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maximotts · 3 years

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♡ 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘵. 𝘪𝘪 ♡ {𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵}

pt. i || pt. iii

a/n: ahaha remember when I said all would be fixed in this part? Turns out I lied. Part 2 was getting way too long and I didn't want this to feel rushed so part 3 will be the final part, but fret not, I'm finalizing part 3 as we speak because I didn't want to leave y'all at another painful cliffhanger. That'll be up right after this one before I go to bed tonight

warnings: angst, another semi-argument, Wanda reading Natasha's thoughts, a gallon of hurt feelings, panic attacks (Wanda)

summary: Natasha can't give Wanda space anymore after an Incident. aka the Secret Softy finally realizes she misses the Small Sunshine

words: 3.1k

masterlist. || navi. || request info/rules. :open

𝘮𝘰𝘺𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘬𝘢𝘺𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘬𝘢 = 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭

𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘬𝘢 = 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺

𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘰𝘺 = 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

✣ ✣ ✣

It’d been three weeks. Three weeks since she’d seen Wanda, eaten any meals with her, watched her dark hair fall gently over her shoulders as she laughed, or felt her soft hands brush against her fingers for reassurance or in a silent request to be held. Safe to say, Natasha missed Wanda terribly. Even more so, the guilt from how deeply she’d hurt the person she cared about was eating her alive. She saw Wanda’s wounded face almost as frequently as she blinked and she longed to reach out and hug her until it was all better.

She had made attempts. The night of her blow up, Natasha knocked on Wanda’s door for a good five minutes. It was obvious she was in there, sitcom laughter emanating from her television. After a while it was clear she wasn’t ready to talk and Natasha understood; she wouldn’t want to talk to her either. She resigned herself to seeing Wanda at breakfast the next morning, hoping maybe a friendly smile from across the room would let the girl know she wasn’t mad at her. But Wanda was nowhere to be found. Two days of missed meals later and having tripped over a dirty sandwich plate in front of Wanda’s room and Natasha realized she was purposely avoiding even the possibility of having to sit next to the redhead when she ate. Again, Natasha couldn’t blame her.

Now three weeks in, Natasha settled on just walking in. Wanda rarely kept her door locked when she was inside, she and Natasha were the only ones with permanent rooms on the female residence side and there was never an issue with Nat coming in unannounced- until now of course. An hour’s worth of hyping herself up behind her, she took the ten steps next door to where she’d hopefully be able to fix her awful mess. Still she hovered outside, hand outstretched, hovering as she took one last deep breath.

Her hand never reached the doorknob.

Before Natasha could make contact with the metal, a hot spark of red zapped her hand and she jumped back to avoid further attack. “Wa-”

“Don’t even think about it, Natasha Romanoff.” The first time she heard that voice again, she didn’t expect it to sound so dangerous. Natasha expected anger, but she didn’t know Wanda could sound so threatening.

She’d be a fool to try the knob again, it’d only upset her further. Nevertheless, it was important she at least got part of her message out. “I know you’re upset, Wanda. I’m upset with myself too. I was wrong, so wrong. I never should have hurt you like I did, I should have just talked to you. That’s on me. I want to prove to you I’m sorry, maybe even earn your trust back eventually? Whenever you’re ready.” Natasha sighed, twisting her still tingling hand in the other. “I miss you, but I ruined us. Not you. I’m sorry, Wanda.”

Unbeknownst to Natasha, Wanda had wandered closer to the door as soon as she noticed the other pacing outside of her doorway. She wasn’t ready to talk to her; she couldn’t find a way to face her yet without fear of looking like she was coming crawling back without having heard an apology, but before she could think too hard on it, Natasha was speaking. Her heart grew heavy with the weight of Natasha’s words. She wasn’t one for feelings or true emotions and although fairly clumsily uttered, Wanda knew sincerity when she heard it. Swayed as her heart was to run into the arms of the woman she missed for the past week, her brain instantly reminded her of other words.

You still want her after she told you how clingy you are? She’s right. You are pathetic.

The ache was back, stinging just as sharp as the day she’d first heard. She couldn’t yet.

Wanda’s back hit the wall, sinking to the floor with her knees huddled close to her chest. She knew Natasha had just been angry when she lashed out, that she wouldn’t typically be so public with her outbursts, much less direct them towards her, but there were some true feelings within those poison laced words and Wanda didn’t want to have that conversation yet.

“Well.. you know where to find me.” Wanda hated how sad Natasha sounded; she must’ve been tearing herself apart. She despised not being able to fix things. Soft footsteps told Wanda she was fully alone again and although that should have let her relax, she groaned with how empty she felt once more.

✣ ✣ ✣

Another week went by with no exchanged words and Natasha was beginning to give up hope. She’d ruined everything between them seemingly irreparably; asking any of her teammates yielded a non-committal response, none of them were spending tons of time with her either. She’d given up on knocking, having only met silence or words of warning. All she could do was wait.

For Wanda’s part, she felt like she was going to burst. Her skin felt like it was on fire, nervous energy sparking right under the surface. She’d closed herself off to everyone, opening herself up to Natasha was a mistake, it must have been. Her last words to her had been apologetic and kind, but the hurtful ones still lingered and she felt stuck. It was tearing her apart. Even more so, today’s training left her disoriented- earthquake simulation. As the fake ground shook under her and buildings fell, Wanda was spiraled back to childhood and more recently, Sokovia, and although she played it off as nothing with others, as soon as she was back in the safety of her room she fell apart.

Before she would seek out Natasha, whisper her worries against her skin from under the safety of a warm blanket. She couldn’t do that now, couldn’t ask such a thing from Natasha after what she said and after near radio silence for a month. Wanda huddled in her own bed, tired eyes staring longingly at the wall separating her and Natasha’s room. The person she wanted -needed- was so close, but so far. “You’re fine. You’ve dealt with this alone before.”

✣ ✣ ✣

Natasha couldn’t sleep. Not for lack of exhaustion; she’d been training longer these days in hopes of catching more glimpses of Wanda, just to make sure she looked okay. It was working and thankfully from what she could see, Wanda was alright. The past few days were different though; she looked more tired, dragging along more and more, and now today she’d survived the earthquake simulator. To anyone else, Wanda looked like her normal self, quiet and to herself, but Natasha saw the girl’s hands shake, watched her stance go slack in a way she’d warned Wanda against many times. Afterwards, Wanda was off to her usual seclusion before Natasha could reach her from across the room so she settled for giving Bruce a stern talking to instead. He should’ve known better than to shove Wanda in that simulation, especially by herself.

She left a properly admonished Bruce, heading in the direction of Wanda’s room. Arguments be damned, she wouldn’t let Wanda explode alone, even if she hated her for intruding after. If her repeated self-reassurance weren’t enough to convince her by the time she reached her destination, the moans and whines from within set her mind. Natasha hovered again, weighing the consequences, but Wanda let out such a sob that she couldn’t ignore. “Wanda? Can I come in please?” Her hand landed safely on the door, an improvement from last time.

“It’s just me, I wanted to check on you after training.” No response, but no rejection either. She turned the knob, grateful Wanda seemed to have forgotten to lock the door. Whether it was a mistake or a silent hope for Natasha’s intervention, she didn’t know, but she would use the opportunity. She could barely find Wanda in the dark room, but her eyes settled on the small form in the middle of her large bed and Natasha was by her side in an instant.

“Wanda? Sweetheart, hey, it’s me. What’s wrong?” Her eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide with fear. Natasha longed to scoop her up, but she couldn’t startle her; she didn’t even know if she’d want her there once she realized who she was. Still, it hurt so deeply to have let her get this bad; she could’ve helped if Wanda trusted her enough to reach out. Natasha waited for what felt like hours until Wanda noticed her, crouching by a bed was rough on her tired knees, but she’d stay like that forever if need be. When Wanda finally made eye contact, she only stared at the redhead, as if figuring out whether the woman in front of her was real or not. She took a daring step, holding her hand out to Wanda, keeping it in her eyeline as long as she could until her palm reached her head. Her thumb moved, ever so softly, over her scalp as a test. Anything she could do to soothe her. “I’m here, Wands.”

If Natasha weren’t so strong, Wanda would’ve knocked her over. She’d thrown her full weight onto her in an instant, clinging to Natasha for dear life while her lower half still hung from the bed. There were so many things tearing at her, so much emotion she needed to unload, but she was too overwhelmed. Natasha had come to her. Had ignored their month of silence and hurt feelings to try to aid her and it left her stunned. “Tash- Natasha.. I-I’m so sorry..”

“Ah, no none of that,” Natasha stood with a grunt, taking Wanda with her to set them both on the bed. She navigated her way to the top of the bed in the dark, only stopping when her back hit the headboard, letting Wanda hold onto her, “This is my fault, I’m sorry. I should have been here for you.”

Wanda shook her head slowly, burying herself as far into the crook of her neck as deep as she could. “No. I should’ve been able to handle training today. You were right, I can’t do anything myself. I’m weak and pathetic and..” Sobs took over any chance of coherent words, shaking against the warm body she’d missed so much. Part of her screamed to move away, to suck up her tears and prove to Natasha she was just fine on her own. But she couldn’t pretend. She was fine on her own, she could handle it, but she needed the comfort of someone she trusted too. Someone she could relay her thoughts too instead of bottling them all inside until they got the best of her.

Before she knew it, Natasha felt tears rolling down her cheeks as well. She hated crying, couldn’t stand being so outwardly vulnerable with someone else, but if Wanda could be with her then she owed her the same trust. Toned arms pulled the small woman trembling against her closer, pressing frantic kisses to the crown of her head, anything to show her apologies. “You’re not weak for your emotions, detka. It’s one of the strongest things you could do to allow yourself to open yourself up and trust me.. I should have given you that same trust and been honest from the start.” Natasha cradled Wanda’s head to her chest, rocking her as sweetly as she could. She knew she was holding her a fraction too tight, but she couldn’t help it. Reassuring fingers brushed through long brunette hair, keeping her as close as possible.

“Can you forgive me?” The muffled voice from below temporarily shook Natasha from her waterfall of revelations and she remembered why they were in this situation.

“Moya sladkaya detka, you were forgiven weeks ago. You were trying to help me and yes, we need to talk about how I deal with the aftermath of long missions because I do sometimes need time to myself, but nothing, nothing you did warranted how I hurt you.” Wanda froze and for a moment Natasha was scared she would pull away, but she nodded slowly. “Can you forgive me?”

That was a loaded question. Wanda fought to clear her thoughts, organize them in any way that could possibly make sense. She wanted so badly to simply accept and stay in Natasha’s arms. It wasn’t that she thought Natasha was lying to her; she truly believed she was sorry for what she did, but that didn’t mean those words didn’t still swirl through her head everyday since she’d first uttered them. It was hard to think so close to her. Wanda pried herself away from Natasha, not missing the way Natasha kept hold on her hips as if letting go meant she’d lose her forever. “I want to forgive you, Natasha.”

It hurt, but it was fair. She didn’t expect an easy apology and didn't deserve one either. “There’s a but coming, right?” Wanda couldn’t meet her eyes; she only avoided eye contact when she had more to say and was biding her time. “You don’t have to forgive me, Wanda. I’m willing to do whatever you need to make you feel safe again, no matter how long it takes.” And she meant it. Natasha would put in the work for Wanda, she was more than worth it.

She knew what she needed. It was the only way she could think of easing her mind. Still, Wanda promised she wouldn’t do it again unless she had to, but… she had to. “I need to feel you.” A hesitant ring-clad hand reached out, tapping Natasha’s temple to finish the thought she couldn’t speak. “Nothing traumatic, nothing too deeply buried.. hopefully, at least.” Rarely was it hard for Wanda to search out thoughts in someone about a particular person who crossed their mind regularly. She hoped it was more than wishful thinking that Natasha had her in her thoughts with some frequency. “Please, Tash… I need to know you feel more for me than just ‘clingy, weak puppy.’”

Natasha opened her mouth to retort, to try to take her harsh words back, but she knew it wouldn’t help. The thought of Wanda searching through her mind again scared her still. Last time left her shaken for weeks, months, after what she’d dug up, but back then Wanda was looking to hurt her and damn, she was great at it. She had to trust she wouldn’t do that now. Trust was so hard. A promise was a promise, though. Natasha took Wanda’s free hand in both of hers, a lifeline to hold while she gave herself to the woman she cared so much for. “Okay.. be gentle?”

Wanda let out a chuckle; Natasha’s sensitive side was so very cute. “I would never be anything but, dorogoy.” Natasha nodded, swallowing her fears with reassurance. Wanda was only ever kind to her, too much at times; Steve and Sam never missed an opportunity to poke fun at Natasha when in the early days Wanda was practically exploding with nerves around the redhead. Eventually they figured out it was less that Wanda thought Natasha was going to beat the pulp out of her and more that she wished the older woman would crush her with her thighs- but the two men waited for Natasha to figure that one out on her own.

“Go ahead, Wands. Just be quick about it, alright? I don’t want to spill all my secrets right now.” Wanda agreed with a quiet hum, shaking her head and straightening her spine before moving her fingers alongside Natasha’s head. It reminded her of the first time they’d officially met; a bittersweet memory of how stunning she felt her then enemy was, but bringing her trauma to the surface before those steadfast blue eyes caught sight of her. Now though, Wanda was careful. Only going deep enough to look at Natasha’s memories and thoughts about her. How surprised she was that Wanda was as powerful as she was. Her instant and ongoing distrust of her when she and her brother came to aid the Avengers in Sokovia. Natasha’s annoyance at her stolen red jacket, with an added and apparently shocking sense of possessiveness brought on by seeing her in her clothing. Interesting. Wanda would note that little fact for the future.

Red ringed eyes shone in the darkness, both locked onto Natasha’s and staring far past her. She wanted to be open and honest, that was the whole point. Consequently Wanda let Natasha see what she was seeing and with every twinge of irritation her past self felt towards Wanda and her initial attempts to gain trust with her new team, specifically with herself, her current self cringed at her behavior. But slowly things shifted. Resentment shifted to reluctant endearment, then care and protection and finally into where she longed for Wanda’s calming presence when she was stressed or wanted a confidant. The weight of vulnerability felt like being flayed alive and despite the hand Natasha held using one finger to stroke reassuringly at her palm, she squirmed as they approached that night Natasha came home a month ago.

“You’re fighting me.” The brunette’s eyebrows furrowed, pushing harder at the memory Natasha was keeping away from her. “Stop it.”

Red curls shook as Natasha hung her head; she didn’t want to live through it again. Every night it haunted her. She should’ve just talked to her, given her credit for being one of the most understanding people she’s ever met, having her see it again would just push Wanda further away- “I can still hear your thoughts, Natasha.” Her racing concerns rang loud in Wanda’s own brain, blocking out any hope of unlocking that dreaded outburst until she could get her to calm down. “Trust me, please. You have to let me in.” True, Wanda could forcibly rip the memory from her with ease. It would take such little effort, but she wouldn’t- couldn’t. She needed Natasha to let her see, allow herself to be this forthcoming with Wanda. That would speak louder than anything.

It took everything in Natasha to take her next breath, “Okay, do it.” Wanda breathed a sigh of relief, Natasha’s agreement giving her hope of progress. She slipped her hand from Natasha’s warm grasp, ignoring the small sad noise she was sure Natasha didn’t want to talk about. Instead her hand went to the back of Natasha’s head and brought it forward to rest on her shoulder, her nose promptly burying itself in the crook of Wanda’s neck. Her gentle floral scent settled Natasha’s worries; it’d been too long since she was allowed so close. “I trust you.”

#wandanat #scarletwidow #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wandanat fic #wandanat angst #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #marvel fic #my writing #angst

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years

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Late Night Talks

Summary: After a long hunt, the reader and Dean grab a late dinner on the road. Dean notices the reader not eating much and calls her out on her recent eating habits when he gets concerned about the road she’s on...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, discussion of disordered eating & eating disorders, fluff

A/N: Written for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo!

______

“I read this article earlier,” said Dean as he popped a french fry into his mouth. You were about five hours from home, eating a midnight dinner at some tiny little diner on the side of the road after a successful but exhausting ghoul hunt.

“Mhm,” you hummed, picking at a brussel sprout on your plate.

“It was on disordered eating,” he said, picking up a piece of bacon that’d fallen onto his plate and eating it.

“You mean eating disorders,” you said, stabbing into the sprout and eating it before you went back to your dicing up your chicken tenderloin.

“No this was something different. It’s like, how some people shift into having an eating disorder, like pre disorder I guess.”

“So...was there something interesting in this article?” you asked, picking up a piece of chicken and taking a bite.

“Actually yeah,” he said. You chewed and took a few bites before he set the burger down and wiped off his hands. “It was about how there’s dangers involved with disordered eating since it could turn into something all consuming, like a full on eating disorder.”

“Well that sounds kinda obvious,” you said.

“Well it was about how stuff like skipping meals, limiting your calories too much, saying some foods are good and others are bad, that stuff over time can really start to mess with your head and lead to that compulsion of being obsessed with food and weight.”

“Isn’t that just common sense,” you said. He hummed and you ate another piece of chicken before pushing the plate away. “I don’t know about you but I’m full.”

“Yeah, it is common sense,” he said. You raised an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone, tapping on it for a moment before spinning it around, showing you a number.

“Are you tracking my fucking calories?” you said.

“Oh geez, Y/N. Maybe cause you hit every red flag in that article I read and I got concerned. There’s no humanly possible way you’re full when you’ve eaten a whopping 800 calories today. You’re starving yourself.”

“I’m not hungry today, weirdo,” you said.

“You were slow on that hunt and we both know why. You’ve been doing this for weeks really extremely and honestly, since I’ve met you.”

“I’m on a diet. You know that.”

“You’re on the ‘I’m fucking up my metabolism’ diet. Ah, that one’s a classic,” he said.

“Back off. I am not hungry lately is all.”

“Eat this,” he said, sliding his plate in front of you. He took your plate and started eating, staring at you. “Eat the burger.”

“I said-”

“Take one bite.”

“I’m not hungry,” you growled.

“Then take a bite and spit it out.” You picked up the burger, covered in cheese, bacon, peppers and a sauce that smelled so good. You swallowed and put it down, Dean shaking his head.

“Dean. I’m just not hungry.”

“Why won’t you take a bite?” he asked. You sighed and closed your eyes. “Y/N.”

“Because I’ll want to eat the whole thing and this has to be a thousand calories and I can’t eat that much, Dean. I’m on a diet.”

“Today I’ve seen you have three cups of coffee, a banana, and half of a small piece of chicken and a few brussel sprouts. You need to eat.”

“I need to lose weight.”

“For what?”

“I’m overweight.”

“Because a little stupid calculator online said so? So another stupid little calculator tells you how much food you’re allowed a day? But maybe you’re having a bad day so you tell yourself you don’t deserve to have even all of that already restricted food? So you make it even smaller to the point of, hm, what’s that word, disordered eating?”

You stared down at your lap and heard him get up, sliding into the booth beside you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you looked out the window.

“I do need to lose weight Dean. It’s true. I’m not supposed to be this big.”

“What are you supposed to be then?”

“Like that waitress. She’s small and thin. She’s healthy.”

“I see,” he said. She was working behind the counter, no one else in the place aside from a man at the other end and the cook. “Excuse me miss?”

She popped her head up and walked over with a tired smile.

“Can we get another bacon cheeseburger? And a big bowl of that ice cream sundae?” he asked.

“You got it,” she said, writing it down.

“One more thing,” said Dean. “Do you like the way you look?”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Dean, shut up,” you said. “Please ignore him.”

“I mean, are you happy with your body? Do you eat whatever you want, wear whatever you want, never worry a second about what goes in it or how it looks? You’re a beautiful woman but what do you actually think of yourself?”

She was quiet for a few moments before she noticed the swapped plates in front of you.

“You know when you first asked that, I thought, you were being creepy. I get creepy guys in here a lot late at night. The cook is a big guy but it happens. I know I’m small. I wish I was stronger. I wish I looked like she does. I’m something that looks like they’d snap in the wind. She’s strong and has an ass and curves. She’s not a rectangle with no curves or chest. She doesn’t look like a guy. I wish I wasn’t so delicate but I don’t think I can change that much.”

“Probably not so much,” said Dean. “But I hear weight training is good for muscle building. Creeps are always creeps but might help to be able to deck ‘em.”

“Yeah. I’ll go put that order in for you guys,” she said with a smile. Dean turned his head back to you after she went through the double doors.

“Funny. You want her body. She wants yours,�� he said.

“She doesn’t know I’m overweight.”

“She doesn’t know how damn strong you are. Her body? She was right. She is delicate and it’d be a safe idea for her to put on some muscle given her job. You though? You I’ll worry to death over no matter what. But you’re missing the most glaring thing of all.”

“What?”

“You just said she doesn’t know you’re overweight. She doesn’t know how much you weigh. If she doesn’t know how does anyone know? Why does a number on a scale matter? Health does, don’t get me wrong, but care more about what your body can do than what size pants you fit in. It’s all bullshit anyways. You can be a small one place or a triple XL somewhere else. You can have a normal chest but be told it’s too big or too small by a different brand. I just don’t want to see you going down a path towards something worse where you’re hurting yourself.”

“I’d never hurt myself, Dean.”

“If your body is hungry and you don’t feed it, you’re hurting it. I’m talking about you’re cold, you’re starving, you have no energy, you feel like crap. But you won’t eat, not until it gets a little worse because you think you can take it because you’ve taken it before. That’s hurting yourself and you hurt yourself a lot sweetheart.”

You looked down and swallowed, taking a deep breath.

“I’m really cold right now,” you said quietly. “I’m tired of always being so fucking cold.”

“Eat,” he said, tugging his plate closer to you. “I’ll order you some soup too. That’ll warm you up.”

He took off his jacket and wrapped it over your shoulders. He kissed your cheek and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’ve been like this for years, Dean. I don’t know how people eat normally anymore.”

“I know. You probably fucked up your metabolism but we can unfuck it up too. You can be healthy but this, this isn’t healthy. I’ll do it with you but you gotta promise me you won’t starve yourself anymore.”

“I’ll try,” you said.

“I’ll take trying to start with,” he said. “I’m gonna order that soup. Eat up for me sweetheart. You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

One Month Later

“Y/N!” shouted Dean from the kitchen as you walked past. “You eat lunch yet?”

“No,” you said.

“Are you hungry?”

“A little. I was waiting for you to get done with Baby,” you said.

“What’d you eat so far?” he asked.

“I had a cup of coffee and a protein bar and for lunch I’m having one of those greek wraps I like,” you said. “Satisfied?”

