.  He knew she could handle herself, especially when Y/N had even made it a point in learning all different types of weapons, perfecting Barney's signature skills, and going way beyond anything either of them could imagine.  Barney was almost like a proud father.

To say that military didn't change a thing about a person would've been a full-faced lie.  It had made you hard, cold to the touch, maybe in the worst ways selfish, too.  Y/N was never one to put herself first, but in the military world, although you are all fighting alongside each other as a team, the main point was for you to take care of yourself and only focus on keeping yourself alive; no one else mattered on the battlefield.

Y/N had started to write a diary, trying to keep herself from driving off the deep end into insanity.  She was lonely, something that was expected in this way of life.  Battle was a different world, a separate one from the world of the more fortunate ones, the ones not in war.  Y/N had made a few friends, but as the wars raged on outside, they slowly died off, scaring her, and not wanting to have to hurt as much as she does because of how much she cares.

But after all, nothing is permanent.  No one stays forever, and that made Y/N miss her brother all the more.  As she writes in her diary, she also wrote letters home to Barney, those that could have a range of time before getting a response back.  After all, Barney was stuck on missions, making a group called the Expendables, and spending so much time up just to not be alone, worrying for his baby sister, and if she will actually come home alive.

After 10 years, Y/N was able to return home, different, but whole.  Barney, who had responded a few weeks before, had been the first to see her come down the escalator of the airport, more than ready to feel whole again, to have his family back.  When she had spotted him, she practically tackled anyone in her way, almost tripping down the steps to get to her brother.  With a lunge and a jump, she crushed her older brother in a rib shattering hug, tears of joy not only pouring out of her eyes, but his too, although he'd never admit to it.  Clearing his throat he said, "Let's get you home Gumdrop."

After loads of catching up, Barney told her there were people he wants her to meet, as he was going to show her what he had spent so much time training her for, to be one with the boys, the Expendables.  Barney had blabbed about what it is he had done on the ride before entering Tool's shop, which is what made Y/N so eager to meet the rest of the gang, knowing what and who they were before they even entered her life.

The first person she met was Tool, an older man with a rugged smile, warm eyes, streaked hair, and a creative eye for everything he sees.  Y/N enjoyed him and took a close liking to him immediately, becoming a weird yet funny father she never had.  She was caught up in a conversation with Tool, missing the warm smile her brother had as he watched his sister find someone so alike to her, talk to her, and share interests that normal fathers would, even if it wasn't by blood.  Then, multiple other men filled the room of Tool's tattoo shop, the smell of testosterone, grease, and smoke filling the room as the roaring of motorcycle engines came pouring in, soon shutting off.

Barney and Tool introduced Y/N to every person of the group before they all spread out and did their own thing.  Toll Road, one of the members, had talked to her, being kind and gentle, a total opposite of his professional career choice.  After that, Y/N had made her rounds, talking to everyone: Gunnar Jensen, quiet, handsome, tall, and quite funny.  Yin Yang, small, quick-witted, loyal, and very caring.  Hale Caesar, the most hilarious person Y/N had ever met, very playful, and a lot of fun to hang out with.  She had met everyone, except one; Lee Christmas.  

A few times during the night, their eyes had met, as if it were electric that made them shudder and stare on many occasions.  But, although many looks were made, he had made it his duty to avoid her like the plague.  "But why?" was a constant thought that crossed her mind.

As time passed, Y/N had become just one of the guys, squeezing her tiny self into the little family they had all made.  Tool had given her her own specialty Expendables tattoo to make it official too.  Decorating it with vines and flowers, "Matching your personality," Tool would tell her, "Beautiful and delicate alongside other flowers in a bundle, yet hard and piercing when messed with by the wrong hands."  Y/N enjoyed her tattoo all the much more, taking his words to heart and placing a sweet kiss on his cheek.  She never realized the eyes that watched her so calmly from afar though.

What Y/N didn't know was how Lee actually felt, and that was a charge he knew was on him.  It never stopped him from getting jealous though, stiffening as he watched her every moves.  He had fallen for her soft Y/E/C eyes, and Y/H/L, Y/H/C hair that only she could make beautiful the second he met her.  He would talk to her every now and then, but always kept his distance, knowing exactly who she belonged to.  Barney would have his ass hit by a train if he ever touched her, and that was because she had gone through so much already, Barney not wanting anymore pain in her life.

Despite his attempts, he knew he wouldn't ever be able to resist her, and for that, he didn't care what he had to go through, he was going to have her. Because she was his, and he was hers, no matter who knew.

To be continued...

[fanmoose12]

Levi doesn't know what is killing him more - the excruciating pain in his leg, the constant boredom or sympathy mixed with adoration he keeps seeing in the eyes of people around him.

Adoration, and, to some degree, even sympathy is much better that unabashed hatred and disgust, and Levi should be thankful to Onyakopon for finding him a hospital that doesn't treat him like an abomination.

Nonetheless, Levi would rather left alone, far away from curious patients, kind doctors and caring nurses.

All this sudden attention, all this impersonal concern... It's a good thing, Levi thinks. He wants to like it.

But he doesn't.

Truth be told, he hates it.

He wants to go back to the way things were before. He wants to go back to the infirmary in Survey Corps. There, the doctors weren't at all nice. They grumbled and scolded every soldier, complaining that they were wasting their lives for nothing. Levi used to hate them all. But now he wants to go back, there, to Survey Corps, to his comrades- to everything he's lost.

***

There is a nurse, who visits him every morning. She opens the windows, letting in sunlight and warm wind. She brings medicine - bitter and viscous, and she tries to sweeten it with her smile.

It doesn't work, though, not quite. Her smile just isn't sweet enough.

She redresses his wounded leg, a sad mist going over her eyes as she looks at the mess of bones, lacerated skin and muscles.

Levi doesn't ask what she sees there. He doesn't ask if he'll be able to walk again or not. In the very beginning, when he was just transferred here, he used to ask about it every morning.

"You'll be up and running in no time," doctors and nurses assured him in unison.

They don't do that anymore. And that, Levi assumes, is an answer in of itself.

After her morning checkup, the nurse returns at noon, bringing him his lunch and another shot of medicine.

If he has no visitors, she spends the afternoon with him, reading a book or fruitlessly attempting to spark up a conversation.

She asks about their struggle against Eren, Battle of Earth and Heaven as they call it now, but there is nothing Levi can say about it, except that it was a pointless massacre, started by a foolish boy.

He doesn't wish to talk about it, doesn't want to even think about it. The others have forgiven him, Levi knows they did, but he can't forget so easily. There is an ugly, dark feeling inside him, a spanless anger that will never go away.

Too many had died, too many lives were lost because of Eren. Men, women, children, Levi can't even think about it, still can't quite imagine what a monster the little boy with bright eyes became.

And now that little boy had taken lives, too many of them. All of them break Levi's heart, but there is one of them that hurts the most, that makes it hard to wake up because sometimes he just can't seem to find a reason to.

When he refuses to talk about the mess that was the Battle of Earth and Heaven, when he ignores the question about the war between Marley and Paradise, the nurse asks him about his dreams.

And the question is so sudden, spoken so out of blue that it takes Levi a while to get his thoughts into order.

Dreams... He's not sure he's ever had one that was solely his own. He's more used to following someone else's dreams - he shared the dream to get out of the Underground with Farlan and Isabel, he wanted to eliminate all titans and see the world behind the walls alongside his comrades from Survey Corps, he longed to start a life Hange had described to him.

But now all of them are gone, and he's all alone. There is no one he can share a dream with.

But I'm still here, Levi reminds himself. He's still here, still alive. And if he can't follow someone else's dream, maybe, it's time to get a dream of his own.

"I'm thinking about starting a tea shop..." he whispers.

"Well, that's a start," the nurse smiles, and Levi slowly relaxes.

***

"She's lovely," Onyakopon remarks during one of his visits.

The nurse has just left the room, after feeding Levi his medicine and putting a fresh bouquet of flowers on his bedside table.

Levi shrugs in answer to Onyakopon's words. The nurse is lovely - long blond hair, pretty green eyes. She is full of life, she looks so young, but then again... Maybe, she's not as young as he thinks she is. Maybe, it's him who feels much older than he looks.

"You know," Onyakopon smiles, looking at the flowers the nurse brought. "If you ever wish to..."

"I don't," Levi cuts him off, his tone harsh.