“I’d prefer if you had two wraps or a wrap and snack with it,” he said. You grumbled and he sighed. “Y/N. You said I could take the lead on this.”

“I’m gaining weight,” you said.

“Yeah cause you aren’t eating what a toddler does in a day anymore which is perfectly healthy for a grown woman. I know it’s only been a month but you have so much more energy, you sleep better, you have less nightmares. Your skin looks amazing. So gain a few pounds, gain more than a few, let’s fix your metabolism and then we’ll start working out a little and we’re not gonna give a fuck how much we weigh at all and we’re gonna be the hottest fucking couple in this neighborhood I swear.”

“I like not feeling cold anymore,” you said with a small smile, Dean walking over and rubbing your arms. “It’s just...hard sometimes to not...wait to eat until your stomach hurts from no food. I’m figuring out what being hungry is again.”

“It’s gonna take some time but your body will learn again. We just gotta be extra nice to it right now while it recovers,” he said. “And then we’ll always be nice to it, right?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I promise.”

“So, one wrap or two?” he asked, opening the fridge.

“One. I’ll save the other for tomorrow. But maybe I’ll have some pita chips and hummus with it?” you asked.

“That sounds yummy,” he said. “I think I’ll have that myself.”

“You don’t have to eat my diet Dean,” you said.

“I could do with being nicer to my own body myself,” he said. “After lunch do you want to go for a walk? I have a sneaking suspicion the couple three blocks over are a pair of vamps.”

“That’s the guy with the skin condition, babe,” you said.

“Are you sure cause he got like a weird rash that one time.”

“It’s a condition,” you said with a smile. “But I would love to go for a walk with you while the day is still nice.”

“Sounds like a plan sweetheart,” he said, starting to take food out of the fridge. You walked over and gave him a hug from behind.

“Thanks for saying something. Even if I tried pretending I was fine.”

“You’d do the same for me,” he said. “Come on, cutie. Let’s get some grub. I’m starving.”

________

#tell me a story bingo #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #spn fanfic #dean fanfic #dean x

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talesofstyles · 4 years

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Reconcile II

Ok so I know that I wrote the first part with reader insert, but after many, many attempts to keep it that way, it just didn’t work with this one. So I’d like for you to meet Emma. This is my first time writing with OC and wow game changer. I love her and I hope you do too!

Also, I honestly can’t thank my beta queens enough @oh-honey-styles @for-fucks-sake-h 🥺💛 thanks for allll the comments and suggestions and nice words!!! ily both xx

Read part I here

Harry

“So… are we okay now?”

We’re sitting here on the sofa, finally having that very much needed father-daughter date. Granted, a movie night in was not what I had in mind. I wasn’t too thrilled when she said she wanted to just go back home after we dropped George at his classmate’s house for a birthday sleepover. I thought she would hole up in her room instead and ignore me. But she didn’t. I got us pizza for tea, and we’ve got Shrek 2 on the telly. Her animosity towards me disappeared just like that after she asked for a puppy the other day. Of course, I’m glad to have my happy-go-lucky daughter back, but deep down I know that we need to have a proper chat. The change in her behaviour is so abrupt that I know there’s a chance that my daughter is still bitter with me deep down. And that won’t do. I can take a lot of things, but my daughter’s resentment is not one of them.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” she nods as she takes a bite of her pizza. “You’re still getting me a puppy right?”

“I still need to talk to your mum about it, poppet,” I tell her. “Puppies need a lot of attention. It’s going to be hard work and that puppy is going to be a permanent member of our family. We’ve really got to think about it before we decide.”

I expect a little excitement knowing that her mum and I are really considering getting a puppy. But what I get is quite the opposite. My little girl’s gaze drops, her face slackening. Her voice cracks a little when she mumbles, “except… we’re not a family.”

I wince, realising how serious the effect our split has on my daughter. Despite Emma and I putting on a friendly, united front for our children, Minnie is still sad that her parents are not together.

“Of course we’re still a family,” I assure her, pulling her to me for a comforting side hug. “I’m still your dad, mummy is still your mum, and you and George are still the lights of our lives.”

“But you and mummy aren��t together anymore,” she points out bitterly. “And you live so far away from us now. I miss having you at home.”

“I know, my love,” I murmur gently, and turn sideways so she can see my face. “It’s killing me too. But you never know what the future holds, right?”

“I guess,” she says glumly.

I wish I can tell her that I’m trying to win her mum back so we can be together again, but I know I can’t do that. This is far too early. I don’t want to get her hopes up in case I’m not successful in convincing my wife to give me another shot. That’ll only break her heart all over again.

Thinking back, I realised that this is the first time we have a proper chat about our split. I fled to LA the next morning after my wife asked me to leave our marital home back in London, leaving her to sit down with our children to tell them that I was not going to live there anymore. I was shocked and angry because I had no idea what I’d done. I thought we were fine. There were no fights leading up to that. I still remember exactly what I told her. ‘You’re the one who wanted to end it, you tell them.’ And then I left.

Just like that. Without a fight.

I swear to God, it’s something that I would never be able to forgive myself.

“How’s your mum?”

“She’s sad,” Minnie sighs. “She cries a lot. She thinks we can’t hear her in the shower, but we can.”

Knowing I caused that physically hurts. I rub at the throb of pain behind my breastbone and I think about all those private tears I shed through it. The ones you hope are hidden and silent.

“Can I ask you something, daddy?”

“Anything, poppet.”

“Do you still get sad too?”

I’m not sure how much to divulge here. Does my daughter need to hear that I stopped eating? That I once cried in the loo at Cafe Habana, and once had to be fished out of a bath by Jeff after I turned into a human prune? I was sad. I still wear that hat.

“I do. It’s the end of something, that’s always sad.”

“I think mum is dating someone,” she says and my eyes widen. “She told us Luke is her friend, but I think he’s her boyfriend. They’re on a date now, aren’t they?”

I can try and deny it, but I know my daughter is smart and won’t buy anything I tell her.

“What do you know about boyfriends?” I tease, my attempt to lighten up the mood.

“I’ve just turned nine, I’m not stupid,” Minnie rolls her eyes. “‘Sides I’m thinking about getting one of those boyfriend thingies.”

I sit there slack-jawed, and my daughter roars with laughter.

“Minnie Alexandra, you’re going to drive me to an early grave, you know that?”

“Hey, what are you middle naming me for? I was joking!” She says, still laughing as she picks a piece of pepperoni off her pizza.

“How do you feel about your mum dating again?” I ask her.

She pauses. “I don’t know yet. As long as he’s nice and doesn’t put me under the stairs…”

“I’m sure he won’t. In the attic maybe,” I joke.

She laughs again. I’m thinking about keeping that bloke in the attic so my wife won’t date him anymore. Or even better, six feet under my patio. That’ll do.

“It’s gonna be okay, right, dad?”

Honestly, I’m not sure. But I don’t have the heart to tell her that.

“Yeah, Min. It’s gonna be okay.”

***

I see the headlight shining into the front windows as I walk down the stairs from tucking my daughter into her bed. That must be Emma and her date. I pull back the curtain a little to peek outside, and I’m right as I see that bollockface’s car in front of the house.

You know that saying; curiosity killed the cat? Well, in my case, curiosity fucked me with a chainsaw.

I’m a bloody idiot. I should have just closed the curtain back as soon as I recognised the car. I mean… it’s the end of a date. What did I expect to see? A high five? I knew I was so sure when they left that he would not be getting anything more than a friendly kiss, but that date must have gone really well, because right now, my eyes may as well fall out of their sockets as I see that bastard’s tongue down my wife’s throat.

I’m frozen. I’m gripping the curtain so tight that my knuckles are turning white. I stand there—stunned. Watching. I’m not even sure for how long. It does feel like forever. Like an eternity.

In hell.

And then Emma pulls back, and everything seems like a blur. I have to remind myself that my daughter is sleeping upstairs so I won’t go apeshit and knock that wanker square on his arse.

I’m still glued to the floor by the door. I’m too shocked to move. I hear the sound of keys rattling before the door swings open, and she looks surprised when she sees me.

And all hell breaks loose.

“What the fuck, Emma?!” She jolts at hearing me shout. I rarely did it. In fact, I’m not even sure if I’d ever yell at my wife before throughout our marriage. “You told me last night you’d never even kissed him. You told me you weren’t ready.”

“I- I don’t know. He caught me off guard. That was-”

“I told you I wanted to make this work,” I remind her, trying to lower my voice so I won’t wake my daughter up. She doesn’t need to see this. “Us. Our marriage. I told you I wanted to fight for you. But I can’t do that with someone shoving their tongue down my wife’s throat, can I?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see her tear up and I immediately feel regret. That was harsh. But before I can apologise, I can see her lip curls up and I know she’s about to get nasty. It’s a rarity with her when we’ve fought in the past, but I feel it coming.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” She sneers. “You think that if you put a toy down, it’ll still be sitting there when you want to play with it again.”

“That’s-”

“You have no right to be upset at me. We’ve split up for nearly a year now. What I do and what I don’t do on my dates is none of your business.”

“I want us to give our marriage another shot,” I say in exasperation. “I want to try to win you back, but fuck’s sake you’re not even giving me the time of day.”

“Oh, look how the tables turned,” she taunts. “Sucks, innit? Being the one struggling to find the time when it seems like the other doesn’t give a crap?”

“Cheap shot, Ems,” I retort.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it, H?”

Emma averts her eyes, her lower lip quivering. I can’t tell if she regrets her harsh words or not, but she doesn’t look back my way, and she seems to have said her piece.

I knew sooner or later this was bound to happen. We never had our big fight, not even that night when she decided that enough was enough.

“I cannot possibly go through that again. It physically hurts,” she says softly. “I know I was the one who ended it, but when you just left like that the next morning without so much of a fight as if ten years means nothing to you… that really did hurt. You left me alone to talk to the kids about what happened. And sure, you did call every day. But it took you nearly nine months to finally come and see your children?”

“I needed some time. Some space,” I tell her. “Do you think it’s easy for me being there? Away from my wife and kids?”

“You chose to be there.”

“You know I couldn’t stay in London,” I murmur. “It’s too hard. At least in LA sometimes I can just pretend that everything’s okay. That we’re okay. That my wife and kids will be there waiting for me when I get home. I can’t do that in London.”

“That’s a shit excuse and you know it,” she mutters.

“I still love you, Em,” I say with a sigh. I know trying to defend myself further for what I did will get me nowhere. “We can fix this. We can be a family again.”

“Harry, it’s too late.”

“Is it him?” I can’t help but go there, because that’s a possibility. “Do you love him already?”

“Luke is a fresh start for me, H. I may not love him now but at least it doesn’t hurt looking at him. It took me months to be able to get back up again, to get to where I am right now. To finally find a little bit of peace.”

Emma’s head hangs low, and she rubs at her temple with her fingers. I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms. But by how stiff her spine is, I can tell she wouldn’t come willingly.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” I whisper, resigned. Tears well up in our eyes. There’s nothing I can say that will change her mind because we’re not seeing eye to eye. She’s still focused on the past, not that I blame her because I did hurt her badly, but I know that there is no way we can go anywhere if she can’t see past the harms I’ve caused in the past. “I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago,” she says, her expression softens. Her thumb runs at a part of her finger where a ring used to be. “Now, I just want us to try and make this separation work. Focus on the kids. Let’s do the right thing by them.”

I nod.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“When did it all start?” I ask, my voice cracks a little. “When did you start feeling like you’re invisible to me?”

“I’m not sure I can point down to one exact moment,” she takes a shaky breath and pauses. “The change was gradual that by the time I realised it, I didn’t even recognise us anymore. I spent days and nights wondering what happened to us. That wasn’t us.”

I wipe that one tear running halfway down her cheek, and as soon as my thumb touches her skin, I lose it. I can’t help it by this point. Tears flow as much as I try to hold them back. She’s crying too. This is painful.

“And it’d be too easy to say that I felt invisible,” she continues. “Because the truth is, I felt painfully visible. You ignored me on purpose. I wasn’t even sure what I was to you anymore, because the only chance for me to get your attention was by getting you in bed. And that was wrong. It hurts, because it felt like you only needed me to warm your bed.”

I want to deny that statement. I want to yell it’s not true. That I never intended to take her for granted. That she still makes my heart skip a beat like a bloody teenager seeing his first crush.

But I don’t.

Because she’s right. I’m not sure what happened either, but we’d changed. Maybe it’s our jobs, maybe it’s the endless responsibilities. Domesticity, children, they wore us down. Kisses became perfunctory. Hugs became less frequent. Hell, I couldn’t even remember the last time I took my wife for a date night other than for social obligations.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologising to her if I have to, she deserves it. “I hurt you badly. I really am sorry, Emma.”

“It wasn’t all you though,” she mumbles. “I never called you out on it.”

“You didn’t,” I reply. “I never worked out why?”

“I swept it under the carpet because it was embarrassing. It felt silly having to ask for your attention. And I don’t know… pride, maybe? And the kids. I didn’t want them to know something was wrong. So I played along and carried on like nothing was happening.”

“When really…”

“It was like a punch to the guts each time. You were an excellent father. You still are, the kids adore you. This may sound insane and it’s embarrassing and painful for me to admit this, but there were times when I saw you with the kids and I couldn’t help but feel jealous. When you couldn’t even be bothered to look at me… it felt like you took a dump over all my love for you.”

“Emma…”

“I wish I could get past that. I wish I could just forget what happened and trust you again.”

I bring her in for a hug and say nothing. She needs to get this all out. This is part of the process, and I’m here to listen.

But where do we go from there?

Reconciling a broken marriage is tricky. I am not a violent person but I have never wanted to strangle people as much as I want to strangle those who wrote articles with countless advice regarding this subject, making it seem like it’s easy. Talk it out, get your point across, and you’re out of the dog house. Well, you know what, bollockface? It turns out that listening is not enough. Sod you and your dumb articles.

All I know is that I can’t rush this. She’s not ready, and that’s okay. Right now, we both have things to work on. She needs to learn to let go of her resentment, and I have to learn not to take anything and anyone for granted ever again. This is killing me, but there is no one to blame but myself. I take solace in knowing the fact that I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. Maybe one day we’ll be back together. Maybe we won’t.

“Thank you for telling me all that,” I mumble against her hair.

“Thank you for listening,” she looks up and gives me a sad smile.

***

Emma comes from a big family.

There’s Jamie, her eldest brother and the only guy. I think the fact that he grew up surrounded by sisters was what made us the closest in the first place. He hates wine, even though he makes a career out of managing his own vineyard. I know, the irony. The next is Suze, sister number one who lives in Sheffield with her husband and three girls. Suze and her husband are both orthopaedic surgeons. Then my wife, the middle child. Then Meg, sister number two who just had a baby. It’s another girl so my George is still the only grandson in the family. And then Lucy, the youngest of the clan who’s still in university.

They all live nearby, and I knew that all my in-laws hated me a tiny bit for taking their daughter and sister away. They were a hard outfit to infiltrate. You don’t enter into a relationship with one of them, you get a whole gaggle of them. It was hard to get in, but once you’re in, you’re in for life.

After we’d split, I called my parents-in-law the next morning just before my flight to LA. I wasn’t sure whether or not Emma had told them about what happened, but I felt like it was the right thing to do. After all, they’d become my parents too for a decade. So I explained and apologised. Of course, I didn’t tell them the details because I knew they were between Emma and me, and they respected us enough not to ask. They were upset, but they also understood that these things happen in life. All they wanted was just for their grandbabies to come out of this unscathed.

Now here I am, walking behind Emma and our children as we step over the threshold into her parents’ home for their monthly roast. Her parents invited me and I accepted. I don’t want to turn down any extra time I have with my kids as I’ve decided to leave today and head back to London. I was prepared to stay longer, take some time off work and fight for my marriage, but since it all has gone to pot, I figured I should leave. The world doesn’t stop even when you’re struggling with marital woes. I’ve got work to do, and I also know that it is best to give Emma space.

I hear voices as we walk inside.

“If littl’uns are going in highchairs then what’s that extra space for?” I hear Meg’s husband say.

Meg tells him. “Count again, addition was never your strong point.”

“Oh.”

The house is suddenly quiet when they see me. This is my first time seeing the whole family again after we split, and even though my parents-in-law and I are on good terms, and Jamie too, I know the sisters would be a different story. All four of them are beyond close and they’re now looking at me as if they should’ve chucked me in the oven instead of the chicken.

You don’t do that to our sister. You hurt one, you hurt all of us.

“Uncle Harry!” Freya shouts in excitement. She is one of Suze’s daughters. She and her twin sister Tessa are only a few months older than my George.

Suze, who is sitting on the sofa, looks a bit sullen, not knowing what the right call is to make. Meg and her husband freeze.

“Alright there, mate?” Jamie greets me, trying to ease the tension. Suze glares at him.

“Are you here to do magic then, Uncle Harry?” Tessa asks.

I bend down to her level. “Not sure I know any magic, Tessie.”

“Yeah you do!” Freya pipes up. “Because when we were driving here, daddy said you did a disappearing act on Aunty Ems. Show us what you did!”

“FREYA!” Her dad barks.

Meg can barely contain her giggles.

“But we like magic. You’re rubbish at magic,” she says to her dad. He widens his eyes.

The sisters are now all smiling smugly, knowing a couple of six-year-olds just shamed me on their behalf. Extra roast potatoes for those two.

Lucy, the littlest sister, suddenly enters. That’s definitely not a happy face. “Oh, it’s you. Is that why everyone went so quiet? What are you doing here?”

“Luce,” Emma mutters.

“Because I invited him,” says a voice emerging from the kitchen. My father-in-law. “Harry, glad you could make it.”

“Of course,” I reply. “Thanks for the invitation.”

Lucy stares daggers at her dad, knowing she can’t unleash her trademark rapier wit as she’s surrounded by her little nieces and nephews. That one may be the youngest but she’s the scariest out of all the sisters, my wife included.

“Look, if it’s weird, I can just leave?” I offer.

“Nonsense, you must stay for supper,” Emma’s mum replies.

“Yeah, Harry, stay,” says Emma’s dad, staring at his daughters. “I want you lot to be nice. Otherwise, I’m putting you on the kids table. You hear me?”

The three of them nod in unison.

“You two look well,” I say, my attempt to make small talk.

“You know, dad’s been singing this morning,” Emma’s mum chirps, tilting her head towards her husband. “He joined a male choir. They think they’re Westlife.”

We all can’t help but laugh. This is classic mum. The tension seems to ease away.

Let’s just hope it stays that way.

***

There’s a strange feeling of déjà vu as I take a seat on the steps in front of the cottage.

I’m all packed up and ready to go. My weekender bag is in the boot of my car. Nothing left to do but say goodbye to my wife and kids, but I don’t go straight inside.

Not yet. I need a moment.

These steps witnessed a lot of our marriage even though we’d never stayed here for longer than a couple of weeks at a time. We loved to sit out here in the summer. I remember when I first brought my stuff here shortly after we got married, we sat out here with beers, sleeves rolled up, boxes stacked into Jenga-style columns.

I also remember sitting here last year on Christmas morning. Emma and I were both in our pyjamas and slippers, sipping coffees out of our matching Christmas mugs. We watched the kids ride their new scooters up and down the street. Everything was perfect. I had no idea that my marriage would end in just two months after that.

“Harry?”

I look over my shoulder and I urge her to sit beside me. She comes over and does just that. There is silence. We don’t say a word to each other. A quiet hum of traffic in the distance, puffs of breath cloud the air making me think we should both be wearing coats. Christmas is nearly here again. My heart aches at the thought of this being our first Christmas since everything fell apart.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I should be the one apologising, Em.”

“I know you wanted to work things out,” I hear the sadness in her voice. “I really loved you, you know that, right?”

“I do,” I nod. “Our marriage, all those years… it wasn’t all bad, though, right?”

“Of course,” she quickly replies. “We had our moments. We have Minnie and George.”

We pause, letting that sink in. In all this mess, those two were and remain everything, some symbol of our marriage not being a complete disaster.

“There were also times when you were a good husband,” she adds.

“Why do I feel like you’re going to pat me on the head?”

Emma laughs under her breath.

“Your new bloke seemed a nice sort,” I tell her, because it’s true. I may hate the guy with a burning passion, but that’s only because he’s dating my wife.

“He is.”

“That got legs?” I ask her.

“Possibly.”

“I want you to be happy, Ems,” I tell her. “With or without me.”

“Harry…”

“But I also want you to know that I’ll be waiting for you. No rush, no timeline. I’ll wait for as long as it takes. Because for me, it’s either you or no one else.”

The front door opens and two little faces pop out from behind it.

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” Shouts Minnie.

“Well then come here and give me cuddles to warm me up,” I tell her.

Emma and I take a kid each. She takes George and lets him entangle his legs in hers, cradling himself into the hook of his mummy’s arm. Minnie uses me like a climbing frame. I bop her on the nose as I’ve done since she was a baby, and I like that it never stops being hilarious to her. The sky starts to dim, trees casting shadows onto the pavement. A house down the road has some festive lights that switch on and flicker on and off in strange syncopated patterns.

“This is nice,” Minnie mumbles. “I miss the awesome foursome.”

“The awesome foursome, huh?” I ask.

“That’s what you used to call us,” I hear the sadness in her voice and my heart aches. I know she feels this all a lot more than her little brother. “I still remember.”

“Do you really have to go again, daddy?” George looks at me with sad puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah, do you?” Minnie asks. “I love having you here.”

“I do, my loves,” I reply sadly. “Be good for mummy, alright? I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“I don’t like seeing you go,” George mumbles.

The emotion is a little unbearable and I see a tear trail down my wife’s cheek. George looks petrified seeing his mum cry.

“Don’t be sad, mummy.”

“I’m not sad,” she shakes her head, quickly wiping the tear off her cheek. “I’m just sorry daddy and I couldn’t make it work.”

“Did we do something wrong?” George asks, looking at his mum and then me.

“Oh, mate,” I reach out to cup his face, Emma pulls him into a hug. “Of course not. You didn’t do anything wrong. You two are perfect, you hear me?”

“Do you still love each other?” Minnie asks.

Emma looks at me in the eye as she answers our daughter. “I’ll always love your dad, because he gave me both of you.”

“And I’ll always love your mum,” I say, my eyes pinned on my wife. “No matter what.”

Emma

“So… tell me, he a good lay? He looks the sort to have some girth.”

I probably should have warned you beforehand about this sister of mine.