He knows what Onyakopon wants to say. Sees in his eyes the same way he hears it in Gabi and Falco's awkward hints.

But he doesn't want to meet someone new, doesn't want to start a new life. He wants his own life back, the one that was promised to him but denied. The one he dreamt about whenever things became too frantic.

Just get through this, he used to tell himself, get through this and this is it, you'll have your chance, you'll get a shot at having a normal, happy life.

And now he got through this. However, Hange didn't.

***

The time goes and soon, much sooner than Levi expected, the doctors tell him that he's ready to be discharged.

Levi doesn't know how to feel about this. He used to hate hospitals with passion and ached to get out as fast as possible. Hospitals meant being out of loop, meant boredom and pitying looks from everyone around him.

However now... He's not nearly as eager to leave as he was before. He already feels lost inside his small, one-bed ward. What is going to happen when he has to move forward? How is he going to find his place in a world he doesn't even know?

He's done all of it before, though, two times already. He left the Underground and discovered a world with bright sun, faraway stars and harsh storms alongside Farlan and Isabel. He found the ocean and learnt about the rest of the world with his team and his Hange.

But they're not here anymore. Farlan's soft voice and Isabel's delighted laugh don't ring in his ears. He doesn't have Erwin's calm, determined presence to show him the path forward. Hange's gentle, caloused hand doesn't hold his anymore.

It's not the first time he has to navigate through a strange, unknown world. But it's the first time he does it all by himself.

***

It's his last evening in the hospital, and the nurse is sitting beside him, the book in her hands long forgotten as she carefully studies his profile.

"So," she quietly begins, hands on her knees. "We talked about war and dreams... And what about love?"

Love is dead, Levi wants to say, but is it really?

He looks at the window behind nurse's shoulder, his eyes tracing the faint light emitting from the stars. Even here, in the city, they're bright. Just like her eyes.

And if he strains his hearing a bit, he can hear laughter ringing through the night. It reminds him of her too.

These days, almost everything reminds him of Hange.

It's natural, of course. She saved the world and, before that, she saved him. She left her traces all over, even on him. Every time he looks in the mirror or touches his face, he is reminded of that quiet night, of her gentle touch and her soothing, albeit frantic words.

Hange isn't dead, people like her don't really die, they just leave this world for a while.

And his love... it might have died, but it's not dead. It will always live inside of him, in the depth of his heart that he had devoted to her.

"Love..." he starts, still staring up at the sky. "It hurts. It breaks your heart, it leaves you hollow and empty. And yet... those small moments you share, that short-lived bliss... It's worth all the pain."

"And your love?" the nurse asks, her eyes shining. "Were they worth it?"

"She was," Levi says, but quickly corrects himself. His love might have died, but she's not dead. She just left. Levi can't leave now, he has a little tea shop he has to open and he wants to do at least something, whatever he still can, to make sure that the world she gave them won't disappoint her. But when his time will run out, he will leave too, and then they will meet again, he's sure. "She is still worth it," he murmurs and smiles for the first time since Hange left.

[i-need-entertainment]

Haikyuu!! Boys getting stuck places and having to ask you for help

Characters: Akaashi, Washio, Konoha, Kita, Suna, Ushijima, Yahaba, Iwaizumi, Futakuchi, Daishou, Numai and Iizuna

**Today has been pretty bad, but my sister, @foodacoochie gave me this idea and it made me giggle and inspired🥺🥺 thanks dude💙**

Warnings: Drugs in Washio’s but they’re for a surgery and being used responsibly and for pain, just the boys getting stuck and not being able to get out of places/things lol

Akaashi Keiji:

Akaashi had been over at your house, you guys were ‘chilling’ and what not, just wasting the Saturday away.

Your family had recently done some renovations on your house, and one of those renovations was changing all of the door nobs.

Your mom had called you downstairs to come talk to your grandmother on the phone.

You knew that you’d be on the phone for a while, so you told Akaashi to do whatever until you got back. You had been gone for 5 minutes when Akaashi needed to use the bathroom.

Luckily, you had one connected to your room!

He walked in the door, shutting it behind him before he froze at the small ‘click’ he heard.

Whipping around he immediately tried the door nob, only to groan when he realized it was locked.

From the outside.

You see, you had insisted on putting the door nob on yourself, but when you did so, you had managed to put the lock on the wrong side of the door.

And when you showed him what you did, he could distinctly remember you locking the *then open* door.

So as soon as he shut it, it locked.

He sighed as he shook his head. He had also distinctly remembered you telling him it would be at the very least 30 minutes before your grandmother would let you go, so he was going to be here awhile.

He did his business then sat on the edge of the bathtub, sitting and waiting until you came back upstairs.

When you came back up to your bedroom, you were surprised to not see Akaashi sitting on your bed where you had left him. 

You softly called his name before hearing him sigh and a defeated sounding ‘in here’ from your bathroom.

You raised an eyebrow before trying the door nob, slapping a hand over your mouth when you realized you had locked the door.

Unable to hold in your giggles, you unlocked the door, almost snorting at the deadpan look your boyfriend gave you.

Washio Tatsuki: 

**he may seem out of character, but it’s because he just got his wisdom teeth out, and as someone who has recently had that done, I know that for some people their personalities do a 180 switch**

Washio had just had his wisdom teeth removed.

At first his mom was going to take him home, but she had to go into work, so you offered to take care of him and take him home from his surgery.

When they walked Washio out into the waiting room, you hurriedly walked over to him, because as soon as the nurses let him go, he started to go down. Giggling when you struggled to hold him up.

Now, keep in mind, Washio is a big guy. He’s 6′2 with a broad build and lots of muscle, so he’s not exactly light.

Seeing as he had just had a major surgery, he was very doped up on drugs, and seeing Washio drugged up was nothing short of hilarious.

He was very clingy and very giggly, laughing at anything he found remotely amusing. A night and day difference from his usually calm and stoic demeanor. 

After you somehow managed to get him in the car, you began to drive him back to his house.

You got to his house and pulled into the drive way.

Before you could help him out of the car, you had to make sure he had a clear path to the couch where he would be sitting.

You had left the keys in the ignition and the air conditioning on because it was a hot day, and let’s face it, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Walking back out to the car you went to open his door, only for the handle not to budge.

Your brows furrowed as you tried to open it, looking to the inside of the door only to see all of the doors locked.

...uh oh..

You knocked on the glass, gaining the attention of a very drowsy looking Washio who just lazily waved when he saw you.

You, who had no way to actually get to him, started frantically pointing to the unlock button, him looking at you like you had grown 3 heads.

He finally tried the door handle, only to find it didn’t open.

You could faintly make out the words ‘i’m stuck’, when he realized he was ‘stuck in the car’.

You watched as he grew more and more frustrated with the door not opening.

You were pointing to the unlock button, him then pressing every button except for the unlock button.

Thankfully, he pressed the window button, rolling it down so you could reach your hand in and unlock the door, finally being able to help him inside.

Konoha Akinori:

Not everyone knows this about your boyfriend, but he is very competitive.

He just so happens to have a younger sister, who is also very competitive.

On this particular day you had been over at his house, his sister had been in the living room with you guys when a movie about dancing or whatever came on.

Konoha jokingly scoffed when the ballerina did the splits, stating that “I could do that” while you rolled your eyes, but his sister laughed, “Yeah okay boomer.” 

Glaring Konoha turned towards his sister, who simply narrowed her eyes back at him, “What was that?” She stood her ground, you nervously watching from the sidelines.

“Boomer, and I stand by it. You have the flexibility of an 80 year old man.” He narrowed his eyes at her before he laughed, standing up and walking to the middle of the floor.

Without any warning he, albeit slowly, fell into the splits, cringing when he got like 5 inches away, entire body shaking.

“s-see?” His sister was laughing as he stayed there, high pitched sounds of pain escaping him.

He, finding himself unable to stand or move for that matter, continued to suffer, heavily contemplating every decision he had ever made.

“y/N, hELp”

Kita Shinsuke:

Kita was very responsible, so you never had to worry about him getting himself into silly situations he couldn’t get himself out of.

But, everyone has their moments.

You and Kita were spending the day with his grandmother!

You guys had gone through old photo books, and made some desserts, now she wanted to teach you and Kita how to finger knit!

It seemed easy enough, and in no time you had gotten the hang of it and were on your way.