Lucy is my entertainer sister who has done every job going alongside studying. She went to dance school, spent six months on a cruise ship, has been an extra and once did a two-month stint in Les Misérables. On weekends she dresses up as Disney characters and does kids’ parties which means she owns a lot of wigs and always has glitter in her bra. She’s the fun one. I keep her close because as much as I love my other siblings, this one has been a good entertainment through my separation. Mum suggested for her to live with me for a couple of weeks when I first moved back to the Peak, and I’m so glad she did. It was around the time I lost a stone and would spend most of the time napping, crying and staring at the wall, surviving on cups of tea and Rich Tea fingers. She couldn’t cook or clean and she used all my shampoo but she brought some light into the house when grey clouds threatened to consume it. She was also a great distraction because I could live vicariously through her tales of going to gigs and clubs and hear how she’s not slept and got her boobs out for reasons of fun and frivolity.

However, when you talk to her, she always goes there. She’s brash and has no conversational limit. She thinks her purpose is to not only feed me but also revive a pretty dead sex life too. Actually, it’s not just her. After my husband and I split, my sisters think it’s their job to pique my interest in men again. Luke happened after a boozy Chinese takeaway about two months ago when I joked that a spring roll was the most phallic thing I’d had in my mouth for over half a year. I remember a dumpling rolled out of Meg’s mouth in shock, so Suze decided to play the matchmaker and introduced me to Luke who worked at the same hospital with her.

Tonight, we’re having another takeaway night since my parents have all the grandchildren for the weekend. Bless them for entertaining that crew of children we seem to have acquired over the past nine years. We have seven between Suze, myself and Meg, and I just hope that my parents are well stocked with wine. They will need it.

We all sit around my dining room table with the remnants of a KFC bargain bucket, a selection of Thai food, a giant bag of chips and some battered sausages. I’d admit that we were already a little drunk to buy food sanely. Luke is also here, I thought it’d be nice to give my sisters the chance to get to know him. And it doesn’t take Lucy more than thirty seconds after Luke gets up to take a phone call before asking such questions.

“I don’t know? I haven’t slept with him yet.”

Lucy looks at me in confusion. “But you’ve been on dates and stuff?”

“We did have a cheeky snog last week but we’re taking it slow.”

“What are you waiting for? Just go shag him. Erase the memory of that wanker?”

“Hey, he’s your niece and nephew’s father,” I chastise her for calling Harry names. “Don’t call him that.”

“Why don’t you want to sleep with Luke?” Meg, my other sister asks me. “Lucy is right though. He’s really tall, I bet he’s VWE.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Very well-endowed.”

I chuckle. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

Meg giggles and places her head on my shoulder.

“Last time I had sex was on Valentine’s Day, girls. Do your maths. The next day, my marriage collapsed.”

Both of them huddle into me like penguins.

“Which is why you just need to get over yourself,” Lucy remarks. “You need to remember what sex is like. It’ll be fun and make you feel good. If you don’t want to do it with Luke, you can have some taster session? I’ve got a uni mate who’d shag you.”

“Lovely. No.”

Lucy huffs. “You’re so boring.”

“Honestly, Em, Luke is fit. Seems like a nice fella, and he genuinely likes you. I’d have a go on him if I weren’t married. You should just do it,” says Meg.

“Yeah, you could shag him tonight,” Lucy adds. “Meg and I can piss off out and then…”

Then she does a strange rave-style dance as she thinks of her plan coming together. Luke returns from his phone call and Lucy jiggles in her seat. Don’t you bloody dare.

“Luke, we need more wine,” says Lucy. “There is not enough and we thought you could walk down to the shop and get some?”

Meg and I look at each other for a second, wondering what our sister is up to.

“Sure, yeah, I could get wine,” Luke replies. “Any other requests?”

If she tells him to get condoms in then I will skewer her with a chopstick.

“Anything you might fancy or need?”

She’s walking an incredibly thin, thin line.

Luke gets up to retrieve his coat and grazes my hand as he does. This move doesn’t go unnoticed by Meg and she gives me a sly wink. I hand him my keys and he heads for the front door. Meg stares Lucy out.

��Seriously?” She says.

“We need to prepare you if you’re going to sleep with him.”

“Like mentally?” I ask.

“Like have you had a tidy? This will be your first time. You’ll need to at least tidy up the flaps and do a bit of topiary.”

“LUCY!” I gasp and laugh at the same time, holding my hand to my face. Who is this woman? How can you raise five children in the same house and come up with such a random entity?

She stands up and heads for my kitchen drawers, rifling around until she pulls out a pair of scissors.

“Show me your bush,” she orders.

“Lucy! I prepare food with those scissors.”

“And we’ll wash them?”

Meg is in hysterics as she sees this scene unfolding in front of us.

“I’m not getting my bush out in my kitchen.”

“You’re so dull,” Lucy complains. “I’m trying to help here. What are your pits like? Shame there’s no time to tackle your upper lip.”

I put my hand over it instinctively. “I’ve got a moustache?”

“Well, you’re not Tom Selleck but it could do with a bleach.”

“You’re being cruel now, Luce,” Meg giggles. “But I think we do need the comedy of seeing Lucy trimming your bush in the kitchen.”

I stand up reluctantly and unbutton my jeans.

“Ha!” Exclaims Lucy. “You’re wearing nice knickers, you knew this was going to happen. Just peel them back a little and let me have a look.”

“Be quick for fuck’s sake. This is something that no one needs to see.”

“Do you want a shape?”

“What?”

“Yeah, like a heart? It’d be cute.”

“No!”

Meg roars with laughter.

“I’ll just trim the length then,” says Lucy. “Meg, put your hand out.”

“Do I have to?”

“Don’t you love your sister enough to at least hold her pubes?”

I’m not even sure what’s happening here. One sister is very close to my private regions with a sharp object and I hear the creak of metal as she shears away. The other collects the trimmings in a napkin in her palm. This feels like an opportune moment to ring Suze, our other sister, and start a FaceTime chat. That time we all took one for the team so Emma could reclaim her sex life.

“Thanks, Luce.”

“You don’t say this enough I feel.”

“We really don’t,” says Meg.

“Want me to look at yours, Meg?”

“I’m good.”

“What if he’s into weird stuff?” I ask.

“Like?”

“I don’t know… maybe like choking? Stuff like that.”

“Well, no one breaks out all the moves on their first time,” says Meg but Lucy gives us a look like she begs to differ.

“And I’m not on anything. I stopped the pills months ago. What if I get pregnant?”

“That’s what condoms are for?”

They both give me a look that says I am not fourteen and that I should have an inkling about how reproduction works and the preventative measures that I can put in place to stop myself from getting pregnant.

“How do I initiate it?”

“Maybe you could dance for him?” says Luce mockingly. “You’ve both had a drink, let it just happen. Planned sex is the worst kind of sex.”

“I planned nothing. You’re the one who’s got the kitchen scissors.”

“I’m done, anyway. Not my finest work but then at least he’ll be able to find it?”

Meg laughs again as she goes to the bin with her napkin of pubes. I do my jeans up and sit at the table, downing what’s left in my glass. What if he can’t get it up? Or worse, what if he doesn’t like my boobs? I have modest boobs. They wouldn’t win any competitions. What if he wants better boobs?

“You’re overthinking,” says Meg.

“I haven’t got any condoms.”

Lucy reaches inside her handbag, pulls out two packets of johnnies and hands them to me. How far ahead has she planned this?

“Any other excuse?” Lucy asks.

“Look, tonight, just get naked with the fella, have some bloody fun. Enjoy yourself.”

I hear the key go in the latch of the front door. That was quick. Crap. Luke enters the kitchen with two bottles of red that I immediately feel guilty about as I’ve got a rack of it in the utility room. He also carries a few packs of crisps and takes the kitchen scissors that were on my table.

“No!” I stop him. “Those need to be washed.”

He looks at me in confusion and I love that he puts them in the sink without any further questions asked. He rips opens the packet of crisps with his hands instead.

“Crisps?”

Lucy grabs a handful of crisps before she grabs her phone, pretending to read some texts. “Bollocks! Meg, we forgot about the party.”

Meg quickly plays along. “Oh yeah, crap. It’s that birthday party, innit?”

I feel awful. I’m sending the sisters back out into the cold so Luke and I can have the house to ourselves. They both keep winking at me which is more down to the fact that they’ve had at least a bottle of wine each for themselves tonight. Luke stands at the kitchen door while I wave everyone off. This feels weird.

“Have fun, kids!” Chants Lucy as she shepherds Meg away from the house. I shut the door.

And then there were two. I turn around and Luke is no longer at the doorway. I tiptoe into the kitchen to find him stacking plates.

“Shall we tidy up now?” He asks.

“It can wait.”

My phone on the table lights up with an incoming text. It’s Lucy. Don’t forget to adjust your tits. Make sure they’re facing forwards. Show a bit of bra.

Does this mean my boobs are not always facing forward? Where are they looking? This isn’t helping at all. I ignore it.

“Alright,” Luke says with a smile that makes me feel relaxed but also on the faint side of nauseated. It’s probably first time nerves. Is it weird that I’m thinking about the cleanliness of my bedroom? Did I pick up yesterday’s bra from the corner of my room? Do I remember how to go down on a man? What if he doesn’t fancy me?

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder whether my marriage ended with Harry because I was terrible in bed. Maybe I wasn’t attractive enough. I’ve had kids, parts of me are stretched and doughy. Maybe I didn’t provide what he needed.

In the last year of our marriage, I think it’s safe to say that I was mainly the one to initiate things between us and my success rate wasn’t 100%. There’s this nagging thought in my head that maybe even on those nights I succeeded, those were just pity shags.

You know what, sod it.

I grab him by the collar and kiss him. He stumbles a little but then lets his body fold into mine. I can do this. Crap. He’s lifting me up. He sits me on the counter and I’d like to say the moment overtakes but there’s red wine inches from my arse so I move the glass with my hand whilst still kissing him. We’re kissing. This is weird. It’s different. It’s not my husband’s lips. Why am I thinking about my husband’s lips?

I shake my head, banishing that image. Harry doesn’t belong in this room with me right now.

I feel his hands in the small of my back and then he lifts my jumper over my head. I’m in my bra. Don’t overthink it. Oh, the bra is off. My nipples are out in the kitchen. I run my fingers through his hair as he trails kisses down my neck. Is it weird that right now, at this very moment, all I can think about is that his blond, floppy hair looks like a golden retriever?

I gasp and push him away involuntarily when his mouth wraps on my nipple. This is wrong. This feels wrong. I thought it was just first time jitters but now I think this is deeper than that.

“Are you alright?” He asks, looking concerned.

I grab my jumper and quickly put it back on. “I… I’m sorry, Luke. I can’t. I have to go.”

“Emma, I’m sorry,” his face reads panic. “Did I read the signals wrong? I thought you wanted this. I feel terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologise,” I say hastily. “You didn’t. I did want this. Or so I thought. It’s just… I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll be ready any time soon. Or ever.”

“What do you mean? Are you breaking up with me?”

I have to be straight with him. I take a deep breath. “I want to give you the opportunity to walk away. You’re a good guy, Luke. I just don’t think it’s fair for me to string you along if we can never progress.”

“Is it your ex-husband?”

He’s still my husband. But I don’t say this out loud.

“He told me that he wanted to give our marriage another shot about two weeks ago when he was here,” I tell him. “I did say no right away. I didn’t think it was a good idea. But…”

“Is it really?” He asks. “You two have a lot of history. Two kids. Why wouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“I’m worried.”

“And what are you worried about?”

“My heart?” I say quietly. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

Luke smiles at me through sympathetic eyes. “Listen to me, Emma. I’m not a cardiologist, but I know that the hearts are the strongest organs in the human body. They can go through anything.”

What happens next feels like a blur. All I know is that by midnight, I’m already halfway down the M1, on my way to London.

Harry

It was a knock on the door that woke me up.

When I first open my eyes, I’m disoriented. I don’t know what time it is, or how long I’ve been asleep. Then I realise I’m on the sofa, and it’s still dark outside. It’s also raining. I walk towards the door and open it, just in time to catch a figure going down the steps, which doesn’t take me more than a second to recognise. I am in complete shock. Is this real? Is that really my wife, standing in front of my door in the middle of the night? Or are my eyes deceiving me?

“Emma?”

She stops on the pavement and slowly turns to face me. She’s spooked through—her jeans moulded to the curves of her legs, the sleeves of her jumper dripping, her hair flat, lips slightly tinged with blue.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she says. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”

I open the door wider, and my voice is drowsy and deep when I say, “Come on, let’s talk inside.”

She takes a step back instead.

“I just… I wasn’t thinking. I’m here. I don’t know why,” she sounds genuinely bewildered—even a little panicked.

“Are the kids in the car?” I ask her and she shakes her head. The wind blows, spraying ice-cold drops across my bare skin where my shirt hangs open. “You’re shivering, honey, come inside.”

She stares at me, so many emotions swirling in her expression. She’s like a skittish kitten who can’t decide if she should let the stranger pat her head or haul up the nearest tree. It breaks my heart.

“I don’t think I can.”

So I go to her.

The rain is cold and hard, soaking my shirt. Her eyes dart from the pavement, to my chest, up to my eyes and back again, like she’s ready to bolt—but her feet stay glued.

I lean in so she can hear me through the rain. “Do you remember the first time we went to Paris together? When we were young and crazy enough to only rent one electric scooter for both of us, and we rode around the city at night?”

The corners of her mouth tug up a little. “I remember.”

“But then I was going way too fast and we hit a rock, and both of us went flying. I didn’t want to ride anymore the next day, because I was afraid you’d get hurt. Do you remember what you told me?”

“I said…” she begins, her eyes meet mine. “I said we had to keep riding. Because it’s the only thing that made falling worth it.”

I nod tenderly and hold out my hand. “I’m not going to let us fall this time, Emma.”

Her eyes are back on the pavement. “I’m not sure-”

I know she still doesn’t trust me. I know that sadness on her face and how it penetrates so deeply. I know she’s probably better off without me, the bastard who crushed her heart and soul and took her for granted for years.

We shy away from the things that hurt us. But that’s what scars are for. They protect the wounds. They cover them with thick, numb tissue so we’ll never have to feel that same pain again. The scars that my wife has inside? They’re tough.

I beg when she continues to stare at my hand, “Please, just come inside.”

Slowly, tentatively, her hand slides into mine.

And we go in out of the rain.

I take her upstairs to the bedroom that used to be ours. Her teeth chatter as she sits on the edge of the bed. I throw a blanket over her shoulders, rubbing her arms, sliding down to cup her hands.

“Shit, you’re freezing. How long were you out there?”

“A while. I was walking… thinking.”

“Just some friendly advice. Next time you go a-wandering, stop and buy an umbrella.”

Emma shivers as she laughs. I pull the blanket closer around her and rub her back.

“So… you gonna tell me what’s this midnight adventure about?”

Her voice comes out soft and wavering in the dark room. “I was with Luke.”

“Did he do something to you? I’ve watched enough crime documentaries to pull a perfect murder.”

She shakes her head and chuckles. “We were having a takeaway night. Meg and Lucy were there too, but then they left and there were just the two of us and-”

“Please spare me the details,” I beg.

“Nothing happened. I just… I couldn’t get through it. Your face kept popping out in my head and I knew that if I went all the way through, we’d lose our chance. And I didn’t want us to lose our chance. I know this is completely the opposite of what I said to you two weeks ago but it’s true. I wasn’t ready then and maybe I’m still not ready now, but I don’t know about the future and you said you’d wait for me and…”

Her words trail off and my chest clenches with that sublime mix of excitement and trepidation. Of wanting something so much it’s like every cell in your body is stretching, reaching for it, yet there’s a grey shadow of worry that you might never get to touch it.

“Oh, Ems…”

I cup my hands around hers and blow into them. Another shiver vibrates through her.

For a moment we sit there in silence. Memories of us in this bed come flooding back. Of the kids piling in here bright and early, and us having cuddles and catch ups over the week just gone. Of the two of us and that sacred half an hour we had together before we go to sleep. Where we could have a proper chat without little voices interrupting us every few seconds. Sometimes we’d read together too, and other times when we just couldn’t be arsed, we’d simply spend that half an hour scrolling through memes and having a laugh together.

“You’ve got to get out of these wet clothes,” I say gently, with absolutely no teasing suggestion. We’re right on the precipice. I can feel it. And I have to tread so carefully, because one wrong move could send her away, truly lost to me.

I peel my soaked shirt off and let it drop to the floor. Her eyes move, trailing over my shoulders. I stand and slowly unbutton my jeans, leaving me in black boxer briefs.

Her eyes follow my every move, looking at me.

I push the blanket off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I grasp her jumper at the bottom and lift slowly. I wait for her to push me away but she doesn’t. She raises her arms instead. I pull the jumper over her head and it lands with a plop on the floor. I remind myself not to enjoy the view. I’m trying hard not to look.

My chest rises and falls as rapidly as hers. I sink to my knees in front of her and reach out for the button of her jeans. She lifts her hips and my fingertips graze her skin as I slide them down her thighs, leaving the white lace knickers in place.

“Get under the sheets,” I whisper and she does just that.

She scoots to her side of the bed, and I slide beside her. Without a word, she snuggles into my side. The cool feel of her flesh is a shock at first, but in just a few moments, my heat chases away her chill. Except for her feet. I practically jump when she runs one up my calf.

“Yer a bloody ice cube!”

She laughs kind of evilly.

We face each other, almost nose to nose. Her hair still drips at the ends and a drop trickles over her collarbone, down her chest, and I’ve got to take a deep breath—because I want to lick it off her so badly.

“Talk to me,” she says softly.

“I’m taking time off work.”

“But you never take time off work?”

“I’ve got a lot to make up to the kids,” I tell her. “So I told Jeff to bugger off for at least until after New Year.”

I see her smile in the dim light.

“I’m gonna stay up with my mum,” I add. “I’ll only be an hour away from you lot.”

This is something that I’ve been mulling about. If I really do want a chance with Emma, I need to move up there because absence does not make the heart grow fonder. That may be true in secondary school when you went away for the summer. But in marriage, especially in a broken marriage, absence separates people. It creates distance. That’s the opposite of what you’re trying to achieve. You want the closeness back.

My wife’s palm runs over my bicep—tentatively at first—then with a surer touch. “They’d love that.”

“Also, you remember my old mate Stu?” She nods. “We got in touch just earlier today. He’s got a litter of puppies and he offered one for us. I told him I need to talk to you first. So what do you think?”

“A puppy, huh?”

“A puppy.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” she says. “But I’ve never had a dog though.”

“I can train it first at my mum’s?” I offer. “I’ll get it all settled. Then when it starts sleeping through the night, I’ll bring it over.”

“Does it make me a terrible mum for wishing we had that kind of service when the kids were newborns?”

“We had that service. It’s called sending them to the grandparents.”

We both laugh, and when the laughter dies down, we’re silent for a few minutes. The thrum of my heartbeat jacks up as her hand continues to stroke my arm.

“Harry?” Her voice is the barest whisper, like she’s checking to see if I’m asleep.

“Hmm?”

“I… I’ve missed you. So much.”

And I’m done.

The need to kiss her, to touch her, has been pulling at me like a raging current ever since I saw her on the front step, and with those few words, I let the current take me.

***

Numerous studies have shown that having sex extends the human life span. At this rate, Emma and I are going to live forever. We probably slept twenty minutes max throughout the night and I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve done it. I’m pretty sure the last time we did something like that was ten years ago on our honeymoon.

We’re sitting at the breakfast nook. Her hair mussy and she’s wearing one of my T-shirts. She looks freshly fucked, which I know to be true, and I reckon she’d be ready to crawl back into bed with me if I just crook my finger. But I don’t do that. Because this, us, sitting here in the morning sunlight, playing footsies under the table while we talk over coffee is all I’ve been dreaming about every morning.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks when she catches me looking.

“You,” I smile. “You look perfect.”

“No, no more,” she shakes her head frantically. “I won’t be able to walk.”

“You dirty lass, I was trying to be romantic and all that,” I can’t help but snort in laughter. “And you always do that… rebuff any type of compliment I try to give you.”

It’s true. If I tell her she looks beautiful, she waves a dismissive hand at me. If I compliment her mind, she blushes. Even an appreciative look from me has her turning shy like a schoolgirl.

When she doesn’t respond to me, I continue to poke at her. “Why is that? Why does it embarrass you when I tell you that you’re smokin’ hot?”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “Because it’s weird. I feel like you just have to say that.”

She pretends to go through one of her old magazines from when she still lived here. I reach across the table and bat at it, causing one side to pull out of her hands and reveal her entire face to me. Now she’s glaring. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

And I grin when I see red stain her cheeks.

“And you’ve got the most gorgeous body. I take one look at you naked and I can’t help but get rock hard.”

“Stop it,” she blusters, now blushing all the way down her neck.

I change tactics, but I know this will embarrass her just as much. “You are the most amazing woman. Kindest, genuine and grounded. Funniest too. And you’re the best mother for our babies.”

“Okay,” she snaps at me as she closes the magazine and slams it down onto the table. “You’ve made your point.”

Chuckling, I stretch back in my chair and nudge her foot with mine under the table. “You’re adorable.”

She rolls her eyes, which I find to be beyond adorable.

Standing up from my chair, I walk around the table and hold my hand out to her. She willingly takes it and stands when I give her a tug. It’s a natural move for her, to walk straight into my embrace and press herself against me. I tilt my head and kiss her on her jaw. “It’s something you need to get used to… compliments from me. It’s never going to stop.”

She moans softly in my ear.

“Want to know what else you’re going to have to get used to?” I whisper as I kiss my way down her neck.

Her fingers come up, tangle in my hair, and fist tightly. “What’s that?”

“My face between your legs.”

***

Some people might not put Quaglino’s into the romantic restaurant bracket, but they’d be wrong, very wrong. In actual fact, it’s quite hard to top. The interior has this 1930’s romance charm with candlelit tables, dark-panelled walls and an adjoining room for dancing to the soft tunes of the piano man singing bluesy versions of classic songs.

Tonight, I managed to convince Emma to go out to dinner with me before she goes back to our babies. I insist on driving her since I don’t want her to drive alone at night again, which she initially refused but finally agreed.

We finish our dinner and split a slice of cheesecake for dessert. Probably not my brightest idea since I keep having to readjust myself because seeing her slowly swallow a mouthful of white, creamy concoction is a pure kind of torture. But I try to kick those dirty thoughts out of my mind and focus.

Since last night, we’ve successfully managed to avoid the talk. It feels like we’re in a bubble where everything is perfect and we’re just scared to burst it, but I know this can’t go on. Emma and I need to have a proper chat if we want this to work.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“You and I need to talk, don’t you think?” I begin.