Kita however, was having a little more trouble.

He had gotten how to wrap it around his fingers and how to pull it but...

Somewhere along with way, he messed up.

And he messed up bad.

He didn’t really know how it happened, but before he was aware of it his fingers were caught in a tangled web of yarn, somehow he managed to knot both of his hands together, eye brows furrowed as he looked down to his hands.

You held in your laughter when you saw him, hopelessly caught in strings, as he tried to figure out how to get out of them.

It took 20 minutes and both you and granny to release him from his self-made prison.

He stuck to a different activity after that.

Suna Rintaro:

You had a big project coming up, but your boyfriend did not, and wanted to hang out with you.

You, who also wanted to hang out with him, let him as long as he let you work.

He promised he would cause no such distraction and be like a fly on the wall.

That doesn’t mean you believed him, but it was nice he made an effort.

Anyway, after just under an hour he got bored just scrolling through instagram.

So, he got up from his position on your bed and sauntered over to your vanity where he sat.

You didn’t pay him much mind, he was 16 so it’s not like you had to babysit him.

Er- you shouldn’t have to babysit him.

Fiddling around with the things on your desk, he stumbled across the small dish you kept your rings in.

There was one ring in particular that really stuck out to him.

It had a silver band and a dark blue gem, it was really pretty. He remembered you saying you didn’t wear it often, but he couldn’t remember why so he just shrugged and slipped it on his left middle finger.

He had been holding his hand up, looking at it, cause it really was a pretty ring.

All was fine, all was nice, until he tried to remove the ring. Then, some problems were presented.

The most prevalent of those problems being the ring was stuck, like really stuck.

And the second being he remembered why you didn’t wear the ring a lot, it was a size too small, for you.

So it was much too small for him.

Claiming defeat he called your name, defeatedly holding up his hand, and cringing as you called his name.

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

The team had finished practice and were fooling around in the locker room, making stupid bets and doing stupid things

Underestimating just how competitive (and curious) their captain was, Tendo and Yamagata bet 25 dollars Ushijima couldn’t get into a locker, Kawanishi and Shirabu each bet 35 dollars saying he could, and Reon bet 45 saying he would get stuck.

Being genuinely curious what would happen, and being heavily encouraged by his teammates, Semi found an empty locker, rigging it open before ushering the ace in.

It was quite small, and not a comfortable experience at all, but he was also never one to turn down a challenge.

So after some major manipulation and hitting his head, he got fully into the locker.

Tendo and Yamagata forked over their 25 dollars, imploring Reon to do the same before Reon shook his head.

“Let’s see if he can get out before I pay my money.”

All eyes were back on the ace, whose eye brows were furrowed in...concern.

He was stuck.

Bad.

Not wanting to face the wrath of the demon coach, they called the next best candidate to deal with this kind of situation, Ushijima’s girlfriend, you.

Your jaw dropped when Semi told you that your boyfriend was stuck in a locker because...hOw?!?!

Reon made a lot of money that day~

Yahaba Shigeru:

He had been over at your house and the two of you were taking a nap in your bed.

You had both since woken up, and were now on your phones.

You, still very sleepy, weren’t paying attention and before you or Yahaba could stop it your phone had slipped down the crack between your bed and the wall.

You groaned as you dragged your hand down your face, Yahaba, being the wonderful boyfriend he is, offered to get it for you.

He laid on his side as you used his phone to shine the flashlight down the side of your bed.

He stuck his arm down, but it was just barely too short.

Without realizing it he had slipped to the very small edge of the bed, inevitably slipping off only to be caught between the wall and your bed.

He groaned as he felt like he had been stuck to a wooden plank, unable to move any parts of his body.

You felt terrible, seeing as he had offered to get your phone for you and had proceeded to get himself stuck.

You grabbed his arm and shifted yourself to the opposite side of your bed, and after lots of tugging and sounds of pain from your boyfriend, you were able to roll him back onto the bed.

You rolled your eyes with a smile as he waved your phone in the air, a dorky smile on his lips as he had, despite being put in a very uncomfortable situation, managed to get your phone.

Iwaizumi Hajime:

Hanamaki had bought this bag of ‘tricks’ from the dollar store, for fun and what not.

One of the things that had been in there was a Chinese finger trap.

He brought a few of the things into his bag, hoping to trick at least one of the members.

But most of all he wanted to trick Iwaizumi, if nothing else he thought it would be funny.

So, when the Seijoh 3rd years met for lunch in the club room, and you, Iwiazumi’s girlfriend had of course joined them, he decided then was the perfect time to try.

“Yo, Iwaizumi! C’mere!” Iwaizumi, recognizing the teasing tone in Hanamaki’s voice, was instantly on guard, expecting something crazy to be suggested.

“What?” Hanamaki smiled, pulling the finger trap out of his bag, Iwaizumi looked at it, raising an eyebrow at the wing spiker.

“I heard no one has ever been able to put two fingers in this at the same time without getting trapped.” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, grabbing the trap from Hanamaki and mindlessly stuck on finger in each end of the trap.

Just a few seconds prior, you had looked over Hanamaki’s shoulder, recognizing the trap, but before you could warn your dear boyfriend, he had already stuck his fingers in the trap, and pulled it, tight.

“Hajime...do you know what that is?” He shook his head, eyebrows furrowing when he tried to pull his fingers out, only to have the trap get tighter. 

“Hajime, it’s a Chinese finger trap!!” Iwaizumi’s eyes widened before he turned his head to glare at Hanamaki, curses ready on his tongue as Hanamaki and Matsukawa just about died of laughter, Kunimi snickering in the background.

It took 4 people and approximately 7 minutes to free him from the trap.

Futakuchi Kenji: **in tribute to my dear sister who locked herself out of her bathroom today🥰**

You and Futakuchi had gone to the beach with your family for the weekend, and the two of you were relaxing on the beach.

The beach had these lounge chairs, the ones that fold?

Well, you and Futakuchi were getting everything set up, he had just finished setting up the umbrella and you had laid out a large towel and set the bags down.

You guys both sat down and enjoyed the warm sun, and relaxed to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore.

About an hour later, Futakuchi decided he wanted a drink, and after asking what you wanted he left on his way.

Unknown to him, these chairs were really tricky.

They were good chairs and really comfortable, but you had to be careful how you sat in them.

After about 10 minutes he returned with the drinks, setting them down on the small cooler.

He went to sit on the lounge chair, expect that he more like flopped onto it, and before he could react the thing had snapped in two, you sitting up after hearing your boyfriend yelp.

You turned your head to see your boyfriend, squished in half by the lounge chair, with no signs of being freed.

After recruiting the help of your dad and a few kind passerby's, you were eventually able to free him of the lounge chair...

but that was after you took a picture and sent it to Aone.

Daishou Suguru:

You and Daishou had been on a date, nothing too fancy, just strolling around the city and what not.

You were just talking about random things when your eye spotted an empty park nearby.

You smirked as you nodded towards it, dragging your boyfriend towards it, you knew he couldn’t resist you if he tried.

You two were just fooling around, him chasing you around and you evading him like you both were 5 and it was ‘boys vs girls’ tag.

You had ran away from him when you spotted the set of toddler swings, y’know, those ones with the leg holes?

Yeah, those ones~

Anyway, you decided not to get in one because ✨danger✨

But your boyfriend took that as a challenge.

Without warning he grabbed the chains and jumped, sliding his legs through the very small holes and sinking into the seat.

You slapped his arm as you laughed, hand on your hip as you judgmentally looked at him.

“You’re gonna get stuck, there’s no way you’re getting out of that by yourself.”

He rolled his eyes, smirk still present on his face as he started to slowly swing back and forth.

You shook your head, shifting your weight to one leg as your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“Okay then, now try to get out.”

He rolled his eyes at your tone, grabbing the chains as he tried to pull himself up.

Only to bring the seat with him.

Your eyes widened as it set in, his smirk disappearing and his own eyes widening when he realized it as well.

He was stuck.

And at that moment, some of the Nekoma boys volleyball team members just happened to be passing by.

Kuroo’s laugh rang throughout the park as you desperately tried to free your boyfriend.

Numai Kazuma:

You and Numai were hanging out at your house, it was Halloween night and you guys were just gonna chill out and watch some movies and eat candy.

But before that, you guys were going to take your younger brother out trick or treating!