“You’re right,” she nods. “So…”

“What is this?” I gesture between us. “Are you ready to give us another shot?”

“I think so,” she nods. “But I want us to take it slow.”

“You set the pace,” I assure her. “I want this to work more than I want anything else in my life. So I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“We’ll see this as a new dalliance,” she adds.

I know this is supposed to be serious so I try hard not to break into laughter. “Okay. I will court you but I won’t ask you to move to an estate in the country. Not right away at least.”

“I’m serious.”

“You sound like Austen.”

She rolls her eyes. “And we can’t tell anyone either.”

“I agree,” I tell her. “And from now on, we talk to each other, alright? I’ll try to make you happy the best way I know how. But if it’s not enough for you, then you need to tell me.”

She nods, but then her graze drops before she asks. “You really do want this right?”

“I told you I want this to work more than anything else in my life.”

“It’s just… when you first told me you wanted to fight for our marriage, I was overwhelmed because it was all so sudden. You told me everything I wanted to hear. Even at that moment, everything in me screamed for us to just fall back into it all the way. But there was also a part of me that thought you were just lonely, and maybe you thought that us getting back together was the answer to it.”

“Not true-”

Emma holds up her hand. “Maybe not true, but it’s my fear. That’s why I kissed Luke that night, because I was desperate. I wanted to push things with him because I knew I’d never love him the way I love you. I knew that if things went to pot, I wouldn’t be half as devastated. But with you? I don’t think I can survive that type of heartbreak again, H. You don’t know how much it killed me to end our marriage. I can’t afford to fall back into something that’s not going to last.”

“Emma,” I reach across the table to take her hand. “I can’t even imagine how hard it was for you. I know for sure it was not a decision you made lightly, nor on a whim. I wish I had fought you on it then… had fought for you then. There was a time when I thought our marriage was over, and I was going to let you go. But I’m not going to do that now. If it takes you weeks, months, hell, Emma… if it takes you years to fully trust my devotion to you, I’m in this for however long it takes.”

Emma nods, biting into her lower lip. I can see her eyes starting to water because every bit of this is overwhelming. She turns her head towards the music floating in from the other room. It’s a Van Morrison cover, Crazy Love.

“Wanna dance?”

The request takes me by surprise since this isn’t like her. But I toss my napkin on the table and move to stand next to her, holding out my hand. The simple delight on her face when her hand slides into mine is everything.

We step out onto the edge of the dance floor. I wrap my arm around her lower back, holding her tight and flush against me. One of her hands rests on my shoulder, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. The other is clasped in mine just over my heart. We sway, eyes pinned at each other for a few moments.

“Thought you hate dancing?” I smirk.

“Still hate it,” she answers. “I’m just using it as an excuse to be closer to you.”

She sighs, practically sinks into my arms. Emma’s head fits against my chest like she was made to be there. My chin rests against her hair.

“Emma?”

She lifts her head from my chest. “Yeah?”

“You don’t need an excuse.”

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love…

***

“What the-”

“Oi!” I yell, quickly pulling the duvet over my wife and I. “Heard of knocking?”

“Heard of a bedroom lock?” Lucy challenges.

Last night, we drove up the M1 straight from the restaurant. We took breaks in deserted services with shiny floors and bad lighting where we had coffees and wandered around WHSmith bulk buying sweets even though it’s really not that far. But you can never have too many travel sweets, can you?

And now, here we are, back at the cottage. The kids are still at their grandparents until this afternoon so Emma and I are enjoying the benefit of having the house all to ourselves by having a morning shag. That is until one of her sisters walks in on us. I’m very aware that I’m still inside Emma.

I pull out, roll over to lay down next to my wife, and we both stare at Lucy who is dressed from head to toe like Princess Jasmine from Aladdin.

“Party?” Emma asks her sister. We both try not to giggle as she sashays in to look at herself in the mirror then perches on the bed in her harem pants. Today, she’s gone heavy on the winged eyeliner and shows off a flat midriff. I quite like the pointy silver shoes though.

“No, Tesco,” she says dryly. “Obviously a party.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

Lucy glares at me. “What are you doing here? Besides rearranging my sister’s guts, of course.”

I don’t even flinch. I’ve been married to Emma for ten years, I’m used to this sister of hers.

“I’m trying to win your sister back,” I say earnestly. I know that Emma and I talked about keeping this a secret, but she literally walked on us shagging. There’s no point in denying it. It’s best that she knows my true intention rather than thinking we’re divorced with benefits.

“Eh, about time,” she replies nonchalantly.

“Luce, please keep this to yourself for now,” Emma begs her. “This is still new.”

“I will,” she nods. “Just a friendly reminder, though, Styles. If you hurt my sister again, I won’t even think twice before starting a business selling voodoo dolls of you. Bet I could make a fortune of that.”

In their girl gang, Lucy is the wildcard, the likeliest to carry a shank. I don’t even laugh because she could be serious.

“Duly noted.”

“What are you doing here this early?” Emma asks her sister.

“I wanted to ask if I can borrow that giant tiger in George’s room?”

“Feel free to borrow the rug in the front room as well,” I cackle.

“Ooh yeah,” Emma chirps. “Are you going to find a whole new world?”

“Have you got your Aladdin?”

She pulls a face at our mocking. “My mate who’s supposed to be Aladdin is sick so I asked Jamie to fill in and he agreed because he owed me a big favour. But this lot changed their mind and wanted a genie so now I have to go to Jamie’s and convince him to let me do a full blue body paint on him.”

Emma and I roar with laughter. “Please, please, please, take some piccies.”

***

A month later…

I can only imagine the joy on my children’s faces when they open the door. I’ll be standing there with the pup in hand, but I know I’m practically vibrating with excitement myself. I glance over at the little dog crate that we’d prepared to transport him in. It’s a sweet, nine-week-old Bernese mountain dog. He’s pretty chill, curled into a round ball, but he’s not sleeping. His eyes are open and alert, as if he’s just waiting to find out what’s around the next corner.

The back of my Range Rover is loaded with two boxes of food, dog toys, bowls, a leash, and appropriate treats. Since I’m still crashing at my mum’s, that will go to her place for when the kids and this puppy come to stay. Emma has an identical list at her home, already purchased and hiding until we hand the puppy off to the kids.

I’ve got a feeling that today is going to be a good day. All morning, Emma and I texted back and forth. Some of it was practical, like making sure we agreed on all the dog rules we’d lay down with the kids tonight. Some of it was lighthearted teasing. Some of it was dirty.

I can’t remember the last time I texted my wife throughout the day just for the hell of it. I had fun with it, and I know without a doubt she had fun with it too. Which made me realise what a twat I’d been for never doing something as simple as letting her know she was on my mind in just such a way.

Pulling into the drive, I cut my headlights so the kids wouldn’t see me approach. I shut the engine off, quietly get out of my side, and press the door closed quietly. On the other side, I open the passenger door, then spring the latch on the dog crate, and this tiny little puppy totters straight at me with tail wagging.

I lift him in my arms. I shut the door and then move over to the patch of grass. I put the puppy down so he will go potty before I bring him in. When I was a kid, we had a dog called Max, but I sort of grew up with him so I didn’t remember when he was a puppy. And Emma never had a dog before, so we’re sort of winging it with this puppy training thing. But I don’t fret about it. I mean, we’ve had babies, they’re harder than this, surely?

I patiently wait for this little fella to do his business, which includes a few minutes where he attacks my shoelaces and tugs. Shite, he’s cute.

Eventually, he sniffs around, tail high and then abruptly squats to pee. I thought boy dogs lift their legs when they pee but maybe not at this age. I immediately bend and give him praise with an upbeat, positive tone that makes him excited. Who’s daddy’s clever little fella? You are! Yes, you are! You did well, mate. That was brilliant! He puts his paws up on my shin, accepting my stretches with tail wagging and tongue lolling out the side of his head. My kids are going to fall in love with this little guy.

I scoop him up in my arms when he’s done and make my way inside. But instead of entering from the front door, I circle the house so I can enter from the back, knowing they must be all in the kitchen as this is usually the time when the kids would do their homework for next week. Walking past the window, I see that I’m right. Emma is at the kitchen island with George next to her and Minnie on the opposite side. My heart starts beating faster at the thought of spending the day with my family—and apparently our new third child in my arms—and I find it almost shameful I have such excitement over it. Shouldn’t I have always been this excited? Or is it normal for things to just settle, and we take them for granted?

I shake that thought off of my mind. I had this important talk with my wife a couple of weeks ago about how we shouldn’t focus on the past. We’re both committed to repairing our marriage, and for it to work, we both know we must commit to living in the present. Because at the end of the day, the present is all we have.

I knock on the door and as planned, Emma will tell the kids to answer it.

In moments, it’s swinging open. I get a flash of Emma walking up behind our kids, but my eyes are pinned on them. They’re both in complete shock, eyes wide open staring at the puppy squirming in my arms.

Both stare at me mutely, frozen, as if they can’t believe that this is real.

Finally, I say, “surprise!”

Minnie’s gaze rises up to meet mine. “Is that ours?”

“This is ours,” I nod, laughing. But still, neither of them move forwards, so I goad them. “Come and get him?”

That’s all it takes for Minnie to scoop this little fella into her arms, pressing her nose into his head and murmuring little endearments. George scratches him and he reacts to their greetings by wiggling frantically and trying to lick both of my kids’ faces. They both laugh in a delighted way I’ve never quite heard before.

I look at my wife and see her tender smile as she watches our littles. I can tell she’s as charmed by it as I am.

I walk inside because it’s colder than a witch’s tit outside and shut the door. “He just peed outside, but we need to keep a close eye on him. If he starts sniffing around or circling, that probably means he needs a wee. Scoop him up and take him out to the back. After he’s done with his thing, give him lots of praise and affirmation.”

“Got it,” Minnie says as she plops down on the living room floor with the pup. The puppy jumps around, and all three of them start to play.

“Now, what should we name him?” Emma asks.

“Droolius Caesar?” I joke.

Emma laughs. “Jimmy Chew?”

“Sarah Jessica Barker?” I continue. “Wait, no, it’s a boy. Franz Fur-dinand?”

“Sir Barks-a-Lot?”

“Deputy Dawg?”

“Bark Twain?”

We both laugh. We’re shite at this. The kids are too busy with the puppy to comment on our suggestions.

SpongeBob SquarePants is on the telly playing in the background. None of them are watching, but I see SpongeBob scratching his snail pet under the chin before he picks up said pet and says, “I love you Gary. Gary, Gary, Gary, Gary…”

“Gary,” I say. The kids look at me and I point at the telly.

“That’s a ridiculous name for a dog,” Emma cackles. “But I like it.”

“That’s a human name?” Minnie’s brows knit slightly.

“I like it!” George exclaims, then proceeds to baby talk the pup who’s chewing on the end of Minnie’s braid. “I love you Gary. Gary, Gary, Gary, Gary…”

We laugh.

“H,” Emma calls, and my gaze moves to her. She jerks her chin to the kitchen. “Help me set up the table? I’ve got a cold beer for you.”

Minnie and George still completely ignore us as we move into the kitchen.

It would be natural for me to sit at the kitchen island while Emma gets the beer and checks on the supper, but the kids can see me from where they sit in the living room. So I follow my wife behind the island instead.

Before she can make it two steps, I move right into the back of her. Hands at her hips, I push her all the way forward until the counter catches her hips, then I dip to put my lips to her neck.

Emma’s head falls back and she utters the tiniest of sighs, one arm looping back to go around the side of my head so she can thread her fingers in my hair. It’s an intimate embrace, but not one to provoke lust. Just a message that I missed her even though I saw her two days ago, and I love touching her in this gentle, loving way.

“The kids,” she murmurs. “They might see us.”

“Oh, the tragedy,” I whisper dryly. “Our children seeing their parents hugging.”

Emma snickers and pulls away, glancing over her shoulder. “It would be shocking to them. And until we know for sure what we are and where we’re going, we need to keep them in the dark, remember? I don’t want them to get their hopes up.”

“You’re right,” I mumble in a low voice before moving to the island. I glance back at the living room and see the puppy on George’s back, trying to climb up. “No touching around the kids.”

She smiles and hands me a beer. She’s got one in her hand, and we tap bottles. She then moves to the oven, where she bends to take a peek through the window. Obviously, I stare at her arse as she does.

“It’s done,” she announces, opening the oven to pull the pan of shepherd’s pie.

“Need help with that?’ I ask, noting it looks like it probably weighs fifty pounds.

Twisting, she grins. “Sure. I made a double batch to send you home with some leftovers.”

That gets me. Not only she made one of my favourite meals, but she’s also sending me home with leftovers. I pop off the stool, round the island and take the two potholders she’s holding out to me.

After I carefully lift the pan from the oven, she shuts the oven door. I set it down on the two trivets she’s placed on the counter.

Bending over, I inhale the scent deeply. “Smells fantastic.”

Emma bumps her hip against me. “Well… you’ve been pretty amazing these last few weeks, so…”

I bump her hip back before sliding my hand around her waist. Bending my head, I murmur. “Admit it… it’s for the orgasms I gave you after the school run the other day.”

She chuckles with a sly smile. “Possibly.”

Leaning in closer, I touch my temple on the top of her head, lowering to a complete whisper. “You do know that I can give you that any day you want, right, Em? All you’ve got to do is ask.”

“Oh, I will,” she teases.

“What’s going on here?” Minnie says from behind us.

Emma and I jump apart as if we’d been electrocuted by each other. We spin to see Minnie standing there, with George next to her holding Gary in his arms. These two must have worn that pup out as he is still, watching us curiously.

Minnie’s expression, on the other hand, is condemning and suspicious.

“Nothing’s going on, poppet,” Emma says, her voice a little squeaky in panic. It’s adorable.

“Your mum and I were just talking,” I calmly explain.

“With your arm around her waist and whispering,” Minnie challenges. “Looks more like flirting to me.”

“Are you upset about it?” I challenge back. I knew she was upset when we separated and she struggled with it for a long time.

Her brows knit together. “I’m just confused.”

Emma’s expression indicates she has no clue what to say. I can’t say I’m any more well equipped, but I’m going to take this one. I give my wife a subtle chin tilt, silently telling her I’ll handle this and relief evident in her eyes.

“Come on, you lot. Help me sort Gary’s stuff,” I say, herding them towards the garage.

All three of them follow me into the garage, Gary still cosy in George’s arms.

I immediately spot the stack of supplies, which includes a dog crate similar to mine, as well as bowls, a soft dog bed, food and toys. I pick up the soft bed towards the door that leads back into the house. Minnie turns to precede me, but I stop her. “Hang on there a second, poppet.”

When she pivots to face me her expression is guarded. “You asked about your mum and me. What do you want to know?”

“Were you two flirting with each other just now?” She demands. Crap. She’s nine. She’s not supposed to know that stuff.

I can’t believe I get a little warm in the face at such a question, but I nod. I know it’s probably too soon to tell them but there’s no point in denying this. Both of my children are smart, and they deserve to know what’s going on.

Her eyes narrow. “So are you… what… getting back together?”

“Does it mean you’re gonna live with us again, daddy?” George chirps.

��Not yet, nuggets. It’s not that simple.”

“It kind of is,” she replies. “You left for months. You didn’t even come during the summer. Then once she started dating Luke-”

“What’s dating?” George turns to his sister.

“It’s when you like someone and they like you back and you become boyfriend and girlfriend then you go out to eat together and do other stuff,” Minnie explains, then she continues. “Then once she started dating Luke, you’re suddenly coming around more often. And then she told me that Luke wouldn’t come over anymore and now you two are making googly eyes at each other.”

We lapse into silence for a moment. I need to think carefully about what to say next. George beats me. “I think I’m dating someone.”

“You what?” My eyes widen.

“Yeah. I asked Poppy in the playground to be my girlfriend the other day and she said yes. Then after we were done playing on the slides we got hungry so she shared her raisins with me. I also let her take a sip of my Ribena.”

I try hard not to break into laughter but Minnie doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Okay… so here’s the thing. I was very upset. I know that was wrong of me to just leave without saying goodbye, and it was wrong of me for not visiting sooner. I needed time to let it go, and to accept what your mum wanted. But not once during that time did I not want to come back home. I’ve always wanted my family back.”

“Then what changed?” Minnie asks.

“Your mum and I spent some time apart because we both thought that was the best decision. But we were wrong. Because we realised that we didn’t want to be without each other. So now I’m trying to prove that I’ve changed. That I’m a better man, and I’m ready to be a better husband. The one your mum deserves.”

“See,” Minnie murmurs, her expression filled with confusion. George dips his head and rubs his cheek against Gary’s head, who seems to be on the verge of falling asleep. “I don’t get it. You and mum always seemed to get along great. You never argued. I never understood why you left.”

I move in close to my daughter and brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “A lot of that stuff is private between your mum and I, poppet.”

George asks. “But why can’t you just move in now, daddy?”

“It takes time, mate. Your mum and I need more time to sort ourselves out. But I promise you two that we’re trying our hardest here, okay? We need you both to be patient. Can you do that for us?”

They both nod in unison. Gary blinks twice.

“I can’t wait for us to be family again,” says Minnie.

Grinning, I bend to kiss her head. “Me too, poppet…”

***

Emma

“Gary! This way, Gary!”

Harry and I look at each other across this rather windy hilltop. The kids and Gary are exploring the neighbouring bushes and pathways as we perch ourselves on a rock nearby. We take in the view, the breeze biting at my cheeks.

My husband turns to me. “Tea? I put some whisky in it.”

“Hell, why not.”

Harry pours the tea out and we clink mugs. He brushes his thumb across my nose for no absolute reason. I was born and raised here, but this is something I’ll never tire of: these swooping hills and valleys, infinite skies and bracing breezes. As much as I loved London, I’m glad we’ve traded that life with this simpler one. There is no taxi nor Tube in sight but our kids are somehow a little bouncier and carefree. They’re happy here, and that’s all that matters.

“Ey up,” greets Harry at a group of people walking past us. They are obviously tourists as they have no way to respond and one of them is wearing bog standard Reebok Classics.

We hear the kids squeal in the distance and we both smile at each other. Getting that pup was probably one of our best decisions.

“Do you remember when we first dated?” Asks my husband. “You brought me up here.”

I nod. “I do.”

“The view was decent,” he grins.

“I know you’re not thinking about the view.”

“I was thinking about what happened when we got to the top of the meadow…”

“That was some decent shag,” I chuckle. “Nowadays, I’d worry about getting ticks on my unmentionables.”

We laugh.

I stare over at my husband taking in the view and sipping tea noisily. He always pauses for a moment on any walk to drink it all in. He rustles in his bag and gets a packet of biscuit out, opening the packaging awkwardly and offering it to me.

“Did you know that you’re supposed to call it ‘niece’ and not ‘nice’? Apparently, they’re named after the French town.”

“That’s proper pub quiz trivia knowledge right there, Styles,” I tease.

We stay up here for a little while, but since it’ll get dark soon, we start our walk back to the car. The one thing you forget about taking kids up mountains (small hills) is that for all that experience of green space and fresh air, eventually, you will have to bring them down. Despite having an entire packet of biscuit (with a whole lot of why did you bring this one? This is rubbish. You could’ve brought hobnobs), we failed to remember to pack enough snacks and a fine drizzle is now scratching at our faces. It takes George much persuading to keep walking and by the time we return to the car, the sun is dipping behind the clouds and the twilight sits in the air.

Harry decided it was fine to park in a deserted car park in the middle of nowhere to escape the throngs of regular walkers and tourists but strangely enough, when we get back there, we are one of six parked up.

“Come on, mate. Literally, just to the car. Like twenty more steps,” Harry begs our son to keep on walking.

“You lied!” He complains. “You said that twenty steps ago.”

“I’ve got Haribo in the car.”

He progresses to a light canter.

“Where did all these cars come from?” Harry asks as he approaches our motor cautiously.

“Maybe you’re not the only smart one here and people are following your lead.”

A car flashes us.

I look around at all the cars. People are sat in them. What are they waiting for? You see this sometimes when waiting for the rain to pass or when people decide to eat their lunch in the car.

Suddenly, I hear a car door open and a gentleman approaches us. His footsteps are low.

I know him. It’s Patrick. He’s our postman, so, yes, we have our very own Postman Pat. It was the first thing that tickled Harry when he found out years ago. And even better, the joke is not lost on Pat. His wife even got him a stuffed black and white cat for his cherry-red van window. I smile at recognising him, as do all of the occupants in our car.

“Emma, Harry, kids. Fancy seeing you here, of all places.”

“We’ve got a new dog and we were just taking him for a walk,” I inform him.

“Oh, lovely. What’s his name?”

“Gary,” the kids say in unison.

“Have you got a dog, Pat?” George asks him.

“No, my wife’s a cat lady. But funny you should mention dogs. This place here, people like to come here for that reason.”

“Gary seemed to like it,” pipes in Harry. “I think it’ll be his favourite.”

“That it is. People come here all the time for walking and with their dogs and other such endeavours.” His face looks slightly ashen at this point, his eyes darting towards the other cars. “And the other sense of the word… I just thought I would mention it as you have the littl’uns and it’s getting darker. I think someone just flashed his lights to warn you.”

Harry and I realise what he means exactly at the same time. “OH!” we say at the same gobsmacked volume.

“Dogg…ing…” Harry mumbles. “We should-”

“Leave, like definitely leave, like now,” I say finishing his sentence.

The kids appear confused. I look around and shield my eyes. I should shield the children’s eyes. Pat’s wife waves from the passenger seat.

“Give our regards to June,” I say.

“Will do.”

He salutes us and returns to his car. The kids have all the questions. “People come here to look at dogs?” George asks. “Where are the dogs?”

“Get. In. The. Car.” Harry mouths very deliberately.

I slink into the passenger seat. Our eyes dart in different directions trying to divert focus from any of the cars ahead. We’ll be good if Harry doesn’t drive us off a cliff face. He turns on the wipers, the engine roars to a start and he pulls away slowly.

“We could have stayed and seen the dogs,” says George, a little despondently. “Gary would’ve loved to see his mates. Wouldn’t you, Gary?”

I throw a packet of Haribo at him. Harry and I are silent. We’ve just strolled our children and our very young dog into an outdoor sex hotspot. We are terrible parents.

“Who fancies chips?” Harry says as he changes gear. He finds our littles in the rear-view mirror and studies their faces. “There’s a decent chippy down road.”

There’s a chorus of approval from the back seat. My husband smiles. He then moves his hand over from the gearstick to find mine, fingers interlocked, the sky glowing a thousand different colours.

***

“Are you calling my turkey dry?”