Your little brother decided he wanted to be a cowboy, and his outfit came with a pair of plastic handcuffs.

You were helping your little brother get his costume on while Numai messed around with the handcuffs.

He had latched one side onto the table leg, mindlessly scrolling through his phone as he fiddled with the cuffs.

He doesn’t know what came over him, but without thinking he latched the empty side of the handcuffs onto his wrist, tightly onto his wrist.

He didn’t think much of it, until it sunk in.

Had he really just done that??

You were fixing your brother’s costume when you heard your boyfriend call your name.

“Uh, Y/n?” You hummed, continuing to work on his costume.

“Where’s the key to the handcuffs?” 

“Oh, they got thrown away with the package, that’s why I set them..over...there..Kazuma.”

You turned around to see him nervously smiling while his hand was indeed handcuffed to the coffee table.

You blanched as you remembered the trash had already been taken out, so they key was gone.

Glaring at your boyfriend you sighed, shaking your head before you started to laugh, hiding your mouth as you continued to laugh at his misfortune.

Eventually you did help him.

It took 3 tries and 4 different tools, but with the help of your dad you were able to get his wrist free of the handcuffs.

Iizuna Tsukasa:

Iizuna has 2 sisters.

1 older sister, and 1 younger sister (ayyyee middle children let’s go-)

You just so happened to be very good friends with your boyfriends sisters, and you guys often had a lot of fun together~

One of the wats you guys had fun was messing with your boyfriend.

Todays scheme: Dress Tsukasa up as a girl. Simply because you could.

And seeing as he lost a bet to you the other day, he couldn’t refuse it.

Luckily, his older sister had a dress she accidentally ordered in a size too big, it would still be snug on him, but it would do the job.

His older sister did his make up, you worked on his outfit as the youngest fixed his hair, him sitting through the whole ordeal trying not to take away too much trauma from it.

Leaving the room so he could change, you all patiently waited as he got changed into the dress, laughing at the pained noises he made as he slipped on the dress and shoes.

You couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of you as your boyfriend stumbled out of the room, heels way too small and dress uncomfortably tight.

You all snapped the pictures you needed and he sacrificed what was left of his dignity.

Waving off you three, he hobbled back into his room, kicking off the heels and attempting to pull the dress over his head.

I say attempting because as he tried to move his arms to grab it he made a very disturbing realization.

He couldn’t grab the hem of the dress...

he couldn’t even reach behind him.

He was stuck.

And the only ‘help’ he had was his sisters and his girlfriend. 

[omg-imagine]

Loopy

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x female!V

Summary: V is a little loopy from her anesthesia, and Johnny finds it amusing.

Words: 1.7k

A/N: Requested by @thescorpionrodriguez. Hope you enjoy!

“Come on, V, wake the fuck up already.”

Silence. Johnny swears he could hear a pin drop.

V’s body remains lax on the bed; her eyes wound shut as if she were sound asleep. Slow and rhythmic, the rise and fall of her chest were calming, lulling. For once, she looks to be in peace, a rare moment for those who live and breathe in Night City.

She had been lucky. Extremely lucky. Two or three millimeters more to the right and the bullet that pierced her abdomen would have hit an organ. By some miracle, it missed anything vital and had exited out cleanly. It did fucking hurt judging by the sound of her agonizing groans, but here she was—still kicking, still alive.

And Johnny’s relieved that she was. They may not get along at times, but he genuinely cares for V. Hell, he would even consider her a good friend. She could call him a snarky asshole as often as she wants (and she does), yet he knows that deep down, she too has grown a soft spot for the rocker boy.

It’s been hours since the mission that went awry, and Johnny was getting pretty antsy. Vik had to put V down while he worked on repairing her cyberware. Nothing major, though the anesthesia should have certainly worn out by now. Much to Silverhand’s surprise, the ripperdoc wasn’t acting all too worried about it. He thinks V could use the sleep since he’s aware of how little she’s been getting.

Unfortunately, Johnny was all but a patient man. Bored out of his damn mind, he’s tired of roaming around the operating room, waiting and waiting for V to regain consciousness. Johnny’s more than ready to leave, perhaps grab a smoke afterward. He hasn’t gone this long without one lately, and he can’t enjoy one if V’s lying here, knocked out cold.

Nearly the rest of the day flies by, and the sun begins to set. That’s when he feels it; a spark—a familiar jolt of electricity emitting in the depths of V’s mind. Johnny manifests by her bedside, watching as her body finally stirs awake. That’s my girl, he silently praises, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips. V’s eyes flutter open, taking a minute to survey her surroundings before her line of sight lands on him.

“Well, look who decided to come back to life,” Johnny quips, leaning closer. “You doing alright, kid?”

V doesn’t respond. Rather, she bursts into a fit of giggles out of nowhere.

What the fuck?

Bewildered, Johnny glances everywhere but notices nothing amusing of the sort. “Care to share what you find so funny?”

“You’re too good looking to be my nurse,” V drawls, no doubt experiencing side effects from the anesthesia.

“I’m no nurse, princess, but thanks,” he corrects her. Then, it dawns on him. “You recognize me?”

She blinks at him blearily, the gears in her head turning as she tries to put a name to the face. “I dunno, should I?”

“It’s Johnny. Johnny Silverhand. Ring any bells?”

Again, V chuckles, a light-hearted tone that Johnny rarely hears, but they were sweet music to his ears when he does.

“Nope, zero bells. Are you like my husband or something?”

Johnny’s eyes widen. “Husband? Oh, no, honey. We ain’t even gone on a date yet. I’d say, think of us as partners-in-crime.”

“Wait!” V blurts out, gasping. “I remember you. You’re from that band—Samurai, right? God, I used to listen to your songs a lot as a kid.”

“Huh, you told me you’d never heard of Samurai,” Johnny recalls, slightly entertained at this point. “Didn’t peg you as a fangirl, V. I’m flattered.”

“So, can I… y’know, get your autograph?”

Just before Johnny could continue playing around with a loopy V, Viktor strolls in with Misty in tow, both delighted to find the merc out of her prolonged slumber. He lingers by the foot of her bed as Vik explains to V what happened, but she doesn’t seem to be processing it. She stares at him, dazed, and Johnny wonders when she’ll be back to normal.

“The effects should go away in a few hours,” Vik informs Misty once he’s examined V. She’s healing nicely and isn’t complaining much, yet that could be because of all the painkillers she was jacked with. “I’d say watch over V until she can stand on her own two feet without tripping. Other than that, she’s good to go.”

“Where are we going?” a clueless V asks, looking back and forth between the two. “Is Johnny coming?”

Misty furrows her brow at her. “Johnny?”

“Yeah, mister sex on legs over there,” she points eagerly, and Johnny smirks at that. “I’m not done talking to him yet.”

Vik shakes his head before reminding Misty of the engram residing within V’s psyche. “Oh, yeah. Silverhand. Uh, I guess he could come, too. Don’t really have much of a choice there, doll.”

The walk back to V’s apartment was a journey in itself. Lucky for her, she was pushed in a wheelchair throughout it all as Johnny stays visible for her benefit. They reached the door just before the skies turned completely dark, the warmth and comfort of the room being somewhat familiar to V.

Misty carefully moves her onto the bed, propping her up with pillows behind her back before smoothing out the blankets covering her legs. Johnny observes from a distance, quiet in his pondering. He’s never seen V this vulnerable before. She’s always been incredibly independent, not to mention stubborn as hell. She won’t accept anyone’s help unless it’s dire, and even then, she’s reluctant to do so.

“You must be starving,” Misty comments once V is settled. “How about I get you somethin’ to eat downstairs. Better food than what’s here, if there’s any. Hang tight for a bit, ’kay?”

Nodding, Misty then heads out of the room, the front door sliding shut when she’s gone, leaving V in the presence of Johnny yet once again. He glitches to sit by the edge of the mattress as V stares at him incredulously. Her eyes shone what he could best describe as innocence; she truly has no clue of what they’ve gone through together in the previous months.

“Can you sing me a song?”

Johnny narrows his gaze, a small chuckle rumbling in his throat at her deliriousness. “I don’t do concerts anymore.”

“Oh, come on!” V pouts, almost child-like in her ways. “Pleeease?”

“No,” he refuses sternly before an idea comes to mind. “How about you sing to me? Said you were a fan. Give me a performance, and maybe I’ll consider it.”