I look over at my older sister Suze in the corner of our family kitchen wondering where on earth she had the courage to come out with a comment like that. Even her husband stops washing up to absorb what his wife just said to our mother. I mean, you think it, but you just douse it in gravy and make do. Such is the joy of white chalky meat like turkey. Why do this now? Now she’ll harp on about the bacon she puts on the breasts and all the goose fat. But it’s Suze. She likes the challenge. I secretly think the only way she believes she can have a relationship with our mother is to spar with her regularly so they at least have one line of communication.

“It was a lovely dinner, Mum. Did you make the mince pies?” Suze winks at me.

I shake my head at her and bring the plate of mince pies through to the living room. Amidst my mother’s wreaths and tinsel wrapped around the lampshades, it’s a familiar tableau: Pop, my grandfather, asleep in the armchair in the corner, a holy green paper hat covering his eyes. Small children crawl on the floor and make angel shapes with their bodies amidst remnants of old glittery wrapping paper. I hope Mum’s made a trifle. My other sister Meg and her husband snooze on a neighbouring sofa, catching on much needed sleep since they just had a baby four months ago and I still remember four months sleep regression is hell. I like this part of Christmas where bits of old crackers litter the floor and twilight takes over.

I take a mince pie and escape to the last vacant spot on the sofa. George rests his head on my knees. “What are you eating, mummy?” I look down at his bright green eyes and wonder how he can still be hungry as he must be ninety per cent roast potato at this point.

“A mince pie.”

“With cow mince?”

“No, like fruity bits,” I pick out said fruity bits and drop them into his mouth like a baby bird. He pulls a face, tasting it, and then walks away.

Harry smiles at me from the bottom of the Christmas tree. He’s laying down on the floor with one of my nieces. He’s always been great with kids, long even before we have our own. My niece has her palm out, and Harry runs circles in it as he sings, “round and round the garden, like a teddy bear…”

She smiles and laughs, poising her fingers, ready to bounce.

“One step, two-step, tickle me under there,” he pretends to collapse into giggles and my niece’s little face broadens into laughter before she rolls over and walks away to play with her cousins.

Finishing my last bite of the tiny pie, I roll under the tree to join my husband. He looks at me as I cosy up next to him, the lights reflect off his eyes.

My mother likes a real tree for Christmas. It’s the smell, you can’t beat the smell. I like to think you can get that real pine smell from a good supermarket brand toilet cleaner but I don’t say that out loud for fear of incurring her festive wrath. And so there’s always a real tree and like we endured when my siblings and I were teens, there’s still a daily rota of vacuuming up the needles as we watch that bastard go crusty and brown as it’s shoved up against the radiator.

We lay there in silence, looking up at the branches and my mother’s multicoloured lights twinkling in some erratic fashion that my eyes can’t quite handle. I’ve been to raves that were less of an assault on the senses. It’s an overwhelming memory of our childhood, lying in silence wigging out on mum’s trippy disco lights, absorbing the magic of the season.

“You’re drunk aren’t you, tipsy-tits?”

“You were the one who poured double shots of Baileys in our coffees this morning,” I cackle.

“That’s called Christmas milk.”

“What are you doing here?” Minnie asks, her head nestling into my shoulder. I rake pine needles from her head.

“Nothing…” Harry replies. “Where’s yer brother?”

“Here,” George suddenly appears, rolling under the tree next to his dad to join us.

“Looks like the awesome foursome is back, huh?” Harry grins.

Minnie and George hum in agreement. I can see my babies smiling.

It’s time.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

I take a deep breath. “Will you come back home with us?”

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

A Gift from Mr. Blanc

Marinette's worst nightmares were of Chat Blanc. But that's all they were: nightmares. Until one day where in the stone cold light of day, Chat Blanc walked into the classroom, with a gift in hand. "This will make you love me again, My Lady."

Ao3 | FF.net

Everyone is on this Chat Blanc train, so I bought a ticket and got a window seat.

“Yes, Timestreamer, find me the best Akuma ever created!” Shadowmoth raised a manic fist as the images appeared before him.

The woman who was once Nathalie Sancoeur stood next to him, now transformed into an Akuma with thick glasses, which almost looked like VR goggles.

In a fit of artist’s block, Gabriel Agreste had vented that he had run out of ideas for Akuma. He had to keep going, and the villains couldn’t slack less Ladybug and Chat Noir get the upper hand.

To which Nathalie had said, “well, you don’t need to reinvent the wheel.”

She had meant it to be cheeky, but he took inspiration from it in a whole new way. Why invent a new villain when one from a different time is sure to work? Timetagger, an Akuma from the future, had seemed to almost win. Perhaps there were more like him out there.

He only needed someone to see the timelines so he could pick his champion.

So here they were, scanning through endless time streams, looking at massive successes, and massive failures. There really was no telling which one would do the job, but unless Timestreamer’s Akuma was taken or, heaven forbid, the Butterfly was taken, they could send villain after villain after villain.

Yes, this was a good plan!

“That one!” Shadowmoth pointed, the stark white catching his gaze.

“That one?” Timestreamer asked, feeling unease looking into his soulless blue eyes.

“That has to be Chat Noir’s akumatized form. He’s perfect.”

Following orders, Timestreamer summoned the Akuma forward.

From the static images appeared a grainy figure, slowly solidifying into a solid white boy. His expression was one of confusion and disorientation.

“Chat Blanc, I am Shadowmoth,” he began.

Immediately, Chat Blanc snarled. “You! You monster!” And he leapt.

Suffice to say, neither Timestreamer or Shadowmoth were prepared for a full on fight this early in the conversation.

Shadowmoth did have training in fighting, and successfully blocked the incoming swipe at his throat with his arm. However, the claws cut right through his suit and into his flesh, making him cry out in pain.

The next swipe hit true, and knocked the butterfly Miraculous from its place on his collar.

Chat Blanc then plucked the Peacock from his lapel while Gabriel Agreste tried to put pressure on his grievous wounds.

“Why?” Asked Gabriel, “don’t you know I made you? Don’t you know I can give you everything you want?”

Chat Blanc didn’t respond, only snapped the goggles off of a shell shocked Timestreamer. He then touched the black butterfly with his claw, and it crumbled into dust.

Nathalie ran to Gabriel and looked at his wounds. “You need to go to a hospital.”

“No!” He protested, pushing her away. “Answer me, boy! You’re easily the most powerful Akuma ever made. Once you get the Miraculous of Ladybug and this timeline’s Chat Noir, we can make the ultimate wish! Whatever your heart’s desire, it’s yours!” He reached a hand out to the boy.

Chat Blanc, who Gabriel knew as the exuberant and emotional Chat Noir, just looked at him with a sharp, emotionless stare.

“You already took everything from me, Father. This is my one chance to get things back to where they are supposed to be.”

“Adrien?”

The gaze didn’t change, but he did raise an eyebrow. “In my timeline you knew. You knew, and you still hurt me. You hurt her. You turned me, and you forced me to kill. You left me alone in that world for months. Left me to mourn. Cursed me to this form—“ he snarled. “That can’t starve, that can’t sleep, that can’t thirst or drown—“ a tear fell down his cheek. “You left me in a prison where I couldn’t die, and would continue to suffer because of your mistakes.” He gave a hint of a bitter smile. “Does that answer your question, old man?”

Maybe it was just the blood loss, but Gabriel felt some remorse. “I’m sorry, son. Give me back the Butterfly, and I’ll set you free.”

“Not a chance. Ladybug will fix me. And when I give her these, she’ll love me again. And I’ll have all the family I ever need.” With that, he summoned his baton to break through the window, and launched out into Paris.

Gabriel laid still on the ground, holding his chest with one hand while Nathalie gripped his wrist with the other.

“I…what am I going to do?”

“Well, you know Adrien has the ring—“

“No doubt Chat Blanc will tell him everything before we can get to him. I don’t think that’s an option anymore.”

“Then…what would you like to do?”

He spent a long time just breathing and thinking.

Choosing.

“I guess, apologize. And then hope that I haven’t done enough damage to lose the only family I have left.”

“Maybe, if he is Chat Noir, and you explain the truth to him…he’ll tell Ladybug. Maybe she’d help.”

“I doubt she’d do anything to help me, after all I’ve done.” He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I could just bleed out here. Save him the pain.”

“I won’t let you do that, Sir. As upset Adrien will be, he still loves you.”

“But for how long?”

“I think you should live and find out.”

—

Chat Blanc had never been so happy. He should be upset, angry, sobbing even, but he wasn’t.

He was getting his second chance. Paris was full, alive, teeming with traffic and swearing and smoking and everything foul that wasn’t there in his wastelands.

Hawkmoth was gone, and he was on his way to Marinette. With these, she had to love him, she just had to.

Francois DuPont never looked so pretty. The windows showed bored expressions of dozens of students.

Students that were alive and not submerged under water.

He dropped down in the courtyard, letting muscle memory take him up the stairs to his old classroom. The door was closed, but not locked.

Did he knock? Or did he just walk in? It had been so long…did he introduce himself? Did he apologize for interrupting?

He decided to forgo knocking, and pushed the door open on his own.

All eyes turned to look at him, but his attention was only on her.

Though he did get a glimpse of his own horrified face.

“Chat Noir?” The teacher asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not anymore.” He never stopped looking right at Marinette.

“I must be dreaming,” the girl in question said aloud. “I must have fallen asleep, and now I’m having a nightmare.” Tears were filling her eyes as her voice crumbled. “Please tell me you’re a nightmare, Chat.”

“No, My Lady. I’m real.” Did she know him from somewhere? Or was she just assuming he was an akumatized Chat Noir? “But this shouldn’t be a nightmare, Marinette.” His steps were slow and soft, trying not to spook her. “I’m your dream come true. Because it’s over now, and we can be together.”

She stood abruptly, smacking her knees on the desk and almost tumbling. “What are you talking about?”

He placed the Miraculous on the desk. “It’s over now. I won. Hawkmoth is no more, and there’s nothing that can hurt us. This will make you love me again!”

“Holy shit…” Said Alya.

Marinette just stared at them, and then at Chat. “How—?”

“He brought me here. Somehow, an Akuma I guess. He plucked me out of my time, and brought me here. This is my chance to start again, you know.” He grabbed her wrist. “Now our love won’t ruin the world! We can be happy again, My Lady! We can be happy and nothing will tear us apart!”

Adrien, who had up until very recently, by reveal of a certain nickname, thought that Marinette was only just Marinette, grabbed Chat Blanc and yanked him back, forcing him to let go of Marinette.

“Don’t touch her!” He snapped.

“And you—“ Chat Blanc grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air. “A little liar with too much self preservation! Why didn’t you act sooner?! Why couldn’t you save her?!”

Adrien clawed at the hand on his throat. “I don’t—know what the hell—you’re talking about!”

“Don’t play stupid, Adrien! It’s not going to work on me, and you know that!”

His voice was just a whisper now, as he attempted to meet Chat Blanc’s gaze. “Whatever, man. But you think outing her is smart? You think that’ll make her like you?”

Chat Blanc crushed harder, suffocating him. “It doesn’t matter with Hawkmoth out of the way! And once I kill you, there will be no competition! She’ll love me for sure!”

Marinette had stashed the Miraculous in her purse once Chat Blanc had turned his back. She was going to attempt to talk him down, but at his threat on Adrien’s life, she realized he was beyond talking.

“Tikki, Spots on!”

Chat Blanc whirled back around, only to get a fist to the face.

Adrien fell on the floor, gasping.

“Are you alright?” She asked, helping him up.

He rubbed his neck sheepishly as he nodded. He knew she was Marinette, but the mask still turned his legs to jelly.

“Why do you protect him, Ladybug? Don’t you know you can just be happy with me?”

Marinette pushed Adrien behind her. “I might be able to be happy with my Chat Noir, but never with you. I love Adrien, and I’ll fight to protect him, even if he doesn’t love me back.” Though it was a brave declaration, she still blushed.

“Ugh, don’t you get it? I am him!”

“What?”

“I’m Adrien! Adrien is Chat Noir! We’re supposed to be together! And we were! We were happy, Marinette! And then—and then you told me you didn’t love me anymore. You almost got akumatized over that…but I saved you.” He snarled. “But he kept us apart. My father knew who I was, and he turned me into this…”

“Wait,” Adrien rasped. “Father turned you into…an akuma?”

“Because he’s Hawkmoth, Adrien. He always has been. Mother is alive, in a coma, in the basement. And he never let you see her, because he doesn’t trust you.”

“Shut up!” Ladybug shouted.

“Even after he knew who I was, he still hit me. He beat me, Adrien, because he doesn’t love us!”

Adrien held a hand over his face, willing his sobs to stay silent.

“We’re just a pawn for him. But…I can make it better. Let me destroy you, and everything will stop hurting. I’ll take care of Marinette, I promise!”

“That’s enough!” Ladybug lashed out and snagged his bell, ripped it from his throat, and smashed it on the floor.

Then she caught the butterfly as it emerged, purified it, and let it go. But she didn’t call for a cure, not yet.

Chat Noir, sans bell, glanced around the room in confusion. “Ladybug? What’s going on? Why are we here? Where’s Hawkmoth?”

She met him with tear streaked cheeks. “You’re in the wrong timeline, Chat Noir.”

His eyes flicked to Adrien, who was clearly shell shocked. “That would make…some sense.”

“You were akumatized, and our Hawkmoth brought you here…probably to recruit you.”

“Did I hurt anyone?”

“You beat him. You beat Hawkmoth.”

“And you tried to take my place,” Adrien hissed, showing his bruised throat.

Chat Noir gripped his hair fiercely. “Oh crap! Oh crap crap crap! I’m so sorry! He’ll be all better once you do the cure, right Bug?”

“Yeah. Physically, at least…but you did say some things that will hurt for a long time.”

“I didn’t mean any of it! I was an Akuma, they lie and say all sorts of things—“

“You told me about Father. And mother.”

“Oh…” he sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s too fresh in my mind to be a lie. I saw mom. He wanted to use the Miraculous to bring her back, but he was so unwilling to listen to me, to even think about working with us—that’s how it happened. He got me.”

“I’m so sorry, Kitty.” Ladybug lamented. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

He shook his head. “It’s over now. If I defeated him, then you don’t have to be subjected to it,” he told Adrien. “I don’t mind taking one for the team.”

“Did you kill him?” Adrien asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Even if he did, casting cure would fix it.” Said Ladybug. “There might be hope for a happy ending.”

Chat Noir took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “My Lady, will you send me back? I have to see her again. My Marinette. I have to see her and make up with her.”

Ladybug patted his cheek fondly. “Knowing me, she probably still loves you. But something happened to make her put distance between you.”

“You’ll be happy together, right?” He asked, pouting.

Adrien slipped an arm around her waist and held her. “I think we’ll manage.”

Ladybug hugged Chat briefly. “Thank you. For all your trauma and suffering, you helped us.”

“You also revealed both of our identities to the class, but that’s the kind of mistake I would make as an Akuma…” Adrien winced.

Chat Noir looked at all the shocked and concerned faces around him. “Wow, look at all these comforting, understanding, and loyal friends you have. Where’s Lila?”

“Out sick today,” provided Sabrina.

“Perfect! Don’t ever ever tell her what happened here. She’s a liar and would tell our identities in a heartbeat for a chance for fame.”

“Not a problem, Kitty Cat,” said Alya, with a wink. “Some of us are pretty good secret keepers.”

“You knew!?” Adrien cried, with betrayal in his voice.

Alya winced. “Ah, yeah…”

“Adrien.” Ladybug took his face and held it with trembling hands. “My kitty, my partner, my best friend, what I’m about to tell you is going to suck and you’re going to hate it, and that’s why I haven’t told you.”

“I’ve already had a lot of bad news dropped on me today, lay it on me.”

She glanced at the rest of the class and then Chat Noir. “Let me send him home, and then we’ll talk in privacy.”

He nodded, not really fond of how much the class had already learned about him today.

Ladybug threw her yo-yo up in the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”

In a wave of fluttering red, Chat Noir was gone, and so were the bruises on Adrien’s neck.

“Spots off.”

Now, the class started whispering. Up until that moment, shock held them in silence. After all, it's not everyday you find out your classmates are superheroes.

“Miss Bustier, are you okay if we leave for a while?”

The teacher stammered a second, unfreezing from her complete and total shock. “I think it would be a crime to make you stay here today.”

Marinette smiled gratefully, before taking Adrien’s hand and leading him out into the hall. He was silent, rightfully so, and Marinette could only be happy there was no chance of him getting akumatized.

Finally, they took a seat on a bench, and waited for the other to speak.

“I…didn’t think this was how our identities would be revealed,” he breathed.

“I always wanted to tell you.” Marinette insisted, “even though I said otherwise. Tikki and Master Fu were so adamant that I not tell a soul.”

“So why does Alya know?”

She rested a hand on his. “I’ll get to that. But first…Chat Blanc.”

Adrien sat attentive and quiet, holding his accusations for later.

“It started about three months ago, when I gave you that Beret.”

“Beret? The one from the Brazilian fan club?”

“Yeah…except it wasn’t. It was from me. Originally, I left it in your room, with my name on it. My real name. A little while after I left, Bunnix came to me, and explained that she needed my help. She took me into her burrow, and led me to the future…the future where you were akumatized.”

“As Chat Blanc.”

“Yes.”

“That same akuma, that same Chat Noir?”

“I assume so. The moon was destroyed, the city flooded. You were all alone, everyone was gone.”

“Where…where was that Ladybug?”

She hesitated to say it, but admitted, “I found her underwater…cataclysmed.”

“No…I wouldn’t have—“

“I know, Adrien. Chat Blanc was upset about it too. He cried. He wanted my Miraculous to make the wish and fix it.”

“Sounds like an Akuma alright,” he said bitterly.

“At the time, all I knew was that you knew my identity, and you said that our love destroyed the world. So…I assumed that you became akumatized by finding out who I was…and that the beret had something to do with it. So I erased my name.”

“Oh…but Chat Blanc said he was akumatized because of my parents.”

“I didn’t know that back then. I wish I had. As it stood, I was certain an identity reveal would end up with an Akuma.”

“I understand your reasoning…but what about Alya?”

She sighed, the guilt toiling around inside her. “That wasn’t…it was a spur of the moment thing. I was back into a corner and people were getting really worried about me. Worried and nosey…and so I told Alya. Rena Rouge.”

“Ah. I see.”

“I should have told you. I should have told you so you could have told someone. It’s not fair to think I was the only one that needed a confident.”

“If I had to pick someone that wasn’t you, it would have been Nino. So I get it. Really, I do.”

Tears welled up in her eyes regardless. He was hurting so badly, but what could she even do to help?

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes! Yes I do! Adrien, you’re my partner. Yes, keeping secrets can keep us safe for a while, but eventually we’ll run out of trust and then we’ll be in danger again. I don’t want to lose you!”

He gave her a little smile. “I might be upset, but you aren’t going to lose me. I promise.”

She squeezed his hand. “No more secrets. We train as guardians together. I’ll tell you all the auxiliary heroes, and all the formulas and—“ she stopped, blushing.

“What?”

“Ugh…I have to tell you something, since I said no more secrets.”

“Is it bad?”

“…no?”

He turned his hand to squeeze her back. “Okay. Well then, let’s hear it.”

She looked away, too nervous to look at his face. “Gah! This is just as hard as it’s always been!”

“I’m not going to judge you.”

“I know! I know!”

Pretend this is just Chat. She goaded herself.

“I…I’m in…love with you?” She squeaked out. There. The deed was done. She shyly turned to look at him.

Wide, sparkling eyes full of tears, but a big smile on his face. “You mean it? You said as much to Chat Blanc, but I didn’t know for sure…”

“Ugh, right. That.” She nodded. “You were the boy I kept turning…well, you down for. I’m sorry…”

“I’m not!” He chirped. “Marinette, if anyone was going to have a crush on me as Adrien, I’m so glad it’s you. You really know me! You’re special to me, and I always considered you as a friend.”

She sighed, hearing the magic words. “As I’ve heard.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She blushed again. “It’s just…whenever we had a moment, or I tried to do something special for you, you always remind me that you feel…nothing for me.”

“Wait, what? That’s what you got out of that?”

“That you want me as a friend and just a friend?”

He actually laughed at her and pulled her into a hug. “Marinette, I thought you were nervous around me because you were uncomfortable. I said that stuff to let you know I treasured our friendship. I love you so so much, My Lady. I was deeply in love with Ladybug, and completely in denial with Marinette.”

“Can confirm!” Shouted Plagg from inside his jacket.

“So having you be the same? I’m…I’m so happy!” He hugged her tightly. “Today has thrown a lot of bad things at me, and I’m so worried about what comes next. But with you, I’m sure I’ll be okay.” He pulled away slightly. “You…will stay with me for whatever happens, right? I know Hawkmoth being my dad is kind of a deal breaker…”

Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up into him, kissing him right on the mouth.

He stiffened briefly, before melting against her and pulling her tighter into the hug.

The kiss was perfect, not in execution or performance, but because of the love they felt. Adrien nipped at her lip, and Marinette hummed as she twined her fingers into his hair.

They pulled away begrudgingly.

“You and me against the world, right Kitty?”

“You know exactly what to say to make my heart swoon, my lady love.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Kiss me and I’ll get over it.”

“I’m serious, Kitty.” She touched his cheek. “I knew it was going to hurt, and I foolishly and cowardly put it off, hoping it would go away.”

“Marinette, from what you said…it wasn’t just painful for me. It scared you, didn’t it? You said…when Chat Blanc appeared, that you thought you were having a nightmare. Do you dream of him?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Adrien.”

He considered his next move, and decided to scoop her up into his lap. “So, here’s my idea. If you have another nightmare about him, you call me, and I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“And do what?”

“Hold you. Kiss you. Reassure you. Cuddle with you until you fall asleep. Whatever you need.”

She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too, bugaboo.”

Silence lapsed between for a while, as they just sat together, enjoying the warmth of their bodies, and the open air between them.

Marinette sighed. “We should probably go confront your father.”

“Yeah. We should…”

“Could…I offer you a reward if we go through with it?”

“What could possibly motivate me?”

“Once we’re done, and everything is put away…we can find a random, secluded rooftop and…make out for a while.”

Adrien stood, with Marinette still in his arms. “You know how to motivate a man.”

“I’ll be with you every step of the way. Just think about later.”

“One peck for the road?”

“One.”

Adrien held her tightly before dipping her and pressing a sinful, toe-curling kiss to her lips. When he finished a few minutes later, she breathlessly huffed, “that was not a peck.”

“No, but I need the strength.”

“Somehow, it’s a lot harder to stay mad at you. You can put me down now.”