V does not hesitate. On cue, she starts to serenade Johnny with one of Samurai’s greatest hits, going as far as imitating the gruffness of his voice. Off-beat and lyrics garbled, V belts out the tune confidently and loud enough that her irritated neighbors began banging on the wall, yelling at her to quit it.

She ignores them, of course.

Meanwhile, Johnny’s having the time of his life. It was quite endearing to him, although embarrassing for V if she later finds out about this. Yet, he doesn’t stop her. He encourages her even further by singing along, not giving a fuck in the world.

At the end of the song, Johnny laughs heartily along with V, who had crawled closer to him. Their eyes meet for a moment that seems to last longer than it actually did. His mouth quirks up in a smile, the kind of smile that was reserved for her and her alone.

“You’re pretty cool, Silverhand,” V mumbles sleepily, touching the cold surface of his chrome arm. Sighing, Johnny guides her drowsy self back under the covers, certain that she would crash in the next minute or two. “I think you should take me on a date. We’d be a hell of a couple together.”

“I think you’re going to regret everything that’s happened just now when you wake up in the morning,” he returns, and there was a slight pang in his chest.

V only hums in response, and he doubts he had even heard what he last said. It doesn’t matter, however. Johnny was sure she wouldn’t want to bring this up again.

---

“Fuck…” V exhales groggily, her blinking eyes wincing at the bright sunlight flooding into the room. She feels pain all over, her head throbbing immensely as she tries to gather memories of the day prior. It comes back in bits and pieces until suddenly, she remembers everything.

Everything.

“Good morning, princess,” Johnny greets after materializing before her, a cocky smirk plastered on his face. “How ya feelin’? Still loopy or need a little more refreshing from ‘mister sex on legs?’”

V’s reflexes are quick; Johnny doesn’t even register the pillow being hurled at him at first. He only realizes it when the empty glass bottles on the center table falls to the floor, shattering and making a mess.

“You’re lucky you’re just a hologram, right now,” V muttered as she stands up unsteadily.

Johnny holds his hands up. “You were the one who said it.”

Rolling her eyes, V reaches for the painkillers Misty left on the side. “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright, but at least let me tell you that you’ve got a shitty voice.”

“That’s why I don’t do karaoke,” V snorts before swallowing the pills and heading to the couch. “So, what do you think?”

“What do you mean?” Johnny questions.

“You, me, dinner?”

V waits for his reaction, smiling coyly at his confusion. When Johnny finally understands what she was referring to, he almost couldn’t believe it.

“Wait, are you fucking serious?”

She lets out a chortle. “Yeah, I’m serious. Don’t get me wrong, I’m mortified about last night, and I’m never going to let Vik knock me out with that stuff again. But hey, the truth came out. Might not have remembered you, but even while high as fuck, I knew I liked you.”

Briefly, they traded a look of longing, acknowledging at last this deeper connection they’ve felt for a while. It was much more than sharing a body, a mind. Something more profound than what Johnny and V have experienced before in their lives.

And though it was all entirely new to them, they both wanted it. They both wanted each other.

“Better get to it then,” Johnny flashes a grin, mirroring V’s own. “Wanna start with breakfast? Bet you’re hungry after skipping what Misty brought you, samurai.”

“Never going to live that one down, are ya?”

Shooting her a cheeky wink, Johnny throws on his stylish pair of aviators with ease.

“You bet your ass I’m not.”

Permanent Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary @flaminasteroid @rowserein @unaspiringwritings @planetkt @breakthenight @baphometwolf666 @rdjloverxxx

Johnny Silverhand Tags: @silverse​ @overheardatthecontinental @life-is-fuucked @ataraxydreams

[alfredosauce50]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do some Romano + Prussia x royal reader (separate) headcannons? I'm a sucker for a good forbidden romance and would be happy to see what you want to do with it. Thank you!

Yes, of course! Sorry for the kinda late response--I got carried away writing other things. What a coincidence that I've been doing a lot of exploring in fantasy! The reader is referred to as she/her.

Forbidden Romance Headcanons - Prussia and S. Italy

Prussia - The earnest pickpocket and sheltered princess

Unfortunately, Gilbert is on the wrong side of history. As an albino, he's been an outcast ever since he was born. In an age of superstition and class divide, his parents had no problem abandoning an extra mouth to feed. Especially when they were a demon with magical powers. Left to fend for himself as a baby, he only ever survived thanks to the generosity of an old neighbor. When they passed away due to old age, he had to get on by himself on the streets. Stealing, lying, whatever it takes to get some quick cash. And he's been doing it ever since he was five.

He loved fairytales ever since he was a kid. His guardian always told him these stories before bedtime, after all. They said it was good luck to give the princess a flower, and he remembered this a few years later during the royal parade in town. Pushing through the crowd of onlookers, he held out a small dandelion hoping you would take it. Before the guards could swat him away, you took the flower with a smile. All you remembered from that time was a small and dirty face gleaming up at you. And, of course, a pair of striking red eyes you would never forget.

In his adolescence, he became a thief with quick hands. It wasn't until he took on the most dangerous job of all did he make himself a public enemy. Stealing the royal family's jewels. And he would've gotten away with it if he wasn't forced to take a detour through the princess's bedroom. Unbeknownst to him, you were wide awake. Immediately, you recognized him as the little boy from that day. Without thinking, you hid him in your wardrobe until the guards left. That was the start of a strange friendship forged between two people from two worlds--a dirt-poor criminal and the well-loved princess of a thriving kingdom.

He visits you from time to time by climbing up the side of the castle. When he first did it, you practically throttled him by his collar, screaming, “Do you have a death wish? They'll throw you to the lions if you get caught!”. He simply responds with, “The awesome me never gets caught! That's why I'm here, ja?” Soon, this becomes routine until you learn to trust him.

Gilbert loves gloating about his adventures as a street rat, whether it's about singlehandedly beating up gangs of bullies or outrunning the palace guards. As a sheltered person of royalty, his stories reflect experiences alien to you. But it opens your eyes to things you've never seen, and it's very fascinating.

If he's not telling grossly exaggerated anecdotes of his greatness, he'll bring in board games and cards he “borrowed” from his friends. You've never played with them before as your parents deemed them unrefined. It fills him with pride to see you enjoying yourself so much, especially when he's teaching you how to play.

You don't go out very often, so he always brings back little trinkets and souvenirs. When you found out he stole them all, you would hit him on the head and tell him off. “Where did you get these from? Stealing and giving these to the princess--do you know how stupid that sounds?” Then, you would pinch his cheek until he tears up and admits his wrongs. “I-I thought you would like them, okay? I wanted to give them to you as a present...” The next day, you would accompany him to the shops he robbed and pay the owners back.

He gets upset and embarrassed when he realizes those gifts aren't gifts at all. Not when you paid for them yourself! One of the ways he shows affection is through giving gifts, but that unfortunately clashes with not having money. So he's eager to make something out of himself, even if he has to work as a bottom feeder and face unfair treatment for what he looks like. When you find out, his boss gets one hell of a time dealing with you. After that, he uses whatever small amount he earned to buy something for you.

As he grows out of his old habits, he becomes more honest. In fact, he's so determined to prove himself that he shows up one day with a homemade board game scribbled out on a spare piece of parchment. He's nervous and twiddling his fingers, and that's when you know you have to help him get back onto his feet. He's so touched by your kindness that he shows you a secret he's been hiding forever--he can do magic. It's one of his skills that let him become so good at stealing in the past.

After some practice to touch up his abilities, you try convincing your parents to let him work in the palace as an all-rounder. With the magic dancing in his fingertips, there's nothing he can't do. He has a green thumb, good reflexes, and the horses in the stables listen to him better than the caretaker! He can't forget that you encouraged him to let go of his doubts and previous identity as a petty thief. There's nobody in the world he looks up to more.

On the night of your eighteenth birthday, he's invited to a ball to celebrate. Once again, he finds himself anxious to see you in your dress, especially when he's quite glammed up himself with his suit and hair slicked back. While you teach him how to dance, he tells you he looks ridiculous. But you think otherwise and make it explicit. That's when Gilbert realizes he's completely smitten with you. He embarks on another journey to improve himself until he thinks he deserves you.