“Nah. Plagg, Claws out!”

“Tikki, Spots on!”

The closer they got to the mansion, the faster Chat’s mood tanked. All the surface level happy feelings had bubbled away, and now he was filled with dread and apprehension.

“I…I don’t want to send my dad to jail,” he said, as they landed inside the walls.

“I know Kitty. I can do the talking.”

“You’re so good at it, Princess.”

She knocked twice, but didn’t wait for an answer before entering.

It didn’t matter. Gabriel and Nathalie were sitting in the lobby, waiting, as it appeared.

“Hello son,” said Gabriel, with not a trace of malice in his voice.

Chat halted, paling considerably. “You know?”

“Chat Blanc revealed as much. What did he tell you?”

“He said that…mom was still alive. You wanted the Miraculous to wake her up.”

“That’s right. But…” he sighed. “Can I humble myself and ask for your help, Ladybug? Can you look at her? Can you see if there’s any hope?”

“I would love to.”

#miraculous #ml #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #adrien agreste #chat blanc #ladynoir #identity reveal

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years

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Would u write something about Mac first words being "dad" o "daddy" and Jake GOING INSANE about that? I think it would be really special to him bc all his story with his dad and all his fear on becoming

He'd taken his eyes off of him for five seconds - the card machine at the bodega was giving him some prompt he'd never seen before - so of course something had to happen. Jake still mostly banked on Mac being unable to walk freely for more than a few steps from him, but he should've really factored in all the perfect toddler-height shelving that he could use as railings to get a whole aisle over before he and the cashier flinched from the sound of a crash.

And then the crying started.

The cashier was actually faster than him, given a headstart from not having to drop an entire basket of shopping to run over, but Jake was directly behind her to see his kid sitting on the ground, a puddle of something slopping around him and half over him. Pasta sauce, he realised as he saw the wobbly carton display that had obviously not been as steady as the metal shelves Mac had been holding onto before.

"Da...!" Mac sobbed with outstretched arms towards him. "Da-heee..." He wailed again with tears streaming down his face while Jake lifted him up, covering himself in sauce too as Mac clung to him and sobbed into his shoulder.

"Daddy's here, bud. It's okay. It's okay." He bounced him up and down as the crying slowed, cursing himself out in his head all the while. How did he let him wander away like that? Why did he not notice sooner? He'd been careless and stupid and irrespsonsible and a horrible fath-

"Is he okay?" The cashier still looked far more worried at them than at the mess she'll have to clean up now, and it gladly brought him back to centre as the only real adult in the room right now (she can't be more than 17, he thinks).

"Yeah, just spooked. I'm so sorry, I'll pay for the sauce of course-" Jake stopped as Mac lifted his head off his shoulder again, eyes red-rimmed but not crying anymore, at least, only to see that his forehead was less covered in pasta sauce and more smeared with blood from a cut over his eyebrow, and his heart dropped even deeper than when he heard the crash. "Actually, do you sell bandaids?"

-*-

"It's okay, peanut. Daddy's fixing it." He forces his voice to be soft and calm while Mac sniffles, sitting on the counter, the cashier picking up Jake's dropped shopping bags while he cleans the little cut with the alcohol wipes she'd handed him without even ringing them up. It's not that bad, he tries to comfort himself fruitlessly, just a little nick that bled a bit more than usual, but should be fine with a bandaid and some lotion. It's fine. He didn't- he didn't let Mac get actually injured. He didn't. Even though his subconscious was screaming nothing else at him.

Mac's eyes are still swimming while he stares up at Jake, unblinking, clinging to his fake-soft smile as probably the only thing to convince him there was no need to cry at the moment. You and me both, Jake thinks for a second.

"Daddeh." He squeaks softly as Jake sticks on a puppy-themed bandaid (also not rung up), and grabs his hand with his little grubby fingers, and time kind of stops for a moment as they look at each other. Mac's eyes are big and still slightly red-rimmed, but trained on him like there's nothing else in the world but them, and for Jake, there might as well not be.

"See, Daddy fixed it." The cashier breaks through, smiling at him too as she hands Jake his shopping with the bandaid box dropped in, and time loops back into normal. She gets a soft Thanks and a nod after she hands him his card from the blasted machine that started it all, too, and doesn't even mention the several jars broken an aisle over. She waves goodbye to Mac instead as they leave, and Jake is definitely leaving the largest bills he has in her tip jar next time they come in.

-*-

Mac's splashing water and bubbles around in his small tub, because the sauce had leaked through his dungarees straight over his legs, and Jake is busy scrubbing him down with the soft loofah that'll probably have to go into the trash after all this. There's too much swirling through his head while he carefully showers Mac off. A whole barrage of emotion he'd love to just aimlessly ramble out, but there's no one to listen to him in their little apartment right now, the only person who'd maybe understand him still stuck at work. He looks at the puppy bandaid on Mac's forehead that he'll have to change after the bath, at his happy face playing with the little ducky that makes such fun squeaky noises when it's filled with water, no sign of tears or pain left at all.

"Hey, Mac-a-roni." Jake whispers while Mac giggles and splashes some more water out of the baby-tub into the big one it was sitting in. "You... said something at the bodega, didn't you?"

Mac had been babbling and making noises for months now, lots of Goos and Gaas, the occasional Bleh and Duh thrown in, but Jake and Amy had agreed that none of those had been discernible as words yet, especially as they were never directed at anything in particular. Not like on the counter back there, staring straight at him with his big, chocolate eyes after that little parenting disaster he still wanted to scold himself for. Not like right now, soap bubbles clinging to his curls, smiling up at him in the comforting moment of their usual night routine.

"Daddeh!" Mac squeaks again, holding his arms out to be picked up into a towel like always, but held against Jake's chest much tighter than usual. He's trying not to cry, very hard, but he's sure his eyes are swimming and shiny as much as Mac's were while he was being bandaged up.

"Daddeh." He repeats as Jake laughs, breathlessly, kisses up and down his perfect chubby cheeks for some more squeals and laughter from them both, hugs him close again and again even as he dries him off and gets him dressed.

There's something warm glowing in his chest, Jake feels as he dances Mac to sleep to abuela's Spanish lullaby tape, something that feels both familiar and foreign at once. It reminds him of the feeling that shook all through him when that firefighter placed a screaming, goo-covered baby onto Amy's chest as she cried and carefully touched the dark whisps of hair already matted to his head. That feeling that settled around his heart for forever as Rosa handed him a cleaned up, swaddled baby that wasn't screaming anymore, his eyes closed but his teensy tiny hand wrapping tight around Jake's finger. It's a little different - but it's not, it's more of the same, but grown. Added on, like a new bud on an already flowering tree.

Jake is sure there'll be lots of new blooms on that feeling in the years to come, but this one, the one that opens up even more as Mac sighs one more little "Daddeh" as he falls asleep against his shoulder, will surely be remembered for forever.

-*-

He has enough wherewithal to warn Amy about the bandaid when she gets home and immediately moves to check on sleeping Mac, and she only rolls her eyes when she drops down onto the couch next to him after softly closing the nursery door.

"Do I even want to hear the story of the bandaid?"

"It wasn't anything. Just a little accident at the bodega. He's fine." Jake's actually convinced himself of that now, too, so it sounds believable enough.

"Alright." Amy nods, he swallows back down the worries he thought about sharing if she asked him to still explain instead. "Aside from that, how was your day with him? Did you have fun?"

"Oh yeah." Jake tries to grin and pulls her in to lean against his side as she rests her head on his shoulder, seeming almost as sleepy as Mac was when he did it earlier. "We went to the park and the post office and the bank and the bodega, obviously. A whole Brooklyn adventure."

"That's nice." Amy says in a quiet voice, and he wonders if he'll have to carry her to bed in a second.

"And, well." He hesitates, and that is enough to make her lift her head. Maybe he shouldn't say it. Maybe he should wait until the morning, let her discover it on her own, and pretend like it's the first time he's hearing it too. Forget about how it all came about today.

"Well what?"

"He said something."

"What?! Why didn't you lead with that? Why didn't you text me?!?" She sits up, staring at him with wide eyes, and he looks - apologetic, almost worried.

"I didn't want you to feel bad because you missed it." And didn't want to explain how I fucked up to make it happen.

"Oh." She visibly deflates, but then smiles at him. "But you heard it, right? He said it in front of you?"

"Yeah. He, uh. Actually. He said daddy. To me."

Jake completely misinterprets Amy's face, her scrunched together eyebrows, her shining eyes, her mouth softly opening and closing, and immediately leans forward with a hand on her arm to console her.

"I'm sure he's going to say Mama next, Ames - he's already going 'Mah' all the time, so-"

"He called you daddy?" Her voice is so soft, almost breaking, as he feels her hands on his cheek. "Jake, that's wonderful!"

"Yeah." He nods with a shy smile, but Amy's face only softens more.

"You're his first word." She says with so much reverance, and he can't feel bad about it anymore. Can't think he doesn't really deserve it, not when she looks at him with that much love in her eyes. "You're Mac's first word."

"I'm daddeh." His smile isn't so shy anymore, not when he says it out loud like that, not when it feels 100% right.

"You're really daddy, babe. You're daddy."

He huffs and smiles even wider with another nod, and that feeling is back, that little warm glow blooming in his chest, and Amy is quick to wipe away the few tears that make their way down his cheeks all of a sudden before bending forward for a kiss.

"DADDEH!" echoes through the room from behind a closed door where someone is clearly not interested in sleeping anymore, and Amy laughs against his lips.

"See?"

"I'm gonna go and get him." Jake sighs happily.

"Oh please." She nods as he gets up. "I want to see him say it to you."

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet #fic #mac peralta

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disgustingtoast · 3 years

Text

my shitty, shitty minho fic that took ages [tmr minho]

I'm sick of rereading this so here is 3.5k words of shitty, self indulgent writing. The confession could have 100% been more heartfelt but I'm sick of looking this in my google docs. There is most definitely a ton of mistakes but idc <3

this isn't really enemies to lover but the whole dynamic minho and the reader have kinda wrote itself lmao

HERE YOU MFS- @agathallalongs @blanknamed

You were fine with the way you woke up. Hell, you preferred it over some snot-nosed kid coming in and waking you up. And as it turns out, having the same schedule for a little under a year makes for a great internal clock, the habit of getting up in time for your daily run already having been instilled in you for months. So when you’re pulled from the peaceful lulls of sleep because of the feeling of being flipped upside down and landing face-first into the dirt floor of the Glade, you were rightfully peeved.

“Rise and shine shank.”

Minho. Of course it was Minho.

“I’m gonna throw you off the Cliff the minute we’re far enough into the Maze.” Sitting up, you try to rub off the dirt that got on your face when you face planted, scowling at the stains that litter the front of your shirt. “This was a new shirt too.”

“Were you thinking of going running with me or do you plan on sitting in the dirt all day?” Despite him being out of sight you can practically see the smug look he’s wearing. “Hey, maybe you can convince Winston to let you get in the pig pen so you can take a nice mud bath.”

Groaning, you finally stand up and turn around to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed, holding a paper bag which you presumed had your lunch in it on the other side of your hammock, your very, very twisted hammock.

“Why the hell did you wake me up? I get up fine on my own.”

He shrugs in response, “I just felt like it.”

“You just felt like waking me up or you just felt like getting the world record for ‘biggest pain in the ass’?”

“A bit of both, and seeing your face when you spat out that dirt made you so much more attractive.”

Heat crawls up your neck in embarrassment, “Slim it.” Furrowing your eyebrows in frustration, you gesture in front of you to the tangled mess that hangs between you, “Also you’re gonna fix that.”

“No. It’s your bed.”

“You’re the one who flipped me over! Fix it.”

He stares at you for a second before turning on his heel and jogging off. While he turns to leave you barely catch the way his lips quirk into a smirk. As you watch his retreating figure you can feel your fingers twitch, the urge to strangle him suddenly overwhelming.

“Hey! Get back here shuck-face!” As quickly as you can, you slip your shoes on, not bothering to tie them and pull the leather harness over your head. After one last disapproving glance at your pathetic hammock you’re off, racing after Minho in an effort not to let him get too far ahead. If he beat you to the Doors you’d never hear the end of it.

By the time you catch up with him you’re out of breath. Everytime you would get closer than a few feet behind him he’d run a little faster keeping you at a good few paces behind him, succeeding at prolonging your ever-growing exasperation.

Eventually though he lets you catch up until you’re running side by side, a few meters away from the Walls. “This prison wouldn’t be half as bad if the Creators had put anyone else in here other than you. Preferably someone cuter, without such a punchable face.” You don’t have to look at him to imagine the offended look on his face, one of his most punchable expressions actually.

“I am by far the most attractive guy here. The rest of these shanks look like klunk in cargo shorts.”

“Yeah no. You don’t even break the top 21 on my list.” Once you reach the wall, you lean against it, waiting for the doors to open. When you look at Minho he quirks an eyebrow.

“You have a list?” He pauses for a moment, “Wait there’s only 22 gladers. You included yourself on your own list?”

“Good job! I wasn’t sure if you knew how to count.”

“Slim it. So who’re the top 3?”

You pause for a moment pretending to mull it over. “Well, Gally’s got that whole tall and brooding thing going. And Nick, well I like a man who can take charge-”

“Yeah, yeah okay I get it.” He waves his hand in the air rather indignantly, dismissing what you said. After a minute of silence. the grating sound of rock being dragged against rock echoes through the Glade as the Doors finally start to open. As he tightens the straps of his harness, Minho glances down at the ground and pauses for a moment before he snickers, “You better tie your shoes if you don’t want to trip and ruin your pretty face. Might knock you down a few pegs on that list of yours.”

It had been hours since you’d left the Glade, running the familiar course of the Maze. The only entertainment being watching the way the back of Minho’s neck turns a lovely shade of red every time you make a particularly irritating comment.

“Hey it’s getting late. We should go back to the Glade.”

Minho shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s not that late. We still have plenty of time to get back.”

“But I finally convinced Fry to make bacon and there's no way that they’ll be any left unless we get there early.” You draw out the last syllable in a whine, knowing exactly how to get under his skin.

He pivots, still continuing to run just now facing backwards. “Is Frypans bacon really more important than finding a way out of this hell hole?”

“Yes!”

“...Fine-” His sigh of annoyance is cut off abruptly as he trips, falling backwards and landing with a loud huff as the air is knocked out of his lungs.

“Shit, Minho!” You kneel beside him as he lays still, “Are you okay?!” Your voice seems to ricochet off the walls.

It takes a moment before he groans, his eyes still closed. “Why are you so shucking loud?”

“Sorry. Are you okay?” Quieting your tone, you hover over him.

He finally opens his eyes, “M’ fine. I just tripped.” Pushing himself up, he tries to stand but the minute he puts pressure on his ankle he gasps in pain, stumbling into you as you stand to catch him.

“Shit. Okay, you just need to sit down.” You lead him over to the wall, letting him support himself against it before he slides down to sit. When he stretches his legs out in front of him you take to kneeling again, this time next to his feet. Rolling back the bottom of his pant leg you check to see how bad his ankle is and judging by the wincing and the gritting of his teeth you’re betting on not good.

It’s only been a minute but you feel your heart drop at the way it’s already swollen and starting to bruise. You frown as you press your finger against it lightly, snapping your hand back as Minho recoils, growling in pain.

“Don’t touch it!”

“Fine. Good luck finding someone else in here that’ll help you. I’m sure the Grievers would be happy to assist.”

“It just hurts asshole, no need to get snappy.”

“Yeah, yeah just stop your whining you big baby.”

He cringes as you begin to prod his ankle again and sets his head back to rest against the wall.

“Well I’d say it’s just a fracture, it doesn't look too messed up- Minho?” He doesn’t respond. “Hey! Minho!” You reach in front of his face and snap your fingers, “C’mon I need you to wake up!”

He moans as he opens his eyes, well squints his eyes. He can barely keep them open half way, “Why is it so bright in here?”

Furrowing your eyebrows you glance up, it really isn’t that bright, gray clouds float across the majority of the sky and cover most of the sun. Looking back at his face, you can’t stop the nauseating feeling of fear that gnaws in your stomach. “Here, move your head off the wall, I need to check something.”

The dark stain on the wall where he was resting against is enough evidence but some irrational, hopeful part of you checks anyways, reaching around him and pressing your fingers to the back of his head. When you bring your hand back, your fingers are covered in blood.

“Damn it.” You try your hardest to push down the anxiety thundering in your stomach as you grab Minho’s arm and wrap it around your shoulder. Now is not the time to panic. “We need to get you back to the Glade.”

You’re not surprised he’s heavy, almost a year of running almost everyday tends to build up a lot of muscle however that doesn't make it any easier for you to carry him. You had to have been stumbling around for hours before you had to fully set him down to catch your breath.

“You really need to lay off Fry’s cooking. I’m telling him that you’re going on a diet the minute we get back.”

You only get silence in response, prompting you to look over and make sure he hadn’t passed out again. His eyes were open but his mind seemed to be elsewhere, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes focusing on something on the wall across from the one you were leaning against. You raise your hand and rest it against his shoulder, “Minho?”

“You need to leave me behind.”

The nauseous feeling returns, “What? No way I’m leaving you here to be Griever food.”

His face twists in frustration as he turns to look at you. “We’ll both be killed if you don’t get the hell out!”

“We still have time! I can carry you the rest of the way just fine.” Grabbing his wrist you pull his arm across your shoulders, tightening your grip when you feel him try to tug his arm back. “We’re going.” You wrap your arm around his waist to support him as you force him to stand.

He tries to pull away, “Why are you being so shucking stubborn! I can barely walk! There’s no way you’ll make it time before the Doors close.”

“Well that’s tough for me I guess.” You begin to walk forward, trying to adjust the way his body weight rested against you.

He begins to say your name but you interrupt him, “No! I’m not leaving you and that’s final.” Cursing the slight waver in your voice you continue to look ahead, choosing to ignore the frustrated look on his face.

It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to set in, Minho seeming to weigh even more every ten minutes. As you drag your feet across the uneven floor, the toe of your shoe catches on a crack, sending you both stumbling forward for what seems like the fiftieth time. The only difference is that this time you aren’t able to catch yourself, fatigue catching up with you and sending both you and Minho careening forward.

Stabbing pain shoots through your legs as you fall to your knees, the sound of Minho groaning in pain causes waves of guilt to wash over you. The sudden realization of just how dire your situation seems to suffocate you.

This was all your fault, if you hadn’t been so annoying Minho never would have tripped. If you were strong enough you would have been able to carry him all the way. Why weren’t you strong enough?

The soft call of your name shakes you out of your stupor, it’s followed by a hand pressed against the side of your face. It’s only when his thumb swipes against your cheek that you realize you’re crying.

“I’m sorry.” You shift slightly until you’re sitting down, knees pulled up to your chest. He follows and sits next you with his legs stretched out, hissing as he accidentally drags his ankle across the ground. “This is my fault.” Staring at the exposed part of his ankle, your stomach swirls at the dark purple bruising.

When he notices you staring he’s quick to pull his pant leg down, “This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have been running backwards.” He watches you for a second, contemplating, before he speaks again, “You can still leave now and make it.”

“I’m not talking about this again.”

“Why not-”

“I just can’t leave you behind okay! It would kill me knowing that I got us into this mess and I couldn’t get both of us out alive.”

“So you’re just going to kill yourself because you would feel bad if you didn’t?” At his harsh words you whip your head to look at him, surprised to find him angry, his nose flaring and teeth gritting.

“Why are you getting so mad?! And you know it’s more than that! I’m not leaving you here, you can yell all you want but it’s not going to change anything.”

He throws his hands up in the air in indignation, “Why?! Why do you have to be so stubborn!” His tone is harsh and he practically spits his words at you.

A flurry of emotions lodges in your throat and a burning, hot anger ignites in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your lips are moving faster than your brain can process, “Because I love you, you idiot! I can’t just leave you behind because you're the reason I haven’t jumped the shucking Cliff yet!” Your heart is beating impossible fast and for a split second you wonder if it’s going to beat right out of your chest. You watch as Minho’s face morphs into an expression of shock and before you can identify the emotion swirling in his eyes you swear you can hear someone's footsteps.

You scramble to your feet, straining your ears in hopes that you weren’t imagining it. In the distance you hear the rushed strides of someone running in your direction and you swear you feel your heart skip a beat. It was far too late for another runner to be out in the Maze.

“Hey!” Cupping your hands around your mouth you hope they hear you. You hear Minho grunt and the sound of him dragging against the stone wall as he stands.

His voice rings through Maze as he calls out.

After a moment of tense silence you hear the quick foot falls of another runner getting closer before you spot his familiar blond hair turning the corner.

“Ben! Oh my god!”

He comes to a stop in front of you, his expression worried, “What are you guys still doing here? The Doors are closing soon!”

“Minho got hurt and I wasn’t able to carry him all the way back. Why are you out so late?”

“I figured I’d stay out later than usual. Had a bad feeling.” He glances over your shoulder to look at Minho. “We need to get going if we want to make it in time.”

Nodding your head, you turn around and make your way over to where Minho is leaning against the wall. You can feel his eyes on you, pleading for you to look at him but you’re adamant at avoiding eye contact. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Ben glancing back and forth between you, no doubt feeling the tension.

Having someone else there to help made carrying Minho infinitely easier and the three of you stumbled through the doors just as they began to groan, closing behind you.

“What took you so bloody long?” The familiar accent of Newt floats across the Glade but you’re too exhausted to even look in his direction. It isn’t until he’s standing right in front of you that you tear your eyes from Ben and Minho as they make their way to the Med-Jack hut.

“Minho fractured his ankle and got a concussion.” Your hands clench in anger as you speak, “If it hadn’t been for Ben we wouldn’t have made it out.”

“Aren’t you going to go check on him?” Newt frowns at you.

The thought of being in the same room with Minho after you practically dumped your heart out on him made your stomach churn. “No, I think- I think I’m just going to let him rest for now.”

Newt opens his mouth to comment, no doubt going to point out that you never left Minho’s side but you’re quick to interrupt him. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to go shower and get some rest.” You force a smile and begin to walk in the direction of the showers before he’s able to speak.

It seems to take ages to get to the bathrooms. Fatigue makes your limbs feel sluggish and the adrenaline of being in the Maze ebbs away, leaving aching muscles in its wake. You can’t seem to shake the thoughts of Minho as you scrub yourself clean. He probably wanted nothing to do with you and your big fat mouth. If you’d only bitten your tongue for another minute you wouldn’t have this looming air of regret suffocating you.