South Italy - The plebeian pâtissier and renegade royal

War has ravaged the kingdom and eaten into the state's reserves, leaving inflation rates at an all-time high. The suffering middle and working-class take it up to their rulers in a coup d'état, killing the king and queen. And now, they're searching for the princess amidst the chaos of an ungoverned dominion. Romano couldn't be more indifferent to such a cause, only ever caring about putting food on the table. He works day and night helping out his family's bakery, making what he can to get by. However, he's forced to take a side when he finds a girl on his doorstep on the verge of starvation.

Unable to turn away someone in need, he nurses you back to health. However, he does so with spite, wondering to himself why he has to give what little he has left to a princess. When you feel better after a few days, he's eager to send you off but changes his mind as you leave. Romano can't bear to let you face certain death, or worse, knowing how bitter the townspeople are about the unpopular war. So he welcomes you back with a sharp sigh with his head turned away. “Alright, alright, you can stay. Now stop making that pathetic face, you spoilt principessa--it's depressing.”

He relays a few house rules as conditions for keeping you around. You have to help him with chores. Cooking, cleaning, sewing, everything. Considering you always had someone doing those tasks for you, you're hopeless at it. He'll swat your hand and show you how to do things right with an annoyed scowl. “No, no, no, no, no! You're doing it all wrong. This is how you do it. What do they even teach you in that palace, huh? Books? Maths? Books about maths? Well, they won't keep you alive, you know!”

Because he's so observant and strict, he's a good teacher, and soon, you get the hang of everything. Before, he had to open his mouth to correct you every few seconds, but now, he can just watch you do his work with his arms crossed. It's a little demeaning to have someone watch your every move, but inside, he's relieved you're finally fitting in and not a complete waste of his time and resources. In reality, he never wanted to send you off and hoped he could just handle an extra mouth to feed. Not that he'll ever tell you.

When you're out and about, he makes you wear a cloak to hide your identity. When he's forced to interact with people, he'll hold you close and play everything off without arousing suspicion. Even if your hood falls off, he won't react--he's screaming inside in panic, but he's a great actor when he needs to be. You're totally not the princess, just a crazy similar doppelganger. The cloak is there so that people don't make a fuss. When they leave, he'll turn to you and scream how much of an idiot you are. But really, he was just worried to death--and you have a feeling he was. So you hug it out and leave him cussing with a red face.

As you two grow closer, his cousin Antonio notices how much he cares about you despite his efforts to hide it. It's a problem. He approaches him and warns that if people found out he was hiding the princess, he would get killed with her. Romano heats up and screams, telling him that he already knew what he got into the second he let you into his home. When he's asked why he's still keeping you around, he responds with, “It's not fair that her parents fucked up, and she has to face the consequences. Just like how I never wanted to run this stupid bakery--I wanted to be a painter, not burn my hands in the kitchen all day!”

Unbeknownst to him, you overhear the conversation. The next morning, he discovers that you're gone and loses his head. While he's screaming and crying, he's swarmed with the possibilities of what happened to you. He's a bit of an overthinker, but his paranoia is deserved--were you taken away in the middle of the night? Are you even still alive? He spirals down a path of self-loathing until he confronts how much he misses you, then his regret of never being frank with his feelings. Romano didn't understand what he had until he lost it. To say this was a wake-up call--to be more honest with himself--would be an understatement.

A week later, you return unscathed. Turns out, you left to stay with the owner of a paint shop owner your family always supported and bought from. You present him with a gift of some high-end oil paints, brushes, and canvases. When he sets them all down, he'll pull you into a tight hug, and once again, tell you how stupid you are. While he has you in his coils, you smile to yourself as you pat his hair, happy that you also got something in return. Some transparency. “I just thought I'd give you something... For all the trouble.” You'd say, and he'd shush you with a few hard kisses. “You were never a trouble. I wanted you to stay, so I'm more to blame than you.”

As the political situation of the country calms down, so do the anxieties of angry neighbors pounding on his door. You return to his home much to his content. Now that you're just as good as him at icing cakes, you spend more time running the bakery. This gives him some time to paint, and he can't be happier. Once you both get settled, he discovers another hobby on top of making art. Making coffee! The bakery evolves into a café lavishly decorated with his paintings, and it becomes the most popular establishment in town. You both realize how overrated it is to want to be anything more--you never bring up your title ever again.

[the-iceni-bitch]

All I Need

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Words: 4512

Summary: Andy has been drowning his grief at your bar for weeks. You help him dry out after a particularly bad night.

Warnings: Major angst!, softish Andy Barber, slight AU (spoilers for Defending Jacob book), explicit language, explicit sexual content (fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse), descriptions of excessive drinking by adult of appropriate age, SMUT, 18+ only!

A/N: I have officially jumped on the love train for everyone’s favorite floofy lawyer. The sad!boi activated my caretaker instincts so this is pretty soft compared to my normal fics, and extremely angsty. Plus the smut kind of got away from me, I actually had to stop myself from writing even more! 

Checkout my masterlist and join my taglist if your inclined!

“Shit!! Jesse!” you screamed over your shoulder towards the kitchen, grabbing the bat from under the register as you jumped over the bar to break up the fight.

You swore under your breath as you moved toward the two men who were brawling. The smaller one seemed to have the upper hand, but it didn’t seem like the larger man was putting up much resistance. Maggie just stood there watching them with bambi eyes as you heard your giant cook rumble behind you, ripping off his apron to lend you a hand.

“What the fuck happened, Mags?” You hissed at your bartender, trying to haul the men apart with little success.

“Neal just came over and said he was sorry, and he just lost it.” The poor girl looked like she was on the verge of tears. Granted, she probably wasn’t expecting to have to deal with brawls in downtown Newton at a lawyer bar, but Neal sure seemed to invite violent reactions whenever he opened his stupid mouth.

You lost your patience and smashed an empty glass on the floor next to the two men, shocking them out of it. Neal rose to his feet with a look of fury on his face, but you kept your eyes on Andy Barber.

He’d spent pretty much every night this week since the funeral at your bar. His face was pallid and he had dark rings under his eyes. He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and he smelled like stale bourbon. Now he was rolling around on the floor aimlessly like a slug.

“Get the fuck out of my bar, Neal.” You said exasperatedly, spying the mostly empty bottle of bourbon on Barber’s table.

“What, I didn’t do anything!” the giant whined at you.

“Really?! You couldn’t just leave the poor guy alone? Jesus Neal! I don’t wanna see you in here for a month.” You hooked your arms under Andy’s and dragged him to sit on the bench, his head lolling drunkenly on his neck as you tried to assess how far gone he was.

“Fuck you, bitch.” Neal spat at you as he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the front door behind him.

“Have a great night!” You called after him, sarcastically, flipping him off.

“You sure that’s a good idea, boss?” Jesse asked, his massive arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head at you.

“Who cares, I hate that smug asshole. Hey, Andy?” You snapped your fingers in front of his face and he slapped your hand away lazily, growling under his breath. “You sneak behind the bar again, man?”

“I swear, I didn’t sell him a bottle, Y/N.” Her chin was quivering as tears slowly leaked down her cheeks.

“I know Mags, he’s a sneaky bastard. Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re not in any trouble. Go to the bathroom and splash some water on your face.” You watched her scurry off to the bathroom and rubbed a hand over your face. “Fuck. I’m gonna call in Emma to give Maggie a hand. You ok locking up tonight Jess?”

“Sure, what’re you thinking?”

You just stared at Andy with overwhelming pity as he almost slid of the bench, forcing you to keep a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I’m gonna take him back to his hotel and help him dry out. Wouldn’t feel right just kicking him to the curb.”

“You’re too soft, Y/N.” Jess chortled at you.

“Yeah, maybe. Can you bring me an ice bucket?” You hooked his arm over your shoulder and hauled him to his feet so you could make your way out to your car.

Jess got your bucket from behind the bar as you hobbled outside. You managed to get your passenger door open and you slid Andy inside. His head rolled on his shoulders as you buckled him in before shoving the bucket into his lap.

“Andy, can you hear me? Don’t you fucking puke in my car!”

He grunted in acknowledgment and wrapped his arms around the bucket, curling himself over to hang his head above it.

“You sure you shouldn’t be taking him to a hospital, Y/N?”

“No… mmph… no fucking hospital!” Andy slurred at you as you slammed the door closed.

“I’m pretty sure he’d jump out of the car if he thought I was taking him to the hospital Jess.” You murmured as you circled to the driver’s side. “Thanks for closing, you’re the best!”