The regret seems to pull tighter against your throat when you notice your hammock, still twisted from this morning. Tears gather at your waterline, threatening to spill over. The view in front of you is distorted and watery and your fingers fumble with the twisted strings before you give up, whining in frustration.

You pause for a moment before turning in the direction of the Med-Jack hut, your heart desperately yearning to see him. Before you have time to think, you’re wiping your teary eyes with the back of your hand and practically jogging to the little run down shack, ignoring the throbbing pain in your legs.

Hesitating at the door you take a deep breath, steadying yourself before you’re pushing against it. The room is silent, both Clint and Jeff having left and gone to bed. Scanning the room you notice a bed in the corner, Minho sleeping peacefully under it’s covers. His face slack as he rests, his forehead covered by a thin, white bandage that stretches around his head. As you silently pull up a chair to his bedside you study him, it isn’t often you get to see his face when it isn’t creased with stress or in any expression other than a smirk.

Smiling softly. you reach up and pull his blanket up a little higher until it covers his shoulders, the night had a cold edge to it despite it being well into summer. After sitting there for a few minutes your eyelids begin to get heavy, like something was weighing them down. For a moment the idea of walking back to your hammock crosses your mind but you immediately dismiss it, just thinking about getting up is exhausting. You cross your arms on the side of his bed and rest your head against them. It doesn’t take long before the comfort of sleep consumes you.

Garbled words and the feeling of something brushing against your face is what wakes you this time. Opening your eyes, the first thing you notice are Minho’s pretty brown ones staring back at you, the next thing you notice are the hushed snickers from behind you. Shooting up straight you feel the warm rush of embarrassment flood your cheeks.

“It was about time you woke up!” Clint pipes up, “Lover boy here hasn’t stopped staring at you since we came in here to check on him.”

This time, pink begins to tint Minho’s cheeks and creep up his neck, “Slim it! Get outta here would ya?”

“Okay! We’re going!” You turn around just in time to see Clint pushing Jeff out the door and throwing you a wink before shutting the door.

The awkwardness is palpable as you stare down at your lap. The bed creaks as Minho shifts to sit up against the headboard, the sound seeming incredibly loud in the silence. Mustering up your courage you finally speak.

“I’m sor-”

“I love you too!’

Your head shoots up as he interrupts you, eyes wide as you take in his expression that mirrors your own.

“What?”

His body language tells you that he had most definitely not meant to say that, his mouth moving up and down as he tries to figure out what to say.

Your heart catches in your throat as you process his words, “You love me?”

At the slow nod of his head, a beaming smile splits your face, and before you can stop yourself you're pulling him into a crushing hug. Caught off guard, he stiffens for a moment as you wrap your arms around him but as soon as you let out a shaky breath against his neck he winds his arms around you.

“Is this okay?”

At your hushed tone he pulls you tighter against him, “This is more than okay.”

#I told myself I wouldn't tag this but just out of curiosity-#the maze runner x reader #tmr x reader #tmr minho x reader #if any kpoppies get this- sorry ig lmao

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mianavs · 4 years

Text

Festered Wounds

The insecurities that brought you together now tore you apart

Bakugo x f!reader

a/n: been thinking about toxic relationships lately and realized i needed to write more mha hehe

tw: dubcon, smut, implied abuse

wc: 1.4k+

The belief that you could climb the ladder of success through hard work and dedication had been your lifeline growing up. It was what your father engraved in your mind as he worked ungodly hours just to keep a roof over your head and food on the table. So you did what you had to do in order to avoid working a measly job with your mediocre quirk. You divided your time studying and improving your quirk until your eyelids grew heavy and your muscles ached.

But in the end, hard work wasn’t enough and your growth plateaued after graduating UA. You did all you could to improve your quirk but, at the ripe age of twenty-two, you were found yourself at a dead-end with the promotion from sidekick to pro-hero nowhere in sight.

They say misery loves company and you suppose that was what kept you tethered to Katsuki Bakugo after the initial attraction subsided. Like you, Bakugo had his own insecurities that ate at him the longer Izuku Midoriya remained the Number One Hero and the larger the gap between them grew.

Where the two of you once found solace in your relationship and licked each other’s wounds, it proved to have been only temporary. Your wounds eventually festered and turned your relationship into an unreliable crutch that sometimes supported you and other times let you fall.

The buzzing noise stirred you awake and you reached over to your nightstand to pick up your vibrating phone. You noticed the mail icon on your lock screen after disabling your alarm and your hands trembled as you rubbed the leftover sleep off your eyes. Impatient fingers opened the email but upon reading the first few words any hope you had dissipated.

[Thank you for your interest but, after further consideration, we have decided to pursue other…]

It was your seventh rejection letter that month and you were starting to lose all motivation to keep applying for a pro-hero position at a hero agency.

As you brushed your teeth, you remembered Bakugo’s words after the first few rejection letters you’d shared with him.

“Tch you’re obviously not looking hard enough. There’s gotta be some agency that’ll take you.”

Resentment reared its ugly head as you rinsed out your mouth. Of course he would never know what it was like to get rejected by an agency. As one of the top three heroes, Bakugo had agency’s lining up to recruit him yet his pathetic girlfriend couldn’t even get one. You’d eventually stopped showing him the rejection letters knowing his reprimands would hurt more than help you.

Taking in your reflection that showcased your swollen eyes, you cancelled your plans with your old classmate knowing the only reason she and all the others sought you out was to either brag about their successful careers or to suck up to Katsuki Bakugo’s girlfriend in an attempt to meet him.

You caught yourself before any more ugly emotions towards your boyfriend surfaced. It’d been a recurring action recently and the guilt that proceeded always goaded you to do things for Bakugo. Most of the time, he didn’t notice the extra-mile you went when you cooked, cleaned, or surprised him at work for a quickie during lunch but it was better that way—your shameful feelings were your own to deal with.

After spending the day cleaning, doing laundry, and buying groceries, you were plating Bakugo’s favorite spicy noodles when the sound of the front door slamming shut hampered your good mood. Used to dealing with his episodes, you waited for him to enter the kitchen and remained silent, hoping the sight of food was enough to lessen his anger.

Bakugo was perfectly disheveled when he rounded the corner and appeared before you. His hair was wilder than usual and you knew it was the result of running his fingers through it too many times. The suit jacket he usually wore for meetings was nowhere in sight and you assumed he discarded it somewhere in the living room. His red tie was loose around his neck and the sleeves of his black button-down shirt were pushed up to his elbows.

Under different circumstances, you would have jumped his bones without a second thought but the hostility in his scarlet eyes had you trembling for different reasons.

The plate in your hands was thrown aside, crashing against the wall and painting it an ugly red as the noodles slid down to the tile floor. Your legs moved on their own and you backed away from your boyfriend whose jaw was set, brows were furrowed, and his mouth contorted into a frown that only deepened as you retreated.

“You can’t look at me like they do, Y/N. Not you.” His strained voice was quiet but you recognized the hurt and comforting words spilled out your mouth instantaneously.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki, but how about you tell me what happened. Please, let’s just talk—”

Hard hands gripped your shoulders and harsh lips swallowed your plea. He was rougher than usual and his teeth clashed against yours while your lips swelled from his bruising kiss. Pain eventually gave way to pleasure and the longer Bakugo’s warm tongue glided against your tongue the easier it was to surrender yourself to your carnal desires.

With your hands around his neck, Bakugo wasted no time in discarding your apron, bunching your skirt up, and backing you up against the kitchen counter. The press of his hard-on against you was enough for your arousal to leak out and coat your panties. You whimpered when his mouth abandoned yours and the only thing connecting the two of you was a strand of saliva that eventually broke and dribbled down your chin. Through lidded eyes you made out the frustration that replaced anger on his face and supposed it was better than nothing.

Bakugo rocked his hips against your wet panties and he placed open-mouthed kisses on your neck that further incited your need for release. You tugged your boyfriend’s hair and started moving your hips on your own accord which was all it took for him to release his cock, pick you up, and press you against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist.

There was always a painful stretch when he sheathed himself into your cunt but normally Bakugo did a good job prepping you whether it was with his fingers, tongue, or cock. This, unfortunately, wasn’t one of those times and you were gasping in pain and digging your nails onto his clothed back as he hammered into you.

When the pain only increased with each erratic snap of his hips, tears streamed down your face but he merely kissed them away and continued to pound into you while your cunt tightened in discomfort. Your safe word almost left your lips but guilt and concern prevented it from being voiced. Left with no other alternative, you closed your eyes and held onto your boyfriend until his labored pants turned into groans and ropes of hot semen painted your walls in their color. Bakugo set you down after pressing a chaste kiss on your temple and you used whatever strength you had left to leave the kitchen and lock yourself in the bathroom without sparing him a glance.

The turmoil of emotions erupted in the shower and you cried not caring if he heard you. After crawling into bed with a headache, the belief that you’d discarded your hurt and anger in the bathroom was proven wrong when Bakugo entered your shared bedroom. The remorse is evident on his face but instead of making you feel better it incites your resentment.

“I’m sorr—”

“You’re pathetic, you know, taking it out on me. Why do I have to be your punching bag whenever Midoriya one-ups you? Maybe if you fixed your shitty personality you might be able to surpass him. But that’ll never happen will it, Katsuki?”

The cruel words spilled out like vomit; once you started there was no stopping it and in the end you felt empty. You waited for him to counter your insults with attacks about your quirk or your position but he only nodded once before turning around and leaving the room.

You were half asleep when Bakugo came back after showering and crawled into bed. You pretended to be asleep when he eventually pulled you into his warm chest and wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

There were countless moments when you were tempted to break it off with him, especially after one of his episodes. The longer your relationship lasted the bigger the arguments, the harsher the insults, and the shorter the moments in between became. But when Bakugo held you in his arms and whispered sweet nothings into your ear, thoughts of leaving him went out the window and all you felt was love and affection for the man whose insecurities mirrored yours.

#bakugo x reader #bakugo scenarios #bakugo smut #mha x reader #mha smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou scenarios #bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha scenarios #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #tw: dubcon #tw: smut #navs.mha #navs.fw

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mindofharry · 3 years

Text

Fallon Jenkins has no one left. Her family is dead, her friends no where to be found and all she has right now is her bow and arrow and the zombies that rule the night. Harry styles has been wandering around towns for days, looking for rations or new people to recruit but it’s been so long that he’s losing that optimism that got him through the first month of the apocalypse. When his bike breaks down just outside of a garage Harry sees that as fate — what he doesn’t expect is a sarcastic brunette guarding all of the tools. Will Fallon and Harry see eye to eye? Will they rule the apocalypse together?

CHAPTER ONE

☾ ☾ ☾

YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS….. APOCALYPSE.

The first word that came to mind when asked about how Fallon is feeling is: bored. She feels completely and utterly, bored. She’s a creative, an artist. She doesn’t know how she’s lasted out in this world without her pens and paper, but she’s holding on. And she has to remind herself, bored is better than dead. Fallon is drained and exhausted, she hasn’t showered in two days, disgusting is another word to describe her right now.

Fallon lived a good life. She might’ve not had a lot, but she was loved. She had family, a mom and a dad. She had good, supportive friends. Fallon was going to school in New York for arts and drama. Everything was going so well, and then someone just had to become a zombie. Her parents and Fallon all lived together in a small apartment off the east coast, it was tiny and not fit for three people — but they pulled through. They worked extra shifts at the diner, did the odd baby sitting job here and there. And although it was hard sometimes, they all a ton of respect for each other and a shit load of love. Fallon loved her parents, loved her friends.

But that’s all gone now.

Every single one of them are dead or have abandoned her. Her parents were too old, too frail to fight the zombies off. Her dad was exhausted and couldn’t keep up with Fallon. Fallon had strength and determination, which had gotten her through the first month of the apocalypse. But her father and mother seemed to lose faith pretty quickly and in the end, they were too tired to keep fighting. So they surrounded.

Fallon had been out trying to find more food, or people to help and bring into their home. It was like any other day in the apocalypse really. When she arrived home, her parents were dead. They were bloody and beaten up pretty badly, her dads arm had been bitten off and the side of her mothers hip was badly bruised. But they had died holding hands, and on their own terms. Something that kept Fallon going was knowing that it wasn’t her fault, that her mother and father chose to die.

“Baby, we’re too old. We’re only putting you in more danger”

Was it selfish of her to say that she was glad? That she only had herself to worry about? It was easier this way. That’s what she likes to tell herself anyways.

Harry Styles was a writer from England, but had recently moved to America when the apocalypse started. He was sat in his spacious apartment, book in hand and tv on when the news host spewed out nonsense about a zombie and disease. Harry really thought nothing of it, another prank or false information. But then the president of the united states made an announcement and Harry knew what he had to do.

With people outside of his apartment complex fighting for cars and rations, he locked up his home. He brought his drawers to the front door and then locked himself in his small closet for three days.

Once he knew the coast was clear, Harry set out for help. He had his car, but it was probably stolen during the outbreak a couple days ago. So he walked to the storage unit he left his motorcycle in. He had recently done it up and left gas in it, thank god for that.

Harry didn’t know if his family were ok. He didn’t know if this was happening in his hometown too. But he pushed all of those feelings of worry down, and decided to look on the bright side of things.

He’s safe.

Harry has been wandering around towns for days, only going on the bike an hour at a time. He’s found good spots to sleep and hide out for a bit, and he’s got some rations that’ll last him a couple of weeks.

Fallon is currently hiding out in what she thinks is a garage, something to do with mechanics and cars. It’s warm, has tools she can defend herself with and a small office she hide out in.

It’s almost relaxing.

That is until she heard someone outside.

“Time to break out the kit” Fallon mumbled to herself moving over to the red box with all of the tools inside. She took out a wrench and a knife, her bow and arrow attached to her back sort of like a back pack. Fallon took archery back in high school, it comes in very handy nowadays. She’s not athletic per say, but she’s pretty good at the bow and arrow. She’s had to learn how to do self defence, something that’s not easy because she’s so lanky. Her father used to make fun of her because every time Fallon got up her bones would crack.

Harry sat outside of the garage cursing the bike. “Thought you’d at least give me another half hour” He mumbled standing the bike up against the wall. Harry looked around and he almost fell to ground with gratitude when he realised he was outside of a garage. He isn’t the best with fixing bikes or cars, but he has some knowledge. Harry thinks it’s just a small break he can easily replace with the right tools. He’s just praying that no one has raided this place yet.

Fallon was ready and walked outside.

She was not expecting the tall, curly haired, green eyed boy. Her heart skipped a beat looking at him, but she soon composed herself holding up the wrench.

“…Shit!” Harry yelled nearly falling into his bike. His hand came up to his chest and another to his pocket holding onto his knife.

“Stay back!” Fallon yelled moving closer to harry, he put his hands up his knife falling out of his lap.

“I come in peace. I just need to repair my bike, and i’ll be on my way”

Fallon bit her lip still holding up the wrench, she lifted her right hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead. She looked the man up and down again, trying to figure out if she should trust him or not. He didn’t try and attack her, he dropped his knife and from the looks of it his bike does look like it needs some repairing.

“My name is Harry Styles. I’ve lived in New York for three years. I love the notebook. I’m a writer. I have no idea how to use that knife so if you’re going to kill me just do it fast” Harry said lamely, almost like he knew she would give in.

She brought down the wrench and nodded her head.

“Fallon” She said and Harry just turned around to his bike.

“Didn’t ask” He mumbled, bringing his bike into the garage. Fallon rolled her eyes and followed the man, now known as Harry, into the garage.

“I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

“I can help…”

Before Fallon could explain herself, Harry shook his head with a fake smile. “No need, Fallon. Don’t need you messing it up even more” He said tight lipped. Fallon rolled her eyes and sighed, moving away from the bike with her hands in the air. She moved away from the whole place, going back to her make shift bedroom and grabbing her knife from the red box on the way.

She wanted to stab Harry Styles so hard.

But Fallon soon realised he might be more helpful than she once thought.

After a few hours of sitting by herself, and organising her little room Fallon decided to go annoy Harry. When she had her friends, she loved being around them. She loved talking and inviting people out, she just loved being around people. Maybe Harry will be willing to talk to her for a bit, let her annoy him.

“Soo….. you’ve got an accent” Fallon said and harry wiped his forehead and looked up.

She’s trying to make conversation. Harry didn’t like that.

“Yeah”

He didn’t elaborate.

“I visited England a few years back with a friend, super cool place. We didn’t stay long, but I wanted to go back but then…” Fallon trailed off and Harry nodded leaning his hands on the table.

“And then…” She repeated and Harry sighed.

“And then this” He said.

Fallon walked over to harry and looked him up and down. “I’ll let you use all my tools, if…. you stay with me for a couple days” She said her knife digging into his stomach. Harry grunted, if he moved one muscle he would be stabbed — something he does not want. Harry grabbed her Fallon’s hand turned her around so her back was to his chest, the knife came out of his neck and Harrys lips against her ear.

“Was a threat?” He said and Fallon rolled her eyes taking the gun out of the front of her jeans, holding it against his forehead, now having the upper hand. Harry sighed to himself, this girl was exasperating but that could be useful. It’s lonely out there. It’d be nice not to have to do this alone, even if it was only for a couple days.

“I use your tools, bring us to a safe location and then we both go on our way. Deal?” Harry said putting the knife down, Fallon turned around her face close to Harrys. He had beautiful eyes. Forest green. Her favourite colour.

“Get me a place with a working shower and then we’ll have a deal” Fallon said, the gun still up against Harry’s forehead.

Harry rolled his eyes and put his hand out for a shake.

“Deal”

☾ ☾ ☾

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning” Harry said, wiping off his hands on a towel Fallon had given him. She was currently sharpening her knife, shaking her head. Who does he think he is? Fallon is obviously the leader in this situation.

“No?” Harry asked taking a seat beside her. This girl, again, was exasperating. Sarcastic, rude, a bit scary. But beautiful. She had long dark brown hair, but it was pulled into a high pony tail. The pony tail had a small braid in it, a bead on the end of it. Her lips are plump and chapped, but harry would just love to place his on hers.

Woah, get it together harry.

“You’re talking like you’re in charge here” Fallon said.

Harry glared at her, “Well, I am”

Oh hell no, Fallon thought.

“You’re in my space, Noah” Fallon said and Harry rolled his eyes so hard he fell back into the seat.

“My name isn’t Noah. See that’s why I should be the leader…..” He said standing up “Because at least I have the decency to remember your name! Which is not all that special by the way, it’s an easily forgettable name” Harry seethed, his hands on his hips. Fallon giggled to herself, putting her knife down.

“You done with this…” She trailed off, moving her hands in the air at harry. “This hissy fit?” She finished and harry only turned his head away from her as answer.

“Noah is the main characters name in the notebook. You said you liked the notebook. Didn’t forget your name Harry. Even those it’s a very forgettable name” Fallon said, standing up and softly slapping him on the shoulder.

“Get some rest, we’ll be up bright and early tomorrow, noah”

“it’s harry!”

Fallon got her supplies ready for tomorrow, and sat them beside her make shift bed. She was going to miss this place. But she knew if she was going to stay alive in this world, she had to keep moving. She had to trust people. Although she’d never admit this to his face, Harry seems to be a natural leader and she trusts him. Fallon just likes giving him a hard time. It’s fun seeing him to flustered.

Harry didn’t sleep a wink. He felt responsible for Fallon, even though the garage was heavily boarded up — he still felt like it was his job to patrol and guard it all night.

Not because he liked Fallon……

Definitely not.

“Harry…..”

Poke.

“Harry….”

Jab.

“Noah!”

Poke.

“Harry Styles!”

Punch.

“What the hell!” Harry yelled holding onto his shoulder. “You wouldn’t wake up! It’s 6 AM! Let’s get moving leader!” Fallon said tapping her foot. Harry grumbled to himself, popping open a box of gum and putting into his mouth. He didn’t even look at Fallon just handed the box to her, while he put his leather jacket back on.

He didn’t sleep much and Harry doesn’t even remember falling asleep. But it had to be only half an hour ago.

Fallon looked well rested, probably because she had a bed.

“Leader? You’re seriously letting me be in charge?” Harry questioned throwing their supplies on the back of the bike.

“Well, you seem resourceful…. and you have a motorcycle. So you be in charge i guess” Fallon shrugged.

“So just because I have a motorcycle I’m in charge?” He asked and Fallon nodded.

“Works for me.” Harry said and opened up the garage door. “Goodbye Garage. Thanks for keeping me safe.” Fallon said with a pout. Harry rolled his eyes and started the motorcycle handing her the helmet. He stole another one from the back of the garage.

“Noah and Allie take on the apocalypse?” Fallon asked placing her arms around harry.

“Yeah, whatever.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #apocalypse!harry styles #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut

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ialwaysgobacktoit · 3 years

Text

Azriel surprises Gwyn for her birthday PART. 6

Guys just so you know i need to think of a better name for this bc like THIS IS GETTING BIIIIG (I have a playlist on spotify called "what would gwynriel sing" and i think i'll draw inspiration from there lol)

IT'S GWYN'S POV AGAIN (and this one's a little shorter lol i'm sorry... Rhys is in this chapter bc i honestly share the headcanon that Gwyn and Rhys would be close friends!)

MY GIRLS: @starbornsinger @madie2200 @katiebellf here it is!! And check out the Chapter List here

Gwyn couldn’t deny. She was nervous. That morning the words just rushed out about leaving the library, because she truly felt inspired by Diane’s words. She had spent the previous night awake, even if Emerie and Nesta had long fallen asleep, thinking about what she had to do next. She was feeling braver. Maybe it was because that was the best birthday she had since Sangravah, or perhaps ever, due to the circumstances. She still missed Catrin like crazy during the day, still felt that familiar ache in her chest when she worked at the library in the afternoon, or went training in the morning. But somehow, after everything that has happened in the evening, the lingering image of her sister started being more of a comfort, a companion, than the sorrow and guilt she was accustomed to.

Still, she was nervous.

She did really want to leave the library, and Clotho seemed happy, maybe even proud, to let her go. Merrill didn’t care as long as she kept working for her, at least a couple hours a day. One day, Gwyn thought that would change too. But for now, one step at a time. The night she went to the Town House and dined with the Inner Circle was one of many small steps Gwyn’s been giving these last few months towards more autonomy, independence, and strength. Towards the life she wanted for herself. And now, the day where she decided to move out of the library was the day she took another one.

And Azriel… Honestly, she thought she would be more scared about the prospect of having a mate than she actually did. Most of all, she was happy. She felt lucky and had the confidence that if anything were to happen between the two of them, they would take it slow, at her pace. She wouldn’t have it any other way. That if Azriel were to find out about the bond any time soon; or if she would summon enough courage to tell him. Because if he did know, he would’ve said something by now, wouldn’t he?