You watched him wave in your rearview as you drove off, making sure to keep one eye on Andy as he groaned over his bucket.

You reached his hotel in 15 minutes, grateful for the short drive as the man was looking greener by the second. You dug your hands in the pockets of his coat, searching for the keys to his room and you thankfully found them quickly. You were relieved to see he was on the first floor, as you didn’t trust your ability to safely get him up the stairs.

Getting Andy out of your car was a deal harder than getting him in, as he slipped further into his alcohol induced stupor. You almost dropped him when you wrenched him out of his seat, and you basically carried him to his room.

You somehow managed to get the door unlocked and drag him inside right when you heard his stomach roil. You cursed under your breath as you scrambled to get him to the bathroom, shoving his head in the toilet just in time as he emptied his gut.

“Shit, Andy.” You hissed, your hands on your knees as you tried your best to breathe deeply and get accustomed to the scent of his alcohol-soaked stomach contents. Once you were sure he was relatively stable, you moved to the kitchenette and filled a glass with tepid water before returning to find him leaned back against the wall. “Drink.” You ordered, kneeling beside him and bringing the glass up to his lips.

His eyes locked onto yours as he chugged the water down greedily. No sooner had he swallowed the glass’ contents than he was lunging forward to throw it back up. You tutted worriedly as you rubbed a hand over his back and used the other to start the shower.

“Why the fuck are you here, Y/N?” He grumbled miserably, not bothering to lift his head as you dragged his coat over his shoulders and threw out into the living area.

“I couldn’t have you killing yourself in my bar, Andy. Where’s your phone?” His stomach seemed to have calmed down, so you drew him to lean back against the wall and started to tug off his boots.

“S’in my back pocket.” He slurred at you. You rolled him over and drew the phone out of his jeans to set it on the counter. “You could’ve let me do it here.”

“Nah.” You said. “If you quit coming around, what excuse am I gonna have to kick Neal out?” You rolled up your sleeves and thrust your hand under the shower’s flow, checking the temperature. “Hey, don’t you dare pass out on me!” You slapped him in the face as he started to doze off and you worked on getting him undressed. “I’m fucking serious, Barber, you don’t get to drink yourself to death on my watch.” You finally got his shirt off and started to drag his jeans down his legs.

“But why?” His eyes were boring into you now, pleading for some kind of answer to what possible reason there was for him to stick around as they welled up with tears.

You chewed your lip as you thought about it.

Andy had been a fixture at your bar for years. Always coming by for a celebratory drink after a win, or when he was working late on a difficult case. Even during Jacob’s trial, he’d stopped by with Joanna a few times to hash out details of the case. No matter how much stress he was under, you were always able to make him smile, and he always left a very generous tip no matter who was serving him. Your bar had been one of the only places he’d always felt welcome, and you had no qualms about kicking out anyone who wanted to give him a hard time.

Then the crash happened. He lost Jacob first; he was DOA to the hospital. His visits to your bar were more somber then. You didn’t try to make him smile, you barely even talked to him. But you’d drink with him in silence when he was the last patron in the bar, sitting across from him in his booth as the rest of the staff shut things down, occasionally placing your hand over his and rubbing your thumb over his knuckles in a comforting gesture.

They had taken Laurie off life support 2 weeks ago, and after her funeral was when he really started to spiral. Rather than nursing his usual three drinks, he was downing whole bottles a night. You had to instruct your staff to cut him off after 6, or he would end up like he was tonight. This wasn’t the first time you had caught him with a stolen bottle.

You couldn’t say why you cared so much. You weren’t even sure you were really friends. But through everything that happened, you seemed to be the only constant, an anchor point for him as his world fell apart.

“I dunno Andy.” You murmured as you drew off his socks before rolling him into the tub with a lurch, making him gasp as the cold water hit his skin. “I guess I’d miss you.”

He glared at you as he shivered under the shower’s stream, huddled around himself in only his boxers.

“Do I need to wash you, or do you think you can handle that on your own?” You asked, handing him a washcloth and some soap.

“I can handle it.” He hissed, snatching them from your hands as he braced himself against the wall and drew himself slowly to his feet.

“Good.” You started gathering up his soiled clothes. “Make sure to wash the vomit out of your beard.”

He ripped the shower curtain closed and tossed his boxers over the rail at you, grumbling the whole time. You bagged up his dirty laundry and set some clean sweats on the counter in the bathroom before you set to work on cleaning the rest of the hotel room, doing your best not to gag at the week-old takeout containers.

Andy staggered out of the bathroom 30 minutes later, rubbing a towel through his hair as he wobbled on still drunk legs.

“How’s your stomach?” You asked, stretched out on the couch and sipping a glass of ginger ale.

“S’better.” He murmured, stumbling his way to the bed and collapsing on it with a groan.

“And your head?”

“Fuck you.” He murmured with his face buried in the pillows.

You grabbed the garbage can from the bathroom and set it next to the bed. “Make sure you sleep on your side or your stomach. I’ll be on the couch.” You turned to leave and he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back.

“No, stay with me.” He mumbled, peeking up at you through those stupid long eyelashes, his damp hair drooping over his forehead.

“You’re still drunk, Andy.” You scolded, snatching your wrist away from him. You couldn’t deny you’d thought about it before, but there was no way you were going to let him make a move on you after the night he had. “I’m just 20 feet away, here to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit overnight.”

You turned back to find him passed out, a thin trail of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes and turned off the lights before collapsing on the couch in a huff.

Andy woke up to the smell of sausage and eggs as you slammed the hotel room door, carrying some takeout from the greasy spoon down the road.

“Shit, I was hoping to sneak out before you were up.” You murmured as he rose up off the bed, his bedhead a sight to behold. “I got you breakfast.”

“What happened last night?” He groaned, his stomach churning as he inhaled the smell of the food you had brought in.

“Well, you stole a bottle of Woodford Reserve from my bar, drank more than half of it, then fought Neal.” You shoved a plate of food in front of him as he sat down at the island. “Then I brought you back here and held your hair while you puked your guts out.”

“Fuck.” He murmured, fighting the urge to gag as he eyed the plate in front of him. “How did I get in these sweats?”

“Don’t worry, I dumped you in the shower in your boxers, no looks at the goods. And even if I had, last night was decidedly unsexy.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” He murmured, burying his head in his hands.

“Mmhmm. Eat.” You ordered, making him groan. “Suck it up, Barber, you’ll feel better after a couple of bites.” You watched him shovel a bite in his mouth and chew dutifully, taking a deep breath as you steeled yourself for what you wanted to say. “Are you talking to anyone, Andy?”

“’M talking to you.” He said around his second mouthful off breakfast, starting to feel a bit better.

“I mean like a shrink.” You said, seriously.

“What the fuck is this?” He threw his fork down on his plate, pissed. This was none of your business.

“Andy, you’ve been drinking yourself stupid every night for the past 2 weeks. It’s not healthy, and I don’t want to be responsible for you ruining your life.”

He gave you a snort of derision and rolled his eyes as he stood up to walk away. “Fuck off.”

“Hey!” now you were angry. “I care about you asshole! You think I enjoyed last night? I’m sick of it!” You followed after him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around sharply.

“It’s not your problem, Y/N.” He seethed at you, ripping your hand off his shoulder as he took a menacing step towards you.

“You made it my problem when you decided to use my bar as the stage for your descent to rock bottom, dick!” You were yelling now. “Y’know what, fuck this. Figure your shit out Barber. Until then, don’t step foot in my bar.” You stormed out, slamming the door behind you as you slipped your coat back over your shoulders.

“Fuck!!” Andy screamed before charging after you.

He managed to catch up to you as you were about to open your car door and he slammed it shut over your shoulder, pinning you against the driver’s side of your vehicle.

“I swear to god, Andy, I’ll mace you.” You hissed at him, turning as you dug your hand in your bag. He wrapped a massive hand around your wrist, stopping your turn halfway.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, pressing his forward to yours as he leaned against you. “I need you.”

“Andy…” this was such a bad idea.

“Why’d you stay last night?” He muttered, bringing his hand down to cup your cheek. “You said you care about me.”

“I do care, Andy.” You sighed as he took another step into you, pressing his body against yours. “Fuck, what’re you doing?”

“Stay.” He whispered, dipping his face to catch your lips with his and sending every objection you had right out of your head.