Yep. She was very nervous.

What she dreaded the most was the fact that Azriel, well, he may not feel the same once he found out. The Cauldron could be wrong, after all. And all these last months of getting closer to each other, training in companionable silence, laughing together, bantering… She was more than grateful for their friendship, but she knew that Azriel still had some things to figure out – about Elain. If he truly still felt something towards her, that was enough to strain Gwyn’s hopes for the moment. To maintain the quiet feeling to herself, and what it meant; that she was indeed worthy of happiness not only alone, but with another one.

She tried to push all those feelings aside as she was getting ready for dinner at the River House, the High Lady and Lord’s official estate. She looked at herself in the mirror, spinning side to side. It wasn’t much – after all, she didn’t have any clothes besides her robes, nightgowns and training leathers – but the outfit the House provided was more than enough. Her baggy turquoise linen pants and her white, loose crop top made her extremely comfortable, even if the latter was slightly shorter than what she was accustomed to.

She still wore the necklace Azriel re-gifted her. When he told her a few months back about the whole story, she truly understood him. He was in a bad place at the time, but so did she. And even if he had indeed made a mistake, she was glad to have it now. To know that someone gave it to her willingly, that was the thought she held on to. First person considered or not. And besides, it looked great against her freckled skin.

A gentle knock on the door of her new bedroom sounded. “Gwyn, you ready?”

“Yeah, come in”

Nesta opened the door and something sparked in her eyes as she stared at Gwyn through the mirror.

“You look beautiful, girl”

She spun on her heels and smiled at Nesta.

“I do, don’t I?”

They both laughed as they linked their arms and left the room.

“So” Nesta begun, as they walked towards the main entrance together “How are you settling in?”

“It’s very cozy, and I just love that view. The House is providing me everything I need at the moment. Thank you for inviting me to stay.” She gave her sister a grateful smile

“Well, I was serious; you can stay with us for as long as you want.”

“That means a lot.” Gwyn couldn’t contain her smile as she gently nudged her head against her sister’s.

“Don’t mention. I know you’d do the same for me.” And Nesta was right. Without thinking twice, Gwyn would have done the same for both of her newfound sisters. She was so grateful and thrilled their paths had crossed this way.

“By the way” Nesta mentioned innocently when they reached the common area “The room you chose, well, that’s three doors up from Azriel’s. If you have a problem with that, feel free to say it.”

And as she was summoning his presence, that was the moment the Shadowsinger came to vision, talking to Cassian in the balcony – waiting for them.

Gwyn drew on a breath, staring straight at him. When he caught her eye, she couldn’t help her smile. And when his eyes glittered, scanning her from head to toe, she answered quietly to her sister:

“No. I think that’ll be fine.”

*******

The River House was beautiful. Gwyn admired it as the four of them stood by the front door. It was big, but the decoration made it seem comfortable and cozy, despite its size. A true home, Gwyn thought.

Feyre opened the door, a warm smile instantly on her face.

“Come in!”

As soon as they stepped on the entrance hall, Gwyn marveled at the big painting on display. It was a portrait of Nesta as she held the line at the Pass of Enalius. Her cunning eyes seemed to look directly at anyone who came in, daring and challenging. “This is amazing.” She said, tearing her eyes from the image at last and looking at Feyre. Cassian and Nesta had already entered the living room and Azriel stood by the doorway, lingering.

Feyre was still smiling at her when she answered. “Thank you very much, Gwyn. I have others I can show you later, if you’d like.”

“I would love to. You have a beautiful home.” And she could barely conceal the emotion in her eyes as Feyre held her hand and sighed gratefully. She, maybe more than anyone, was well aware of how lucky she was to have such a family.

“We do.”

It was just when she reached the living room and beheld all of those who Feyre and Rhysand loved the most she felt Azriel’s presence still a few steps behind her, his eyes fixed upon her. A tendril of shadow curled up slightly at her wrist, as if saying We’re here. So she looked back for half a second before entering further into the room, only enough to meet his cryptic gaze and give him a half-smile. And couldn’t help the sparkling feeling in her chest when he gave her a reassuring nod.

*****

The night was going on peacefully. Gwyn didn’t say much, and it was rather content in observe. That way, she didn’t feel exposed, and also could get to know the Inner Circle better: their dynamics and bantering, how they acted around each other and discussed both serious and light topics. Elain, for example, was sitting in a chair in the corner, drink in hand. She only joined for dinner, ate quietly and then excused herself from the table for a long time. Rhys and Feyre took turns in watching Nyx, since this evening he went to sleep early. Emerie and Mor were having what seemed to be a very intimate conversation, knees touching and heads close, and Nesta and Cassian, well… They were being their usual selves.

And then she landed her eyes on the Shadowsinger. He was definitely the quietest of them all, even if during dinner he had participated in the more serious subjects of conversation and exchanged a few casual words with Gwyn. She could observe enough to notice he didn’t once glance at Elain, or her at him, and that they kept their distance. He actually seemed to have spent the evening doing the same thing Gwyn was, which was observing; except for him it was natural, a second skin. He certainly had enough time these hundred years to know well about the rest of his family, while she was doing that precisely to learn more about them. If it was easy for her to be like this, for him was instinct.

She couldn't stop but detain herself on the details of his face, though, as he now spoke to Mor, who had subtly approached him. He wore that inexpressive mask, but she could see the way his brows were slightly furrowed, his jaw set just slightly... There was something concerning him, making him uneasy. She wondered, maybe for the tenth time, when she would tell him. Or if she should let him find out by himself. And again, her heart fluttered as he put his hands in his pockets and nodded along, listening to Mor.

How could the Cauldron have chosen this? To have defined them as mates... He was the one who saved her, who’d seen her low, who helped her at the very worst moment of her life. And although she would be forever grateful for it, she was aware he had enough on his plate – to burden him with her feelings... She didn't know what to do. It was at that moment their eyes locked across the room. She didn't realize she had still been staring, and quickly darted her eyes away.

Only to meet with Rhysand’s staring at her from across the table.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry.

Oh, shit. Shit. Gwyn contained her gasp. He heard her. She didn't know for how long, but he could read her thoughts.

I was just going to ask you if you were feeling okay.

She knew what he meant. But still...

"Please. Please don’t say a word". She managed to whisper to that presence in her mind.

He doesn't know? She could feel his curiosity. Although they were still staring at each other, his face yielded nothing.

"I don't think so. Please, just…"

Don't worry, Gwyn. I won't tell him.

She could've cried in relieve. "Thank you."

He only nodded at her and raised his glass, and she could feel his presence fading from her mind.

*****

When they arrived at the House of Wind, a few hours later, Gwyn was still a little uneasy. She needed to learn how to shield her mind properly; even if she felt she trusted Rhys’s word, she couldn’t feel relaxed at the thought that someone else knew about what she’d only recently discovered and were still trying to figure out.

She could barely stare at Azriel when they flew all the way back. They remained silent all the way to the House of Wind, and her gaze remained fixed on the city landscape below them, or on the skies above. Never on him or their closeness, even if she’d caught him glancing at her a few times. They landed just a few minutes after Nesta and Cassian. When she meant to let go of his hand, he held it just for a moment longer:

“Did you have fun tonight?”

She nodded, managing to bring a smile upon her face. She didn’t want him to see how nervous she was; they were never like that around each other.

“A lot. Your family is very…”

“Extravagant?”

“I was going to say kind. But they might be a little extravagant, too.”

The corner of his lips tugged upward, and she let out a quiet laugh. “Are you going to sleep now?”

“In a few hours, maybe. I think I’ll hit the training ring first.”

She nodded. His shadows swirled a little at his shoulders. She seemed to forget about her nervousness for a second as she noticed his slightly furrowed brows, as if he was concentrating: “You know you don’t have to restrain them, if it tires you.”

“They should behave better.” It was all he grunted back, slightly annoyed at his dancing shadows.

“Well, I don’t mind at all. I like them. So at least around me, you shouldn’t worry about it.”

The seconds her eyes held his stare were enough to make Gwyn feel like she could burst – or touch him, again. So she turned away and smiled over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Az.”

All she felt before reaching the stairway was a tendril of shadow gently curling around her arm.

#would you please forgive me if i forgot about something canon like gwyn's mind shielding #is just this is mine now and that interaction between rhys and gwyn would be so cute and like UNDERSTANDING aw #this is fanfiction after all #ok more gwynriel now #me venting through tags #pls sjm make this canon #i live for gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #did someone ask for gwynriel moments #gwyns birthday #gwynriel supremacy #gwynriel #gwynriel headcanon

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spookysweet-heart · 3 years

Text

Evergreen

Commission: Yes! Pairings: Phantom x Witch!Reader Fandom: Battle Egos/NateWantsToBattle Warnings: none A/n: This was commissioned by the lovely @extraroseystuff! Thank you so much for commissioning me for this! It was a very fun piece! I loved working on it so much! The Collage was made by me and it was edited by @semiproeagle! Hope you all enjoy it!

“There’s no way you haven’t heard of the witch that lives in the woods just outside of this town.” Someone nearby spoke to their friend as they walked by Phantom and Bones

“This again?” Phantom swung a bag of food behind his back as he looked over at his brother, Bones. “Don’t people have anything else to talk about?”

“Oh, c’mon, you can’t tell me you’re not curious about it? A witch living in the woods. Who knows what she does out there.” Bones picked up another bag with food, following behind Phantom.

“I’m curious, yeah. But this is all I ever hear. What if there is no witch and she’s just all stories?”

“Well, why don’t you go and find out?” Catching up to his older brother, Bones smiled. “We’ll be fine if you wanna go on a trip by yourself for a day or two.”

Phantom stopped walking and shook his head. “I can’t do that. I promised Mare I’d help him with his kids. I can’t just pack up and leave for a couple of days when they’re expecting me.”

“Those kids will be fine. They’re babies, anyway. They won’t tell the difference if Natpai or I go instead. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve seen them. Take the break, you need it. You’re not the only one who can do work around here.”

“You sure?”

“Of course! Even if there isn’t a witch out there, at least you get some time to yourself.”

“Alright. I’m not going out there looking for a witch, though.”

“That’s just a neat bonus if you do, honestly. I’ll let Mare know, I’m sure he’d be fine with it anyway. He just wants to make sure you’re safe when you’re on your own.”

Phantom nodded and continued walking with Bones back to their shared house.

Heading into the kitchen, Phantom dropped the bag of food on the counter. Turning to help his brother, Bones shook his head. “I got this. I just need help figuring out what our neighbor asked us to get.”

“Just put it on the counter, I can sort through everything.”

“Alright, I’ll go get dinner started and call Mare to tell him about your trip.”

Phantom ruffled Bones’ hair, making him laugh. “Thanks.”

----

The morning of the trip, Phantom felt a little off. Maybe he was just feeling nervous about leaving for a couple of days...or maybe he was scared of what he’d actually find out in the woods.

Bones packs up the last of the food he'd made for Phantom in his bag. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, definitely. Thanks for helping me pack.” Closing his bag, Phantom adjusted it on his shoulder. “Want me to find anything for you while I’m out there?”

Bones smiled excitedly. “Actually, I just wanted to ask if you can take some pictures of the scenery. Anything you think looks beautiful.” He put his camera around Phantom’s neck carefully.

“Just pictures?” Phantom looked down at the camera.

“Well...okay, if you do possibly meet that witch...do you think you could ask if she has anything that could help me with the pain?”

Phantom softly smiled as he pulled Bones in for a brief hug. “I got you, that’ll be the first thing I ask if I meet her.”

Bones held Phantom tightly in his arms, making the hug last a little longer. “Be safe, okay?” Letting him go, he watched Phantom head out the door.

Heading out in the direction of the trail leading to the woods, Phantom took a deep breath in and looked around before heading deeper into the woods. Taking out the little map that Bones made him, he saw the hill that he was supposed to walk over.

Folding up the map, he placed it back in his pocket, bracing himself for the long walk up ahead. The view looking up the hill was pretty, in his opinion, with a few blooming flowers scattered about, swaying in the breeze that passed through. Getting the camera ready to take a photo, he saw a bright green light shining in the distance.

Feeling confused, Phantom looked away from the lens, looking around for the green light. When he checked the sky, he saw a bit of the green fading away. Looking through the lens again, Phantom took the picture and continued on his little journey. “That can’t be anything...can it?”

Reaching the top of the hill, Phantom sat down, setting his stuff next to him. Closing his eyes, he felt the breeze rush by, hitting his face. Smiling, he took out an apple from his bag. Just as he was about to take a bite, he saw a pink light in the sky. Putting the apple down, he followed the light with his eyes, noticing it left a faded trail behind.

Squinting, he noticed another light, this time purple, appearing from the trees on the other side of the hill. “That doesn’t look too far- oh shit!” Leaning forward, Phantom lost his balance. Trying to grab his bag, he pulled it close to his chest while he rolled down the hill, landing in a bush.

Looking up at the sky, Phantom saw a small pink light circle around him. His vision was a bit blurry, and he felt like he was about to pass out from the fall.

“Good job! You found someone! Don’t worry, I’m here to help. Luna, come here, girl, I need your help!” The only voice he could hear sounded like a woman. Before Phantom could turn to the source of the voice to see who it was, he blacked out.

----

The smell of herbs and the sound of a teapot going off on a stove in another room awakened Phantom. Groaning while trying to sit upon the bed he was laying on, Phantom touched his head and felt that it’d been bandaged. He looked down at his arms and saw they’d also been tended to. Quickly looking up at the door when he heard humming on the other side, he sat up straight, seeing the door to the room he was in open.

Opening the door with your elbow, you looked over at the stranger, seeing he was awake and sitting up. “Oh! You’re awake! How are you feeling?” Moving over to the counter that was in the room, you placed a tray down. Turning to face him, you gave him a warm smile. “Are you dizzy at all? Does your head hurt? You must be thirsty! You’ve been resting for a couple of hours.” Turning back to the tray, you fixed him a cup of tea. Carefully taking it over to him, you handed him the teacup. “Careful, it’s still very hot. I made some peppermint tea to help if you’re still feeling sore or tired.” You saw he was a little hesitant to drink it. “It’s okay, really, it’s just tea, nothing else. Well, unless you’d like a little sugar in your tea, I will gladly give you some.”

“Oh no, no it’s perfectly fine. Thank you.” Phantom gently blew some steam from the cup before taking a sip.

“How is it?”

“It’s great, thank you. Um, I’m sorry, who are you?”

You took a seat on a nearby chair, scooting it closer to him. “My name is (Y/n), I’m the healing witch of these woods. So, to answer more of the questions you probably have, yes, I helped you from your fall with my horse, Luna. She’s the one who carried you here to my shop. And these!” With the motion of your hand, a little rainbow light appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. “These are my emergency signals. I let them fly out across the woods, and they signal me whenever they find someone who might need my help and aren’t able to get to the shop on their own.”

“So you really can do magic?” Phantom’s eyes grew wide when he saw the little bright lights.

The lights faded as you put your hand down back on your lap. “Well, yes. Partially, that is. Most of what I do is herbal medicine and tea from my surroundings. But I do also tend to the otherworldly requests with what I learned over the years. It’s just the basics, but if you would like to see, you can follow me to the front of the shop.” Standing up from your chair, you lend a hand out for Phantom to hand over the empty teacup.

Phantom nodded, handing over the cup. “Sure, I’d love to.” Standing up, he held onto the bed when he felt his legs were a little weak. Looking around, he realized he doesn’t see his bag anywhere. “Um, excuse me, but where’s my stuff?”

“Oh! I’m sorry I didn’t say anything right away. Your things are in the front by my desk. I was fixing the camera you had.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you for that.” Phantom followed you out of the room and down the hall. The different smells hit him all at once when you both entered the front of the shop. Looking over at a shelf, he saw bottles filled with glittery liquid, some were glowing a light shade of green, blue, or pink.

“Ah, I see you found the potions.” You smiled as you handed him the camera. “Good as new! I replaced the broken glass and fixed the strap since I saw that it tore.”

“Thank you again.” Phantom took the camera, looking back at the shelf. “What are all these?”

“Uh, well on the top shelf, I have some invisible potions. Depending on how long you need to be unseen, you can get a potion that lasts from just one hour, a few hours or a whole day. The second shelf is potions for poison immunity. These depend on how strong the poison will be. The third shelf contains potions for sleep. The dimmer the glow of the potion indicates the less time the person or yourself will be asleep. The lowest I have is an hour and the most I have is a month.”

“A month?!” Phantom looked over at you with wide eyes while you shrugged it off.

“Sometimes I don’t work with the nicest people.”

“Right...um, do you happen to have anything for pain?”

“What kind of pain? Joint, stomach, head, full-body?”

“Full body if you have it.”

You paused and squatted down at the last shelf of glowing pink potions. “I have several for full-body pain. How long did you want the relief to last?”

“Preferably forever, but how long do you have it?”

“I can’t do forever just yet, but,” your fingers hovered over the four bottles before you grabbed one and stood back up on your feet with a smile. “This one should last up to four years. If you need more after that, you can always stop by and I’ll be happy to make you another batch.”

Phantom reached into his pockets for money, but you stopped him before he could pay you.

“No need. On the house this time, consider it a favor for now.” Handing him the bottle, you motioned for him to follow you to the front counter. “Pick a box and I’ll pack it up for you.”

Looking down at the three boxes, he saw a bright blue box with tiny frogs around the border, the second one was a black box with little white skulls all around the lid, and the third box was a deep purple with little pink flowers all around. “Uh, I think I’ll take the black one. Please?”

“Perfect! I’ll have it ready in a bit. You can look around some more if you’d like!”

Phantom nodded and tapped the glass as he wandered over to another counter. Half of the space was made up of jewelry while the other half had boxes or bags of all kinds of tea. “Are these magic, too?”

Looking over your shoulder, you saw him staring at the jewelry. “Yes! They help with various things, like talking to animals, being able to breathe underwater, I believe I also have one for shapeshifting.”

“Incredible. What about the teas?” Phantom picked up a mix of peach and mint.

“Oh! No, those are just teas to help with anything you could be feeling like any other tea. Remember the one I gave you a bit ago? How are you feeling now?”

“Well, the headache is gone and I feel way more energized than how I was before.”

“Then it’s working! Peppermint is supposed to help with that.”

Phantom nodded and walked over to a table with various cookies. “Are these just cookies?”

“Hm? Oh, some are, some aren’t. The ones on your left are regular cookies, and the ones on your right aren't. Those are poison-filled cookies…” You looked over at the space with a confused expression. “Now, who took down my sign?” With a wave of your hand, a sign now sat in front of the right side of the display. Written on it in big red letters was, ‘Caution: Poison cookies!’

Walking back to the front counter, Phantom leaned on his elbows on the glass. “Why don’t they just use the liquid potions you have up there?”

Turning to face him, you slid his gift towards him. “Some people find the sweets to be less...brutal. In a sense.”

“That sort of makes sense. You know, out of everything here, I’m surprised you don’t have any love spells.”

You giggled while stepping to the right so he could see what was on the desk behind you. “Funny you say that. I usually have a policy for love spells. I rarely ever make them because it’s dangerous to mess with someone like that, but this person was very insistent that I make one for them. Love spells come with a contract, though.”

“A contract? Why’s that?”

“It’s just something for my protection. If something bad happens, they can’t hold me accountable for the consequences they have for using a potion I was adamantly warning them about.”

“That’s smart, honestly.”

“Yup! By the way, what’s your name?”

Phantom blushed, having a nervous smile on his face. “I’m sorry! I should’ve said something earlier.”

Waving your hand, you giggled, thinking he was really cute when he was nervous. “Don’t be sorry, I tend to talk a lot when I meet new people. I get customers from time to time, but it’s rare when I get to actually talk to someone like this.”

“Well, before I forget, my name’s Phantom.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Phantom.” You both blushed when the silence in the room grew.

Phantom cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “You said you get customers but never actually had friends come visit?”

“Ah well, no, not really. It’s all work, no play, social-wise. My job's fun to do, but I will admit, it gets a little lonely.”

“Maybe you don’t have to be lonely anymore? I can stop by whenever I’m able to. I can be that friend that’ll bug you while helping out around here.”

Giggling, you rested your head on the palm of your hand, looking up at him. “That sounds fun, honestly. I wouldn’t mind the company from time to time.”

“Great! You, uh, wouldn't happen to know a place I can stay for the night, do you?”

“Oh! You can stay here with me. I can make one of my client’s rooms into a bedroom for you for the night, or however long you plan to be out here.”

“Are you sure that’s okay? I don’t wanna be more in the way than I have been already.”

Shaking your head, you stood up straight. “You haven’t been in the way at all today. It’s fine, really. I have other rooms if a client comes in for a session.” Motioning for him to follow you again, you led the way to the back rooms. Snapping your fingers, you opened the door to the room he woke up in to reveal a brand new bedroom. “You can rest up here.”

“Really, you’ve done enough for me already-”

“It’s okay, I really don’t mind at all. It’s my job to help others in need.”

Phantom chuckled, shaking his head while walking into the room and putting his things on the bed. “Alright. I’ll accept the offer to stay here. But I’ll help around the shop if you need it while I’m here.”

“That’s fine by me. Thank you.”

Phantom smiled, looking around the room seeing how different it had become. “You said you hold sessions in these rooms? What are those, exactly?”

“You’ve been curious this whole time.” You leaned on the doorframe, relaxing a bit.

“I’m sorry, that must’ve been annoying of me for asking so much.”

“No, not really. I very much enjoyed it. I haven’t had this much interaction in a while. But to answer your question, these rooms are for relaxation sessions. Depending on the type of stress my clients feel, I use certain types of teas, potions, oils, or sweets to help them destress, or words of affirmation and light touches or light massages if they’re comfortable with me touching them.”

“That actually sounds very nice. I might ask for a session in the future.”

“You can if you’d like. First sessions are always free.”

“Maybe in the near future?”

“Whenever that is for you, you know where to find me.” Smiling at Phantom, you felt your cheeks get warmer. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. If you need anything for sleep, let me know.”

“I will, thank you again, (Y/n), for everything you’ve done for me today.”

“Don’t thank me, I’m just your friendly local witch.” Stepping aside, you waved. “Goodnight, Phantom.”

“Goodnight, (Y/n)”

Closing the door behind you, you headed back to the front of the shop, getting everything ready for closing.

#battle boy #battle boys #battle egos #natewantstobattle egos #phantom nwtb #phantom natewantstobattle #x reader #x witch reader #witch reader #commission #phantom

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