You sighed against him as you wrapped your hands in his hair, rolling your body against his. He ran his tongue over your bottom lip before pressing it against yours, his hands moving down to your hips and drawing you into him. You let out a whine as you felt his growing erection grinding against you.

“Shit.” You hissed as you felt a rush of arousal soak your panties. “Andy, we need to go back to the room.”

“Right.” He muttered, deepening your kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck and he lifted you off the ground as he drew you away from your car and started to head back towards the room, thankful he had left the door ajar.

You kicked the door closed as he carried you inside, giving a small huff when he sat down on the bed with you straddling his lap. You slipped your coat over your shoulders and tossed it aside as his mouth devoured yours, lips molding to each other as your tongues tangled.

Andy slipped his fingers under the hem of your tee and drew it over your head, throwing it on top of your jacket before unclasping the front of your lacy bra and nuzzling himself between your breasts. He rolled the two of you gently until he was on top of you.

You sighed as Andy moved his mouth over the slope of your breast to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, sucking softly as he moved one hand to dip beneath the waistline of your jeans. He groaned against your chest when he found you sopping wet for him.

“God, I need you, sweetheart.” He mumbled against your skin as he worked at unbuttoning your fly, dragging your jeans and panties down your legs and flinging them aside before bringing his hand back up to cup your heat. “Need to make you feel good. Lose myself in you for just a bit.” He moved his lips up to brush against your neck as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, spreading your slick over your mound and making you gasp, your fingers gripping his massive biceps tightly as he teased you.

“Andy, please.” You whined, canting your hips into his hand, your clit throbbing with need as the pads of his fingers brushed against it.

He brought his face up to yours as he plunged one thick finger into you, a smile teasing his lips as he watched your face screw up in bliss. He dipped his lips to meet yours as he added another finger, swallowing your small cry.

“You feel so good, beautiful. So warm and tight.” He scissored his fingers inside of you, drawing lewd squelches from your canal as your arousal soaked his hand. “Fuck me, you’re perfect.”

You scrabbled your hands over the broad muscles of his back as he curled his fingers inside you, massaging that soft, spongy muscle deep within your canal. He buried his face in your neck, murmuring soft praises as you came apart beneath him.

You mewled as he inserted a third finger, your cunt clenching around him as you thrust yourself onto his hand, fucking yourself on his digits.

“You close love?” He asked, his thumb brushing against your clit before he started massaging it gently. Pressing soft circles into your core as you writhed beneath him.

“Oh, fuck.” You muttered. “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck……”

He felt you tense underneath him when he drove his thumb into your clit, hard. You choked on your tongue as every muscle in your body vibrated with pleasure, your release gushing over Andy’s hand and soaking him to the wrist. He felt your nails digging through his sweatshirt as you came.

He kept his fingers moving inside you as your rode out your orgasm, your body rolling in waves underneath him as your pleasure wracked you, leaving you breathless. Once you sagged back against the bed, he withdrew them, disconnecting from you reluctantly to remove his own clothes. Staring down at you, all he wanted was to press himself against every inch of you. Claim every slope and curve of your body for his own.

He gripped one ankle and brought it up to his mouth, skimming his lips over the jut of bone as his fingers skirted over your calf, pressing into the firm muscle there. His lips followed his fingers, searing your skin with each lingering kiss and brush of his tongue as he worked his way further up your leg. Your cunt clenched around nothing when he reached your thigh, his beard scratching at the soft skin between your legs as he marked you with lips and teeth. You tangled your fingers in the blankets and moaned when he bypassed your core, moving up the line of your hip as he claimed you.

Your breath was coming quicker as worked his way over your body. His lips swept against your abdomen now, his tongue dipping into your navel as he nuzzled over the midline of your torso. All you could focus on was the feel of his mouth on your skin, leaving a trail of electricity as marked you as his. He laved his tongue over first one nipple, then the other as you arched into him, pressing your thighs together as your pussy throbbed with need.

He moved to trace the curves of your shoulders, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed his way down first one arm, then the other. You were panting now, your thighs soaked as arousal seeped out of you. Andy traced his fingers over your torso, skimming over the slopes of your breasts as he moved to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking gently to draw light bruises as his hands moved lower, kneading into your hips. He drew your knees apart slowly, slotting himself between your thighs as he dragged his hard length through your folds, making you keen as he ground into you.

You were a mess, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his hips rocked against you. You were desperate for release, every inch of you tingling with need and when Andy’s cock brushed against your clit, you lost it. You threw your head back in ecstasy as your fingers scrabbled in the sheets, desperate to hold onto something to keep you anchored.

Andy just stared at you, one massive palm cupping your cheek as he watched you falling apart. He needed you so much, you were the only constant he had. The only person who didn’t make him feel like a charity case or a failure. He hated what he was becoming, what the secrets and the tragedy were turning him into, but he knew if you stayed with him, he could come back.

“Y/N,” He whispered as you relaxed and he stilled his hips, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as you slowly opened your eyes, gazing up at him through your lust blown pupils. “Promise you won’t leave me.”

“Andy,” a small voice in the back of your mind was trying to warn you, telling you not to commit to anything now while he was still drowning in his grief. But you were overwhelmed with the pleasurable assault he had subjected you to and when he pressed his lips to yours again, that little voice went away. “I promise.” You gasped when he released you.

He grinned at you as he lined himself up, resting his forehead against yours as he gazed into your eyes. You were so wet that he slid into you easily, bottoming out right away with a hiss.

“Fuck, honey.” He murmured against your lips as you whined, his hips setting a languorous pace as he pulled out halfway before thrusting back into you. “God, you’re so tight, you feel amazing.”

You couldn’t reply, you could already feel another orgasm building as you thrust your hips to meet his, mewling softly as the warm coil in your stomach tightened. You ran your fingers over his auburn beard before burying them in his hair, panting into his mouth as he brought you closer to the edge.

Andy brought one hand between the two of you and strummed his thumb against your clit, making you tighten your fists in his hair until it was painful.

“God, Andy, right there.” You sobbed, your cunt clamping around him as he moved to bury his face in your neck, nuzzling against the hollow behind your ear.

“Go ahead, beautiful.” He scraped his teeth over the edge of your jaw as he drove his thumb against you, and you screamed.

You fluttered around him as your body spasmed, multiple waves of pleasure rippling through you. Your knees gripping around his hips and squeezing as your torso rolled against his. You sank back against the bed with a sigh as your body relaxed, Andy still fucking into you and starting to pick up speed.

“I’m gonna move you, pretty girl.” He wrapped his arms around you and rolled until you were on top of him, pressing you against his chest as he kissed you deeply. “Wanna watch you ride me.”

You gave him a smile as you sat up, bracing your hands against his chest as you ground yourself against him. He was seated in you deeper than anyone had ever been, his cock dragging against that secret spot inside you with each drive of your hips, making you groan. He thrust up into you and groaned at the bounce of your tits while you let out a cry at his tip hitting your cervix.

Andy dug his fingers into your hips as he took over, pistoning up into with increasing speed as your cunt clamped around him. Your head rolled loosely on your shoulders as you let go, eyes fluttering as you felt another orgasm gathering.

You gripped his hips tightly with your thighs as it hit you like a truck, sobbing with pleasure while your muscles shivered over him. Andy sat up quick and caught you before you could collapse back on the bed, wrapping one hand around the back of your neck and catching you lips with his as his hips picked up even more speed.

“Shit.” He murmured against your lips. You felt his cock twitch inside you as his hips faltered in their rhythm. “Are you on the pill honey?”

You nodded vigorously, unable to speak as Andy’s violent thrusts had knocked all the breath out of your lungs and you were gasping.

“Good. Fuck.” He nipped at your lips before shoving his tongue down your throat.

You felt warmth spread through your abdomen as he shot his release into you, his thick spend coating the slick walls inside you and leaking out over your thighs as he fucked you through it. He slowed his thrusts as you felt him soften inside you, groaning into your mouth as he came down and collapsed back against the bed, holding you close to his chest.

His chest hair scratched against your cheek as he breathed deeply, trying to slow his heart rate back down and rubbing his fingers over your spine as you panted on top of him.

Neither of you spoke for a while, content to lie in the comfort of each other’s arms. You made Andy feel safe, and he made you feel needed, and that was all the two of required for now.

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